by Meg Osborne
“Oh, it is even more beautiful than I could ever hope to do justice to by description,” Caroline said, with a rapturous sigh.
“It is an estate, Miss Bingley, nothing more,” Darcy muttered, irritated by the compliment, which seemed to him designed to suggest that she had spent more than a fleeting visit at Pemberley herself, as a guest of her brother’s. As it was, Darcy had merely tolerated Caroline’s presence, thinking her a pleasant companion for Georgiana, who had been her usual sunny self to any friend of Darcy's but had not hidden her relief once the short visit was concluded and Caroline Bingley went at last.
“Mr Darcy is effusive in his commentary, Miss Bingley, I can see you have invited him here solely based on his ability to make conversation.”
“Whereas you, Miss Elizabeth, arrived here without invitation and yet seem more than capable of talking enough for each of us.”
Darcy had muttered this last under his breath, inaudible, or so he thought, but the chorused sharp intake of breath amongst his friends suggested otherwise. He was caught, then, and propriety forced him to continue speaking if only to remedy this apparent insult.
“I trust you find Hertfordshire little changed upon your return, Miss Elizabeth?” he asked, deciding that he must face the monster head on and engage with Elizabeth Bennet directly, if he was to ever hope to understand her.
“My return?” she asked, confused. “I have hardly left it, sir. It is my home.”
“And yet you seemed perfectly adept at making yourself truly content in London, if my reports are not mistaken.”
“London?” Elizabeth laughed. “Why, I have not been to London in more than a year! How came you to think I had? We were not even acquainted before today, and yet you speak as if you know me!”
“By report, only,” Darcy said, shortly.
“And whose reports do you refer to?” Elizabeth pressed him to continue. “Surely Miss Bingley has not been espousing my virtues, for we ourselves are scarcely well acquainted.”
Caroline muttered something that might have been thank heavens, but Darcy did not acknowledge it, at last risking a glance at Elizabeth, to see if she was teasing him, being deliberately obtuse so as to make sport of his confusion. Her features were drawn into a frown and she seemed utterly unsettled by his comments.
“Come, come, Miss Elizabeth,” he said at length. “You are surely toying with me. You cannot mean to deny you have spent the summer in London?”
“I most certainly can, and do!”
“Lizzy has not been out of Hertfordshire all season, Mr Darcy,” Jane said, loyally. “I assure you, I would have noticed her absence!”
“Yes, Darcy, perhaps you are mistaken,” Bingley rallied to Jane’s side, with an amused chuckle. “After all, one imagines there must be more than one Elizabeth running about the country.”
“Perhaps,” Darcy conceded. More than one Elizabeth, certainly, but more than one Elizabeth Bennet? He regarded her carefully, certain her veneer would crack under severe scrutiny, at least enough for him to determine the truth. She lifted her chin, though, and met his gaze unflinchingly. It was a silent, brazen denial, and Darcy was left entirely befuddled. They must both be conspiring together, he thought, grouping the sisters. For scandal for one can only mean sandal for the other. He drew his lips into a line. Jane Bennet might appear sweet natured and truthful, but if she was capable of such brazen lies, right alongside the sister who had so freely invited the gossip requiring of lies to cover it, then Darcy certainly did not want either one of them anywhere near his friend. His heart sank, then, when Bingley pressed them to stay on at Netherfield longer still.
“Perhaps you will stay to dinner? Surely we would make a jolly party, all together, and then you can travel home this evening?”
***
“You are very kind,” Elizabeth said, speaking at length to interrupt the long silence that had fallen over the room after Bingley’s generous offer. “But I am afraid on this occasion we must decline.” She lifted her eyes to Jane’s. “Our family will be expecting us, and our not returning to dinner, with no word, would surely cause no small amount of alarm or speculation as to our whereabouts.”
