Arrangements were made for the overnight stay of Jane and Elizabeth. Fires were lit, beds were turned down, and nightdresses were procured with such efficiency as could only be accomplished under the competent direction of an excellent housekeeper and by a staff who toiled with an amiable diligence born from an affectionate respect for a master—even a master of only a few weeks. And so, before the conclusion of supper, rooms for the ladies, and a bed for their servant, were prepared.
Supper itself was a quiet affair. Mr. Hurst had expressed a desire for a game of cards and had secured the support of his wife and sister-in-law, but was unsuccessful in finding a fourth to form a table, for the other young ladies had no fondness for cards, and the other gentlemen had no wish to desert the other ladies. This was especially true of Mr. Bingley, who, being now at liberty to choose his own seat, inquired after the place beside Miss Bennet and, having obtained from her leave to take it, sat down by her, and talked scarcely to anyone else. Miss Darcy and Elizabeth conversed, Mr. Darcy read a book in a nearby armchair, and Mr. Hurst soothed his disappointment over the cards by promptly falling asleep on a sofa. Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst, with no other present entertainment, amused themselves and the rest of the party with duets at the pianoforte. In this employment Miss Bingley more than once attempted to include Miss Darcy, for no one played so well as she, and Miss Eliza could easily spare her, but without success. Once she solicited the support of Mr. Darcy in urging his sister to play, as he knew better than anyone the universal pleasure her playing would give, but he, without glancing up from his book, informed Miss Bingley that if his sister was not inclined to perform, he would not make her. Had the storm not been so loud, Miss Bingley would not have been required to stand so very near Mr. Darcy and incline her head to his ear when she made her request—which is perhaps just as well, for had she called to Darcy from her seat at the instrument and had he given her the denial he gave now at a like volume to carry his voice to her, she might have felt embarrassed. As it was, no one else in the room knew what had passed between them, not even Miss Darcy and Elizabeth, though they were seated but a few feet away.
The exchange did not go unnoticed by Elizabeth, and she watched Miss Bingley return to the instrument with a single brow raised. She swept her eyes back to Darcy, but his attitude, with his body leaning into his left elbow which rested upon the arm of the chair, and his left hand which held his jaw and concealed his mouth, and his right hand which cradled the fascinating tome, was apparently unmoved.
The entrance of Mrs. Pearson, Netherfield's housekeeper, brought the announcement that the guests' rooms were ready. Jane and Elizabeth, noting the lateness of the hour and suddenly appreciating how tired they both were, rose to bid their hosts goodnight and followed Mrs. Pearson to their rooms. The rooms were large and comfortable, and so Jane and Elizabeth slept as soundly as one lying in a strange bed amidst a violent thunderstorm could be expected to sleep.
Darcy was first at breakfast the following morning. This being not at all an uncommon occurrence, he was by no means surprised to find the breakfast-room empty. What did surprise him, as he sat down and opened the morning newspaper, was who entered the breakfast parlour a few moments later.
"Good morning, Mr. Darcy," said Miss Bingley.
Miss Bingley was not one to make others wait for their meal by arriving late to breakfast, but being a fashionable woman, her careful attentions to her morning toilette prevented her from ever appearing at breakfast early.
"How unexpected," she continued, "to find you here alone! I trust you slept well last night, despite the tempest?"
"I did," replied Darcy. "And you?"
"Oh, quite well."
Darcy gave a small nod and returned his attention to the paper. Miss Bingley eyed him for a moment, then sauntered across the room to a window.
"I see the rain continues," said she, "but much less than yesterday. Not capital weather for travelling, but fine enough."
Mr. Darcy made no reply.
"I will be sorry to see our guests go; Miss Bennet is such a sweet girl. Soon we will have to rely on ourselves for entertainment. How shall we manage it, Mr. Darcy? Perhaps we can borrow subjects of conversation from our guests." Miss Bingley turned from the window to Darcy. "What, for instance, did you and Miss Eliza find so engaging last night at dinner?"
"We discussed the assembly," answered Darcy without shifting his eyes from his paper.
"Did you, indeed? How astonishing! I cannot imagine what about a small, country dance could have fascinated you, Mr. Darcy, particularly many days after the event. I have not known you to feign interest in anything. Have you finally learnt a little polite deception?"
"Not at all. Deception of any kind is despicable."
