by Meg Osborne
“It was not on account of your family’s plight that I acted, Miss Bennet. Nor at the suggestion of Charles Bingley, though I do not wonder he would happily take credit for it if he could. It was for you. I did this all for you.”
Chapter Eighteen
Elizabeth credited herself that she was not easily surprised, nor prone to shock. She had grown up in the shadow of a mother who took fright at the slightest provocation and whose constant mention of her nerves had made the young Elizabeth Bennet determined she would never possess nerves of any kind nor air them as frequently as her mother did. But to hear those delicious words on the lips of Mr Darcy made her very heart stop beating.
I did this for you.
“But you hardly know me!” The response was so foolish that she regretted it the instant it was out, and tried to clarify her statement, lest he recoil in disappointment and return to the closed off, angry shell of himself he had been so recently.
“That is, we met but a handful of times before you made the offer to my uncle. We danced once! We had barely spoken. I was quite certain you did not like me at all - let alone like me well enough to exercise yourself on my behalf and to the benefit of my family. We were strangers to you.”
“True,” Darcy conceded, with a grimace. “I had not known you long, but I wager I knew you well, even then. Did not you feel a strange sense of understanding, of belonging, the very first time your hand took mine?”
There was a desperate, pleading tone to his voice as he uttered these words, and Elizabeth realised what it cost him to speak so plainly. She, who had formed intimacies easily still did not often speak of her heart, even with those she valued as her close companions. Darcy had fewer friends, fewer still he would speak to as freely as this. She was even more surprised to find that her response was entirely natural.
“Yes.” She shook her head, in disbelief. “I can scarcely credit it, but it is true. I felt as if we had known each other far longer than a moment.”
“When we saw one another again, in St James’ Park -”
Lizzy groaned and buried her face in her hands.
“Do not remind me! I am sure I was an absolute fright. I certainly never dreamed of crossing paths with anybody I knew -”
“On the contrary, it was that meeting that convinced me to act. How could I not stoop to help one who felt so deeply, so genuinely, the loss of her father?” He drew a breath. “Miss Elizabeth, I do not easily admit to my own feelings, but -”
He got no further in this speech, for the door flew open, admitting not only Georgiana but two particularly bedraggled looking companions.
“They are here!” Georgiana exclaimed.
Elizabeth glanced at Darcy for confirmation, and it seemed as though a riot of emotions crossed his features in an instant before he rose from his chair and strode forward to greet his guests.
“Charles! Miss Bingley! Come in, do!”
Lizzy stood, then, too, eager to welcome these newly arrived friends. It took a moment for her presence to be noticed, another moment for it to be acknowledged, and she soon found herself warmly greeted by a smiling Charles Bingley.
“Miss Elizabeth! What providence you should be here the very day we arrive. Tell me, where is your sister?” He looked about as if he might imagine Jane to be hiding behind a piece of furniture. He was so enthusiastic, so warm, that Lizzy regretted having to disappoint him.
“Alas, Mr Bingley, she is at home today, with my mother and sisters.”
“Oh.” His delighted face fell, but only for a moment. “I dare say that is the very best place for her. Dreadful weather, this!” He shook his head, sending a riot of raindrops flying in all direction.
“Must you share it with all of us indoors, Charles?” Caroline snapped, stepping a wide berth around her brother, and greeting Elizabeth with a smile that was less than genuine.
“Good afternoon Miss Eliza. Goodness, could not the deluge keep you at home as well?”
“It ought to have!” Lizzy said, determined not to be cowed by Caroline Bingley’s disdain. “I was taking a walk with Georgiana when it began. She insisted I accompany her here for the afternoon, while we wait for the worst of the weather to pass.”
“Very wise,” Charles said, claiming a seat for his own and angling it towards the fire. “It will ease in time, I don’t doubt. Is this tea?”
“Here!” Georgiana hurried forward, with a fresh pot, and poured a handful of cups.
“Won’t you sit, Miss Bingley,” Darcy said, politely. “Or would you prefer to retire immediately? I do not doubt you are tired from your journey.”
“Oh, no!” Caroline said, with an expression that suggested she would, indeed, like to retire and sleep for an hour, but did not dare leave the parlour lest she miss something important amongst her companions. “We are just delighted to be here, at last, are not we, Charles?”
