I'm afraid this week has been a bit rough for me, so I haven't had an opportunity to respond to reviews. I do thank you for the reviews, follow, favorites, and reads!
As far as why the story doesn't have more drastic changes—well, that's not really my style. I believe that changes in our outward actions grow out of changes in our beliefs and thought patterns, so any lasting change has to start with character growth. My stories tend to focus on that character growth so they're not a mile-a-minute type stories. And, I personally really need regular reminders that little actions can add up to big results, that we reap what we sow, even if it takes a bloody long time to get there.
I do really appreciate y'all's critiques (and encouragement) though! I will try to edit out canon bits that don't add to the story—although given my schedule as of late, that may end up waiting until after I'm done writing.
Thanks to my betas, Sara and Dawn! Without their encouragement and accountability this past year, I'm not sure I would have written much at all.
Copyright 2020 Elizabeth Frerichs
Darcy, Bingley, and Mr. Hurst bowed to Sir William and Lady Lucas as the two Bingley sisters curtseyed. Darcy quickly slipped away from the voluble man; he had no desire to engage in mindless chatter. He meandered through the guests, apparently aimless as he began searching for Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Something about her teased at his mind, causing his eyes to follow her again and again, despite the many reasons it was dangerous to show even a hint of attention in her direction.
At their first encounter after the assembly, he had overheard her gently encouraging a young woman who appeared to share Georgiana's nervousness with crowds. He found himself strangely drawn to her in that moment and, attempting to prove to himself that she must have other traits which would snuff out the sudden whim of interest, he had studied her. But no sooner had he confirmed his first opinion (that she had hardly a good feature and could not hold a candle to the beauties of the ton), than he discovered the beautiful expression of her dark eyes lit up her entire face. To this discovery succeeded others equally mortifying and before long, he could not recall why he had thought her unhandsome at all.
Beyond her physical appearance, the easy playfulness of her manners, despite not matching those of the fashionable world, only added to her appeal. Darcy had considered how best to discover if her manners were merely put on or indicative of her true character and, after some thought, had determined to listen to her conversations with others. Fortunately, Miss Lucas had provided a most useful conversation partner: Miss Elizabeth spoke to her close friend frequently and with rather more frankness than he had been accustomed to hear among the ton. Each encounter merely increased his fascination.
A glimpse of dark curls immediately drew his attention. Miss Elizabeth was across the room, standing with an unfamiliar young woman. Making his way along the outskirts of the crowd, he finally drew close enough to hear them.
The young woman's face showed distinct sadness under a pasted-on smile. "Everyone has been so busy with the new neighbours," she said. "It is to be expected that I am forgot in the excitement. And, after all, I arrived only a week ago."
Elizabeth placed a hand on the young woman's arm. "I am certain news of your visit has not yet reached everyone; I myself was unaware until I saw you here. Let us find Jane. She would be most put out with me if I failed to apprise her of your presence."
Darcy scowled. This was no help. Miss Elizabeth continued to show kindness—something that was sorely lacking in most ladies of the ton. But perhaps she was only kind among company?
He began drifting through the crowd to where Miss Elizabeth stood with her sister Jane and the young woman. Miss Lucas was also moving towards the little group. Before he reached them, Miss Elizabeth excused herself, and she and Miss Lucas walked over to Colonel Forster. Shifting direction, he moved towards the wall nearest them.
Elizabeth was thoroughly enjoying herself. "You have done a marvellous job, Charlotte," she commented to her friend.
"Thank you, Eliza. And thank you for insisting on our little walk today. I admit that I might not have enjoyed this evening as much without it."
Elizabeth dropped a small curtsey as they walked. "But of course. It was my pleasure."
Charlotte chuckled. "I am certain it was."
"You have been spending too much time with me," Elizabeth said, shaking her head ruefully. "Soon every conversation between us will consist of nothing but teasing." She turned her attention on the older gentleman now in front of her. "Colonel Forster," she greeted. "How lovely to see you again."
"Miss Elizabeth," Colonel Forster said with a smile. "And Miss Lucas. I had not expected to be favoured tonight by two such lovely ladies."
