Thanks for all of y'all's encouragement and feedback this week! I greatly appreciate it :) This week's chapter is a bit shorter as I cut Darcy's POV at the beginning here.
Thanks to my betas, Sara and Dawn! This story would not happen without them.
Please let me know if you notice any errors. I do my best to catch things, but sometimes they still slip through.
Regency experts: if Mr. Bennet is out of town, can Mrs. Bennet still have Mr. Bingley over for a family dinner or does she have to wait for him to return/invite someone else like the Philips?
Copyright 2020 Elizabeth Frerichs
Sitting in Jane's bedroom, watching her sister slip into Morpheus's arms, Elizabeth attempted to puzzle out the characters of the people still finishing their dinner in the room she had just vacated. When she had gone down for dinner, Mr. Bingley, Miss Bingley, and Mrs. Hurst had all inquired as to Jane's health. Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst, upon hearing that she was no better, appeared to forget all about Jane and began to talk of other things in a most unconcerned manner.
Mr. Bingley appeared genuinely distressed, and Elizabeth wondered if he was unused to colds or if he had lost someone close to him in such a manner. Or perhaps he was genuinely attached to Jane. For the first time, she felt a stab of distress at the idea that their family's wretched behaviour might deter a worthwhile suitor for Jane. Her sister should not have to forfeit all opportunities to marry simply because their family was so out of control.
Indeed, watching her sisters and parents through the letter-writer's eyes had become an exercise in frustration. She had been aware that her parents and sisters (save Jane) lacked proper manners but, due to their constant presence, she had become accustomed to their lack of decorum. Now, however, said poor behavior blazed upon her with all the force of newness.
It was not in her nature to repine over things outside of her control, however, and so she released her frustrations and reminded herself that Mr. Bingley was not a suitor worth retaining if he had not the backbone to withstand his family and friends' disapproval.
Once certain Jane was deeply asleep, good manners prompted her to return to the company, despite the late hour and her wishes to the contrary. On entering the drawing-room, she found the whole party at loo. Though Mr. Bingley invited her to join them, she declined in favor of a good book; she had no desire to lose more money than she possessed.
"Do you prefer reading to cards?" Mr. Hurst asked incredulously. "That is rather singular."
"Miss Eliza Bennet despises cards," Miss Bingley sniped. "She is a great reader and has no pleasure in anything else."
Elizabeth suppressed an eye roll at Miss Bingley's blatant attack. "I desire neither such praise nor such censure; I am not a great reader, and I have pleasure in many things."
Mr. Bingley smiled kindly at her. "In nursing your sister I am sure you have pleasure, and I hope it will soon be increased by seeing her quite well."
"Thank you. I hope so too," Elizabeth said, studying him. Mr. Bingley had neatly turned the conversation, but, from what she had seen, he made no effort to check his sister—not even a hint of disapproval did he mete out, despite Miss Bingley's unprovoked attack. Perhaps he would speak to her later; although, given Miss Bingley's apparent standard of behaviour, it did not seem likely. She suppressed a shudder, thinking of Jane trapped in marriage to this family. Though the Bingleys certainly possessed wealth, and Mr. Bingley was all things amiable, his lack of fortitude and his sisters' wretched behaviour would make Jane miserable.
Unfortunately, her sister seemed to be in a fair way to falling in love with Mr. Bingley and was all too aware that her family needed her to marry well; Jane would likely overlook these problems, and love would make her more blind than even her own good nature.
Shaking away the unhappy thoughts, Elizabeth wandered towards the meagre stack of books on one of the small tables and selected a slim volume of poetry.
"If you desire a different book, I shall fetch you another—you may read whatever is in my library," Mr. Bingley called.
"I am certain this shall suffice," Elizabeth said with a smile. Perhaps his eagerness to please and general amiability would outweigh his spinelessness?
"And I wish my collection were larger for your benefit and my own credit; but I am an idle fellow, and though I have not many, I have more than I ever look into."
Jane was fonder of sewing than reading. Mr. Bingley's lack of book-love would not be a detriment to her. But was he really idle or merely using that as an excuse?
"These shall suit perfectly," she told him.
"I am astonished," Miss Bingley put in, "that my father should have left so small a collection of books. What a delightful library you have at Pemberley, Mr. Darcy!"
Elizabeth's lips twitched. At least Miss Bingley's chase of Mr. Darcy was entertainment. She still could not fathom why the letter-writer had cast him as her admirer. He was a dour man, and she loved to laugh. Who could imagine them together? Furthermore, he seemed determined to look down on all he saw; she still did not know whether he had intended his rudeness at the assembly to be overheard or not. Either he was too proud to care whose feelings he might wound, or he was too stupid to guard his tongue. He did not seem the latter, and if he was the former, he would be the last man on earth to whom Elizabeth would give her heart, apart from any questions of his interest or lack thereof.
