by Meg Osborne
“Perhaps,” she suggested, returning her cutlery to her plate. “We might walk in that direction this afternoon, Jane. Just by chance, you understand, towards Netherfield. By chance, Mr Bingley might be out of doors, on so pleasant a day as this, and by chance, we might cross paths with him there.” Her eyes sparkled. “And then we can ask him in person why he has not apologised for his rudeness.”
Chapter Two
“We really do not need to walk all the way to Netherfield, Lizzy,” Jane said, after the sisters had walked quite some distance beyond their usual path. Of the two, Lizzy was the best walker, and she hurried to intercept Jane, for she could tell already where her sister’s thoughts led.
“You cannot possibly wish to turn back already, Jane, dear! We’ve only been walking a few minutes!”
“A few minutes longer than I would have chosen,” Jane replied, with a weary smile. Nonetheless, she complied, and Lizzy slowed her pace to accommodate her. They continued at leisure, enjoying the autumn sunshine, and the chance for some quiet, for of the five Bennet sisters, Jane and Elizabeth shared a special kinship that thrived best when they were not fighting for space to be heard.
“I do not think we must presume Mr Bingley negligent in not returning our call,” Jane said, after Lizzy had launched into a particularly cruel assessment of that man, who, as she saw it, was toying with Jane’s affections and using her sister dreadfully ill.
“He encouraged us to call, and then was absent, and has not yet explained himself. I do not call that particularly gentlemanly.”
“Perhaps he has been busy.” Jane paused. “And there is his sister as well.”
“That makes the matter worse! Miss Bingley might just as easily have returned the call on her brother’s behalf.” Lizzy wished to say more on the topic of Miss Caroline Bingley but halted her tongue before it ran away with her. Jane did not share her adroit assessment of Mr Bingley’s sister, proclaiming her to be an “amiable, pleasant young woman” whenever Elizabeth attempted to enlighten her to Caroline Bingley’s true character. Amiable, ha! Elizabeth thought, stalking through the long grass that edged one field as it gave way to another. Both ladies navigated the style and continued. She does not like us, that much was plain from the scowl she wore when you spent so long in conversation with Mr Bingley last time we saw them. Caroline had rearranged her features almost immediately, and glanced about her to be sure she had not been observed pulling such a face, but Elizabeth had been quicker to notice than she had anticipated and had easily discerned Caroline’s true opinion on the match between her brother and Jane Bennet. No amount of “Dear Miss Bennet” or cosying up to them could remove that reflexive scowl from Elizabeth’s memory. Still, she had not mentioned it to Jane, fearing that the report would encourage her sister to abandon Mr Bingley altogether, for fear of causing trouble between the siblings, and that would not do. Jane has set her heart on him, and so Jane shall have him, or I’m not worthy to be called her sister. Elizabeth thought to herself, with a decided “Hmpf.”
“What did you say?” Jane asked, and Elizabeth realised she had made a sound that had carried all the way to her sister’s ears.
“Nothing, dear,” she said, with a placating smile. “I am merely rehearsing what we shall say when we reach Netherfield.”
“Oh, Lizzy, you cannot mean to go all the way to the front entrance! I thought we would just reach the edge of their grounds and return home!”
“What good will that do us?” Elizabeth asked, with a sly smile. “To go all that way and risk not seeing Mr Bingley, unless he happens to be in the very part of Netherfield Park that is nearest to our general direction? No, we shall go and attempt to call on them once more, and I am sure this time we will be welcomed as the fond acquaintances we are.”
Suddenly itching to put her plan into motion, she picked up her pace. “Come along, Jane, let’s hurry!”
“Why must we?” Jane sighed, possessing grace enough but certainly lacking in Elizabeth’s taste for exercise.
“Because we are young, and it is a beautiful sunny day, and - oh, some days I wish we could run again, the way we did as children!”
The idea, once voiced, struck her as an inordinately good one, and throwing caution to the wind, she turned to a skip, and then a full run. The wind whipped past her face, pulling at her dark curls, but she paid it no notice, flinging her arms open wide.
“Lizzy! Stop!” Jane cried, trying in vain to catch up to her. “You mustn’t!”
