Title: Miss Bingley's Herbal Tea
Setting: Regency
Rating: T
Chapters: 6/17 (PIP)
Blurb: Mr Darcy doesn't want to drink Miss Bingley's new disgusting, sketchy, ancient-super-secret-recipe herbal tea. Lizzy does instead.
I would be very happy if you could let me know about any spelling or grammar mistakes :) Thanks and enjoy the chapter!
Mr Darcy's afternoon had begun in a peculiar way: worrying about the health of his fiancée.
It was impossible to consider Elizabeth Bennet anything else but his intended after the passionate kiss they had shared under the old elm, especially now that it was clear that (the Lord be praised) she was not a fortune hunter, but simply swayed by the mysterious illness that was raging through Netherfield.
He longed to discuss everything with Elizabeth. He longed to see her again and be reassured that whatever sickness had affected her, she was out of the worst of it. But the Bennet sisters had not been out of their rooms since morning and he had had no news from either of them.
Mr Darcy groaned and let himself fall back on an armchair in the library. He rubbed his neck: it still ached from having carried eight of the fainted servants upstairs to their rooms, much as he had done with Elizabeth that morning.
After leaving her in her room, wearing that delightful dressing gown, Darcy had rushed towards the servants' quarters, ready to be of aid. Not only maids and valets had been victims of the mysterious sickness that haunted Netherfield, but the kitchen staff too. This meant that there would be no lunch that day and Mrs Nicholls was still trying to arrange something for an early dinner. Thankfully, most servants had come back from their state of unconsciousness and no one seemed to be in worrying conditions. Mr Jones was still examining them and trying to determine what had happened.
Elizabeth had said that she would be downstairs as soon as possible so after helping Bingley deal with the brunt of the situation he sneaked into the library and resolved to wait for her there.
But time passed and she had yet to make her appearance.
In his increasing agitation, Mr Darcy had found himself analyzing the latest issue of La Belle Assemblée, which had been abandoned in the library, looking for education on the different types of bonnets and gloves in order to replace the ones that Elizabeth had lost that morning.
How does one choose pairs of gloves and bonnets for his wife? I know nothing of ribbons. I should ask Georgiana in my next letter, this magazine is incomprehensible.
Oh, but why wouldn't she come downstairs? Had she fainted again? Had Mr Jones underestimated her conditions? Had Bingley decided to send for his London physician? He could not remember.
Displeased, Darcy threw the magazine on a little table and started to pace the library.
This is ridiculous. We are going to be married, for Pete's sake! I can go inquire after my future wife's health if I wish to. Confound propriety! They were above that already.
Mr Darcy ascended the stairs thinking such thoughts and even more, but when it was Miss Jane Bennet to open the door, his resolve seemed to waver.
"Ah, yes. I was wondering, how does Miss Elizabeth fare? I apologize for intruding." He rushed to add.
Miss Bennet smiled sweetly and said that her sister was now resting and seemed to be feeling better. She thanked him for his good wishes of a speedy recovery and shut the door.
So efficient, that Miss Bennet. He could not even get a glimpse of Elizabeth.
That made him remember going to her with Bingley. Seeing her in her nightgown had felt unreal. His first instinct had been to drag Bingley out of the room and never let him set his eyes on Elizabeth again. But then he had noticed her paleness, how she looked so frail laid down on those pillows and every thought of Bingley vanished.
How could I not notice that she was ill at breakfast? She almost fainted before leaving. How could I let her leave in those conditions? His hatred towards her for having entrapped him in matrimony quickly transformed into hate towards himself.
He had never felt so desperate as when he had held her unconscious for that half a mile between the old olm and Netherfield. He promised that he would never allow something like that to happen again.
But when will she come downstairs?
He was pondering on the question while going back to the library and that is when he met Miss Bingley.
"Mr Darcy, how are you this dreadful afternoon? Can I interest you in some refreshment?"
Mr Darcy, who had started to wonder if they would ever see lunch that day, eagerly followed Miss Bingley to a drawing-room, where he found a spread of baked goods and a teapot.
He ignored the teapot. "I couldn't help but notice your and your sister's absence this morning. May I enquire after your health?"
Miss Bingley let out a burst of uncomfortable laughter. "We are both in perfect health, thank you. I was talking with Mrs Hurst about how to best manage the house during this uproar."
