NOTES: I will not waste your time with excuses. I took a short break that turned into a long one and now I am back, hopefully for good.
I'll post again tomorrow (Don't worry, I already have the chapter written out) and I would advise you all to take a look at the last few chapters if ur like me and haven't read it in a while.
Take care, and enjoy đź’—
~Vinny
"How do you take your tea, Mr. Bingley?"
The man fidgeted, his eyes flying around the room as if he didn't know where it was safe to look. Mrs. Bennet cleared her throat.
"Ahem."
He seemed to realize he was being spoken to, and rapidly adjusted himself to look at the lady of the house. "Ahm, I- plain, please."
Mrs. Bennet nodded, looked meaningfully at her two oldest daughters (the youngest had already excused herself back
upstairs on the claim of a headache), and walked from the room to fetch the tea tray.
Jane didn't seem to notice her departure; she was too busy staring at Mr. Bingley, twisting her hands in her lap as she softly smiled at him. He stared back, mesmerized.
"So," Lizzy broke the (awkward only to her) silence, "How are you today, Mr. Bingley?"
Their visitor did a double take. "Oh. I.. am… well, Miss Lizzy." His eyes strayed unconsciously back to her sister. "Very.. well."
"And.. are you enjoying your stay in Hertfordshire?"
"I am," he smiled, then thought better of it. He schooled his face into a serious expression, and sat forward. "Though.. It has come to my attention.. Things might have been better if I hadn't stayed at all."
"Whatever do you mean?" Jane broke in, her eyes betraying her fright.
Mr. Bingley rubbed at the back of his neck. "I… Well. I.. assume you both have met Darcy."
"Yes?" The oldest sister asked eagerly. "What about him?"
"Well, I have been.. told, he…" Poor Mr. Bingley struggled to keep his eyes up, and his youthful puppy-dog face crumpled into the expression of a sob. He was on the floor before either sister could react. "He insulted you, Miss Jane! He was horrid to you, and now there are so many rumors that are hurting your family, all because of me!"
"It— Mr. Bingley—," Jane stammered, looking wildly at her sister, who shrugged. She crouched down to awkwardly pat the man's heaving back. "It— I'm sure it's— You mustn't take all the blame!"
"Oh, mustn't I?" He looked up with a miserable smile. "I was the one who brought him here, and— and started all this. I was the fool who didn't ask you to dance sooner in the ball, before you were injured— the most radiant woman in the world, an- and I wasn't able to keep you from this! I- I've ruined everything!"
Jane's lips parted in a gasp, and Lizzy's face mimicked her. They met eyes, and understanding passed between them. Lizzy got up from her chair, and discreetly stepped to the opposite side of the room to admire the window pane.
Meanwhile, Jane carefully, as if each individual hair might sting her, stroked Mr. Bingley's head. "Look at me," she whispered to him. He looked at her. She smiled. "Does it look like you've ruined everything?"
Bingley's grass-green eyes cautiously opened to stare at her. "...No?"
"No," Jane laughed quietly. "Mr. Bingley, if I were the sort to be cut down by an insult… I would have wasted away long ago. And.. if I were the sort to let a good man go, after he makes the slightest mistake…"
She leaned forward, and Bingley's face was reminiscent of the Bethlaham shepherds receiving instructions from the archangel himself.
"..I would be the fool, Mr. Bingley," Jane finished in a breath.
His eyes fluttered closed, and a look of profuse relief permeated his features. "Oh.. my dear," he murmured, "thank you. Thank you, my angel."
Jane's cheeks went bright pink as she smiled, her eyes crinkling into fractures around her doll-like face.
Lizzy watched the heartfelt scene with both a light-hearted sense of pride for her sister, mixed with.. the turbulent feeling of wrongness.
William should have been here. Why wasn't he here? He had left Lucas Lodge in such a hurry, after she told him that she viewed him as a friend. Had.. had she presumed too much? Had she hurt his feelings? She had only meant to make things easier...
"Ahm, pardon me," Lizzy spoke up, interrupting the two lovebirds as they began a gripping conversation about the weather, "But.. where is Mr. Darcy this morning?"
The corner of Jane's mouth twitched upwards. Both corners of Bingley's curved down.
"Ah. Right." He coughed slightly, and his neck made a popping sound. "Don't you worry, Miss Bennet, I'll make sure he steers clear of you. He's caused enough trouble for your family already, and I sincerely do not wish—"
"No!" Lizzy gasped before she could stop herself.
Bingley halted, watching her. Lizzy wished she could rip out her own tongue, or at least teach it not to speak before she had thought of what to say.
