Thanks so much for all the reviews, favorites, follows, and reads this week! I really appreciate the encouragement and assistance more than I can express :)
And thanks to my betas, Sara and Dawn, who have put hours and hours into this story!
Please let me know if you notice any mistakes. I do try my best but things slip through the cracks.
Copyright 2020 Elizabeth Frerichs
Darcy once more stilled his fidgeting toes. Bingley shifted in his chair, straightening and slumping as though he were about to stand and then forcing himself to stay seated, awaiting the moment when it would be proper to return to the ladies after dinner. The day had been a long one: In addition to the usual work of keeping up with his own affairs and helping Bingley sort through Netherfield's strengths and areas of growth, he had been waylaid into walking in the garden with Miss Bingley. She had spent the time teasing him further with suggestions for managing the Bennets in such a way as to aid his domestic felicity should he marry Miss Elizabeth. He had rather enjoyed Miss Elizabeth's set-down of the Bingley sisters when she and Mrs. Hurst found them in the garden. She had managed to liken both Bingley sisters to bovines without either of them realising it. Darcy's lips twitched in a minute smile. Her sharp wit left him without doubt that she would manage the ton admirably—far better than Miss Bingley or her ilk ever could. It was really too bad that she came from such an unsuitable family.
But, in the meantime, he intended to enjoy her company to the fullest, and tonight she had announced that Miss Bennet would accompany her to the drawing-room after dinner. Presumably, that meant she would be free to stay the entire evening rather than dashing up to her sister's room at intervals. As he had once again been seated as far from the lady as possible, he had not yet had an opportunity to ascertain her well-being, in doubt after her episode the night before. She had not seemed to be suffering any lingering effects this morning in the garden, but he wished another opportunity to study her—both for her beauty's sake and for his own peace of mind.
When finally they could adjourn to the drawing-room, Darcy retained iron control over his footsteps, ensuring a measured tread. His breath caught in his chest as he entered: Miss Elizabeth was bent over her sister, a smile playing about her lips, tenderness in every line of her expression as she adjusted Miss Bennet's shawl, and the firelight flickered across her face as though caressing the contours, shrouding her in mystery. He did not think he had ever seen such loveliness from the women of the ton.
"Mr. Darcy!" Miss Bingley called sharply. "Would you care for some tea?"
Darcy, recalled to his surroundings, merely nodded before going over to Miss Bennet and congratulating her for her return to health. He then retreated to a corner with his cup of tea, content to soak in Miss Elizabeth's beauty and wit as she conversed with the others. She appeared to be fully recovered from her upset of the previous night. There was no trace of unease in her bearing, except perhaps that she had yet to meet his eyes. But that could easily be explained by her devotion to her sister.
Unfortunately, Miss Bingley persisted in requiring his attention to such a degree that he finally determined to immerse himself in a book. He had brought with him a two-volume set on crop-rotation which had been residing in the drawing-room lately; he had brought them down to loan them to Bingley, and his friend had not yet availed himself of their information (nor had Bingley remembered to take them back to his own room). The first volume he now took up, intending to remind himself of some of Mr. Horton's theories in conjunction with a field at Pemberley.
He had just settled himself in a chair when Miss Bingley dropped onto the settee next to him, the second volume in hand. His lips tightened. It was not the first ridiculous gambit for his attention she had engaged in, and it would not be the last. Better to ignore it.
Unfortunately, Miss Bingley was not at all content to merely read the book. Darcy scarcely made it through a page before being plagued by another question. However, he soldiered on, providing one-word answers in the name of politeness, certain it would be preferable than giving even the smallest crumb of extra attention to the rapacious woman.
Finally, she gave a great yawn, carelessly dropped his book on the floor, and attempted a conversation about balls and whether he would be happy to have Bingley hold one at Netherfield. When that failed, she then suggested that Miss Elizabeth might take a turn about the room with her.
Darcy cast startled eyes on Miss Elizabeth as she stood. What new stratagem was Miss Bingley attempting? Without thinking about it, he closed his book and rested it on his lap.