Miss Bingley's lips pursed and her eyes narrowed. She attempted a light-hearted smile, but with her eyes still squinting it looked more like a sneer.
"Well, I do not suppose she could have spoken much of her dance partners, for she had so few. I do wonder how a young woman can be considered a local beauty when she cannot secure a partner for every dance."
"Indeed, and a pity too for she dances remarkably well."
The door to the breakfast room opened and Mr. Bingley strode in. Whatever Miss Bingley felt about Mr. Darcy's reply she concealed by abruptly turning back to the window.
"Good morning, Darcy," greeted Bingley. "I say, Caroline! I did not expect to see you so early. Good morning!" He seated himself and leaned forward. "So, what are we discussing?"
Miss Bingley persisted in facing the window, so Darcy supplied the answer: "Your sister was remarking how sorry she will be to see Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth leave."
"Were you?" replied Bingley with a note of delighted surprise. "Well, then I bring you very good tidings. Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth will be remaining with us."
Miss Bingley whipped around and looked wide-eyed at her brother for the first time that morning. "What? Have you asked them? You did not think to first consult me?"
"I have not asked them yet. I won't be asking them at all, in fact. The storm last night uprooted a tree that now lays across the road to Longbourn. And all this rain has created so much mud that it cannot be shifted, not without risking the legs of several sturdy horses. No, I am sorry to say that, for the foreseeable future, our guests have no way of getting home." This Mr. Bingley pronounced with the expected degree of solemnity, though a certain glint in his eye suggested that he was not as sorry as he claimed.
"How dreadful," murmured Miss Bingley as she lowered herself into the nearest chair. Taking this to mean that his sister tenderly felt the unfortunate situation of the Bennet girls, Bingley smiled at his sister sympathetically; Darcy, understanding instead that Miss Bingley was expressing her distaste for this inconvenience, stiffened but did not look at her.
Jane and Elizabeth arrived at breakfast not many minutes later. All in the parlour greeted them, but the most pleasant greeting belonged to Mr. Bingley. Upon their entrance, he not merely rose as Darcy did, or utter a placid "good morning" as Miss Bingley did, but made directly to meet them at the door and welcome them into the room. When they were all once again seated, Bingley informed the girls of the predicament of the road, and entreated them to treat Netherfield as their own home until they were able to return to Longbourn. This invitation to stay was offered with such apparent, unaffected cordiality that it prevented Jane and Elizabeth from feeling so like the intruders they feared they were.
By ten o'clock all were at breakfast, and by eleven, breakfast having concluded, Mr. Bingley was leading Jane, Elizabeth and Georgiana in a tour of the house. The architect of the tour had been Mr. Bingley, and as Miss Bingley had a number of arrangements to make with Mrs. Pearson regarding the prolonged stay of their impromptu guests, he was also thus decided upon as the tour's conductor. This was an office he appeared most willing to fill, and Jane and Elizabeth believed they could not have asked for a pleasanter or more animated guide. In each room they entered Mr. Bingley explained the room's function and all its advantages with enough detail to be interesting but not so much as to be tedious. By Bingley's estimation, no room appeared to have a flaw, for every apparent failing of design or decoration was characterised as adding an individual charm to the house—and his sincere cheerfulness in describing these charming flaws was so compelling that soon his audience agreed with him that the house could hardly be improved upon.
When the tour of the house was complete, Bingley excused himself to attend to his business in his study, and the girls made their way to the drawing room where they met Mrs. Hurst. She and Georgiana occupied themselves with their needlepoint, while Jane and Elizabeth read books they had selected from Bingley's library, occasionally exchanging some idle chat, as the rain continued to gently patter on the window. A couple of hours passed in this fashion until, having set aside her book to accept a cup of tea from Mrs. Hurst, Elizabeth glanced out of the window and noted that the rain had stopped. She drank her tea as swiftly as decorum permitted and then rose to fulfil her stated purpose of taking a turn out of doors while the weather permitted. Though the morning's tour had provided Elizabeth with some exercise, she dearly wished to ramble outside of the house and take in the delicious, earthy odour of country recently washed with rain. Georgiana asked to join her and promptly received hearty welcome, but Jane and Mrs. Hurst declined the invitation to accompany them. Elizabeth hastily fetched her coat, bonnet and gloves from her room, and returned to the entrance hall to await her friend. Five minutes elapsed without the appearance of Miss Darcy, and then five more. Elizabeth had just decided to go in search of her friend when she heard the echo of approaching footsteps. She turned towards the sound with a quip on the virtue of punctuality beginning to form on her lips when she saw to whom the footsteps belonged.
