Elizabeth stayed near Jane until Bingley pulled her into the carriage. Jane leaned out the window, and Elizabeth seized her hand tightly. Happy tears came to her eyes as the coachman snapped the reins and clicked for the horses to start moving. The carriage started, taking her dear, dear sister away. Jane's hand was pulled out of her grasp. Her sister smiled back at the crowd, waving her white glove. Jane appeared perfectly happy.
The carriage turned a corner in the distance and disappeared, and Elizabeth looked at the handsome figure next to her. The haircut he'd received the previous day accentuated his aristocratic beauty, and the bright blue of his intense eyes had caught her repeatedly during the ceremony. Darcy appeared impassive with a slight preoccupied frown as he stared down the cobbled lane the carriage had disappeared from.
Miss Bingley exclaimed, "Come, come! Do not all stand out here in the cold, we have an excellent feast set up in the house. Everyone come up."
Darcy handed Elizabeth his arm, and she had no choice but to take it. His expression was somber. No doubt he lamented the happy event. Elizabeth looked at the curl of his lips and the hard shape of his jaw. The contrast of his handsome form and solid mind with his horrid character fascinated her.
She had spent ten minutes this morning covering the beauty mark on the back of her neck, so that he would have no cause to despise her, before she violently washed away the white powder. She would not distort her own sense of beauty to please a man she hated.
His good opinion mattered to her, and that enraged her. She felt ugly and awkward around him. Each time he stared at her with those piercing blue eyes, she flushed and felt sick. He had judged her appearance and found it wanting. She was not handsome enough to tempt him.
She knew herself to be one of the handsomest beauties of the county. That Darcy held this control over her emotions was ridiculous.
Their eyes met again as they stepped into the Netherfield entry hall. A jolt of nervous energy went through Elizabeth. She felt his gaze in her stomach. He studied her face inappropriately long.
Breaking the moment, Darcy spoke in a pleasant tone, "The bride exemplified beauty and grace, did she not?"
"Yes, but Jane is always beautiful — everyone calls her the prettiest girl in the room. No one has ever said she was not handsome enough to tempt them."
From the way his expression did not waver, Darcy did not understand her allusion. Elizabeth frightened herself; the seething anger she felt threatened to take control. She had little sleep the night before. She had talked with Jane and Mrs. Gardiner for many hours. Early in the morning, she woke to a vivid dream of Darcy kissing her with those disapproving eyes.
How dare he praise Jane, when he intended to destroy her happiness? Why must a gentleman with such capability be cruel and dishonorable? How dare he despise her appearance when he was the most desirable man she had ever known?
She wanted to kiss him and hit him.
Darcy said, "Jane certainly was handsome enough to tempt my friend — from the first Bingley always insisted she was an angel. And," Darcy looked pained as he added, "I believe her to care for him very much. They are a happy and promising couple."
He still wished them separate; his distaste at Jane's affection for Bingley made that clear. And yet he pretended to approve. Hypocrite.
Their entry to the ballroom allowed Elizabeth to avoid replying. The large room had been laid out with long tables for the guests, and each spot had a label to identify who was assigned there. The tables were covered with silk table cloths.
Elizabeth's chair was next to Mr. Darcy. They were seated alone around a circular table too large for just two of them. Elizabeth took a deep breath. She would tolerate his presence; she would be polite; and above all, she would not attempt to flirt or gain his good opinion.
Jane and Bingley were to have been at the breakfast and depart afterwards, but they had decided to honeymoon at a seaside resort, which required them to leave immediately to avoid a stop at an inn before reaching their rented lodgings.
It was odd that Caroline had left the initial seating, where the wedding party was separate, intact. Perhaps she really had abandoned her obsession with Darcy and no longer would arrange to be near him at every opportunity.
Elizabeth's melancholy at being left without sensible female companionship returned. With the loss of both Charlotte and Jane, Meryton seemed barren. She should think about Jane's happiness. Jane looked divine during the ceremony. Her sister was happy, and that was all that mattered.
She needed her own husband who could absorb her mind the way Bingley would Jane's.
Mr. Darcy. Elizabeth's gaze involuntarily turned to him, and she imagined him kissing her. It was far more intense, and ridiculously more improper, now that he sat next to her. She tingled with his closeness — she could reach out and rub her hand along his well-muscled leg.
Elizabeth frowned. Odious thought.