"Mr. Darcy, perhaps you would like to join us," Miss Bingley called the moment the book was shut.
Ah. So that was how she intended to gain his attention. Better rather to foil her. "No, thank you," he replied. He suppressed a smile as he realised that the woman had provided the perfect opportunity for him to continue his flirtation with Miss Elizabeth. "I can imagine but two motives for your choosing to walk up and down the room together, either of which my presence would interfere with."
"What can you mean?" Miss Bingley demanded, a sly smile gracing her lips, the cat confident in its eventual triumph. "I am dying to know your meaning!"
Darcy did not answer as he did not care to address his response to her.
Miss Bingley turned to Miss Elizabeth, who denied having any idea what he intended but counselled her to pay no attention to his comment. Miss Bingley ignored this response and asked once more to which two motives Darcy had referred.
Darcy fixed his gaze on Miss Elizabeth. "I have not the smallest objection to explaining them: you either choose this method of passing the evening because you are in each other's confidence, and have secret affairs to discuss, or because you are conscious that your figures appear to the greatest advantage in walking—if the first, I should be completely in your way, and if the second, I can admire you much better as I sit by the fire."
Miss Elizabeth's cheeks immediately grew rosy and her gaze dropped to the floor.
Miss Bingley held up a hand as though to hide a blush. "Oh! Shocking! I have never heard anything so abominable," she said prettily. "How shall we punish him for such a speech?" she asked Miss Elizabeth.
Miss Elizabeth held Darcy's gaze for a moment, her chin coming up as though she were mentally preparing for battle, before turning to Miss Bingley. "Nothing so easy, if you have but the inclination; we can all plague and punish one another. Tease him—laugh at him. Intimate as you are, you must know how it is to be done."
A quiver of unease settled into Darcy's stomach. That was not at all what he had envisioned. Then again, Miss Elizabeth had never followed the rules of polite flirtation—perhaps she was not well-versed in the art, and this was her awkward attempt at responding?
Elizabeth kept her attention fixed on Miss Bingley. She did not know what Mr. Darcy was about. Had the events of the previous day not occurred, she would have said that the man was trying to discomfit her (he seemed to delight in needling a response from her—presumably in order to obtain fodder for his unrelenting disapproval) or clumsily trying to flirt with Miss Bingley.
Now . . . she could not say. The glimpse of true concern in his eyes last night had left her at sixes and sevens. Was he attempting to flirt with her rather than with Miss Bingley? It seemed hardly likely—after all, Mr. Darcy had proven from the first that he had no interest in women who did not match up to Jane's beauty—but, after several days' worth of watching them interact, she could conclude that his manner with Miss Bingley did not seem to offer the slightest encouragement to the rapacious woman. And the way he had stared right at her when making his comment left Elizabeth even more confused.
After overhearing Miss Bingley mocking the idea of Mr. Darcy marrying into the Bennet family (and Mr. Darcy's subsequent refusal to call a halt to the farce), she had been certain he had no intention of pursuing her. Of course the Letter said that he was overcome with his feelings and had forgotten the extreme detriment of her relatives . . . Well, regardless, he had once again proven himself to be arrogant and rude in the extreme. If Mr. Darcy was going to attempt to mock her once again, she would not hesitate to return the favour. And even if that were not his intent, she refused to present even the slightest appearance that she was at all interested in him or wishing for his attention.
Miss Bingley of course protested that Mr. Darcy could not be laughed at as he did not possess anything that left him open to teasing.
Mr. Darcy cleared his throat. "Miss Bingley has given me credit for more than can be. The wisest and the best of men—nay, the wisest and best of their actions—may be rendered ridiculous by a person whose first object in life is a joke."
Was the man implying that she had such an object? "Certainly there are such people, but I hope I am not one of them. I hope I never ridicule what is wise or good. Follies and nonsense, whims and inconsistencies, do divert me, I own, and I laugh at them whenever someone provides me with the opportunity," Elizabeth said evenly, reminding herself that it was indeed far better to laugh at the man's ridiculous arrogance and awkwardness than to allow herself to be hurt by his opinions.