Elizabeth flashed him a bright smile. "I must admit that it is a rumour that has me spellbound."
"Oh?"
"I have heard that you are considering holding a ball in Meryton," she said confidingly.
Colonel Forster chuckled. "That is so."
"You are considering it or you are going to have it?" Elizabeth asked.
"Ah, well, there we come to the crux of the matter."
"Truly."
"I am waiting to hear back from my superiors."
Elizabeth gave him a sympathetic look. "The burdens of command." She smiled slyly. "If your superiors understood how very well-thought-of it would make the militia, I am certain they would approve the expense."
"You are probably correct."
"And we ladies do love dancing," Elizabeth continued. "There will be many a happy young woman if such a ball were to be hosted. Surely, morale would be served by the addition of cheerful young women."
Colonel Forster chuckled again. "To the point, as always, Miss Elizabeth. That is largely what I suggested to my superiors."
"Well, I hope that they are as wise as you then, for I do love to dance."
"And I hope that we will have the pleasure of seeing you engage in that activity."
"Thank you," Elizabeth said with a small curtsey.
As she straightened, she noticed Mr. Darcy standing by the wall. The man had been following her about since his arrival, his gaze, for once, fixed on objects around her, as though to obscure his eavesdropping. It was not to be borne! Excusing herself from Colonel Forster, Elizabeth pulled Charlotte to one side (away from Mr. Darcy).
"What does Mr. Darcy mean by listening to my conversation with Colonel Forster?" she hissed to Charlotte.
"That is a question which only Mr. Darcy can answer."
Elizabeth's brow furrowed. What could the man mean? It had to be nothing good. She had long ago shrugged off any idea of him having a romantic interest in her as she by no means matched Jane's beauty—a fact her mother did not hesitate to remind her of often; the most one could say about her figure was that it was "light and pleasing," hardly the sort of beauty to interest a man as well-travelled as Mr. Darcy. Whoever had written the letter had clearly never met Mr. Darcy. Perhaps he watched her only to confirm how very "tolerable" she was, or perhaps he was so disgusted that he could not tear his attention from her.
"Well, if he does it anymore, I shall certainly let him know that I see what he is about," her chin rising. "He has a very—satirical eye, and if I do not begin by being impertinent myself, I shall soon grow afraid of him."
"He does seem to be moving in our direction," Charlotte noted, a hint of amusement in her tone. "Perhaps you ought to ask him about it now."
Elizabeth glared at her friend. Mr. Darcy was indeed walking in their direction, his gaze fixed behind them as though he had no intention of stopping. She turned to him just as he reached them. "Do you not think, Mr. Darcy, that I expressed myself uncommonly well just now, when I was teasing Colonel Forster to give us a ball at Meryton?" she asked with a sharp smile.
Darcy's heart raced. Miss Elizabeth had noticed his eavesdropping! He forcefully suppressed a blush of shame, reminding himself that the last thing he wished to do was to appear conscious and have her suppose that he was affected by her. "With great energy; but it is a subject which always makes a lady energetic," he said stiffly.
"You are severe on us," Miss Elizabeth said with a mock pout.
"It will be her turn soon to be teased," said Miss Lucas. "I am going to open the instrument, Eliza, and you know what follows."
Annoyance flared in his breast as he realised that, despite all his practice at avoiding them, he had fallen right into a snare. It wanted only for Miss Elizabeth to suggest that she needed someone to turn pages, and he would be roped into raising expectations. He straightened, bracing himself for the moment and trying to contrive a reply for when it came.
"You are a very strange creature by way of a friend!—always wanting me to play and sing before anybody and everybody!" Miss Elizabeth said, her tone hinting at annoyance. "If my vanity had taken a musical turn, you would have been invaluable; but as it is, I would really rather not sit down before those who must be in the habit of hearing the very best performers."
Darcy's thoughts came to an abrupt halt. Was this merely another stratagem? He would have sworn that most young ladies required only the merest implication that music was desired before they were eagerly playing one piece or another (despite their inability to match Georgiana's performance). He had learned to avoid even glancing in the direction of a pianoforte when amongst a bevy of young ladies lest one of them believe him desirous of music.