Darcy interrupted her reverie. "I can guess what thought absorbs your attention this morning" — for a horrified moment Elizabeth thought he knew her fantasy — "you miss your sister and know she will not be so much with you in the future. You are enough of the philosopher to not be surprised that even the happiest of events brings some sadness. Your closeness is clear — as shown by your walk to Netherfield when she was ill. I was most impressed by your appearance when you arrived half breathless that morning after a three miles walk."
Elizabeth interpreted the real meaning of his smile well enough. Darcy meant to say: "Your petticoats were six inches in the mud, and by the way, do you not think you would be happier had I separated the couple?" Hateful man, mocking her, even after his defeat.
Her concern had been Jane alone; her appearance that morning did not shame her. It was petty of Darcy to mention it. This reminder of his pettiness did little to settle the tingling nerves that pooled in her stomach due to how close they sat.
"Jane's happiness and well-being has always been paramount to me. I have no concern for how I might appear while tending to it." Elizabeth's voice was sharp, and Mr. Darcy looked sideways at her.
"Of course it is. But you must put concern towards your own well-being — especially now that your sister has left the house. There must be much less to attach you too Longbourn now, and your eagerness to leave yourself must be proportionately greater. The example of marriage encourages others to enter the state, and I suspect much of the happiness you have felt at Longbourn must be bound up with Jane."
Did he hint she was unmarriageable? For that was silly. She may not be able to marry very well indeed, like Jane had, but she had already refused one eligible offer.
Rather than replying Elizabeth took several bites from the strawberry tart in front of her. It was delicious. "What think you of the pastries? Miss Bingley went to great effort to select them this morning."
Had Miss Bingley's claimed discovery of Darcy's flaws changed her behavior towards him?
"I am aware. This table is well supplied with my favorites. Miss Bingley works very hard indeed in cases of this sort." Darcy's voice was dry, and Elizabeth could not suppress her smile.
He may be a hateful man, but he was a clever one. That answered Elizabeth's question: Miss Bingley behaved as she always had towards him. At least, Mr. Darcy perceived no change.
Without being able to stop herself — she did not wish to banter with Mr. Darcy — Elizabeth said, "She works hardest in a case where it is clear success is unreachable. But, do not philosophers say the greatest value is often attained from the effort, and not the success? She will have no real cause to repine."
"I had not considered the situation in such a light. I fear she will not consider the improvement her endless effort makes in her character a sufficient reward." Darcy caught Elizabeth's eye and added drily, "Alas, if she chooses not to seek the lesson in her failures, they shall not make her wise."
Elizabeth smirked back at Darcy who smiled in a way that made Elizabeth's stomach flutter with butterflies. It was strange how amiable he suddenly was.
Was it wrong to disdain Miss Bingley? If Darcy did as well, surely it was wrong. Yet, it was such fun.
Darcy spoke again, "Bingley's happiness has been on my mind since I heard of his engagement. I feared he acted rashly, yet — despite everything — well — maybe he was not a fool."
Darcy looked uncomfortable and started and stopped as he spoke. He looked away from Elizabeth then back towards her. His face went from pale to red. "I had many reasons. To doubt — that is to doubt Bingley's wisdom. You cannot doubt that, and yet — despite the — despite the manners of your family" — Darcy looked to where Mrs. Bennet sat on the other side of the room jubilantly speaking to Lady Lucas — "such considerations perhaps are not that important."
Darcy's voice steadied. "It has been contrary to my character to approve of imprudent matches. But, maybe one's own happiness should be the paramount consideration in marriage." Darcy caught Elizabeth's eye and added, "This leads me to think I myself have acted amiss. I believe you understand what matter I speak of."
She did not. Elizabeth wrinkled her forehead. Surely Darcy had not changed his opinion about Bingley and Jane, though that was the obvious interpretation of his words. A Darcy who approved of Jane marrying his friend was inconceivable.
He regretted his engagement to his cousin and had decided to jilt her. That was it. Likely the girl was unpleasant and similar to him. A desire to oblige himself, rather than his family, in the choice of wife was a selfish Darcy-like thing to do.
No longer confused, Elizabeth remembered to feel angry about how he insulted her family. Despite their manners? Who was he to insult them? He had no manners. At least Mrs. Bennet never sat thirty minutes entire with a person at a ball without once opening her mouth. Quite the contrary.