"Oh, but Mr. Darcy does not possess any of these!" Miss Bingley interjected.
"Perhaps that is not possible for any one. But it has been the study of my life to avoid those weaknesses which often expose a strong understanding to ridicule," Mr. Darcy said firmly.
"Such as vanity and pride," Elizabeth riposted.
"Yes, vanity is a weakness indeed. But pride—where there is a real superiority of mind, pride will be always under good regulation."
Elizabeth suppressed a huff of annoyance and disbelief. This was the person whose opinion had so shaken her?
"Your examination of Mr. Darcy is over, I presume," Miss Bingley put in. "And, pray, what is the result?"
"If pride is now a virtue, I am perfectly convinced by it that Mr. Darcy has no defect. He owns it himself without disguise."
Mr. Darcy shook his head. "No. I have made no such pretension. I have faults enough, but they are not, I hope, of understanding. My temper I dare not vouch for. It is, I believe, too little yielding—certainly too little for the convenience of the world. I cannot forget the follies and vices of others so soon as I ought, nor their offences against myself. My feelings are not puffed about with every attempt to move them. My temper would perhaps be called resentful. My good opinion once lost is lost forever."
Elizabeth hesitated, trying to square this with the Letter-writer's comments regarding Mr. Bingley and Jane and Mr. Wickham's behaviour (if such a person did indeed exist and had indeed attempted such injuries to Miss Darcy). His opinion did seem fixed—she had lost his good opinion through nothing more than a failure to measure up to Jane's beauty, and, although she would never desire to regain the opinion of such a shallow, arrogant person, it appeared impossible to succeed in such an endeavour. If only that glimmer of concern had remained hidden and she could wholeheartedly hold to her first opinions on the matter.
Miss Bingley slowed, and Elizabeth was recalled to the conversation at hand.
"That is a failing indeed! Implacable resentment is a shade in a character. But you have chosen your fault well. I really cannot laugh at it. You are safe from me," Elizabeth told him gravely.
"There is, I believe, in every disposition a tendency to some particular evil—a natural defect, which not even the best education can overcome," Mr. Darcy said a trifle pompously.
Elizabeth smiled coolly. "And your defect is a propensity to hate everybody," she said, thinking of his determination not to be pleased by anyone or anything (save his friend and presumably his sister—although if he were as difficult to live with as she imagined he must be, perhaps his sister had had other motives for attempting an elopement than that of fancying herself in love). And of course his pride, but as the man was determined to think it a virtue rather than a defect, there was little she could say on that front.
"And yours," he replied, with a superior smile, "is wilfully to misunderstand them."
Elizabeth did not reply.
Miss Bingley immediately suggested music instead of continuing the conversation, going at once to the pianoforte. Elizabeth returned to her seat and her study of Mr. Bingley and Jane. That gentleman took the opportunity provided by the music to scoot his chair closer—presumably the better to converse over the enthusiastic sounds with which his sister was filling the room. Jane practically glowed under Mr. Bingley's attentions.
It was like watching a disaster in the making—Jane, naturally cautious, was now allowing herself to form an attachment with Mr. Bingley and there was nothing Elizabeth could do to prevent what seemed likely to happen if Mr. Darcy had his way.
A mere twenty-four hours later, Darcy paced his room, unable to settle to the sleep he had ostensibly been desirous of. The Bennets were leaving on the morrow; Miss Bennet had announced the news at breakfast that morning. Mindful of the undue attention he had given Miss Elizabeth the previous evening by admiring her figure, he had resolved not to fan any flame of expectation she might be harbouring. Thus, he had spent the entirety of the day avoiding her or ignoring her (or at least presenting the semblance of ignoring her—the half hour he had spent sitting with her in the library had been spent in the strictest of silence, however, he could not recall a word of what he had been supposedly reading as he had been too engrossed in cataloguing the tender amusement that passed over her features as she read). And tonight, he had claimed fatigue and retired early so as to avoid any flirtation Miss Elizabeth might initiate.