As Miss Bingley continued her paean to Pemberley, Derbyshire, and all things Darcy, Elizabeth could not help but conclude that Mr. Darcy's pride had found a match in Miss Bingley's, despite the woman's few reasons for such pride.
Deciding that the tableau around the table was far more entertaining than her book, Elizabeth set her book down and made her way over to the table. Mr. Darcy's attention immediately turned her direction.
"Is Miss Darcy much grown since the spring?" said Miss Bingley, leaning forward slightly as though trying to tear Darcy's attention from Elizabeth. "Will she be as tall as I am?"
Elizabeth suppressed a gasp; Mr. Darcy had a sister?
"I think she will." His eyes wandered back to Elizabeth. "She is now about Miss Elizabeth's height, or rather taller."
Elizabeth licked her suddenly dry lips. "And how old is Miss Darcy?"
"She is but fifteen," Darcy replied.
Elizabeth's hands tightened round each other as she clasped them. Just as the letter-writer had written.
Miss Bingley glared in Elizabeth's direction before returning her attention to Darcy. "How I long to see her again! I never met with anybody who delighted me so much. Such a countenance, such manners! And so extremely accomplished for her age! Her performance on the pianoforte is exquisite."
Elizabeth let their conversation about accomplishments wash over her, her thoughts still caught by the revelation of Mr. Darcy's sister. Her attention only returned when Mr. Darcy claimed to have encountered a mere half dozen accomplished young women.
The man's pride once again astounded her; he regularly made his feelings about Hertfordshire plain, that it was little more than a backwater without anyone of worth, but to state so blatantly that all women were lacking—perhaps one had to be related to the Darcys in order to be "accomplished." She pursed her lips to keep the smile back as the ridiculous thought crossed her mind.
"You must comprehend a great deal in your idea of an accomplished woman," Elizabeth commented.
Mr. Darcy looked up at her. "Yes, I do comprehend a great deal in it."
"Oh! certainly," Miss Bingley, his faithful assistant, cried "no one can be really esteemed accomplished who does not greatly surpass what is usually met with. A woman must have a thorough knowledge of music, singing, drawing, dancing, and the modern languages, to deserve the word." Miss Bingley cast a sideways glance up at Elizabeth, clearly indicating where she believed Elizabeth fell on the spectrum. "And besides all this, she must possess a certain something in her air and manner of walking, the tone of her voice, her address and expressions, or the word will be but half deserved."
"All this she must possess and to all this she must yet add something more substantial, in the improvement of her mind by extensive reading," Mr. Darcy added, nodding to the book Elizabeth had set on the side table.
Elizabeth froze. Was Mr. Darcy flirting, with her? No, the man must be merely teasing her, attempting to annoy. Certainly she did not possess nearly the accomplishments or the beauty he appeared to require in order to respect a woman—he would never deign to flirt with someone so "lacking." The man's gaze bore into her as she tried to suppress a flush. "I am no longer surprised at your knowing only six accomplished women," she managed to say with a tolerable impression of composure. "I rather wonder now at your knowing any."
"Are you so severe upon your own sex as to doubt the possibility of all this?" Mr. Darcy asked.
"I never saw such a woman. I never saw such capacity, and taste, and application, and elegance, as you describe united."
Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley both cried out against the injustice of her implied doubt, likely protesting the thought that they themselves did not fit the bill, and both protested that they knew many women who answered this description.
Elizabeth glanced over at Mr. Darcy. The man's lips twitched up, almost as though he were suppressing a smile. Mr. Darcy had not in the least even hinted at a sense of humor. But perhaps—did he realise how absurd the women's sudden reversal was?
The listing of "accomplished women" only ended when Mr. Hurst called them to order with bitter complaints of their inattention to what was going forward. Conversation came to a halt as focus returned to the card game, and Elizabeth soon took her leave to go check on her sister.
Once more settled in the chair next to Jane's bed, she began to bathe her sister's forehead again. Jane's fever had increased, and she fell in and out of a restless doze half a dozen times an hour. Though Elizabeth wished her sister felt better, she had not been at all sorry to be excused from the drawing-room.
Her thoughts whirled; Mr. Darcy had a sister. She had nearly demanded to know Miss Darcy's first name, only managing to hold her tongue at the last second.
The letter had seemed at first little more than a cruel practical joke, but as more and more of it aligned with reality, she was having difficulty categorizing it. Would someone be so blatantly evil as to leave a letter with Miss Darcy's real indiscretions lying about? Was Mr. Darcy the true author of the letter? And, if so, who was the recipient?