There had been a thinly disguised snort at her use of the word “speculation”, coming from Mr Darcy’s corner, and Elizabeth levelled her gaze at him. He seemed utterly unfazed by the notion of causing offence, though, and this nonchalance served only to irritate Elizabeth further. What was this Mr Darcy about, accusing her of flitting the summer away in London, and acting as if she were already well known - and little enough liked! - by his own circle, when they had not met above an hour previously? He did not look away from her gaze, but stared squarely back at her, so that it was Elizabeth, not him, who was forced to look away first. He may be a friend of Mr Bingley’s, she thought, but I shall certainly have nothing more to do with him. What a peculiar gentleman he is! His lips had fallen into the grimace that seemed to be his perennial facial expression, and Elizabeth shook her head in wonderment. I have never come across someone so ill-tempered. How on earth he ever enticed good-hearted Mr Bingley into friendship is beyond my understanding!
A few moments more of polite conversation resumed, although interspersed with a good deal of silence, as Elizabeth did her best to wrangle both Mr Darcy and Miss Bingley into conversation, to better allow Jane to converse with Mr Bingley unimpeded. Between Caroline Bingley’s thinly veiled barbs, and Mr Darcy’s inexplicable bad temper, Elizabeth did not find her task easy, and it was with no small amount of personal relief when the clock chimed, and she asserted their intent to leave. Only a short time thereafter, she and Jane were travelling back to Longbourn, safely ensconced in Mr Bingley’s carriage, which he had been insistent on their taking, despite both sisters demurring the need. Elizabeth could tell Jane was relieved when his chivalry won out, however, for her sister did not have half so strong a constitution as Elizabeth's, and the thought of the long walk back to Longbourn had, Elizabeth did not doubt it, weighed heavily on her sister’s mind.
“There, now!” She said, turning brightly to Jane, once they were out of sight of Netherfield. “Did I not tell you all would be well once we saw Mr Bingley once more? Did he offer any excuse for not returning our call himself?”
“No,” Jane said, softly. A tiny crease disturbed her perfect brow, and Elizabeth seized on it with concern.
“What happened, Jane dear? I was so busy managing that dreadful Mr Darcy that I scarcely caught a word that passed between you.”
“Oh, it is nothing of consequence, I am sure,” Jane said, smiling, but not without effort. “Mr Bingley said he had been utterly unaware of our previous visit, and said he never saw any card with our name on it: if he had, he would have returned the compliment the very next day, if not sooner.” She blushed, prettily. “He does have such very lovely manners, you know.”
“Indeed, he does,” Elizabeth said, striving to keep her expression muted, but inwardly rejoicing at the happy little love story unfolding right before her own eyes. Her sister deserved the very best in well-mannered young gentlemen, and Mr Bingley seemed to almost - almost - be worthy of her.
“I am surprised he did not see or hear of it,” Jane continued. “But perhaps it went astray. Things do, you know.”
Elizabeth shook her head in disbelief.
“I doubt it went astray by accident. More likely Caroline Bingley spirited it away and out of sight so that he never caught wind of it.”
“Oh, I do not think that can be true! She is a most amiable creature, and why would she seek to undermine a perfectly innocent call on our neighbours?”
“She seeks to undermine any affection that might be springing up between you and her brother, I fancy, and destroying a card, or forgetting a call would be well within her means and motives to achieve it.” Elizabeth frowned. “And it appears, with the arrival of the lofty Mr Darcy that she has an ally in her quest.”
“Lizzy!” Jane chided, good-naturedly. “You speak s if they were waging w
ar against us! They are our neighbours, and I am sure you ascribe too much ill-feeling towards them. Why, we scarcely know Miss Bingley, and Mr Darcy even less.”
“Even in so short an acquaintance with him, you cannot mean to tell me you think Mr Darcy amiable?” Elizabeth laid heavy emphasis on the word, as if by doing so she might demonstrate how entirely unamiable she, herself, found him.
“I agree he was not as outgoing as Mr Bingley, nor so quick to converse, but...” Jane hesitated, searching for an explanation that would appease her sister’s already wounded pride. “Perhaps he was tired. After all, he has only just arrived today, and it is such a long journey-”
“From London?” Elizabeth shook her head. “No, Jane, I shall not so easily bend to permit such bad behaviour.” She paused. “And in any case, I rather think he might be worse than bad tempered. Did not Mr Darcy strike you as a little...peculiar?”
“Peculiar?” Jane laughed. “Now I fancy you are looking for a reason to dislike the poor man. He seemed entirely sensible to me.”