He took a deep breath, trying to still the unrest even now pulsing through his veins. Miss Elizabeth was lovely and witty and fascinating, yes, but she was not for him. She could not uphold the honour of the Darcy name—an alliance with the Bennets would be a stain upon all that he held dear. So, although this had been a pleasant interlude, that was all it had been.
Darcy stopped his pacing and stood in front of the window, determined to drive Miss Elizabeth from his thoughts. Moonlight flooded the landscape, turning the tattered remnants of autumn leaves into silvery pennants, and mysterious shadows dappled the tree trunks below, dancing as the wind whirled through the near-empty branches. The stars twinkled above, much as Miss Elizabeth's eyes twinkled. He imagined the curve of her lips reflected in the moon's gentle crescent. Perhaps the serenity of the night was only a mask covering deeper amusement from some heavenly being.
A groan tore from Darcy's throat. He could not even contemplate the night sky without seeing Miss Elizabeth! This was ridiculous! He cursed his lack of self-control, Bingley's capriciousness that had led them to this out-of-the-way neighbourhood . . . the Bennets' circumstances and crassness. He could not imagine a worse fate than to be forced to endure their absurd vulgarity on a regular basis.
Of course Pemberley was quite far from here.
No! Darcy's jaw tightened, and he snuffed out the thought at once. He refused to entertain the smallest hint, even to himself, that it would be acceptable to turn his back on what he owed to the Darcy name.
It was good that her family was so horrid—it would keep him from making a wretched mistake. It was his duty to marry, but surely there was a woman like Miss Elizabeth who upheld the things his father had valued: position, wealth, and family. After all, his mother had been kind and witty and she had been the daughter of an earl. He had only to continue to be patient, and eventually a woman worthy of him would present herself.
In the meantime, he needed only to regain strict control over his thoughts, to eschew every pathway of thought that led to Miss Elizabeth, lest he put himself in real danger.
It would be pleasant to have Netherfield once more empty of Bennets. There would be no further risk of encountering the unpleasant members of the family, and his thoughts would be less prone to turn to Miss Elizabeth—not to mention that Miss Bingley would hopefully subside back into her previous, more tolerable, behaviour; she had been horrid to Miss Elizabeth and far more teasing to him in her presence. Perhaps she would leave off her continuing witticisms about his life should he marry into the Bennet family.
A thought struck him: no wonder his unguarded mind had suggested such a scenario—Miss Bingley was putting it in his head. Warm relief flooded his chest; he had not been so lost to duty as to entertain such a thought on his own. He was safe from Miss Elizabeth Bennet.
Elizabeth studied Kitty from under lowered lids as they sat at breakfast Monday morning. Her sister's cough had increased as Lydia's wild re-telling of the previous few days' gossip had dragged on. Elizabeth had thought that they must have heard (and discussed) all possible happenings from the past five days, but Lydia apparently felt the need to relive the events again on the grounds that "they could not have been paying close attention since they had likely been fatigued from their stay at Netherfield." Kitty had been eagerly participating in the conversation, nary a cough in sight, until Lydia exclaimed over her several times, clearly ignoring everything her sister said. Then Kitty's cough had begun acting up, and she had subsided into wounded silence. No one else appeared to notice.
"Would you please pass the eggs, Lizzy?" Mrs. Bennet called in frosty tones. "If it is not too much trouble for you."
Elizabeth suppressed a grimace of annoyance and passed the plate of eggs that sat in front of her. Their mother had not been pleased by their return; she was convinced that Jane ought to have stayed at Netherfield until at least Tuesday so as to make their stay a full week, ostensibly for the sake of her cold. Rather than blame Jane for their return, she had decided it must have been Elizabeth who had been too selfish to assist Jane in securing Mr. Bingley (and healing from her cold, of course), and so she had alternated between icy silences and haranguing Elizabeth for her selfishness and unwillingness to trouble herself for her sisters.
At least their father had been pleased to see them. Yesterday, he had been so happy as to warmly declare that sense had returned to the house. Glancing up the table at her father, she noticed a certain twinkle in his eye that presaged further uproar of some sort.