"I- What I mean is—," she stammered, "Is that W— Mr. Darcy and I simply had a misunderstanding. I believe. Given time… we can sort this all out. I.. Please sir, don't send your friend away too hastily. Please.
The man blinked at her for one moment, two, and then shrugged. "Alright then. I will not ask Mr. Darcy to leave prematurely, if you do not wish it."
Lizzy breathed out too heavy a sigh of relief for the occasion, and felt a sudden weight leave her chest. Oh, thank the lord! She would get to see him again. They could sort everything out.
"Hm? What's this about a Mr. Darcy?"
Oh…. bugger.
Rubbing away the cobwebs that had grown out from his bushy grey eyebrows, Mr. Bennet emerged from his study. He was frowning, and Lizzy's heart quickly dropped to her toes.
Mr. Bingley though, oblivious to the room's shift, bowed politely to his host. "Hullo, sir. I was just discussing with your daughters my friend, Mr. Darcy, and his return to London."
"He's returning? So soon?" Mr. Bennet asked, winking an eye at Lizzy. "Ah, good, good."
If she had known more swear words, she would have said them now.
"Actually no," Mr. Bingley said pleasantly, "I need to ride back over and inform him he is to stay a little while longer, on the elder Miss Bennet's request."
Swear word, swear word, swear word.
Her father was not an angry man. If someone had come up to him on the street, told Mr. Bennet that his mother was ugly and that he himself was a weak little man, Mr. Bennet would have laughed and agreed with him. There seemed to be nothing in the world that could upset him; not fires or brimstone, screaming or spills. But that name.
That the sound of that surname, Mr. Bennet's mood curdled like milk, and his good demeanor abandoned him.
He turned, slowly, around to face his eldest daughter.
"Lizzy," he said, "Is that true?"
She didn't answer. Her lips were pressed tightly together, her hands clasped behind her back in secret little fists.
"Is it true," he continued, voice as soft as steel, "That you have requested THAT man to stay, even a moment longer than necessary?"
This time, Lizzy managed to squeak out a reply. "Yes, papa."
"You.. DO remember that his father called you a worthless wretch, and tried to doom you to a life of poverty and starvation?"
"Padron me, what?" A very concerned Mr. Bingley piped.
"Hush, boy."
Mr. Bennet's eyes did not stray from Lizzy's face. "Now. What do you have to say for yourself?"
Lizzy took a sharp breath in, and lifted her chin. "I say," her voice quavered, "That William Darcy is not his father."
For what felt like an eternity, she and her father were locked in a battle of wills. Neither blinked. Neither breathed. They had never fought before, and (privately) they both hoped they never wound again.
Finally, Mr. Bennet averted his eyes, he dipped his head, and the light from the window bounced off the smoothness of his scalp.
"Fine," he sighed, then flicked his eyes back up to Lizzy's. "But I do not want you speaking to that man without a chaperone. And he must talk to me before any visits! You are not to even acknowledge him in the street, until he and I hash out any residual resentment, is that understood?"
Lizzy sucked in her cheeks to hide the smile. "Understood, papa."
"Good." He patted her shoulder affectionately before his eyes wandered to where Mr. Bingley was still standing, body angled like a compass towards his other blushing daughter. His caterpillar eyebrows leapt up as he looked to his favorite for answers, and Lizzy snickered.
"Very well then," Mr. Bennet said, in his usual chuckling speech, "Be gone with ye. I sense there is.. another young man who wishes to speak with me."
Before Lizzy was privy to Mr. Bingley's embarrassed stuttering, or Jane's tinkling laugh, she was bounding out of the parlor, flinging open a back door, and racing across the yard to the road that turned to Netherfield.
Her father's sort-of blessing had been a relief— if he could get over his prejudice against the Darcy family, surely the town could get over their perception of his behavior at the ball! And then the talk would die down, and William would be able to call on her, and…
Lizzy stopped running abruptly, as she was nearly trampled by a postal horse and rider. The poor man apologized with a shout that carried on the wind, and Lizzy waved at him, smiling abashedly. She really needed to get a hold of herself.
She turned her eyes to the cracked dirt of the road that she knew led to Netherfield.
Lizzy smiled to herself, and her teeth clamped down on her bottom lip. Her father had only said she couldn't talk to William… and that she couldn't acknowledge him in the street… Hm.. Yes… She could work with those restraints.
Feeling a giddy rush as the wind tugged at her collar, Lizzy allowed herself a single moment to squeal and dance like a little girl again, before redonning her serious demeanor (complete except for the smile that would not leave her alone) and began taking long strides down the familiar road that led to William.
Soon, everything would be crystal clear again. Soon, they could finally talk like they used to. Soon.
To Lizzy, it could never come soon enough.