Page 27 of The Briar Bargain
"Charming," Miss Bingley declared, her tone dripping with condescension.
"Such a simple, lovely piece," her sister added.
“There is such an elegance in simplicity, is there not? Elizabeth plays with a grace that makes it seem quite the easiest thing in the world," Jane said, her expression all fond pride.
Elizabeth smiled to herself. Jane’s temper was mild, but not infinitely so. Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley would do well to acquaint themselves with its boundaries.
Miss Bingley flounced into a chair near the fire and snapped her fan open so sharply Elizabeth half expected to hear the hinge protest. Jane’s gentle resistance had not only robbed her of words but left her on the brink of a sulk. Elizabeth caught her sister’s eye, and without a single word exchanged, she knew Jane saw it too. There was a striking resemblance between Miss Bingley and Lydia, their youngest sister, in one of her less dignified moods.
Mrs. Hurst settled at the pianoforte with all the solemnity of a duchess. But the first few notes had barely drifted out when Mr. Hurst, who had only just dozed off, startled awake.
“Louisa,” he said loudly, blinking like an owl in the sunlight, “is that the same piece you were massacring this morning? I distinctly remember hiding in the billiard room to escape it.”
Mrs. Hurst’s fingers faltered on the keys, and even Miss Bingley’s fan froze mid-flutter. Mr. Bingley raised a hand to his mouth and cleared his throat, but Elizabeth suspected it was to hide his laughter.
She would have felt more sympathy for Mrs. Hurst had the woman not just insulted her.
“Mr. Hurst!” his wife exclaimed, and stopped playing altogether. “How can you be so indelicate?”
“Indelicate?” Mr. Hurst looked genuinely confused. "I merely pointed out that you have been practicing the same passages repeatedly. Surely that is a commitment to improvement?" He waved a hand in the direction of the pianoforte. “It sounds a good deal better now.”
The innocent bewilderment in his tone suggested that he truly had not intended any insult, which somehow made everything worse.
Mrs. Hurst huffed, stood, and announced her intention to retire. Once the door closed behind her, Mr. Hurst rose with a huff and followed her like a man being led to the gallows.
"Perhaps," Mr. Darcy said into the awkward silence that ensued, "we might prevail upon Miss Bennet to favour us with a performance? I believe we have not yet had that pleasure."
Elizabeth was surprised. That had come from nowhere.
“I do not play, Mr. Darcy,” Jane said with quiet grace.
“Jane sings,” Elizabeth offered helpfully, and turned to her sister. “Would you like me to play for you?”
“Oh, please do,” Mr. Bingley said at once, his face alight with boyish eagerness.
“Are you well enough to play again?” Jane asked gently.
“I am,” Elizabeth said. She took her place at the instrument without further comment. Miss Bingley’s fan snapped shut with an audible click, her smile now stretched so tight it seemed in danger of cracking.
Elizabeth would remain at the instrument forever if only to witness whether Miss Bingley’s face might finally shatter under the strain.
Jane’s singing was, as ever, a quiet triumph. Pure and sincere, entirely devoid of the affected embellishments most ladies employed. Elizabeth glanced at Mr. Bingley and found him leaning forward slightly as though drawn by a force beyond his control.
And then there was Mr. Darcy. He was watching, yes, but not in the distracted, polite way she might have expected. No, there was calculation in his gaze, as though he were observing not just Jane’s performance but everyone’s responses, weighing each like a general plotting his next move.
When the song ended, applause followed, warm and unforced.
“Absolutely splendid,” Mr. Bingley said, practically glowing.
Elizabeth took pride in Jane’s effortless grace. But then Mr. Darcy spoke, his voice rich and surprisingly soft.
“Indeed. It seems talent is a family trait.”
Elizabeth blinked. Was that . . . acompliment? From Mr. Darcy?
“You are very obliging, sir,” she said lightly, arching a brow. “But I believe you overestimate us. We are hardly a family of prodigies.”
“Perhaps not,” Darcy replied, the faintest twitch of a smile playing at his lips, “but there is often more value in unpretentious skill than in grand displays.”