Charles Bingley’s eyes drooped, relaxed by the warmth of the fire and the pleasant sound of voices so that Caroline was forced to repeat herself.
“I said we are quite content to remain here and see Mr Darcy and dear Georgiana properly for an hour, before retiring to our rooms.”
“Indeed,” Charles said, contentedly. “And Miss Elizabeth, which is an additional unexpected pleasure. Tell us, how is your family?”
“My family is well!” Lizzy laughed, seeing that there was but one member of her family that Charles Bingley particularly cared to know about. “Jane thrives in Derbyshire, for we have all been enjoying so much time out of doors.”
“Oh?” Caroline arched an eyebrow and peered towards the window.
“Not when the weather is as delightful as this, of course,” Elizabeth continued. “But we have had several pleasant weeks since our arrival, and have profited from them.”
“Yes, and they are often at Pemberley with us, are not they, William?” Georgiana put in, happily. “I cannot begin to tell you how changed their presence has made it. I am never without companionship and your sisters are such dears, Elizabeth. We are so fond of one another.”
Caroline’s smile, worn thin from politeness, became increasingly strained as Georgiana heaped praise on the Miss Bennets, and Elizabeth was forced to look away, fearing she would laugh or otherwise point out the incongruity between Carline’s polite inquiries and her evident irritation at Georgian’s affectionate answers. She turned, and her eyes met Darcy’s, but instead of holding her gaze, as he had done moments before, this time he could not look away quickly enough. Lizzy’s heart sank, although she could not fully explain her disappointment, even to herself. When, some time later, the clouds cleared enough to raise mention of Elizabeth returning home, it was Charles Bingley, not Darcy, who rose and offered himself as an escort. Lizzy accepted, pushing all thoughts of Mr Darcy aside, but she could not help but feel a flare of disappointment at the catlike smile that adorned Caroline’s features as she settled herself on the sofa and said, with feigned disappointment, that she was beginning to feel a little fatigued just at present, and so would bid Miss Eliza a fond farewell and look forward to seeing her again soon. Darcy opened his mouth to say something that might have been an apology, or some other word, but Elizabeth did not give him the opportunity.
“Do not stir, Mr Darcy. Thank you for allowing me to shelter at Pemberley these past few hours. I shall pass on your greetings to my family and leave you to tend to your guest. Good afternoon.”
WITH THE DEPARTURE of Charles and Elizabeth Bennet, the atmosphere in the sitting room at Pemberley changed. Caroline glanced towards Mr Darcy and Georgiana, curious to see if either of them noticed the shift that seemed so entirely apparent to her. It was almost as if the temperature had dropped by degrees, but no, the fire was still happily roaring in the hearth. She slid a little closer to it.
“Are you cold, Miss Bingley?” Georgiana asked, politely.
Caroline began by shaking her head, but, seeing that this drew no noticeable reaction from Mr Darcy, elected instead to speak.
“I am
a little cold,” she said, shivering to masterful effect.
Mr Darcy looked up, then, but before Caroline could congratulate herself on her success, he stood, walking pointedly past her and reaching for the poker, which he jabbed into the fire with such ferocity that it roared into life, sending sparks shooting forwards. Here, again, Caroline saw an opportunity to force some interaction and yelped, skittering back and putting some distance between herself and the fire.
“Whatever is the matter?” Georgiana cooed, leaving her own seat that she might draw closer to her friend.
“Oh, it is nothing serious!” Caroline said, forcing just the right inflexion of bravery and longsuffering into her voice as she closed one hand over an imaginary injury on the other. “Just a spark!”
“A spark!” Georgiana’s eyes sharply sought her brother. “Be careful, William! Poor Miss Bingley was almost singed!”
“She claimed to feel the cold,” Mr Darcy said, a little sharper than necessary. He realised his error, though, and Caroline was a little mollified by the contrite glance he shot her way, the murmured apology that followed it.
“I am sorry, Miss Bingley.” He glared reproachfully into the fire as if it were that that was entirely responsible for injuring his guest, and not his own vigorous disturbing of the coals.
The room lapsed again into silence, and Caroline struggled to summon some thought she might share that would goad her companions into conversation again. She lamented the loss of her brother, who hardly ever struggled to fill a room with conversation, either in company or by himself. She had known more than on occasion where Charles could carry on an entire dialogue unaided, while she patiently, or not so patiently, attempted to ignore him and attend to her reading. Reading! There, at last, she had found some safe topic, and turned to Georgiana to put it to use.