Miss Lucas persevered, however, suggesting Miss Elizabeth should comply now so that she would be limited to playing one piece rather than waiting until Sir William requested more.
Miss Elizabeth pursed her lips. "Very well; if it must be so, it must."
Darcy braced himself once more for the request to assist.
"There is a fine old saying, which everybody here is of course familiar with," she told Darcy gravely, a twinkle lurking in her eyes. " 'Keep your breath to cool your porridge'—and I shall keep mine to swell my song." With that, she and Miss Lucas set off towards the pianoforte.
Darcy stared after them, intrigued. Miss Elizabeth had not even hinted that she might require assistance. Meryton was a small community—he doubted there were more than five and twenty families in all—perhaps she was not practiced at hunting young men? Or perhaps his first hint had done the trick?
It did not make sense: he had offered hundreds of hints (some of them quite blunt) to the ton huntresses, but none of them had appeared to catch his meaning.
The pout had been everything he had expected from a young lady of breeding—they were forever doing such things as a sort of flirting—and yet, though Miss Elizabeth's lips had pouted, he had seen the fire in her eyes. And she had seemed unwilling to play and sing—not just modest, but truly not looking to exhibit her talents.
Perhaps Miss Elizabeth was more wily than he gave her credit for. Certainly, her brand of flirtation was far more alluring than any he had experienced.
Miss Lucas announced her friend, and Miss Elizabeth sat at the pianoforte. The group seated itself around the room, but Darcy stood at the outskirts, his back to a wall so that no exuberant young woman (or her matchmaking mama) could ambush him. Despite Miss Elizabeth's flirtation, he dared not sit, wary of showing interest.
Objectively, her performance was pleasing, despite her lack of technical accuracy.
Darcy, however, was enthralled. Miss Elizabeth flung her whole essence out into the room, words and music expressing a depth of feeling he had seldom experienced in a drawing-room as she gathered her listeners to herself. Her passion far outweighed any flaws in accuracy, and Darcy stood blinking at her when she stopped playing, a man dazed after coming out of the sunshine into a dark house. A general outcry for her to play another piece went up. However, before she could reply, one of her sisters slid onto the pianoforte bench and began arranging a piece of music. Elizabeth's lips quirked up in a wry smile as she joined the audience.
Darcy glowered at the young woman who had suspended his pleasure. The concerto she played lacked feeling, and, though she possessed greater technical proficiency than Miss Elizabeth, her manner of playing filled the air like a thick blanket, stifling in the close room.
To his disgust, the moment she was finally done, rather than allowing someone else to play, Miss Elizabeth's youngest sisters requested dancing music and so the young woman continued her quest to murder everyone's ears by beginning some Scottish airs.
Dancing! As if listening to such lacklustre playing was not punishment enough, they were now to engage in dancing.
If dancing was the activity of choice, he would no longer be able to overhear Miss Elizabeth's conversations, and the thought of more than an hour spent avoiding the young ladies and their predatory mothers who were even now glancing his way was unsupportable. Darcy's lips begged to curl into a sneer of distaste, but he suppressed the urge, maintaining his normal stoic facade and begging Heaven to end the evening's torment before long. His eyes followed Miss Elizabeth as she moved to speak to one of the older ladies standing on the opposite side of the room from him.
Other young ladies and a few of the officers joined the youngest Bennets, and they all began to romp through a dance in a way that should have made them all blush and nearly obscured Miss Elizabeth from view.
As if the night was not wretched enough, Sir William accosted him and began nattering on about dancing and social aspirations. Were it not for his father's strictures about politeness being the hallmark of a gentleman, Darcy would have walked away from the country bumpkin. Fate then continued its barrage by sending Bingley to join the dancing with an ungentlemanlike glee and having Sir William offer Darcy up as a partner for Miss Elizabeth when she walked past them.
Miss Elizabeth declined—no woman had ever declined to dance with him. Had she perhaps taken his hint at the assembly to indicate that he would never dance with her? Or was she attempting to fix his attention even more securely?