When Elizabeth did not reply, Darcy added, "As you may guess, I had counseled my friend against your sister. My honest belief was that she was indifferent to him. Added to the other objections I had to the marriage that seemed reason enough."
"For truth?" Elizabeth did not believe him and did not understand why he wished to defend his behavior. "You believed Jane to be indifferent? And now that you see she is in love with your friend, you think you acted wrongly when you advised him so?"
"Not in the slightest. My counsel was the best I could give. I spoke after careful consideration of what I knew at the time. That I was mistaken in fact does not mean I was mistaken in giving the advice. It does mean I must strive to be wiser in the future. Miss Bennet, you know I openly acknowledge myself to be flawed. An unequal marriage always is an evil, but perhaps the happiness to be found in it is great enough that it is a mistake which should be made."
"You believe Bingley's happiness shall be established by his marriage, yet you still think it is an evil. A mistake. You know it is a happy occasion, yet insist you were right to advise against it." Elizabeth remembered Jane's broken expression after Miss Bingley's cruel letter had been received. "Why would you wish to destroy the happiness of my sister and your friend?"
"Miss Elizabeth," Darcy's tone was placating, "I wish no harm to Jane. I think the best of your sister and desire her happiness, both for her own merit and as she is the wife of my close friend. Yet — I do not believe disappointed hopes, the loss of an attachment of two months duration, could destroy the happiness of a person. Or, I had not believed so."
"My sister feels deeply, her heart had never been touched, had Bingley abandoned her — as you wished him to — she would have been distraught. Have you no heart?"
"You know I have. You must." Darcy's jaw was tense, and he appeared rattled as he looked pleadingly into Elizabeth's eyes. "You misunderstand my meaning. I cannot believe you would blame me for giving my first loyalty to a friend whose well-being has been my concern for many years. You naturally cared for the interests of your sister far more than those of Bingley. It is right that we look first to the interests of those connected most closely to us before extending out into general altruism."
"And what" — the pastries had been replaced by a rich ham, and Elizabeth held her fork with a white knuckle grip and jabbed it towards his face — "convinces you Bingley made a mistake when he married a woman who loves him, and whom he loves in turn. What possible consideration can overcome the importance of affection and similarity of temperament?"
"I did not say Bingley's choice was mistaken."
Elizabeth's jaw dropped open. "Do not quibble semantics. You claim unequal marriages are mistakes. I ask again: What possible consideration can overcome the importance of affection and similarity of temperament?"
"Considerations of prudence and respectability." Darcy angled his chair more towards her. "I will not pretend there are no objections to your family. Disguise is my abhorrence. Only a fool, and you are no fool, would think it proper that every time two young people feel affection towards each other they should become married. Your family lacks basic respectability, and attachment to them must make one hesitate. It must be against the better judgement of any sensible person. Only the strongest and most passionate feelings could overcome such an objection."
"Lacks basic respectability? You may think every merchant with a warehouse in Cheapside is to be despised, but my uncle does not deserve your contempt. He is a respectable, well-bred man. I am more proud to claim him than I would be to claim an earl as uncle. He could appear to advantage in any room. I would stake my life on that."
"The status of your uncle is unfortunate, but it was not of him I spoke. I only shook hands with him last night, and again this morning. Yet, from his appearance I believe him a respectable and sensible man. His sister, your mother, is not. She is who I spoke of. And your younger sisters who are totally ungoverned. Miss Lydia especially."
They both glanced to the far side of the room where the fifteen-year-old sat surrounded by three officers, giggling, drunk, and brushing her hand down the arm of a red coat.
"Your father does little to control your sisters, and I can admire no man who gives so little care for the well-being of his children. He has held this estate these twenty years. Your dowry should at least be several thousand pounds. If it were so, someone besides a besotted fool whose judgement had been stripped away by passion would be willing to connect himself to your family."
Elizabeth saw red. The tension that she felt at his nearness had turned into a rage that she no longer tried to resist. "I see. You despise us. The failings of my family are great indeed under your accounting. I only wonder that you hesitate at all in your condemnation of Bingley's choice."
"And they are great indeed under your accounting also." Darcy narrowed his eyes. "I have seen you blush when your mother exceeds her usual vulgarity and foolishness. I have seen you avert your eyes. I have seen you wish to be elsewhere. Do not pretend you do not see as clearly as I the imprudence and failings of your nearest relations. Any sensible man should hesitate to form such a connection. You know it. You could not wish for me to lie and pretend otherwise."