“Sometimes I wish I was a horse!” Lizzy cried, demonstrating her wish with an increase in her speed. Her attention did not match her direction, though, for she turned back to see if Jane had caught her enthusiasm and chased after her. Jane had stopped moving altogether and was staring vehemently ahead, in Lizzy's direction, with a deep red flush darkening her cheeks.
“What is the matter?” Lizzy called back, with a laugh. “Cheer up, Jane. Is not this the most alive you have felt for - oof!”
Elizabeth’s progress was halted at last, as she collided with a wall of flesh.
“Oh!” she cried, hurrying back a pace in shock and embarrassment. “I’m sorry!” She laughed. “I did not notice your approach, sir.” Remembering her manners at length, she adopted a quick, clumsy curtsey, and lifted her eyes to the stranger’s, willing her heart rate to slow and her breathing to soften.
“That much was evident,” the man grumbled, brushing at his front as if his collision with Elizabeth had left a smudge on his impeccable attire. His gaze was so haughty that Elizabeth felt a laugh bubbling up inside her, and clamped her teeth down on her lower lip in order to quell it.
“Are you alright?” Jane asked, breathlessly catching up to them at last. She ducked her head politely at the gentleman and sidled carefully up to her sister. “I am sorry for disturbing you, sir.” She repeated Lizzy's apology but looked altogether more horrified by the interaction that Elizabeth was, who found the entire matter rather comical. How was it that this gentleman had an entire field to traverse and still could not step out of her path when he saw her running? Worse, he seemed intent on blaming her for their collision.
“I hope you are unhurt?” he asked Elizabeth, coolly.
“Quite unhurt!” she said, with a demonstrative shrug of her shoulders. “Although I imagine I ought to be dreadfully ashamed to be seen running. Do not you think this is the perfect day for it, though, Mr...?” She hesitated, hoping he would take the pause for an invitation and tell them his name. He was quite handsome, she supposed, if ever he would stop frowning long enough for her to discern what his face truly looked like.
“Running is for children and animals, Miss, and as you are neither, I trust you will take better care in future.” He lifted a glance to Jane, then settled his dark eyes back on Elizabeth’s. “I suppose I must at least hope that you live somewhere around here?” His agitation lowered into something that might have been embarrassment, although Lizzy was certain that the emotion must be entirely foreign to such a gentleman as this. “I have come to stay with my friend at Netherfield Park, and embarked upon a walk this afternoon, but seem to have lost my bearings -”
“Oh, do you know Mr Bingley?” Elizabeth asked, deciding that she might forgive the gentleman his bad temper and bruising figure if he would confess to a friendship that might eventually help Jane win her true love. “We are just on our way to call at Netherfield.”
“Oh?” The stranger’s eyes were suspicious.
“Yes, on Miss Bingley,” Jane said, putting almost unconscious emphasis on Caroline’s title. This caused the man to relax, visibly, and after another moment’s awkward silence, he addressed them one more.
“In that case, I shall offer to escort you. My name is Fitzwilliam Darcy. And you are...?”
“Miss Jane Bennet.” Jane curtseyed again, all propriety, before nodding towards Lizzy. “And this is my sister, Elizabeth.”
***
Elizabeth Bennet. Darcy’s lip curled up at the mention of the name. So this was
the woman setting London ablaze with her misbehaviour. He had to admit to a little disappointment, for she looked thoroughly unremarkable and utterly ordinary, except...there was a flash of something in her eyes, some brightness that gave animation to her whole face. Still, it was hardly enough to be worthy of comment.
“Well, Mr Darcy, do you wish to continue your walk unaccosted, or shall we all of us make for Netherfield?” Elizabeth Bennet asked, with a sly smile. Darcy’s grimace deepened.
