Mr. Darcy’s sister, Georgiana, to Elizabeth’s surprise, did not seem so proud as her brother. She seemed, instead, to be rather shy and reserved.
As for Mr. Pettigrew and Lord Northover, they had just been out in the country and were very much chilled by the experience, which accounted for their rudeness in going straight to the fire without addressing the assembly.
“We’ll be going shooting tomorrow,” Mr. Pettigrew said. “Perhaps you will join us, Mr. Darcy, and you, Mr. Bingley? The steward here, chap named McGinty, says there’s a covey of pheasants for each of us and then some. What do you say?”
Elizabeth watched as Mr. Darcy, who had been cornered by Caroline Bingley, seemed to hesitate before saying, “Yes. I should like to join you.”
“Excellent!” Mr. Pettigrew said. “And what about the ladies? Will you, Miss Georgiana, care to join us on the hunt?”
Caroline and Mrs. Hurst exchanged glances at this invitation but did not deign to reply. Georgiana, who had been addressed directly, cast her gaze down. “I’m afraid I do not shoot,” she said. She began to color, and Elizabeth rushed to her aid instinctively.
“I don’t like to shoot either,” Elizabeth said lightly. “I will leave that to the gentlemen. Of course, I will assist in eating the pheasants.”
She noticed that Darcy laughed at this. For the first time he made eye contact with her, and when their eyes met, he held her gaze. Just for a second or two, but long enough for her to notice. She looked away first, and when she looked back, he was engaged in discussion with Mr. Pettigrew about tomorrow’s shooting party.
“It is so good to meet you finally,” Georgiana said. She was smiling, and Elizabeth smiled at her in return. “I’ve heard so much about you from my brother.”
Indeed? This surprised Elizabeth, but on reflection, given his proposal to her, she ought not to be surprised. “Permit me to apologize for my shortcomings,” Elizabeth said lightly.
“Oh, no!” said Georgiana, coloring again. “I meant it as a compliment. He uses you as a good example, one that I ought to aspire to.
“You see, my brother is of the opinion that I’m too shy in company and often mentions that you have the confidence to speak your mind.”
Elizabeth wondered whether this was truly a compliment or more in the nature of a criticism, but she said, “Your brother is too kind.”
“He also says that you play the pianoforte wonderfully.” Georgiana’s blue eyes widened and she regarded Elizabeth with what could only be characterized as innocence. “I wish I could have the confidence to play for others. Not that I could play as well as you, of course, but I find myself unable to concentrate when people are looking at me.”
“Well, I play so poorly, that I overwhelm my listeners’ capacity for criticism,” Elizabeth said, her expression solemn.
“Oh no! My brother says that you play beautifully. And, what’s more, you sing as well.”
“Do you not sing?” Elizabeth asked.
“I can sing,” Georgiana said shyly. “But not for others. Singing is even harder than playing.”
“Sometimes, the best singers are the most critical of their performance, while those of less ability have more confidence,” said Elizabeth, thinking of her sister Mary. “It’s my theory that the better singers also have a better ear.”
“Well, I’m sure that I have neither,” said Georgiana. “I was able to play for Mr. Pettigrew and Lord Northover when they dined with us. Although they were in the lounge while I was in the drawing room.”
“And she played splendidly!” said Mr. Pettigrew, who had joined them. “I have never heard finer playing. I should give anything to hear you sing.”
At this Georgiana blushed and bowed her head.
“Of course, you need not perform in public,” Mr. Pettigrew said with concern in his voice. “You could play just for me. It would be a good way for you to practice, and gain confidence.”
Georgiana seemed about to respond when Elizabeth noticed Jane entering the drawing room. “Excuse me,” Elizabeth said and began to walk towards Jane who was standing just inside the doorway surveying the room.
But before she could get to her sister, Mr. Bingley was at Jane’s side.
Chapter 10, The Shooting Party
December 23, 1812
The crack of a shotgun discharging shattered the cold winter air and Darcy saw a brightly colored pheasant tumble out of the steel gray sky. Then another loud report and another bird came spiraling down.
“Mark another for me,” cried out Mr. Pettigrew. “Have your money ready, Bingley.”
“Not so fast,” Mr. Bingley replied, and Darcy heard another report from the shotgun. “I’m not done yet!”