"You should not have said it. Had you behaved in a manner befitting a gentleman — unpleasant truths known by all need not be shared. Your friend married my sister, not my mother." She snarled into his face, "One of your cruel, unfeeling, and — and selfish disposition would not understand the difference."
Darcy went white, and the skin around his eyes tightened. He slumped in his chair. He looked hurt; his chin trembled visibly. None of his pride was present.
A spike of sympathy broke Elizabeth's anger. Surely no one had ever spoken so to him. She should not have spoken so to him. Yet he could not really care for her opinion.
He opened and closed his mouth without speaking for a full minute. A sick pit grew in Elizabeth's stomach. She had stepped beyond the bounds of propriety. She had stepped out of the bounds of Christian charity. She should not have said that. She had behaved worse to Mr. Darcy than he ever had to her.
The recollection of Wickham and Mr. Darcy's cruelty towards him — cruelty driven by what Darcy knew to be petty jealousy — snapped Elizabeth out of her pity for him.
At last Darcy asked, "Is this your true opinion of me? What have I done? How have I ever acted that would give you cause to label me cruel and selfish. Perhaps my manner is not so expressive as Bingley's, but I assure you my feelings are deep and strong. Why do you accuse me so?"
"I know of your treatment of Mr. Wickham." Elizabeth could not meet Mr. Darcy's eyes. "You cannot deny that when you stole his inheritance you acted with cruelty towards him."
Darcy was silent for a period of time. "So," he said harshly, "you take an eager interest in that gentleman's concerns. So this is the source of your dislike. He has filled your ears with tales of woe and promises of love. I assure you, Elizabeth, he will not marry you — no matter what he has promised. He is a fortune hunter and wishes to marry wealth."
"Can you not see that your words display again the petty jealousy you hold against him? That petty jealousy which led you to refuse to provide what your father promised? You do not even like me, yet cannot stand the thought I might love the rival for your father's affection. It is petty. Your treatment of him shocked me, for whatever I held against you, pettiness and dishonorable behavior had not been amongst it."
"You believe me to dislike you? You thought I was so small minded and petty as to steal Wickham's inheritance because my father held him in deeper affection than me? You think very ill of me."
Darcy pressed his palm over his mouth and looked away from Elizabeth.
She knew it was impossible that he really cared, but he looked so pained and sad. The sick feeling in her stomach returned. She wanted to touch his face and smooth away the hurt creases about his eyes. But he had mistreated Wickham terribly. "I know it is true. You may wish you acted better — I heard the story not only from Wickham, but from a person wholly unconnected to Mr. Wickham, who overheard you say that you would not give Wickham what he was owed because your father loved him better."
Darcy pulled his eyebrows tight together. "Because my father loved him better? You believe I claimed to deny Wickham what he deserved because my father loved him better? Can you not hear how ridiculous that is? No one would speak so. Who claimed to hear me say this?"
"I was sworn not to mention the matter and ought not to have said so much." The tension in Darcy's forehead cleared and his eyes scanned the room. An impulse led Elizabeth to hurriedly add, "I care nothing for Wickham. My interest in him is altruistic. I do not feel — he is too soft — I would not marry him. Not even if he had as much wealth as — as you. I do not have that sort of affection for him. Not at all."
Darcy's eye found Miss Bingley, who watched the two with a feral smirk. When she noticed that their attention had turned on her, she looked away and took quick bites from her plate. She glanced back every few seconds. Elizabeth realized other persons watched them as well.
"Miss Bingley determined to poison you against me. And you believed her, even though the story was fantastical and — and sublimely blockheaded. I thought better of you. I thought you too clever to fall so easily for the lies of one such as her."
Part of Elizabeth wilted. Miss Bingley's story was ludicrous. Obviously ludicrous. Nobody would say that. The other part of Elizabeth's mind rose to the challenge and replied angrily, "You deny it then? You deny that you refused to name Wickham to a living your father had promised for him? Do you deny that you acted dishonorably and with cruelty?"
"There is little point in such an endeavor, as you are wholly decided against me. I have always allowed my general character be shown through my actions and let the world draw what conclusion it may. If you are such a fool as to wholly believe Mr. Wickham's assertions, who am I to meddle with your ignorance? I might ask, however, how you became so set against me that you said after to me unquestioningly believe the accusations of a poor gambler and a jealous shrew."
"Miss Bingley is the sister of your closest friend. Ought I not trust what she says about you?"