“I have just been reading a most thrilling novel, Miss Georgiana, and wonder if you have come across it. It is called The Red Baron and is utterly absorbing!”
She thought she heard a snort from Mr Darcy, but when she glanced at him his features were impassive and she put the sound down to the settling of the fire. She turned back to Georgiana.
“Are you familiar with it?”
“I do not believe so,” her young friend said, carefully. “I confess I have not often made time for reading newer works. When I am not absorbed in my music, I have been working through our library here. Elizabeth is so avid a reader that I have been ashamed to acknowledge how few of the volumes we possess that I have actually read, and she has challenged me to complete a few that she herself has enjoyed.”
Caroline’s displeasure with this anecdote must have been evident in her features, for Georgiana hurried to placate her.
“But I will add your suggestion to the list! Here, wait a moment while I fetch some paper and I will note it down. Is baron spelt with two R’s?”
“One.” Caroline could not quite keep the note of bitterness from her voice and strove to draw the topic of books to a close expeditiously. She turned instead to music, recalling one detail of Elizabeth Bennet’s personal failings that she had nursed like a treasure.
“Elizabeth is not fond of music, is she? What a pity. I wonder, Georgiana, if I might introduce you to the newest pieces I discovered recently in London, for, you know, one hears the newest, most fashionable pieces when in the capital...”
“Where did you hear that Miss Elizabeth is not fond of music?” It was Mr Darcy who spoke, and his tone was less than kind. Caroline lifted her chin, ready to meet his gaze, but he insisted on staring into the fire as if it, and not Caroline, possessed the answer to his question.
“She told me as much herself,” she responded, wishing she could kick his chair out from under him and thus force him to at least acknowledge her by looking. What had become of the Fitzwilliam Darcy who, whilst never talkative, had at least been equipped and willing to carry a conversation without acting as if she were part of the furniture? She drew in a breath. “It was during our acquaintance in London, I believe, for we were talking of our shared interests and I was very disappointed to hear that she does not play the piano beyond a little, nor sing, nor take any great interest in music.”
“Oh, she enjoys it well enough!” Georgiana’s cheerful voice floated across the room, as she returned to join her friend. She tucked the note she had written into the sleeve of her dress, with a friendly nod towards Caroline. “Indeed, she has exquisite taste when it comes to the hearing of music.” She laughed. “It is just in playing that she lacks the skill. Or, perhaps, the willingness, for I am quite sure she would manage tolerably well if she applied herself to practising.”
“We cannot all be songbirds, as you are, Georgiana.” Mr Darcy spoke with such affection and turned a brief smile upon his sister and ordinarily, Caroline would have been touched to see the friendly interaction between brother and sister. This time, however, it served only to highlight how different his manner was when he addressed her. His smile noticeably dimmed as he nodded, vaguely, in her direction. “And you, Miss Bingley. I recall you also enjoy playing.”
Caroline felt pride puff up in her chest. There! All her worries were for nought. He alluded, without any prompting, to their shared history and trotted out for her perusal a clear fact he had retained about her hobbies and interests. Her smile grew, buoyed by the notion that she still held tight hold of Mr Darcy’s good opinion. His bad temper clearly had nothing to do with her, nor with the prompt departure of Eliza Bennet. He was tired, that was all, and it was too cruel, really, to expect him to be a conversationalist simply because she wished him to be. No, she admired Mr Darcy for who he was, not for her own image of him. She racked her brains, then, for some topic of interest that he might find interesting, to return the favour and show that she, too, listened when he spoke.
“Tell me, Mr Darcy,” she began, sitting a little taller as if by doing so she might command a fraction more authority in her words. “What are your thoughts on the latest news from France?”
This provoked a reaction, and Caroline rued the fact that she had not taken a chance on this topic sooner! Still, there was no time like the present. “Do you think Napoleon will continue to trouble our interests?”
Mr Darcy regarded her curiously as if he could not quite decide what provoked her words, nor how he might choose to respond to them. Caroline congratulated herself. She had evidently impressed him with her knowledge of world affairs. Eliza Bennet might read fit to rival a schoolmistress and tramp about as if she were a horse, but when it came to interesting a gentleman in the delicate art of conversation, it seemed that she, Caroline, would be the victor.