“That depends on whether you intend on walking, or wish to gallop with abandon, Miss Bennet.” He spoke with all the cool formality he could muster, although the woman he addressed was utterly absurd. Her hair was coming loose, thick dark curls threatening to tumble over her shoulders, and her cheeks were flushed with the energy of her exercise. Her sister, at least, seemed to intuitively understand his displeasure, and linked arms with her sister, pulling her along at a gentle walk. Some silent communication occurred between the sisters, composed of looks and a tightening of lips, and as if quite naturally Elizabeth reached up a hand to her hair and began to pin it firmly back into place. She noticed him watching her, then, and smiled broadly at him. Darcy cut his glance away, fixing instead on the fields, the trees, anything other than Miss Elizabeth Bennet’s unkempt appearance.
“Are you recently arrived in Hertfordshire, Mr Darcy?” Jane Bennet asked as they began to walk one more. Darcy hesitated, little wishing to appear too friendly to these two particular ladies, and yet could detect no ulterior motive behind the question. His manners bade him answer.
“Yesterday,” he confirmed.
“And do you intend on staying long?”
“I have not yet decided.”
There was a pause, and after a few steps more, Jane attempted once more to prompt him into conversation.
“What do you think of our countryside, Mr Darcy? I am glad you are able to see it on such a pleasant day as this, for surely the weather will be turning soon and there must be but a few truly sunny autumn days left to us.”
“Indeed.”
This last attempt appeared to be Miss Bennet’s last, for she mercifully lapsed into silence, and there was no more required of Darcy but to walk, and assure himself, by regular checks, that his companions did the same. He would not put it past Miss Elizabeth to break into a run again at any moment, but her sister's presence by her side stayed her into solemnity.
“Are you long acquainted with Mr Bingley, Mr Darcy?”
He was so surprised to hear a question coming from Elizabeth Bennet, in such a measured, easy tone, that he did not answer straight away, and she took his silence for confusion, repeating her question with a hint of irritation in her voice.
“I do not see that our acquaintance is of any concern to you, Miss Elizabeth,” he said, shortly, certain that her question had been a trap, but unsure of the intention behind it. She wished to extract information from him, perhaps, that could be used against Bingley. Or against himself! Yet, no. No woman could have looked at him with the vehemence that Elizabeth Bennet now shot him and still wish to play for his heart.
“I merely wished to enquire upon your friendship, Mr Darcy, out of my regard for Mr Bingley. Surely such a generous gentleman must surround himself with truly intelligent, interesting people.” Her tone suggested that she certainly did not intend on applying these characteristics to Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy, based on their short acquaintance, and for a moment he was almost goaded into saying something more, if only to set her to rights on her assessment.
“It is none of our business, Lizzy,” Jane Bennet said, in a low voice. She lifted a hand to shield her eyes from the afternoon sun and pointed.
“Look, here is Netherfield Park! I had not realised we were so close.”
“I told you it would not take us long to reach it, Jane.”
Elizabeth’s enthusiasm was such that Darcy half expected her to leap into motion once more, and pull her sister along after her, but she did not, and again some silent communication occurred that he could not decipher.
“Did you say that Mr and Miss Bingley were at home this afternoon?”
Elizabeth’s question had gone without clear direction, so that it took Darcy a moment to realise it was intended for him.
“I believe so,” he muttered. But that is not invitation to you to join them. This last was thought, not spoken, yet he fancied, from the shadow that flickered across Elizabeth’s face, and the grim smile that settled over her lips that somehow she distinguished it anyway.
“Well, then, you won’t mind if we call on them for a quarter hour. After all, as our near neighbours and friends, I am sure they will be only too happy to see us.” With a decisive nod, she strode ahead, determined not to be delayed any further from her goal of seeing the Bingleys. Jane had the grace to shoot him an apologetic look, which he ignored, other than to acknowledge that whatever else Jane Bennet might be, she was certainly more graceful and mannered than her sister, and Charles deserved some credit for recognising that. She was a beauty, too, with the sort of hair and complexion that could only be achieved in London with copious wealth and time. Judging from the well-worn dresses both Bennet sisters wore, he did not fancy their family could spare such funds for such things, and thus their beauty was entirely natural. This pleased him, but he chased the thoughts away. It may not be expensive artifice, but it is artifice nonetheless. Recall, Elizabeth Benet is credited as a flirt and a trouble-maker. How can I imagine her sister does not share these traits?