"Indeed? I have become quite knowledgeable on housekeeping matters during my years at Pemberley. Pray, is there any way I could assist you?"
Miss Bingley's mind went blank. In truth, she had given Netherfield's management no thought at all the whole day but had instead been arguing again with her sister about the herbal tea. Louisa found it highly improper to try to use it again while the house was shaken by illness and had ordered her to hand over the tea leaves.
"Oh, so you can use it on Mr Hurst!" Had replied Miss Bingley. "Wouldn't it be nice to have a husband at your beck and call for once, instead of him inquiring about ragout all the time?"
Louisa had become so angry that Miss Bingley had thought it best to withdraw from the room.
And to try her plan again.
"Can I interest you in a cup of tea, Mr Darcy?"
"I beg your pardon?" Mr Darcy had been so intent in the hard decision between a chocolate roll and a lemon cake (he could not have both: he had a physique to maintain) that he was not sure he had heard correctly.
"I know that it's a little early for tea, but this morning you promised to try it when the occasion next arose, remember? Well, here we are." She showed him the teapot. "I boiled the water myself since there are no maids available. I so wish you would give me your opinion on it." She smiled angelically.
Mr Darcy had changed his mind on plenty of things since that morning but he still hated tea with a passion. Still, Miss Bingley had extorted that promise from him and he was now honour-bound to try it. Eventually.
He frantically surveyed the table in search of another kind of beverage.
Miss Bingley anticipated the move. "Unfortunately, we have finished our cocoa reserves this morning. And coffee, too."
"Then I will have a glass of—"
"There is no water, Mr Darcy." Miss Bingley appeared irritated. "There is only herbal tea." She took the teapot in her hand, ready to pour it.
She had outsmarted him, there was no doubt. Not preparing other beverages had been a clever move. He could not refuse the tea once again without breaching proprieties, he reflected, and even if he could escape this time, Darcy had the unhappy suspicion that Miss Bingley would not relent until he drank the damned herbal tea at least once. Wretched proprietress, it was causing all kinds of problems for him today!
He pondered on his possibilities and then, without a word, he nodded.
Miss Bingley poured the tea with great attention, careful to not let even a drop of the precious beverage go to waste. Finally, she offered it to Mr Darcy, with a chilling smile.
Mr Darcy took it and drank from it.
"DARCY! NO!" Shouted Mr Bingley, bursting into the room.
He ran to them, grabbed the teacup and kettle from their hands and poured all the tea into the fireplace.
"Charles! What are you doing?!" Screamed Miss Bingley, furious.
"You can eat nothing on that table! Nothing!"
"What is the matter, Bingley?"
Mr Bingley let himself fall back on an armchair, breathless. It seemed like he had run there. "Mr Jones says that it is not a sickness. It is a foodborne illness."
"A foodborne illness? Didn't you say it was an illness from London?"
"There is always something going on in London, Darce, evidently I was wrong." Bingley dismissed the idea. "It is the only rational explanation if you think about it. The servants had just had lunch, Miss Elizabeth had just had breakfast."
"But we had breakfast too and she was the only one to faint!" Protested Miss Bingley.
He scrolled his shoulders. "Mr Jones says that maybe she is the only one that ate a particular type of bread. Maybe it only affects those who grew up in Meryton. We do not know yet. Tomorrow they will perform a complete inspection of the pantry, but in the meantime, we can not touch anything from there."
"I'm not convinced—"
"But why did you throw away my tea?" Miss Bingley interrupted him. "It's not stored in the pantry and neither Miss Eliza nor the servants have drank it!"
Mr Darcy thought that Elizabeth had indeed drunk the herbal tea, but then cast away that consideration: Miss Bingley was right, the servants could not have had access to it.
"It doesn't matter, Caroline. We cannot take chances. Please, have it brought to Mrs Nicholls and she will know where to store it."
As his sister snorted in a very unladylike manner, Mr Bingley closed his eyes and put his face in his hands. He looked exhausted.
Mr Darcy sat on an armchair next to him. "Say, Bingley, has someone been sent to alert the Bennets of Miss Elizabeth's illness?"
"Not yet. We should but's raining so hard that I have not the heart to send someone out. Hurst has volunteered himself to go buy food in Meryton and to send an express to your London physician — thank you again for offering, by the by — but it will be difficult to reach even that far with how it's pouring. I will send someone first thing in the morning."
Aha! An opportunity. "I could go." Darcy said with nonchalance.