Even after he managed to extricate himself from Sir William, Darcy's meditation was abruptly interrupted when Miss Bingley sidled over. Before he could open his mouth, the woman began attempting to ingratiate herself with bitter complaints about the evening and surmising that he shared her opinion.
His mouth tightened. He did not know why Miss Bingley thought rudeness was the way to engage him, but he refused to join her in her poor behaviour—regardless of his own opinion of the people present. For a moment he contemplated simply ignoring her, but then decided perhaps the woman required a more pointed reminder that he was not interested in her.
"My mind was more agreeably engaged," he said evenly. "I have been meditating on the very great pleasure which a pair of fine eyes in the face of a pretty woman can bestow."
Miss Bingley, of course, claimed the remark as her own before he burst her fantasy with the news that said pretty woman was Miss Elizabeth.
His evening further deteriorated as she gave him immediate reason to regret his comment, teasing him about how happy he would be to marry into such a family and how very much he would enjoy having the Bennets underfoot at Pemberley.
It was a pity that Miss Elizabeth's family was so unsuitable; despite how enchanting she was, he could not offer for her. Unfortunately, nothing he said would convince Miss Bingley of such, nor did he intend to share such intimate concerns with her. To protest would be to invite suspicion. And so he remained silent as Miss Bingley waxed poetic about how much the Bennets would add to his standing among the ton and how perhaps his relatives in Cheapside could ensure he received a family discount on their wares.
"Are you going to Meryton today, my love?" Mrs. Bennet asked Lydia at breakfast one morning nearly a week later.
"Yes, indeed. Captain Carter is going to London tomorrow morning, so I shall have to see him today."
Elizabeth suppressed a snort. Captain Carter was only the latest in the line of young men from the militia whom Lydia had proclaimed magnificent. Both Kitty and Lydia walked the mile into Meryton three or four times a week, for various reasons. Their temperaments were unsuited for occupation or cogitation, and so they often staved off boredom by visiting the milliner. In addition, their Aunt Phillips, whose husband was the local lawyer, loved to gossip and regularly shared her latest tidbits with her sister and nieces. Since a militia regiment had recently been stationed in Meryton, the draw (and gossip) had only increased.
"And Lieutenant Denny," Kitty put in.
"La!" Lydia said. "Captain Carter is a captain and far more attractive than Lieutenant Denny."
"You only say that because Denny likes me better than you," Kitty said.
Mr. Bennet set his cup down on its saucer. "From all that I can collect from your manner of talking, you must be two of the silliest girls in the country. I have suspected it for some time, but I am now convinced."
Kitty coloured and stared down at her half-empty plate of buttered toast.
Lydia ignored him and continued prattling on about Captain Carter's attractiveness.
Elizabeth put down her toast. Her stomach roiled as she considered her father's behaviour—the letter-writer, though cruel, had been accurate that her father was lacking at times. Although Lydia remained indifferent to his barbs, Kitty sniffed as though holding back tears.
"I am astonished, my dear," Mrs. Bennet began severely, "that you should be so ready to think your own children silly. If I wished to think slightingly of anybody's children, it should not be of my own."
For the first time in her memory, Elizabeth saw the wisdom in her mother's words: her father ought not to think slightingly of his own children, despite her sisters' silliness. If he objected to their silliness, he had only himself to blame as he had done nothing to curb them.
Mr. Bennet peered over his spectacles at his wife. "If my children are silly, I must hope to be always sensible of it."
"Yes—but as it happens, they are all of them very clever."
And there was the end of her mother's wisdom.
Mr. Bennet steepled his fingers. "This is the only point, I flatter myself, on which we do not agree. I had hoped that our sentiments coincided in every particular, but I must so far differ from you as to think our two youngest daughters uncommonly foolish."
Kitty's sniffles increased though neither of her parents appeared to notice.
Elizabeth cast her a sympathetic glance, a tinge of guilt beginning to squirm in her gut. How many times had Kitty reacted thus to their father's words and she had merely thought her sister simple for not recognising the teasing nature of his remarks? Perhaps Kitty was merely sensitive?
Her musings were cut short upon the arrival of a letter for Jane from Miss Bingley inviting her to visit that very day.
