by Jann Rowland
“And you would be correct,” said Mr. Bennet. “Both Lizzy and William understand the nature of their relationship. Lizzy knows of the young man’s feelings, and William knows that while his feelings for her are strong, she does not return them, and he is content to admire her from afar.”
“That could be considered a tragedy for him.”
Mr. Bennet shrugged. “Perhaps. But I am certain he does not see it that way. A part of his heart will always belong to her, but as time goes on, he will realize that a large measure of what he feels has been driven by infatuation.
“I think highly of my cousin, Mr. Darcy,” added Mr. Bennet, his manner more serious. “But it is clear to anyone who cares to look—including William himself—that they do not suit. Thus, he is happy with whatever affection she is willing to grant him, knowing that one day she will marry, and he will too. But they are not for each other, regardless of how much he wishes it might be so.”
With an absent nod, Darcy continued to watch the company, noting that Miss Mary had now joined them. Miss Elizabeth was relating some anecdote, her words punctuated by gestures of her hands, as well as what Darcy took to be mimicking whatever person of whom she was speaking. When she delivered the punch line, they all laughed, Mr. Collins as much as any other. Darcy decided that Mr. Bennet was correct—Mr. Collins looked on her with clear admiration, but he did not attempt to turn her attention toward him. He truly was content with whatever he was given, though when she did grant him her attention, he beamed, as pleased as if she were focusing on him to the exclusion of all others.
“Let me also inform you of one more matter, Mr. Darcy,” said Mr. Bennet, once again drawing his attention to the gentleman. “My Lizzy—all my daughters, in fact—have dowry enough to enable them to take their own paths in life, even if their brother refused to support them. I care nothing for society or status. They are all free to marry as their hearts dictate. If Lizzy should decide her future lay with my cousin, I would not stand in her way. The same is true should she decide on any other man.”
Darcy nodded, still distracted. But Bennet was not about to allow him to return to his reverie.
“Now, young man—I have been told you are skilled at chess, and I do long for a challenge. I shall expect your presence at Longbourn tomorrow morning.”
“Very well, sir,” said Darcy. “I would be happy to.”
The rest of the evening was spent in pleasant conversation with Mr. Bennet. And while Darcy might have preferred to be the recipient of some of Miss Elizabeth’s attention, he found himself content to watch her from afar. But he would not end like Mr. Collins in this respect—he felt too much for her to remain passive like the other man was.
Chapter X
“Check and mate.”
While her father gazed at the board for several moments, apparently attempting to find a way out of the trap in which Mr. Darcy had caught him, Elizabeth knew it was fruitless. A moment later, her father saw it too, and he reached out and tipped his king over, accepting his defeat. Then he sat back in his chair and regarded the man across the chessboard from him.
“The tales of your prowess have not been exaggerated, Mr. Darcy. I believe that is now two wins for us each.”
“It seems to be so,” said Mr. Darcy, his tone brimming with satisfaction.
“Of course, you have not been nearly so proficient with Lizzy. Unless I am mistaken, you have lost both of your matches.”
“Your daughter is far more skilled than I had thought,” muttered Mr. Darcy, seeming a little annoyed by the fact of his two defeats.
“I did inform you of her skill,” said Mr. Bennet, clearly amused. “Then again, perhaps it is merely the fact of having to face a pretty young woman on the opposite ends of the battlefield which has led to your defeats.”
Mr. Darcy gaped at Mr. Bennet, which resulted in the elder man guffawing at his own joke. Elizabeth, for her part, was a little annoyed with her father. Many had been the time in the days since the Netherfield dinner that he had teased Mr. Darcy with little innuendos about Elizabeth. It was as if he was attempting to rouse Mr. Darcy’s interest in her!
“I assure you, sir,” said Mr. Darcy, “I shall not underestimate her again.”
“Shall we test the theory?” asked Mr. Bennet lazily. “Bingley appears engrossed in my eldest daughter. I cannot imagine he would be put out should you begin another game.”
