By Force of Instinct (17 page)

Their host rose to meet them. Darcy’s heart was pounding; she had come after all. He had hoped for it, he had prayed for it, but he had not expected that she would actually agree to cross his threshold. The mere sight of her was sufficient to fill his heart, but his hopes sank when he saw that she did not meet his eyes. His fears must be true, then; she could not forgive him for the role he had played in her sister’s disgrace. The voice of Mr. Gardiner echoed in his mind from their very first meeting regarding Lydia’s situation—
I do not know that Lizzy will ever forgive herself for knowing what
Wickham was and failing to expose him.
And if she could not absolve herself for keeping the secrecy that he himself had requested of her in his letter, what chance had
he
to ever earn her forgiveness, he who had put his pride before all else and allowed Wickham to be free to work his wiles on unsuspecting girls like Lydia? Well, he would not force himself on her, but he would show her by every civility where his heart lay, in hope that she might someday see her way to pardoning him.

He made enquiries after her family in terms of perfect civility, if not of perfect composure, receiving brief answers that demonstrated her confusion. she immediately asked after his sister, and he directed her to where Georgiana sat. The alacrity with which she left his company to join his sister could not but pain him, but he was determined to let none of it show.

If she could take the step of entering his house, it was enough for now. He watched her smile at Georgiana, seeing how elizabeth remained subdued even with her. Perhaps, he hoped, she missed him at least a little.

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Georgiana was pleased to see her friend once again and abandoned the petulant attitude she had been displaying for the benefit of her brother’s friends. It was a matter of particular satisfaction that elizabeth had chosen
her
company over that of her brother. she was still irritated with him for his attempts to monopolize her at rosings. today, however, elizabeth seemed focused on her to the exclusion of all else.

Her concentrated attention was, in fact, an intentional ploy on the part of elizabeth to keep herself from looking at Mr. Darcy. she was overpow-ered with shame and vexation. Her coming there was the most unfortunate, the most ill-judged thing in the world! It must seem to a man of such pride that she was pursuing him. He had looked so ill at ease when they spoke, and she felt almost desperate to know what he thought of her appearance in his house.

The occasion passed with agonizing slowness for elizabeth. The subject was one which, while appealing, was not one in which she could claim any expertise, so while she listened with as much interest as she could muster under the circumstances, she had but little to contribute to the discussion.

Darcy posed some insightful questions, which at least provided her a natural opportunity to look at him without being obvious about her longing to do so. she would look away as soon as the discussion turned, for she felt more than saw the weight of his gaze returning to her again and again. she knew not what to think, nor what she herself felt.

sometimes, when she turned her eyes to him, she felt a sharp sense of loss, and the wish that matters could be otherwise; at other times, when she felt his gaze on her, she possessed some of the anger of the woman spurned, no matter how well she understood the spurning. she felt most acutely the unfairness of it; that
his
sister should have come so close to making the same error which Lydia had, yet should now be untouched by it; and that he, in order to protect his sister, would forswear elizabeth, who by any account should be held blameless.

When the guests finally began to take their leave, she felt a sense of relief coloured slightly with regret. In a way she was glad that this first meeting was over, with no worse result than a fresher grief in her heart. she knew that once Jane married Bingley, it would be inevitable that they would meet from time to time, and overall, she had to count the occasion a success, albeit a painful one, since neither had embarrassed themselves or the 104

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other, nor given rise to any speculation.
It had the potential to be much worse,
she thought philosophically as she moved to join her aunt and uncle, who were conversing happily with Mr. edwards. They seemed in no hurry to depart, while she was almost in a fever to be gone before Mr. Darcy’s attention could move to her with the attendant risk to her spirits as well as her composure. When the last of the other guests had gone, though, she was surprised to discover Mr. Darcy once again inviting them to sit. Her aunt, noting her look of concern, whispered to her, “Mr. Darcy has invited us to dinner—did you not know, Lizzy?”

elizabeth could hardly speak to form an answer. Her first thought was a panic of how she was to face him—it was easy enough to avoid him in a crowd, but not at an intimate dinner. And how was she to look at him, to converse with him, knowing that all she desired was the impossibility of being in his arms? no sooner had she finished this thought than she began to wonder
why
he had invited them to stay—why would he put himself directly in her way like that? she could not believe that even he would do that for the sake of his sister; it made no sense. or was it an attempt to prove how completely he had put her behind him?

Although elizabeth usually owned a healthy appetite, that night she picked at her dinner as daintily as any lady of the
ton
. All of her energy was focused into appearing composed and at peace. she could no longer hope to avoid his eyes nor his conversation, and she resolved that she would meet them as she would for any casual acquaintance. no matter how deeply pain cut her, she was determined to show no part of her loss, through no fault of her own, of the only man she ever expected to love.

on the other side of the table, Darcy was contemplating a painful truth—that he desired her now even more than he had when last they met. seeing her in the setting of his house, at his dinner table, and yet knowing that she was not willing to take her proper place there as his wife only reinforced the emptiness he had felt since leaving netherfield. now more than ever he wished that he had found the time to talk to her instead of just kissing her—how he wanted to know now what had warmed her to him then, so that he could bring it to play again! These last weeks had been as close to hell as he ever hoped to come—to have had that brief moment of brilliant happiness of seeing his love returned, only to have his past sins come back to haunt him and to tear it all away.
Why,
he asked himself, as he had so of-105

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ten already,
why of all the woman in England did Wickham’s eye have to light
on her sister?
His only remaining hope was that she had forgiven him once; was it not possible that she could do so again? He stared at her intently as if the answer might be somewhere hidden in her countenance.