"And Miss Lydia is your sister. Ought I trust her if she brings some fantastical story about Charlotte Lucas to me, or should I trust Miss Lucas's superior character? I see you agree with me. Miss Bingley's story only took root because it found fertile ears. So — when did you conclude my character was abominable?"
Darcy's handsome sneer looked down upon her as he waited for reply. "From the very first, Mr. Darcy. From the very first. You have shown from the first moment of our acquaintance a selfish disdain for the feelings of others. I confess I was surprised to hear Mr. Wickham's and Miss Bingley's stories. Yet, they fit with the general arrogance and contempt for those of less consequence you have always shown."
"You have always disliked me. That is good to know. A selfish disdain for the feelings of others? How did I show that? What selfish acts have you seen me engage in? You say from the very first of our acquaintance. What abominable act of selfishness did I perform at Mr. Goulding's dinner party when we were introduced?"
"It was not the Goulding's dinner, but at the assembly ball. Bingley approached you during the ball … while I sat near. He suggested you be introduced to me. But … but when…" The sick feeling, which curdled in Elizabeth's stomach, transformed into a tight sense of wrongness that grew with every word, and at last she trailed off.
She could not say it. She could not admit that the real source of her dislike was that he had called her tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt.
A hot flash of shame burned Elizabeth. Was Darcy guilty of anything worse than rudeness?
Darcy's hard eyes bored into her. He sat upright in his fine silk waistcoat. A spotless cravat was tied around his neck. He clenched his strong jaw, and his manner showed discomposure. Next to him Wickham was a flimsy liar. Oh, why had she ever believed Wickham? Vanity and prejudice had turned her into an awful fool.
Why could she not die, or at least faint?
Elizabeth pulled her chin in and hunched her shoulders, trying to become smaller. She blushed so hard it hurt, and tears pricked at the edges of her eyes. "I must apologize — I may have made a foolish mistake. I fear I allowed a small thing to prejudice me against you."
At Elizabeth's apology, Darcy's eyes flashed with triumph. "Ha! You admit you were mistaken. What was the small thing?" Before Elizabeth replied, Darcy's mouth fell open. "Good God! I insulted your looks. You have hated me all this time because you heard me disparage your appearance. Vanity, thy name is woman.
"Bingley wished me to dance; I wished him away. I said the first thing which came into my mind. I suppose I was rude. I apologize I did not speak in glowing terms of your appearance. That I did not praise you endlessly showed enormous selfishness. And vanity — we must not forget vanity — I showed great vanity in not praising your beauty effusively after a half second's glance."
The way Darcy crowed in triumph over Elizabeth's stupidity was all of a piece with his general arrogance of character. Resentment flared back, killing her humiliation. Darcy shook his head theatrically and turned his chair fully toward the table again. "I understand. I understand the awful truth now. For a man to resist your beauty encompasses every other vice as well."
Darcy turned back towards her and asked in a resentful tone, "Is that not so?"
Elizabeth clenched her jaw.
"I insulted your appearance, so I am selfish. I insulted your appearance, so I care nothing for the feelings of others. I insulted your appearance, so I steal. I insulted your appearance, so I am devoid of all right and proper feelings."
Darcy's voice rose with each sentence, and by the end, he nearly shouted. His sarcasm roused Elizabeth to anger. "It was not that alone. You earned my ill opinion. Do not doubt that. You show contempt for the neighborhood. You walk about and stare at us as though you wished not to share the same air. When you insulted me openly, you behaved in the same contemptuous manner you always have."
Darcy sneered and rolled his eyes. "I act as though I am above Meryton society, because I am. You know I am. I shall not pretend that they are my equals. I shall not pretend you are my equal."
A hot anger clenched in Elizabeth's chest, and for a desperate moment she wished to stab his handsome face with her fork.
Darcy added, "You are my only mistake. I thought you better than this. I thought you my equal in sense — though not consequence. I was wrong. You are as much fool as every other ordinary, stupid girl."
The two fell silent. Elizabeth stared at the roast in front of her. Darcy was right. She was stupid, like every other ordinary, foolish girl. She was not clever; she was not insightful; she was not proper. How had she ever let Wickham make her such a fool?
She had thought she was cleverer than others.
Damn Darcy. He sat smugly despising her. He had acted wrongly too. He may be her superior in wit, but not breeding. No true gentleman would have behaved in the manner he did.