Across the room, Mr. Bingley, indeed, sat close to Jane, laughing in response to something she said, completely oblivious to the attention they were attracting. A glance at them seemed to confirm to Mr. Darcy what Mr. Bennet had averred, and he turned to Elizabeth, a questioning look on his brow.
“Very well, sir,” said Elizabeth. “I am happy to defeat you again, if you wish it.”
Mr. Bennet guffawed and quickly gave up his seat for Elizabeth’s, so he could watch the game. They set up the board, Mr. Bennet holding the kings in two closed hands. Mr. Darcy indicated for Elizabeth to choose. Mr. Bennet opened his hand, revealing the black king, and Elizabeth gestured to Mr. Darcy to take the first move. His opening move was a standard one, and from there the game was on.
As she played, part of Elizabeth’s mind was concentrated on the person of the young man who sat across the table from her. As he concentrated, Mr. Darcy’s brow furrowed and his hand clenched and unclenched, a mannerism she had seen from him quite a few times by now. Soon, his hand stretched out to make another move, ceding the next move to Elizabeth.
Her study of the man was a frustrating endeavor as Elizabeth felt she did not have enough information to make a judgment. Mr. Darcy was not the friendliest of men. It seemed to Elizabeth that he was, in fact, quite closed and reserved with most of those in the neighborhood. Only with the Bingleys and the Bennets was he more open, and even then, it was with Elizabeth and Mr. Bennet he was friendly. He was polite enough with both Mary and Jane, but he did not go out of his way to initiate any exchanges with them, as he did with Mr. Bennet himself.
An obvious intelligence hovered behind his eyes, evident in every word he spoke which was always careful and considered. Whether he spoke of literature, the state of the war—usually with Mr. Bennet—his father’s estate, or anything else, Elizabeth had the sense he spoke of those things with which he was familiar with confidence. On those subjects with which he was not so familiar, he gave his opinion readily enough, but he couched it as an opinion. Elizabeth had seen so many other men—especially men speaking with a lady—state their opinions as an absolute fact. She did not know if they thought a woman could never contradict them, but there it was. But Mr. Darcy did not talk down to her.
Had she not thought it impossible, Elizabeth might have wondered if he were interested in her. That could not be, of course, for the levels of society they inhabited were so different as to create a gulf so wide it could not be crossed. Furthermore, he did not act with her such as a lover might—Mr. Bingley with her sister, Jane, for example. In fact, though he was always polite when spoke with her, it was never with the eye of a man who admired a woman.
In the back of her mind, the memory of his actions at the assembly four years prior still bothered her. Was that the real Mr. Darcy? Had he changed? Or was he even now lulling her to sleep with his pretty manners and friendship with her father, ready to strike with further improprieties when she least expected it? Though Elizabeth could not see any evidence of such propensities, she could not be certain.
She told herself over and over again to stay clear of him, not to give him any of her attention, leave him to Mr. Bingley and her father. But something always drew her back. Elizabeth did not know what it was. Mr. Darcy was strangely compelling, and Elizabeth was helpless before his appeal.
At least in the company of Papa, he can do nothing, thought she as she watched him concentrating on his next move. His hand reached out tentatively, brushed against his knight, and then jerked back as if stung. Elizabeth watched as he considered for a few moments. Then he s
tretched out and moved the piece as he had originally intended.
“Excellent,” said Elizabeth, moving her queen to the desired location. “Checkmate, Mr. Darcy.”
Incredulous, Mr. Darcy examined the board for several moments. The sound of her father’s laughter fell over them as Elizabeth sat back in her chair, feeling inordinately pleased with herself. A moment later Mr. Darcy resigned himself and toppled his king.
“A worthy attempt, Mr. Darcy,” said Elizabeth, rising to her feet. “But I believe I have won again.”
Then with an impish smile, Elizabeth excused herself and departed from the room. The sound of Mr. Bennet’s continued chuckles followed her, and as she walked, she risked one more glance behind. Mr. Darcy was watching her, wonder in his eyes and on his countenance. Elizabeth shook her head and turned away—it appeared Mr. Darcy was still unable to understand that she could beat him at his own game.