“Sensible and strange.” Lizzy was decided. “What did he mean by speaking of my “reputation in London”, as if I even have such a thing? Why, I can count on the fingers of one hand the families I know residing in London at present - and one of those are our own aunt and uncle. I hardly think they have been crisscrossing the town and speaking of me to all and sundry. Whatever could they think of to say?”
“Yes, that was a little strange,” Jane conceded, her features falling once more into a slight frown. “Perhaps he mistook you for another person. After all, as Mr Bingley said, there must be quite a number of Elizabeths in any town at any one time.”
“Perhaps.” Elizabeth remained unconvinced. Mr Darcy had seemed quite certain that he was addressing one Elizabeth only: the very Elizabeth Bennet who had sat before him at the time. He spoke as if they knew each other, or, rather, shared any number of acquaintances in common. He had not known her, clearly, for it was not until he became aware of her name that he began to speak so. I suppose I shall never discover it, she reasoned, firmly resolving to think of it no longer. If Mr Darcy wished to make strange pronouncements and judge her when they scarcely knew one another then that was his choice. She would certainly lose no sleep over it!
Chapter Four
“And?” Mrs Bennet prompted, as the family sat together that evening in the parlour.
“And...?” Jane feigned ignorance.
“What did Mr Bingley say?” Mrs Bennet said, the pitch of her voice rising in frustration. “You have told us next to nothing of what he said, Jane! Was he pleased to see you? Did he offer any explanation for not calling on us with his sister in the past few days? What of his Miss Bingley herself?”
“Mr Bingley was perfectly gentlemanlike,” Elizabeth said. “Unlike some others we might mention.” This was muttered underneath her breath, and hidden, she thought, behind the book she had been attempting to read for the past quarter hour. Alas, she was not hidden enough for one of her eagle-eyed sisters to miss it.
“Who else might you mention?” Kitty asked.
“Was there another gentleman present?” Lydia prompted. “Oh, do tell us. Has Mr Bingley a brother, or a friend? Is he handsome? Rich?”
“Girls!” Mrs Bennet shushed her younger daughters with a wave of her hand, then turned her undivided attention to Elizabeth. “Well, Lizzy? What is the name of this friend of Mr Bingley’s?”
“Mother, I did not even say there was such a person!” Elizabeth groaned. “But...as you correctly deduce he does indeed exist. His name is Mr Darcy.”
Mr Darcy. The name echoed around the room in a chorus of breaths, punctuated by a heavy chord from the pianoforte.
“Mary!” Mrs Bennet cried. “Do not thump the keys down like that, you are prone to scaring us half to death. And do play quietly, so that we might all hear the news from Netherfield of Mr Bingley’s friend.”
Elizabeth could feel the eyes of her sisters and mother upon her, and even Jane had relinquished all responsibility for the telling of their news to her. Taking a deep breath, she relayed what little information she had, taking care to err on the side of opinionless about Mr Darcy.
“He sounds a very fine man, this Mr Darcy,” Mrs Bennet breathed. “An estate you say? Pemberley. I dare say that sounds a very fine place. And he is recently come from London?” Her eyes lit up. “I shall write to my brother and ask him if he has any intelligence of this Mr Darcy. Pray, what was his manner? Did he seem educated?”
“She means rich,” Lydia put in.
“I mean intelligent,” Mrs Bennet said, with a sharp glare at her daughter. “But you raise a valid point, Lydia. I assume he is altogether well-off?”
“I suppose he must be,” Elizabeth said. “With one estate stood empty and another in London quit on a whim to visit his friends. But you must draw your own conclusions, Mama, for he did not open the conversation by assuring us of his per annum.”
“Don’t tease me, Lizzy. You know I only enquire out of concern for you.”
“Concern for me? What does it matter to me how many thousand pounds Mr Darcy has to his name?”
“Well, if you intend to marry him -”
Jane, who had been taking a ladylike sip of her tea at that moment, was so stunned by their mother’s assessment that she both gasped and swallowed at the same time, resulting in a rather less ladylike fit of choking.
“Marry him? Mama, are you quite mad?”
“Oh, but you must!” Kitty cried.