This thought spurred him into action and he hastened after them, wary of leaving either one of them alone with Mr Bingley and certainly not intent on leaving his friend defenceless around them both.
“Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth Bennet to call on Mr -” A sharp look from her sister caused Elizabeth to rapidly revise her comment. “To call on Miss Caroline Bingley.” As Darcy drew close, she shot him a look and inserted his name into her address to the housekeeper. “And Mr Darcy, too.”
At the mention of his name, and even more so at the sight of him, the housekeeper threw wide the door and ushered all three inside.
“Darcy, is that you?” Charles’ voice echoed from the sitting room, growing in volume as he moved towards the hall to greet his friend. “We wondered where you had got to! We were about to mount a search, when -” Bingley’s face froze, then stretched into as broad a smile as Darcy could remember seeing upon it. “Why, Miss Bennet! Miss Elizabeth! How wonderful that you should be here as well! Do, do stay to tea, won’t you?”
Chapter Three
“Miss Bennet...Miss Eliza...” Caroline Bingley’s greeting was as chilly as her brother’s was warm. “What brings you all the way to Netherfield?”
“Providence!” Bingley said, happily. When his glance met Darcy’s his smile dropped, and he coughed. “That is, I imagine it was chance alone.”
“Indeed.” Caroline’s face remained impassive. “And you have met our dear friend and guest Mr Darcy, I see?”
Darcy sighed, not wishing to be drawn into this particular conversation, but apparently unable to avoid it, despite having sought a corner chair as soon as he could.
“We happened to be on a walk,” Elizabeth said. “And when we realised how close we were to Netherfield it would have been remiss to turn around and go home again without at least calling for a few moments.”
“A few moments!” Bingley was aghast. “No, you must stay an hour at least. And we will give your our carriage for your return journey. We cannot expect you to walk all that way.” He was all concern in his regard for Jane Bennet, and Darcy felt his heart sink. Bingley was already half-lost, and surely this had been a chief goal of Elizabeth Bennet all along, judging from the satisfied smile that flashed across her face, momentarily illuminating her otherwise plain features into something altogether intriguing.
“Indeed.” Caroline’s one-word response was pointed this time, and Darcy lifted his gaze from Elizabeth’s face to Caroline’s, feeling a flash of guilt that he had been seen
to notice Elizabeth Bennet’s appearance at all. The guilt faded into irritation, however, as Darcy most often felt around Caroline Bingley. She was not his sister, nor anything else to him that required her to form an opinion on his activities, and yet he felt certain that the haughty expression she wore was designed entirely to chastise him into behaving in a particular manner she decided on. He harrumphed, and pointedly turned his attention towards the window.
“Well, Darcy?” Bingley asked, taking his movement for invitation, and leaping into conversation with the friend he had not properly seen for several weeks. “What say you of our grounds? Is not Netherfield Park the most delightful estate you could imagine?”
“Hardly, Charles!” Caroline breathed, sliding carefully into the seat closest to Darcy’s and surreptitiously moving it closer still, when she thought she was not being observed. “It scarcely compares to Pemberley!” She turned to the Miss Bennets, with an obsequious smile. “Pemberley is in Derbyshire, and is Mr Darcy’s own home, when he is not pressed upon to visit friends up and down the country.” She punctuated this last with a silly little laugh and Darcy felt his own features sink into a grimace. He turned directly to Charles, as if Caroline had not uttered a word.
“It is a pleasant enough place, Charles. You did well in securing it.”
This largely indifferent comment might just as well have been a compliment of the highest order, for the impact it had on Charles’ countenance, for he blossomed under it, raising his chest and standing three inches taller. The effect was enough to turn Darcy’s grimace into a smile, though he hid the motion behind one of his hands.
“High praise indeed, I wager, if Mr Darcy's Pemberley estate is as wonderful as Miss Bingley suggests,” a musical voice observed, innocently. Darcy did not need to look to ascertain it was Elizabeth Bennet who spoke, yet in spite of himself, he felt his eyes drawn to her. He forced them away just as quickly and found them resting on Jane, then Caroline, and with a muttered curse he dropped his gaze to the floor, certain he might be safe from any error if he stuck to tracing the pattern of the parquet.