Miss Bingley suddenly grew agitated. "I did not believe you fond of Longbourn, Mr Darcy."
"I have to ask Mr Bennet's— opinion on something."
"Mr Bennet? And whatever could you have to ask him?"
His daughter's hand, of course. "About Meryton's shopkeepers. Having lived here all his life, he surely will know which ones have sold us low quality products."
Mr Bingley showed appreciation for the scheme and shook his hand. "Darcy, you really are too kind. You have been most helpful to me ever since we arrived at Netherfield. Without you, I would already have given up on books and irrigation systems and withdrawn to Town. I thank you."
Mr Darcy scoffed and proceeded to look into the fire, feeling like the most hypocrite and duplicitous of friends.
While Mr and Miss Bingley started discussing the situation, Mr Darcy withdrew in his thoughts, giving lustful looks toward the spread of forbidden baked goods.
He hoped that Mr Hurst's expedition would be speedy and fruitful. Elizabeth and the servants would certainly need to eat something to get back on their feet. She had looked so pale that morning…
He shook his head and tried to focus on the conversation, but his thoughts were soon swayed towards the herbal tea.
He had taken a few long sips before Bingley had burst into the room. It was the most disgusting thing he had ever tasted. How had Elizabeth drank that… That concoction, and two full cups of it, at breakfast?
What if she liked to drink tea daily? He shuddered. Still, if Elizabeth was determined to keep enjoying that disgusting waste of money then, that was a disagreement Mr Darcy was inclined to let her win.
Mr Darcy noticed that Miss Bingley kept glancing at him instead of attending to the conversation with his brother, who was talking about what Mr Jones had suggested for the servants' recovery. Darcy ignored her, as he had often done ever since discovering her hopes about his person. That was something that would never happen.
Mr Bingley asked Darcy's opinion about whether or not they should still host a ball the following week, but Miss Bingley answered before him: "Oh, Charles, you can not be serious!"
"I'm only asking for an opinion. What do you think, Darcy?"
"Next week might be too soon, even if the servants will recover in a couple of days as Mr Jones predicts. But if you push the date back I don't see any other problems in the way."
"Really? I didn't think you would look favourably on having a ball."
Darcy shrugged. "I wouldn't mind."
"Frankly, after everything that happened today, I don't think I'm ready to host a ball. I feel like I have lived through enough distress to last me a lifetime." Bingley sighed and frowned. "And the day is not even over yet."
"Charles, what are you talking about? You gave your word to that younger Miss Bennet, you are honour-bound to give a ball."
"Caroline, what are you even talking about? You were against it one minute ago!"
The two siblings entered in an animated debate, while Mr Darcy let his mind wander again towards far more pleasant subjects, like Miss Elizabeth's lovely blush as they danced every dance at Netherfield's ball.
Once again, he remembered how she had looked in her nightgown. He could not suppress a smirk at the thought that he had already lived a small part of married life in that one morning, even if in the middle of such turmoils. The next time he would see her in such… intimate apparel, she would be his wife and him her husband.
The whole morning had been tainted by his preoccupation with her health but now he could remember with pleasure their first touch, her dishevelled appearance after that first kiss.
Nebulous, pleasant scenes appeared in his mind, scenes of kissing her again and moving his hands to unpin her hair and undo the belt of her dressing gown before—
He gulped. A man of quiet temperament, Mr Darcy's reaction to those few sips of tea was quite violent.
Recomposing what he could of himself, he jumped up and fled the room before the situation became irreversibly mortifying. Miss Bingley tried to follow him, but he put his long legs to good use by outrunning her.
His intention had been to go straight back to his room, where he would hide till the end of times, but his feet were guided by something different and he found himself at Elizabeth's door before he could realize what had happened.
The thought of her being just on the other side of the door, laying on her soft bed, wrapped in a silk nightgown and languidly fixing her gaze on the canopy bed's red curtains, waiting for him to come to inquire after her health and to reward him with an arch smile and— He realized that in his fantasies she was in the mistress' chambers at Pemberley, not in her Netherfield room.
Being reminded of his dead mother's rooms snapped Mr Darcy back to reality. He quickly made his way to his room, where he proceeded to take off his cravat with brusque movements.
What was happening? He was seven-and-twenty, too old for such… reactions. He had never felt so violently discomposed, not even during his university years.