“Is he handsome, Lizzy? I can well understand you refusing, if he is not handsome.” Lydia sniffed, as if the only worthwhile factor in all of life was the elegance of one’s beaux.
“Handsome?” Elizabeth opened her mouth to deny the notion but found her breath catching a little as she recalled Mr Darcy's appearance and demeanour. “He does not look ill,” she admitted. “Although I think it unlikely he has ever found cause to smile in his life! Did not you notice, Jane, how easily his features fell into a scowl whenever I dared to speak a word?”
“Lizzy!” Mrs Bennet was distraught. “Oh, I hope you did not offend the poor man by your chattering.”
“He probably expected a woman to be seen and not heard,” Mary contributed from her seat at the piano. “It is quite unladylike to always be arguing and contradicting -”
“Be quiet, Mary!” Lydia sing-songed. “I have it on good authority that a gentleman likes a lady who speaks her mind.”
“Whose authority?” Elizabeth asked, her features lifting in a wry smile at her youngest sister’s apparent expertise in the world of courtship.
“Denny’s.” Lydia grinned. “So I don’t s’pose I should have used the word “gentleman”, poor boy.”
“I maintain that Mr Darcy was probably exhausted from the journey,” Jane said, determined to speak at least one word in favour of Mr Bingley’s close friend, and not allow his reputation to be sullied by her sisters’ speculation. “And who knows how long he had been walking when we met him, Lizzy?”
“You met him walking?” Mrs Bennet’s eyebrows rose in alarm.
“It was quite proper, Mama,” Jane counselled her.
“Yes, quite a proper collision!” Elizabeth laughed, recalling the abject horror with which Mr Darcy had first regarded her, when she had run straight into him. She remembered the warmth of him from their brief contact, and blushed, suddenly feeling a little ashamed at being caught running, by someone who must be better used to young ladies acting far more prim and proper than she could ever hope to.
“A collision?” Mrs Bennet wailed. “Oh, dear me, I do not think I want to hear all!”
“Well, then, close your ears, Mama, for I certainly wish to hear every detail!” Lydia folded her hands in her lap. “What happened, Lizzy?”
“Oh, it is nothing very interesting,” Elizabeth said. “I was running -” there was a sharp intake of breath from Mrs Bennet, which Elizabeth ignored, continuing her story undeterred. “And my path happened to cross Mr Da
rcy’s - although of course at that point we did not yet know him to be Mr anybody at all.” Elizabeth hesitated, seeing a flash of interest in her younger sister’s eyes. Rather too much interest. Lydia was famous for conjuring up romances where no romance existed, and Lizzy felt herself in danger of becoming Lydia’s latest plaything. “Anyway, he introduced himself and said that he was a friend of Mr Bingley’s, and as we had happened to be so close to Netherfield Park, would we mind pointing him back in the direction of the house. That is all.” She hurried her story to a close, and made an effort to shift everybody’s attention back to Jane, who they all adored, and Mr Bingley, who was rapidly becoming a family favourite, in no small part because of his evident partiality towards Jane. “Mr Bingley insisted - quite insisted - that we stay for tea. He was his usual friendly self, and sent us home by carriage.”
“How romantic!” Kitty sighed.
“How chivalrous,” Lizzy corrected her. “You see, Mr Bingley is certainly a gentleman, in manners as well as means. His friend...” she trailed off, leaving the rest of her point unvoiced, but no less evident. His friend may be the wealthiest man in all England, but his manners leave a great deal to be desired.
Elizabeth's retelling had its desired effect, though, for now, all attention was on Jane, and the precise detail of Mr Bingley’s manner and conversation, and did she think it possible he might call on them at Longbourn sometime? Elizabeth realised that she had not mentioned Mr Darcy’s strange attitude towards her, nor his comments about her poor reputation in London. She frowned, but then reflected that it was doubtless for the best. Her mother and sisters would react far more than was necessary to the news, and would no doubt merely complicate matters further. Her father might have the clearest notion of what to make of Mr Darcy’s comments. Elizabeth stood, excusing herself, and found her way down the corridor towards her father’s study. Mr Bennet was most like her in manner and humour, although he inclined rather more to be solitary than Elizabeth did. She knocked and waited patiently for his low voice to bid her “come”.