He had, for a time, clung to the hope that he might have overestimated her resentment toward him for failing to expose Wickham earlier; but, when she had looked away from him so pointedly that night at the theatre, he knew that it was not to be so. even so, he had not been able to take his eyes off her. He had missed her abominably when she had left on her tour, but it was nothing to how he had felt when he realized that he had lost her completely. since her arrival in London, his thoughts had constantly been on that place where she might be found. Despite his early resolution not to open himself to her rejection once again by seeking her out, he knew that if she had not come tonight, he would have begun hounding poor tom Monkhouse for invitations, simply because he lived on the next street from the Gardiners, and Darcy knew that they were frequent guests at his house.

He had no plan for what he would do when he saw her; he only knew that he could not bear to stay away, knowing that she was in London. There were even those midnight moments of brutal loneliness and need when he had contemplated going to her uncle’s house and making a public offer for her, knowing that he could not be refused; if he did not feel she would never forgive him for such a course of action, he was not certain he would have been able to stop himself.
How am I to survive without her?
he wondered.
Could I have imagined a more bitter punishment for my failure to lay
my actions before the world?

elizabeth made the error of raising her eyes for a moment. once she had encountered his steady gaze, she felt helpless to do anything but to return it, and she felt as if her heart were breaking once again. she wanted so desperately to see the old warmth in his eyes, and she knew that her ability to hide her feelings was failing. It was time for her to acknowledge defeat; she could not keep her resolve to maintain a neutral appearance with him.

And what did it matter if he knew that she had suffered from his abandonment?
Let him have that satisfaction, if satisfaction it is,
she thought. she acknowledged him silently with a tilt of her head, then turned to speak once more to Georgiana.

she had a brief respite when the ladies withdrew, but it was only a short 106

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time until the gentlemen rejoined them. Darcy seated himself next to her, but she felt too embattled by the evening’s emotions to feel any great sensibility beyond the pain of loss and rejection.

“What did you think of Mr. edwards’ work, Miss Bennet?” he asked, watching her closely, and determined to take this final opportunity for a civil conversation with her. He wished he understood what had been passing through her mind earlier when she looked at him; it was clearly not a happy thought, but had it been anger, sadness, or something else entirely?

He found himself in the unusual position of hoping that the woman whom he loved to watch laughing should be sad and suffering regrets.

“In truth, sir, I know nothing of the art of painting,” elizabeth responded, no longer able to care if Mr. Darcy exposed the gaps in her education.

“I find his work to be attractive and intelligible, but beyond that I cannot in all honesty go.”

“I cannot say that I take a traditionalist approach to painting myself,” he said carefully, “but I do have a fondness for the fine use of line and curve in a naturalistic style.”

“I must take your word for it, since I do not pretend to understand your meaning,” she responded somewhat flatly. Their eyes met and held, with sparks of friction rather than of affection, as he realized her effort to separate herself from him.
Oh, that this evening would only end, and free me
from this hopelessness!
she thought, but she could not deny the attraction that made her long to look at him and be by his side.

He would not be cowed quite so easily, though. “Perhaps, Miss Bennet, you would permit me to show you what I mean,” he said, accepting her gauntlet. “Mrs. Gardiner, Mr. Gardiner, would you have an interest in viewing our small gallery here?”

As her aunt and uncle expressed their desire to do so, elizabeth considered for a moment refusing the opportunity, but realized that such behaviour would make more of the matter than seemed necessary. she joined him as he led them down a hallway. As they walked, she noted that the furnishings were neither gaudy nor fine; with less of splendour, and more real elegance, than the furniture of rosings—his taste was one more part of him she might admire.

elizabeth, wishing for the sake of her own pride for Mr. Darcy to know that she had not expected to encounter him that evening, began by observ-107

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ing as they went that she had been unaware of the location of the day’s gathering until they were nearly there, and added an apology for intruding upon an invitation clearly meant for her aunt and uncle.

Darcy’s disappointment in her words was so great that he was at a loss for a moment. so she had not meant to indicate any form of forgiveness by her presence—it had been too much to hope for, in any case. After a moment he began to feel for her position, however, and said, “Miss Bennet, you need never apologize to me; you are very welcome here.”
So welcome
that I would happily keep you here when your aunt and uncle take their leave!

he thought wryly.

elizabeth coloured at his words, but was spared the need to respond by arriving at the gallery. Mr. Darcy now called her to look at a picture.

she took her place beside him, not without feeling that magnetism which called to her so strongly, and she wondered, as they viewed the painting, whether he was feeling any of the same, and what regrets he might have for how matters had turned out. “This, Miss Bennet, is by Georges de la tour, and it is one of my particular favourites in the collection here. you see how he portrays the Virgin as a near-hypnotic figure, yet still with intense naturalism. And here in these lines we can see his characteristic simplification of forms, yet still with great attention to detail.” He reached around her to indicate a portion of the painting. elizabeth was far more conscious of how this movement brought him closer to her than she was of the subject he was pointing out.

she groped for coherent words for her reply. “The figures appear almost luminous.” she heard the Gardiners in the background, commenting on another picture to Georgiana.

“yes, I find that quite striking,” he said quietly, in a voice that left her unsure as to his actual meaning. “And over here is another of my favourites—it is an etching, a self-portrait by rembrandt. notice how the light from the window illuminates him and the drawing table while the rest of the room is in darkness—his use of chiaroscuro seems to add depth and drama to the scene.”

Under the guise of examining the picture more closely, she drew away from him slightly. His presence was too disturbing to her, and his tone unsettling—it was almost intimate, and it fluttered her pulses far more than she would care to admit. she bit her lip, wondering what his intent was—108