Elizabeth studied her sister as she read the letter aloud. Jane had nearly glowed at the beginning of the letter before faltering upon the information that Mr. Bingley would not be at Netherfield. Though she rallied, traces of disappointment lingered in her eyes. Elizabeth, however, was quite content that Mr. Bingley would not be present. The Bingley sisters were as false as they came, and she hated to see Jane's goodness blind her to their nature, but dining with them would not be a danger to Jane's heart. Spending time with Mr. Bingley, on the other hand, might be. Unfortunately, her mother had dashed those hopes, insisting that Jane would have to go on horseback as it was likely to rain, forcing the Bingleys to offer Jane houseroom. Even Elizabeth pointing out that Jane was more likely to arrive looking like a wet hen did not at all deter Mrs. Bennet. And an appeal to their father had been entirely unsuccessful, which left Elizabeth even more disappointed in him; he did not know of Jane's imminent heartbreak (should the letter-writer prove to be correct), but he was intelligent enough to apprehend the dangers of Jane's horse losing its footing should she be caught in said downpour and ought to bestir himself for his second-favourite daughter.
Hopefully, Mr. Bingley would do only minimal damage. Or perhaps he had more horses than her mother believed and the Bingley sisters could send Jane home in a carriage—unlikely given her mother's prowess at gossip, but she could dream.
Unfortunately, it was not to be. Jane had not been long gone before it rained rivers of water that continued in a steady downpour the whole evening, flooding the fields and transforming the landscape into something mystical. Mrs. Bennet was delighted—the roads had turned to mud and Jane certainly could not come back even if Mr. Bingley offered his carriage.
For a moment Darcy felt sure he had entered into a fairy land; Miss Elizabeth appeared to be a wood nymph, her eyes sparkling, her complexion glowing as though kissed by the sunrise itself. But the breakfast room at Netherfield was an unlikely place for a mystical visitation, and it soon became all too clear that all he saw before him was a country maid who had allowed herself to become disheveled on a long walk. Despite the prosaic nature of her exertion, he was glad that he could see the fruits of it. It was all he could do to maintain a stolid appearance.
While he gathered his thoughts he overheard her explaining that she had come to check on her sister, who was even now lodged upstairs due to a slight—rather convenient—cold that had resulted from riding on horseback through the rain. Perhaps Miss Elizabeth, like her sister, was hoping to snare a husband here?
Had it been one of the maidens of the ton (or even Miss Bingley), he would not have hesitated to impute such a motive. To be ensconced in the household itself would give any young woman ample opportunity to pursue her chosen gentlemen—or even to compromise him. However, though Miss Elizabeth had engaged in light flirtation upon occasion, she had never stooped to determined pursuit. His first hint had stood him in good stead; he would not raise expectations should he pay her slight attention.
Not too much, of course. Even if she understood that he had no serious intentions, he knew the surrounding community would infer meaning into every glance and he did not wish to make things difficult for Bingley later. Small-town people could be very set in their ways.
"—not well enough to leave her room, I am afraid," Bingley was saying.
"Oh dear," Miss Elizabeth replied with some dismay.
Miss Bingley glanced sideways at Darcy and, apparently determining to remove her "competition," offered to take Miss Elizabeth to see her sister at once. Darcy could not decide if he was thankful for this reprieve or not.
Elizabeth tried to engage in polite small talk with Miss Bingley despite the woman's languid pace and her constant stream of light nothings designed to showcase how very sophisticated she was and how very unsophisticated Elizabeth, Hertfordshire, and all its inhabitants were.
Fortunately, the distance to Jane's room was not considerable and so, eventually, they reached it. Jane was pale, and her hair hung lank around her shoulders. But upon seeing Elizabeth, she smiled and tried to thank her for coming. However, her expressions of gratitude were broken up by coughs, so Elizabeth hushed her and merely squeezed her hand.
Miss Bingley soon took her leave, and Elizabeth settled down to nurse her sister. Jane was certainly very feverish, and her cough, although it did not sound terrible, presaged a cold of some annoyance. Elizabeth only hoped it would be of short duration lest she be forced to endure the Bingley sisters (and be endured by them) or to watch Jane's affections for Mr. Bingley grow.