He was shocked at himself. To think such ungentlemanlike thought!. She was sleeping. She was ill. She was with her sister. It was not proper at all to display such feelings in front of a maiden that he had not… Married… Yet.
Thinking of the wedding night was not helping. He must not imagine Elizabeth smiling at him or… or doing other things. It was undignified. She would not appreciate being the subjects of such thoughts, he was certain of that.
He wasn't able to stop himself. It was inevitable. He started to feel faint and crawled onto the bed.
How soon could they be married? One month. Three weeks. I could go to London to buy a special license, he thought as he slowly slipped Elizabeth's silk nightgown down her arms and lowered his head to kiss her throat, her shoulder, her collarbones, her—
A knock on the door interrupted him.
"Mr Darcy? Mr Darcy?" Miss Bingley called. She knocked again, with more conviction.
His blood froze, all the passion he had been feeling for Elizabeth disappearing instantly. Why had Miss Bingley come looking for him?
"Mr Darcy? Are you in here? Yoo-hoo?"
Mr Darcy laid perfectly still on his bed, trying to will himself into non-existence. Miss Bingley stopped knocking and he took a breath of relief, but then the doorknob started to turn. He was paralysed in horror.
The doorknob turned, ever so slowly, and then stopped. Then it turned again, then it was shaken with force. But Miss Bingley did not appear.
Darcy remembered that he had locked the door and thanked the Heavens for guiding him even in the middle of his delirium.
Miss Bingley continued to jerk the handle up and down, without resigning herself. "Mr Darcy? Mr Darcy?" She asked again with a hint of desperation.
Where was the man?! She was convinced that she had seen him going towards his room but she must have been wrong because if Mr Darcy was in his room and under the effect of the tea, he would have jumped at the chance of declaring himself, wouldn't he? So he wasn't in his room.
But where could he be then? She thought with a frown. He can not possibly have gone outside with this rain… She suddenly had a stroke of genius. Could it be that he is waiting for me near my room?
It was highly improper, but Miss Bingley could already see him, impatient to propose to her. With a grin, she blasted off towards the family wing.
Darcy was not privy to these thoughts. All he heard was a "humpf" and then steps going away. It was enough.
His mind instantly went back to his dearest. Now that Miss Bingley is gone, I can go to see Elizabeth.
No, you can't.
But I want to.
You can't.
I want to.
You—
I will!
"That is unacceptable!" Shouted Mr Darcy to the empty room.
He passed a hand on his face, which had become quite sweaty. The situation was intolerable. He would regain his composure now and stop arguing with himself about going to her sickroom.
He would think of Miss Bingley, instead, a topic that was both safe and worth consideration: why had Miss Bingley tried to enter his room? He remembered for a moment that he himself had tried to do just that with Elizabeth, barely minutes before.
Because I want to see her madly. The small voice in his head attacked him again.
But he must keep control and not go. He shall conquer this! What was he supposed to be thinking about, again? Ah, yes. Miss Bingley.
Darcy had long since noticed Miss Bingley's matrimonial plans, but she had never gone beyond flirtation, flattering and trying to befriend Georgiana.
What could have changed? Had something in his behaviour given hope to Miss Bingley? He certainly had not kissed her with extreme passion like he had done with Elizabeth, but maybe there was something, a comment he had made, perhaps he had been too courteous with her, that had rose her expectations?
Darcy re-examined their most recent interactions, trying to not linger on when Elizabeth had been with them while Miss Bingley tried to make him drink—
He stopped. The kiss, the tea, the fainting, Miss Bingley, the desire, her feelings, the tea.
"Sir Andrew Birmingham!" He shouted to the empty room.
And in the shock of that revelation, he fainted.
Back to Netherfield's library, Elizabeth sat stunned. Mr Darcy had just revealed that he had drank the herbal tea. Did that mean that Miss Bingley had succeeded in her compromise? No, if that had been the case everyone would have known it by now, from the scullery maid to her mother in Longbourn. But how had he realized that it was all the herbal tea's fault then?
Mr Darcy felt ill at ease. He could read the confusion on Elizabeth's face but decided not to rush in his explanations. He took a sheet of paper from his jacket pocket.
"I suppose you will be relieved to have this back."
It was the list of what she had eaten at breakfast that she had given to Mrs Hurst. The last item, elegantly penned, was: 'Miss Bingley's Herbal Tea'.