It seemed incredible that there could be another Bennet family, and, as far as she knew, Mr. Darcy had never entered Hertfordshire before, but perhaps it was his letter? She still did not understand how it came to be lying on the ground—nor why Mr. Darcy would endanger his sister's reputation in such a fashion. If only she could examine his handwriting; after weeks of study, she was intimately familiar with the letter-writer's hand.
Or perhaps she ought to ask him whether it was his and, if it did belong to him, return it to him? It was a very personal letter and if it belonged to him, she had no right to keep it. The thought of such an attempt was enough to send her spirits sagging, however. Mr. Darcy would surely demand to know where she had found it and why she had waited so long to return it.
Her face burned as she imagined Mr. Darcy reading the letter. He was fully aware that her family was less-than-proper, but, if the letter did refer to her family, to have to stand by while he read such a thing . . . .
No, it would be far better to find out whether it was accurate as inconspicuously as possible. Much as she deplored Jane's illness, perhaps the time at Netherfield would afford her the opportunity to investigate. Her stay here might not be entirely miserable.
Not twenty-four hours later, as though walking to her doom, Elizabeth settled on a chair next to her mother and two youngest sisters in the sitting-room. Jane had seemed much better this morning, but it had been only proper to consult her mother. The apothecary, Mr. Jones, had arrived almost simultaneously to Mrs. Bennet and her daughters. Mrs. Bennet and Mr. Jones had agreed with Elizabeth's assessment, and, for very different reasons, both had decreed that Jane ought to remain at Netherfield, despite Elizabeth's plea to remove to Longbourn.
"I hope you have not found Miss Bennet worse than expected," Mr. Bingley said to Mrs. Bennet the moment they were all seated.
"Indeed, I have, sir. She is a great deal too ill to be moved; Mr. Jones says we must not think of moving her," Mrs. Bennet said firmly. Her smile took on a predatory edge. "We must trespass a little longer on your kindness."
"Removed!" Mr. Bingley cried. "It must not be thought of. My sister, I am sure, will not hear of her removal," he added, glancing over at Miss Bingley.
Miss Bingley did not smile. "You may depend upon it, Madam, that Miss Bennet shall receive every possible attention while she remains with us."
"You are too kind!" Mrs. Bennet exclaimed, one hand coming to her chest. "Though I would not wish illness on anyone, especially not my Jane, I am thankful that, if she had to fall ill, she is among such wonderful friends."
Elizabeth thanked Heaven that her mother would not be staying at Netherfield.
"Indeed, I am sure, if it was not for such good friends," Mrs. Bennet continued, "I do not know what would become of her, for she is very ill indeed, and suffers a vast deal, though with the greatest patience in the world, which is always the way with her, for she has, without exception, the sweetest temper I ever met with. I often tell my other girls they are nothing to her."
Kitty coughed quietly into her hand, and Elizabeth studied her. She had attributed Kitty's cough to some slight illness, but now that she thought about it, it had lasted rather longer than might be expected. Perhaps it was a response to her parents' disparagements? Was there such a thing as a distress-induced cough?
"You have a sweet room here, Mr. Bingley, and a charming prospect over that gravel walk," Mrs. Bennet continued on, gesturing to one of the windows. "I do not know a place in the country that is equal to Netherfield. You will not think of quitting it in a hurry, I hope, though you have but a short lease?" she asked, her hungry gaze intent upon Mr. Bingley's face.
Mr. Bingley smiled. "Whatever I do is done in a hurry; and therefore if I should resolve to quit Netherfield, I should probably be off in five minutes. At present, however, I consider myself as quite fixed here."
Elizabeth opened her mouth and then closed it. Was this not the very behavior that most worried her about Mr. Bingley? She did not wish to appear to be matchmaking, but, in the interest of saving Jane from future heartache, she gathered her courage and spoke.
"Though your amiability makes you content whatever your circumstances, I hope that you will consider carefully before quitting Netherfield," Elizabeth said. "After all, one must demonstrate careful decision-making in order for the tenants to trust you."
Mr. Bingley appeared momentarily taken aback.
"Lizzy," cried her mother, "remember where you are, and do not run on in the wild manner that you are suffered to do at home."
Elizabeth blushed crimson, wishing that it had not been appropriate to send for her mother at all.
"I see you are a studier of character," Mr. Bingley commented immediately, "it must be an amusing study."
Elizabeth hesitated. "Yes, people are forever changing so there is always something new to see," she said lightly, trying to behave as though her mother had not just publicly reprimanded her.
"The country can in general supply but few subjects for such a study," Mr. Darcy pointed out. "In a country neighbourhood you move in a very confined and unvarying society."
