Page 38 of The Slipper Scandal
"A difficult proposition," Elizabeth replied. "I sometimes wonder if we ever truly know our own hearts until they are tested."
"Tested?"
"By circumstance. By time." She hesitated. "By unexpected encounters that challenge our most firmly held convictions."
A small muscle worked in Mr. Darcy's jaw. "I have found that first impressions, while powerful, are not always complete."
Elizabeth felt her cheeks warm. Was he referring to their own first meeting? The memory of her dismissal of him as proud and officious rose uncomfortably in her mind. How different he seemed now, in this quiet corner of the exhibition.
"My father often says that true understanding requires patience," she said. He told her so quite often, for she was not, by nature, a patient woman. "That we must give time for a fuller picture to emerge."
"Your father sounds like a wise man."
"He is," Elizabeth agreed, then added more quietly, "though even wisdom does not guarantee contentment."
Mr. Darcy looked at her questioningly, but before he could speak, they were interrupted by the return of Arabella and Colonel Fitzwilliam.
“Are you finished already?” Elizabeth asked.
"Lizzy, Mr. Darcy," Arabella called, her cheeks flushed with excitement. "We have just learned that there is to be a demonstration of exotic birdsong in the main hall. Apparently, a friend of Mr. Bullock has acquired several living specimens and has agreed to show them now because the crowds are lighter."
"We thought you might wish to join us," the colonel added, glancing between Elizabeth and his cousin with undisguised curiosity.
Elizabeth felt oddly reluctant to end her conversation with Mr. Darcy. Something important had been hovering just beyondarticulation, some understanding she had been approaching. Yet perhaps it was better this way.
"How interesting," she replied, gathering herself. "I should very much like to hear that."
As they made their way towards the main hall, Elizabeth found herself walking slightly ahead with Arabella, who immediately whispered, "You and Mr. Darcy seemed deep in conversation. Has he improved upon further acquaintance?"
"He is not entirely as I first judged him," Elizabeth admitted reluctantly.
"High praise from you," Arabella teased. "Colonel Fitzwilliam speaks very well of his cousin. He says there is no better man in a crisis, nor a more loyal friend."
Elizabeth glanced back at Mr. Darcy, who was engaged in conversation with the colonel. There was an ease to his bearing when speaking with his cousin that she rarely saw elsewhere. He caught her looking and offered a small, almost hesitant smile that sent an unexpected warmth through her chest.
"Perhaps," she said slowly, "I have been too hasty in my judgments."
"The great Elizabeth Bennet, admitting she might be wrong? The world must surely be ending." Arabella laughed, then grew more serious. "I know your wishes, Lizzy, and I will help as I have promised. However, I have noticed a change in him when he is near you. A softening. It is rather charming."
Elizabeth said nothing, but as they entered the main hall, she found herself wondering what it might be like to give this engagement the time her father had suggested. To allow herself to discover the man behind the reserve, without the weight of her fears pressing upon her.
The demonstration was about to begin, with chairs arranged before a collection of elaborate cages covered in velvet cloths.Mr. Darcy took the seat beside her, their shoulders nearly touching in the crowded space.
"Miss Bennet," he said quietly, "I hope we might continue our conversation another time."
"I would like that," she replied, surprising herself with the sincerity of her response.
As the sheets were removed from the cages, revealing birds of brilliant plumage, Elizabeth felt an unexpected parallel to her own situation. She had been viewing Mr. Darcy through a veil of preconception, seeing only what she expected to see. What might be revealed if she allowed that veil to be lifted?
Yet even as the thought formed, an image rose to meet it, that of her father's weary expression whenever her mother's nerves overwhelmed his patience, the pained resignation that had settled into his features over years of a mismatched union. He was in a cage too. They both were. To risk such a fate for herself, to become an object of regret, to have her husband's regret rather than his respect . . .
The birds erupted in song, their exotic calls filling the hall. Elizabeth stole a glance at Mr. Darcy beside her. His expression as he observed the birds was one of genuine wonder, a spark of the same boyish delight she had glimpsed when they had spoken of the animals on display, and she felt an aching inside that was neither wholly pleasant nor entirely unwelcome.
Chapter Eleven
The day after he saw Miss Bennet at Bullock’s, Darcy was shown into his Aunt Matlock's private sitting room at Matlock House, a sanctuary of refined taste where she composed her most important correspondence and received only her most intimate acquaintances. Her favourite collection of small Roman antiquities was prominently displayed on shelves that ran the length of one wall.
There was a great deal of difference between Lady Matlock's pieces and those at Bullock's, but he could appreciate both. His aunt's pieces were fewer but finer, each one selected with discerning judgement rather than gathered for spectacle. Lady Matlock had always believed that quality transcended quantity, a philosophy she applied to art, acquaintances, and family connections alike.