“I rather think that a concern for our navy, Miss Bingley.” Darcy raised his eyebrows, and Carline felt the uncomfortable sensation that he was teasing her. “Although I am sure the Admiral of the Fleet will seek your advice on the matter at his earliest convenience.”
Chapter Nineteen
“Mr Bingley!” Mrs Bennet could not have been more surprised had Mr Bingley not carried Elizabeth over the threshold of their small cottage, rather than merely escorted her, smiling warmly at the family who gathered, en masse, to receive him. “What are you doing here?”
“I am come to visit Mr Darcy!” he said, cheerfully. “And I thought I should pop my head in here and call on my friends the Bennets, too. It is providential that you should all be residing but a stone’s throw from one another.”
“And we told you that Miss Bingley mentioned their plans to visit Pemberley, Mama,” Lizzy said, amused to witness shock give way to delight, as Mrs Bennet swept her younger daughters aside to make space for Mr Bingley, offering him her own chair in their crowded sitting room, and summoning Jane with a barely-coherent squawk of excitement.
“Kitty, fetch the tea things!”
“Why do I always have to -” Kitty began, but was silenced with a glare from her mother.
“Come, Kitty, I shall help you,” Mary said, in her best martyr voice. Nobody acknowledged her, however, so
that it was a poor use of her talent for self-sacrifice.
“Mr Bingley!” Jane had descended the stairs so quickly that she was a little breathless, yet it merely added to her beauty, giving her pale cheeks a healthy glow. Lizzy felt certain that, had Mr Bingley not already felt some affection for Jane that seeing this picture of happy domesticity would seal his heart for her forever.
“Miss Bennet!” Having only recently sat, he stood, banging his head on the low-beamed ceiling, and provoking squeals of despair and sympathy from Mrs Bennet, who, forgetting propriety, yanked hard on his arm and bid him sit again.
“Jane! Fetch a basin! And a cloth. Oh, Mr Bingley! You are not too badly hurt, I hope?”
“Not a bit!” Bingley said, laughing good-naturedly. “I assure you, Mrs Bennet, it will take more than a blow to the head to damage this noggin of mine. It happens rather more than you might imagine!”
This news did not surprise Lizzy, and she hid her laughter behind one hand. She did like Mr Bingley. He was such a breath of fresh air compared to staid, stoical Mr Darcy.
At the memory of Mr Darcy, her thoughts flew back to their murmured conversation before the fire in the parlour at Pemberley, and her throat constricted. He had spoken more freely than he perhaps ever had before, at least to her. She was not well-versed in the interactions between gentlemen and ladies but she did not believe it possible that he made a habit of speaking in so low a tone, and with so few companions, to a young lady. But did that mean anything? She bit her lip. Her own feelings were easily as confusing to her, for she scarcely knew what to make of them. She had thought Mr Darcy proud and aloof, yet discovered during her time at Pemberley that that did not stop him from being sensible and interesting and intelligent: all traits she greatly admired. Witnessing his care for his sister, and his generosity towards her own family had only served to seal her good opinion of him, and she had heard nought but good reports of him from their neighbours that lived and worked on the estate, and from Lydia’s ear for gossip from town. There was no scandal, none of the usual sorts of troubles that might befall a young man thrust into an inheritance at a young age. No, Fitzwilliam Darcy was a good man, running the estate with even greater care than it had been managed by his father before him. He was a trifle serious, but that was considered no bad thing where an estate the scale of Pemberley was concerned. Still, Elizabeth had cautioned herself against forming anything other than a passing affection for their landlord, certain that he could not begin to think of her as anything other than an occasional walking companion and friend for his sister. She had never seen the sort of affection that was at this moment plain as day on Mr Bingley’s face as he reached up to take the cup of tea Jane passed him. It was as if there were no other people in the room, or in the world. All that existed for Mr Bingley was Jane Bennet, and all that existed for Jane was Mr Bingley. Lizzy felt a flutter in her stomach. That was precisely how she had felt that afternoon speaking to Mr Darcy. Is it possible that I care for him so? The thought surprised her so much that she leaned back a little against the table she leaned on, and it moved, its legs raking noisily across the floor.