All facts, yet his dispassionate manner left her uncertain of his meaning. Another slight against the neighborhood or mere facts? At times, she thought he barely tolerated anyone. Then again, if she had been betrayed by someone who had been a dear friend, like Charlotte, perhaps she would have difficulty tolerating company. But, if that were the case, why had he come to visit?
"As I said, people alter so much that there is forever something new to be observed in them," she said evenly.
"Yes, indeed!" cried Mrs. Bennet as though he had just declared that everyone from the country was a boorish nobody. "I assure you there is quite as much of that going on in the country as in town."
Elizabeth's eyes widened, and surprise flitted across the other faces in the room save for her sisters'. Mr. Darcy stared at Mrs. Bennet as though she was one of the stupidest people he had ever encountered, but he did not reply and, after a moment, silently returned to a window.
Mrs. Bennet's smile grew, apparently fancying herself the victor in that exchange.
Elizabeth's eyes closed in a silent prayer for strength; she had many times wished for invisibility in the face of her family's ridiculousness but never so often as since the letter's advent. Indeed, she could scarcely keep her countenance as she imagined what that person would make of this moment.
The next fifteen minutes comprised some of the worst of Elizabeth's life. Her mother continued to openly disparage Mr. Darcy and harp about his comment about the country, crowing over the fact that she dined with so many as four-and-twenty families, to the obvious amusement of the Bingley sisters. In every sentence, her mother was crude, small-minded, and unkind.
Throughout, she managed to insult Elizabeth each time she tried to intervene. As the visit came to a blessed end, Mrs. Bennet managed to land a final blow as she repeated her thanks to Mr. Bingley for his kindness to Jane, while apologizing for "troubling him with Lizzy."
Elizabeth's eyes remained fixed on her hands in her lap. She had been accustomed to such treatment for most of her life, developing a shield over her soul to allow herself to ignore it (and her family's other foibles); yet the letter had sliced through that shield—it was as though her family's behavior was sharply new and she had no defense against it, each harsh word and vulgar act stabbing into her.
Darcy turned back to the window, studying Elizabeth's reflection in the warped glass. Her head was bowed, and his lips curled in a slight frown. Mrs. Bennet was vulgar indeed. Why she believed reprimanding her daughter in public was acceptable behaviour remained a mystery. Surely she recognized that no one else behaved thus?
Bingley reiterated that he was glad to assist the Bennets and, by means of many glances towards Miss Bingley, convinced his sister to agree. Darcy frowned—Miss Bingley's icy politeness was nearly as uncouth as Mrs. Bennet's vulgarity. Everything in her manner loudly declared her unwillingness to host the Bennet sisters, however, Mrs. Bennet took her words at face value (once again confirming a lack of sense).
Darcy studied the scene outside, wishing that Mrs. Bennet would complete her errand so he could return to assisting Bingley. Perhaps they ought to find something out-of-doors to inspect; the house felt stifling after the past twenty minutes of listening to Mrs. Bennet natter on.
"—promise to host a ball," Miss Lydia said with a giggle.
Darcy wrenched his attention back to the group in front of him. A ball?
"It would be the most shameful thing in the world if you did not keep it!" Miss Lydia said with mock solemnity.
"I am perfectly ready, I assure you, to keep my engagement," Bingley said kindly. "And when your sister is recovered, you shall, if you please, name the very day of the ball. But you would not wish to be dancing while she is ill."
"Oh! Yes—it would be much better to wait till Jane was well, and by that time most likely Captain Carter would be at Meryton again. And when you have given your ball," she added, "I shall insist on their giving one also. I shall tell Colonel Forster it will be quite a shame if he does not."
"I shall look forward to more dancing then," Bingley said with a chuckle.
"I hope that Hertfordshire may supply you with enough dancing, Mr. Bingley, especially since you have the good taste to dance with the loveliest of my daughters," Mrs. Bennet said with a simper.
Darcy suppressed a shudder, thankful to all that was holy that Mrs. Bennet had not discerned his attraction to Miss Elizabeth and that he had a reputation for avoiding dancing. He would not fall prey to this rapacious woman—and he would certainly do his best to ensure Bingley did not either.
Fortunately, Mrs. Bennet and her daughters then departed. With a mumbled excuse about returning to her sister, Miss Elizabeth also left.
Miss Bingley, with predictable malice, began at once to mock the Bennets' behavior. She tried several times to draw Darcy in, making witticisms about Miss Elizabeth's fine eyes, but Darcy refused to be baited. He would not participate in her meanness, despite the accuracy of her remarks about Mrs. Bennet and the youngest two daughters. Miss Elizabeth, however, had shown remarkable poise throughout the visit, attempting to curb the worst of her mother's behavior and using her wit to soften those remarks she could not prevent. No, he would not, could not, censure her.