Darcy's cold face stared straight ahead. The white fingers of his right hand curled around a fork while the left rested on his lap out of view. His bearing was erect. There was no sign in his manner of anything but self-certainty.
Damn Darcy. Damn him for arrogance, rudeness, and poor manners.
The footman removed their plates and replaced them with slices from the wedding cake. During the disturbance, Darcy glanced around, and Elizabeth caught his eye.
Once the footman stepped away, Elizabeth spoke. She kept her voice quiet so as not to be overheard, but tension coiled in her gut at the effort of suppressing its volume. "I may be a silly girl driven by vanity. But I only returned contempt where contempt was given. Had you acted in a more gentlemanlike manner, I would not have eagerly thought the worst of you. I may be a foolish twit. I may deserve to be despised as much as you despise me. But you — you, sir, are no gentleman."
Elizabeth shredded the slice of cake.
They sat in silence. Elizabeth turned the cake into a pile of crumbs and mushed the crumbs together.
Why was not the day over? After she went home, she would curl up in her bed and never speak to anyone ever again. Elizabeth looked around, but many people's eyes were on her, and Miss Bingley caught her gaze and smirked. She did not look up again.
Another slice of cake, pushed by Darcy's hand, entered her field of view. Elizabeth looked at him, and he said, "I know not what Wickham has said to you, and I know not if you shall believe me, but I did not behave dishonorably towards him. My father hoped for Wickham to enter the church. When he died, the living intended for Wickham was still occupied. At the time he desired to be my clergyman as little as I desired to have him. I gave him three thousand pounds to support his planned study of law. He also had a one thousand pound bequest in my father's will. In exchange he gave up all claim to the Kympton parsonage."
Elizabeth's eyes widened at the sum named; four thousand pounds was a great deal of money. Darcy held up a hand to forestall any response. "That is the truth. Disbelieve it if you wish. At this moment I care not. You may wonder where the money is — I cannot know for certain. Most likely he spent and gambled it away. Such was his habit while supported by my father at Cambridge."
The breakfast was mostly over, and the other guests had begun to leave. Darcy stood and stiffly inclined his head to Elizabeth who rose with him. She gave him an almost involuntary curtsy.
He said in a cold voice, "Good day, madam."
People glanced at her and talked. She heard laughter, and many of the people smiled. The argument had been too loud and obvious. Both had broken the bounds of proper behavior, but — like always in their interactions — she more than he.
She would not cry. No matter how much she had shamed herself, she would not make a further display. Elizabeth ate the slice of cake in front of her. The flour and sugar had no taste. It took an act of will to force each bite down. Half way through she remembered it had been Darcy's slice initially.
She had prided herself on her cleverness. It had been so clever to take fast dislike to Darcy. I had thought you better than this. So had she. He was arrogant and rude, but he was not the fool.
Why had he decided to tell her the story about Wickham?
When enough time passed to leave the ballroom with dignity, Elizabeth went to a small dressing room on the second floor. From the servant's habits during her stay at Netherfield it was likely to be open. She didn't want to be stumbled upon. As soon as Elizabeth felt safe, it was impossible to stop tears.
She'd been such a fool. She had liked Darcy all along, even if he was rude. His eyes had looked so hurt when she said he was cruel and selfish.
He wasn't cruel or dishonorable. He wasn't more self-centered than every other person. He had even approved of her. He said as much, I thought you were my equal in sense.
Ha! He was terribly wrong. Why couldn't she have been clever enough to realize Wickham and Miss Bingley lied to her? Why couldn't she have at least been polite?
He had seen himself as far above all the neighborhood, but he was far greater in consequence. Yes, visibly displaying feelings of superiority was a poor way to gain friends, and Darcy was not perfect. But now that she'd made him hate her, she saw him clearer, and she liked his character in the whole very much.
Too silent, too proud. But very clever, honorable, and interesting. More so than any other man she had met.
There was still movement below. She could not reenter Netherfield's ballroom with her face tear-streaked. The water in the copper basin set on a table was freezing. Elizabeth used a towel to carefully wet her face. She looked critically at the fine rosewood mirror. Much of the redness was gone, but the powder and rouge on her face was terribly streaked.
If only Jane were here. Jane would make her feel better. She could not speak to Papa about this. He would make fun of her. She knew she was a fool. She did not need Papa to laugh at her for it.