"How…"
"I saw your sister giving it to Mrs Hurst and thought it would be better to get it back before they could realize…" He cleared his voice. "It seemed wiser that Miss Bingley did not discover what has happened." He looked at the hearth for a moment and then asked: "Miss Bennet. Have you possibly heard of Sir Andrew Birmingham's sudden nuptials, from four months ago?"
Elizabeth had heard about it all too well. Her mother read the society page every day to keep track of all the bachelors in possession of a rich fortune and had been inconsolable when Sir Birmingham, one of the most eligible men in Town, had married an unknown Miss Sarah Alderton. It had been her only subject of conversation for weeks.
"He is a dear friend of mine." Continued Mr Darcy. "We went to school together."
Elizabeth held in a snort at Mr Darcy boasting his connections.
"I was also at his wedding and I have met the bride and— Well, from some things that he told me in confidence, I have reasons to believe that Miss Alderton made use of a similar tea on him."
He coloured thinking back at Lord Birmingham's drunken confession of what had led to his engagement: "I do not know what came over me. I really do not know. It was such a sudden feeling— She pursued me for three years and you know I never looked at her for one moment, and then suddenly—! It was witchcraft. Fortune huntresses are sorceresses now. What is to become of us?"
"Miss Bingley and Miss Alderton have been friends for years. If Miss Alderton has indeed used the herbal tea on Lord Birmingham, then it is reasonable to assume that she then gave it to Miss Bingley to help her in her quest of… Me."
"We could be doing a disservice to Miss Bingley." Suddenly said Elizabeth. "She could have served us the tea without knowing of its properties."
Mr Darcy scoffed and gave her a sceptical look.
Yes, Elizabeth had to recognize that it was highly improbable. But hearing him proudly declared himself worthy of being pursued had made her want to contradict him. It was a childish pique so she changed the subject.
"You have drunk the tea too, you said?"
"Yes." He said in an agitated manner. "But there have not been… Accidents on my part, naturally."
"Of course, Mr Darcy. Your self-control is far superior to mine."
"No, it is not." He snapped. "That is, I locked myself in my room as soon as I noticed something was happening. You are not at fault, Miss Elizabeth."
"Yes, I was already out of the house when I noticed it—"
"You could not have seen what was going to happen—"
"—Usually I too stay in my room in these instances."
"—Since you had never experienced such turmoils."
They both coloured at hearing what the other was saying and averted their gazes.
"Miss Elizabeth," said at last Mr Darcy, "I discovered it because of Lord Birmingham, but how did you know about the herbal tea?"
"I heard Mr and Mrs Hurst talk about it this morning. At the time I could not have imagined… We have been lucky. It could have been much worse than—" She shivered, thinking about what they could have done had she not fainted.
Mr Darcy gulped and frowned. "Yes."
Seeing his intent expression (and misunderstanding it), Elizabeth thought to add some humour to the conversation. "But I wonder, why is such a beverage produced? I don't suppose that the blend was developed with the purpose of helping young women to ensnare rich husbands."
When Mr Darcy cleared his throat and avoided her gaze, Elizabeth knew that she had only made the situation worse.
"There are some… gentlemen, in Town — old gentlemen, that is — that find themselves in need of… help when it comes to performing their marital duties. Sometimes not with their wives… Ah, that is, I suppose. Young men don't usually need it." He blurted at the end.
Elizabeth blushed up the end of her hair. He has not said what he has just said. He has not. Why, oh why couldn't she have stayed silent?
Mr Darcy recognized his faux-pas and strived to once again change the subject.
"I do wonder how the servants managed to obtain the tea, though."
"I as well."
"Do you feel extremely fatigued too? I think it must be one of the tea's effects."
"Yes, I am, indeed." Elizabeth was too afraid of saying something wrong again to say more.
"But I am happy to see that there were no other long-lasting consequences on you." He said softly. "I was worried, after…"
Elizabeth, who was staring into the hearth, snapped her head towards him, astonished at his stone. Mr Darcy stopped mid-sentence and cleared his voice. Finally, he said, with a much more usual determination:
"Miss Elizabeth, shouldn't we talk about the… Future?"
"The future?"
"After what happened today, with the tea, I think that we… Or, that is, I, if you prefer…"
Elizabeth nodded emphatically. "Oh. Yes, you are right. Of course. I have thought about it too and I believe that we should definitely steal the herbal tea from Miss Bingley."