He dabbed his mouth with a napkin and looked up at his wife. "I hope, my dear, that you have ordered a good dinner today, because I have reason to expect an addition to our family party."
Though Mrs. Bennet requested further information, Mr. Bennet continued to toy with her, trailing out one hint after another until everyone but Elizabeth began lobbing questions at him in a cacophony of demands for information. Elizabeth, though normally just as likely to participate in the questioning, could not do aught but study her father's amused manner. She was struck by how very much he enjoyed baiting them all, and, rather than dismissing it as one of his quirks, she could not help but be aware of how very unhelpful such entertainment was to his wife and daughters.
Mr. Bennet finally raised his hands as though quieting a throng of adoring fans. "About a month ago I received this letter; and a fortnight ago I answered it, for I thought it a case of some delicacy, and requiring early attention. It is from my cousin, Mr. Collins, who, when I am dead, may turn you all out of this house as soon as he pleases."
Mrs. Bennet put a hand to her heart and began railing against the entail.
Jane again tried to explain the nature of an entail; Elizabeth remained silent, unwilling to fuel her father's farce and, for once, struck with compassion for her mother. They had often attempted to explain the entail, but Mrs. Bennet was beyond the reach of reason and continued to rail bitterly against the cruelty of settling an estate away from a family of five daughters in favour of a man whom nobody cared anything about. Her dispute of the legality of the situation was ridiculous, but Elizabeth could see for the first time that it was founded in real fear.
"It certainly is a most iniquitous affair," Mr. Bennet said affably, "and nothing can clear Mr. Collins from the guilt of inheriting Longbourn. But if you will listen to his letter, you may perhaps be a little softened by his manner of expressing himself." Mr. Bennet withdrew a letter from his coat pocket and put on his spectacles.
The letter contained statements of Mr. Collins's scruples regarding being on good terms with someone his father had disliked until the last, news of his securing patronage by Lady Catherine de Bourgh (and many expressions of her beneficence in offering him a parish), and his intention to therefore, as an example to his parishioners, reconcile with the Bennets. In hopes of proffering an "olive branch," the man expressed his hopes of making amends for his part in the entail and requested leave to visit them and stay til the Saturday se'nnight following.
"At four o'clock, therefore, we may expect this peace-making gentleman," Mr. Bennet said, folding up the letter. "He seems to be a most conscientious and polite young man, upon my word, and I doubt not will prove a valuable acquaintance, especially if Lady Catherine should be so indulgent as to let him come to us again," Mr. Bennet added, a ripple of amusement in his tone.
Elizabeth had been likewise struck by Mr. Collins's extraordinary deference towards Lady Catherine. She did not think she had ever encountered such pomposity coupled with such humility (or at least the appearance of humility). Indeed, she did not think he could be sensible and asked her father if he had formed the same opinion.
A sly smile played around Mr. Bennet's lips. "No, my dear; I think not. I have great hopes of finding him quite the reverse. There is a mixture of servility and self-importance in his letter, which promises well. I am impatient to see him."
Mary set down her fork and leaned forward. "In point of composition, his letter does not seem defective. The idea of the olive branch perhaps is not wholly new, yet I think it is well expressed," she said seriously.
Mr. Bennet returned to his breakfast without replying, and Elizabeth was conscious of a slight slump in Mary's shoulders. Were all her sisters suffering under their parents' neglect? For a moment, she considered agreeing with Mary in hopes of bolstering her sister's spirits, but she had no desire to prompt a flood of moralising. If only Mary would take the lack of encouragement as a hint to change her behaviour. Or if only she would find other interests.
Lydia returned to her regurgitation of the regiment-related news, and Kitty did not comment on Mr. Collins at all. Sadly, Elizabeth was not surprised—the hold the regiment had taken upon her two youngest sisters was far greater than anything she could have expected. Their flirtatiousness had grown tenfold by the simple expedient of having so many willing participants at hand. She could only hope that their poor behaviour did not make Mr. Collins unwilling to assist with the entail (whatever that might mean).
At least, if nothing else, Mr. Collins would provide a welcome distraction from the thoughts that circled through her mind like dreadful birds of omen.