Miss Bingley entered the room. "Eliza! So here is where you went. Everyone wondered. You had a most fascinating conversation with Mr. Darcy. What ever did you two talk about? I know Wickham's name was spoken."
The fake pleasantness of Bingley's sister oppressed Elizabeth. With a step further into the room Miss Bingley gave Elizabeth's face a critical look. She made little attempt to hide her smile as she said in a sympathetic tone, "Heavens, you poor dear, have you been crying? You have been. Whatever did Mr. Darcy say to you? I'd always imagined you to be made of sterner stuff than that. That cruel man, I am sure he should not have hurt you so. For shame, to push you to tears, and on your sister's wedding day."
"Jane and Bingley were long gone, they shall be above a month on the honeymoon, and they will spend the season in London — this will be a half forgotten story when they return."
"I suppose." Miss Bingley pulled a handkerchief and blue porcelain powder box out of her bag. "Let me help you. We would not wish anyone to think something was amiss."
The day had drained her. Elizabeth couldn't find the energy to stop Miss Bingley as she dipped the handkerchief in the cold water and dabbed at her face. She would need to check any work done by dear Caroline before she reentered the ballroom. Miss Bingley was petty enough to intentionally damage her face.
As she rubbed the white powder into Elizabeth's face, Miss Bingley said conversationally, "You can tell me, we are nearly sisters. You took my words amiss the other day. I do want us to be friends. And you know I am aware of Mr. Darcy's faults — I told you of them myself."
"Why did you lie to me about Mr. Darcy?"
Miss Bingley laughed, a triumphant sound. "I lie to you? That is a horrid accusation. Why would I do that?"
Elizabeth stepped back and slapped away Miss Bingley's hands. "Do not regard the question, I cannot truly care. But if I find you lied about my sister, I swear I will find way to revenge her."
"Dear Jane! Why — how could you even dream that someone would mistreat her?" Elizabeth wished to seize the gilt chamber pot hidden in the corner of the room and dash it against Miss Bingley's head. "Oh, you need not worry for your sister." Miss Bingley wrinkled her nose in disgust. "She is my sister as well."
Elizabeth believed Miss Bingley. She had no motive to harm Jane. Elizabeth still hated Miss Bingley.
"It is too good to hide. It is too good." Miss Bingley smiled happily in response to Elizabeth's cold stare. "It may be imprudent, but I shall tell you — I wish to tell you — the purpose of my scheme. After how angry Mr. Darcy was as he left, it can hurt little. His good opinion once lost, is lost forever."
Elizabeth blanched. He would always remember her as the foolish girl who hated him for insulting her beauty. It was painful to consider.
Someday — someday she wished Darcy to think better of her. Elizabeth remembered when they were at Netherfield. His intense blue eyes: I cannot forget the follies and vices of others so soon as I ought, nor their offenses against myself. My temper would perhaps be called resentful.
Elizabeth's emotions lashed back the other direction. How dare he? Even if he hated her forever, it was no loss to her. She had cause to consider him meanly. As much cause as he had to despise her. He had no right to disdain her. None. He'd been rude to her and everyone else. He insulted Mama and Lydia and Papa — everyone in her family but Jane.
Miss Bingley laughed maliciously. "You are such a fool. He admired you! You stupid girl. You never noticed that he admired you — it was obvious. He was torn between attraction and being repulsed by your family and situation. And, with my brother's marriage, the attraction may have won."
"It is such a joke." Miss Bingley's smile was malicious. "Mr. Darcy, one of the most sought after bachelors in England, and you, a country nobody, could have had him if you'd not been such a silly fool. Now, after you praised his steward's son to the heavens, he must be disgusted with you. There is no chance for you now."
Was it true that Darcy had admired her? It must be. Miss Bingley would not be mistaken on a matter of this sort. Elizabeth's emotions were like a driverless cart, veering suddenly one direction and then the other. She felt loss and desire. What if… was it possible he would have married her?
The regret was smashed by the memory of Darcy's ringing voice: I shall not pretend that they are my equals. I shall not pretend you are my equal.
Elizabeth pulled her chin high. "I'm certain you are wrong. Further, I do not care. Even were he to lower himself so far as to offer for me, I could never attach myself to an arrogant man convinced of my inferiority and the inferiority of my family and my friends. Your lies were unnecessary. And of no value: He shall never marry you. He can see what sort of a woman you are."
AN: Merry Christmas everyone! Hope it's a good one!