And so it continued for some days. They saw much of the entire Bingley party, in particular, Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy. The Hursts returned to Netherfield soon after and the Bennet sisters called at Netherfield to welcome them. Elizabeth had never been fond of Mrs. Hurst—she had not been well liked in the area in general. But it was the polite thing to do, and the woman did not appear so objectionable as she had in the past. There was also some confirmation of her status as an expectant mother, which predictably put Mrs. Bingley in a jubilant mood.
A few days later, Elizabeth was pleased to receive a visit from Charlotte Lucas, whom she welcomed with eagerness. Charlotte had been away for some days, visiting with a friend at an estate closer to Hatfield. By coincidence, Charlotte’s visit overlapped with another visit from Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley, who left not long after her arrival. A character as forthright as Charlotte’s, who had known Elizabeth for so long, could not fail to tease. The expected inquisition happened as the two ladies walked out to Longbourn’s back lawn.
“Has Mr. Darcy visited Longbourn often?” asked she.
“He comes with Mr. Bingley,” said Elizabeth. “A shared love of chess has drawn him together with my father.”
“Ah,” said Charlotte with a knowing grin. “Might I hazard to guess, then, that he has also been drawn together with you? Your skills at the game are as good as any, after all.”
Elizabeth shook her head, unwilling to allow her friend to draw her in. “Yes, he has played against me. In four matches, I remain undefeated against him.”
“If the man was not showing such a promising inclination, I might warn you against such unladylike displays.”
Well aware that her friend was jesting, Elizabeth looked heavenward. “Playing chess is not unladylike, Charlotte. There are some men who cannot fathom being bested by a woman, but Mr. Darcy has always been gracious in defeat.” Elizabeth paused and giggled. “Of course, the first two and maybe three times, he seemed a little uncomprehending.”
“You must own that chess is not a common accomplishment that women claim,” said Charlotte. When Elizabeth smiled and did not reply, Charlotte continued: “Regardless, it seems to have done you little harm in his eyes. From what I can see, his admiration has not suffered at all.”
“Of what do you speak?” asked Elizabeth.
“Come, Lizzy,” said Charlotte. “You must have seen it. Even today in the short time I was in his company, his appreciation for you was evident.”
Elizabeth could not help but shake her head with exasperation. “I assure you nothing could be further from the truth.”
“Believe that if you will,” replied a flippant Charlotte. “But I can see it. Of course, if you marry Mr. Darcy, you shall surely break Mr. Collins’s heart.”
“Oh, William,” said Elizabeth with feeling. “I wish he was not so open. If his hopeless infatuation were not so pathetic, it would almost be amusing.”
“That is unkind, Lizzy,” said Charlotte. “The young man cannot help his feelings.”
“I know he cannot, Charlotte,” said Elizabeth with a sigh. “And I have nothing but friendly feelings for Mr. Collins. But I cannot love him, as you know, and if I cannot love him, I will not accept him.”
“He knows this, Lizzy,” said Charlotte. “I jest with you. When you do become engaged, I am certain Mr. Collins will be one of the first to offer congratulations.”
“Yes, he will,” said Elizabeth, feeling introspective. “There is not a mean bone in Mr. Collins’s body. I only hope he will find someone who respects and loves him as much as he deserves.”
“He shall,” promised Charlotte. “That person may be closer than you think.”
Though Elizabeth did not know what to make of Charlotte’s cryptic statement, her friend changed the subject again. “It is fortunate, indeed, Lizzy, that you have no need to marry with any attention to wealth. Your romantic nature might make it difficult to find a man who possesses both a fortune and your heart.”
“A few minutes ago, you were trying to convince me that Mr. Darcy would be my future partner in life,” said Elizabeth. “If he is to be so, it is my understanding his family is quite wealthy. It seems I may have both, by your estimation.”
“How quickly your thoughts move to matrimony!” exclaimed Charlotte. “Perhaps Mr. Darcy is affecting you much more than you might have expected?”