"Georgiana sends her apologies, Miss Elizabeth," said Mr. Darcy as he halted before her. "Miss Bingley had some urgent business requiring my sister's attention, which she insisted could not wait."
"I see," replied Elizabeth. She could not help doubting the urgency of Miss Bingley's business but determined to remain silent on the matter. Preferring not to waste the fine weather, Elizabeth turned to take her walk alone.
"I wonder, Miss Elizabeth," called Darcy, taking a hurried step towards her, "if you might favour me for company on your walk instead."
Surprised but not averse to the proposition, she assented and together they exited the house. In silence they strolled down the gravel drive that swept around the front of the house and into a pretty park that was bordered on one side by wood; the air between them seemed heavy with more that just the damp. When the house was some yards behind them, Darcy, looking straight ahead, stated rather stiffly, "I wish to continue our conversation from last night, if you are willing."
Elizabeth swallowed and answered, "I am."
"Last night at dinner, you expressed a wish to apologise to me. But it is I who must apologise to you." He paused a moment to look at Elizabeth, and then in agitation looked away once more. "On the first two occasions we met in Derbyshire, my behaviour towards you and your relatives was abominable. I shall not—indeed, I ought not—produce any excuse for my actions. My temper, Miss Elizabeth, I dare not vouch for; and I fear that, though another provoked my resentment, I turned that resentment onto you. It was unjustly done—it was unpardonable. I cannot think of it without abhorrence."
For the main part of this speech Elizabeth was dumbfounded, but something in Mr. Darcy's concluding remark sent her mind racing with recognition. She had heard him make a like pronouncement on some earlier occasion, she was certain. And then she remembered: "I cannot look back upon that time without abhorrence." He had said this to her at the assembly about their very first meeting. What bitterness had surged within her as he uttered those words, when she had supposed he regretted her acquaintance, but all the while the regret he expressed was for nothing but his own treatment of her. Amidst the pain of renewed and fiercer shame for her unjust prejudice and inexcusable unkindness, Elizabeth could no longer bear to look at the gentleman she had wronged. She stopped walking and turned her face away from him, and though she fought to remain composed and not betray all she felt, she could not prevent the shameful blush that would rise in her cheeks.
Darcy, noting her silence and that she was no longer beside him, turned to look at her for the first time since beginning his speech.
"I have distressed you," exclaimed he, stepping quickly towards her. "I am sorry to bring to your mind events and expressions so painful to you. To have caused the pain, and now to remind you of it—Miss Elizabeth, can you forgive me?"
What resentment could withstand such supplication? And given almost all of Elizabeth's resentment for Mr. Darcy had been crushed under the weight of her own self-reproach some days prior, that small, feeble remainder had no hope of survival. Moved by his words and anxious to relieve his affliction, Elizabeth looked up and hastened to answer him.
"No, you have not distressed me. My only present pain is my own regret that I prevented you from gaining some relief on this subject earlier. Please be assured, Mr. Darcy, you have my forgiveness."
His shoulders relaxed and a smile hinted softly on his lips.
"You are kind," said he. "I do not presume to ask that you forget how I acted then, or what I said, nor do I dare ask what your opinion of me was. But I do hope that you will allow me to prove myself a better man than I appeared to be when we first met."
Elizabeth gazed into his earnest face and replied, "Of course." And then the playful glint returned to her eyes. "I do recall someone had said around that time that first impressions are hardly to be relied upon."
With a small, knowing smile, Darcy replied, "I am grateful to the wisdom of the lady who said so." Elizabeth returned his smile. "Indeed, Miss Elizabeth," Darcy resumed his earnest air, "I am grateful to you."
As Elizabeth, face hot with pleased embarrassment, struggled to find something fitting to say, the warning drops of a fresh wave of heavy rain lashed their heads and shoulders. They briskly set off back to the house, but they had not covered half the distance when they were compelled to increase the rapidity of their feet to match the rapidity of the rainfall. Breathless and soaked through, they crossed the threshold of Netherfield. Neither of them said anything as they parted ways to change for dinner, but as Elizabeth looked back at Mr. Darcy's retreating form, she felt sure that, after so many months of enmity and misunderstanding, she and he were finally friends.