“Oh, Charlotte,” said Elizabeth, shaking her head. “I am not unaware of the thrust of your comments. But I must ask you—what of yourself?”
“What of me, Lizzy?”
“Your desires for marriage,” said Elizabeth. “Your comments concerning marriage used to be plentiful. In fact, I specifically remember you informing me some time ago that happiness in marriage was a matter of chance. It seems unusual for you to suggest that I be guided by my romantic ideas, as you put them.”
“Who said I suggested you should be guided by such things?” asked Charlotte, showing Elizabeth an amused grin. “Mr. Darcy’s feelings were the focus of what I said. If the gentleman finds himself in love with you, why would you not take advantage of it?”
“Charlotte!” protested Elizabeth.
But Charlotte laughed and patted her hand. “Of course, I jest, Lizzy.” When Elizabeth glared at her, Charlotte shrugged. “As for myself, I find I have no particular desire to rush into marriage.”
While Elizabeth looked on her friend doubtfully, knowing her age inhibited her ability to marry, she had no notion of how to make that point in a way that was tactful. Charlotte, however, was no simpleton, and she understood what Elizabeth could not say.
“I understand my situation, Lizzy. But I do have a small fortune, and while it is not much, it will sustain me should it come to that. And my brother has informed me many times that I will always have a home at Lucas Lodge. So, there is no reason to be concerned about my future.”
This flew in the face of Charlotte’s statements, which she had made many times, about not wishing to be a burden on her family. It also did not mesh with Charlotte’s opinions, again shared many times, of the estate of marriage, which seemed to have revealed a lack of any good opinion about men in general. Regardless, Elizabeth decided she did not need to push her friend, and she changed the subject.
On Netherfield’s grounds a similar discussion was taking place. A matter had arisen with respect to one of the tenants of the estate, and Mr. Bingley had entrusted it to his son’s care. As a consequence, Bingley had ridden out with his friend to the tenant farm, some distance to the north of the manor. The matter was minor in the end, and after handling it, Bingley and Darcy turned their horses toward the south, enjoying a more leisurely ride on their return.
Bingley was in a good mood that morning, whistling a happy tune, though Darcy supposed that to call it a tune was generous, indeed. With the dubious music accompanying the clip clop of the horses’ hooves as they rode, Darcy found himself thinking of his time in Hertfordshire, wondering how long he would dare stay. Already he had received a letter from his father suggesting it might be time for him to rejoin the f
amily. Darcy knew his father was not feeling the urgency to remove him from Netherfield just yet, but the longer he stayed the more demanding the letters would become.
“Tell me, Darcy,” said Bingley as they rode, “how are you enjoying Hertfordshire?”
“Very much,” said Darcy without any hesitation. “In particular, I am anticipating making the acquaintance of your sister’s new husband.”
“Ah, the Bennets are a good family, are they not? My father declares that had he not had Mr. Bennet to assist him when he first came to Netherfield he would have been lost. We are very fortunate, indeed, that such an amiable family was already established nearby.”
“I can see that. Mr. Bennet seems to have the needs of his estate quite well in hand.”
Bingley laughed. “It is particularly astonishing because Mr. Bennet usually dislikes leaving his study.”
“There are worse ways to live one’s life than to be a devotee to the written word. The estate does not seem to have suffered much if he is only occasionally lured from his room.”
“No, you are correct there. Longbourn has been prosperous since long before my family came to the neighborhood, and it has not suffered under Mr. Bennet’s stewardship. Of course, now he has Thomas to assist.”
“Has your friend taken on most of the management?” asked Darcy, curious to know if his observations were correct.
“Most of the physical management of the estate, yes,” said Bingley. “If a tenant needs to speak with the master, it is usually Thomas, and he oversees repairs, collects rents, inspects the cottages, and deals with tenant disputes. Mr. Bennet is still very much involved with the management from a decision making and budgeting perspective.”
“It sounds like an excellent arrangement,” said Darcy, wondering if his own father would be amenable to one similar. “The younger man obtains the experience, while the elder still controls the estate, which is, after all, still his property.”