by Jane Austen
“And I wish my collection were larger for your benefit and my own credit, but I am an idle fellow, and though I have not many, I have more than I ever looked into.”
Elizabeth assured him that she could suit herself perfectly with those in the room.
“I am astonished,” said Miss Bingley, “that my father should have left so small a collection of books. What a delightful library you have at Pemberley, Mr Darcy!”
“It ought to be good,” he replied, “it has been the work of many generations.” Even as he made the declaration, Mr Darcy imagined Elizabeth Bennet in his home, happily poring over his collection. The very idea of her standing in his library filled him with a deep sense of satisfaction, but he quickly shook the absurd notion from his mind, all the while chastising himself for allowing the thoughts free rein.
“And then you have added so much to it yourself, you are always buying books.”
“I cannot comprehend the neglect of a family library in such days as these.”
“Neglect! I am sure you neglect nothing that can add to the beauties of that noble place. Charles, when you build your house, I wish it may be half as delightful as Pemberley.”
“I wish it may.”
“But I would really advise you to make your purchase in that neighbourhood, and take Pemberley for a kind of model. There is not a finer county in England than Derbyshire.”
“With all my heart, I will buy Pemberley itself if Darcy will sell it.”
“I am talking of possibilities, Charles.”
“Upon my word, Caroline, I should think it more possible to get Pemberley by purchase than by imitation.”
Elizabeth was so much caught with what passed, as to leave her very little attention for her book. Soon laying it wholly aside, she drew near the card-table, and stationed herself between Mr Bingley and his eldest sister, to observe the game.
“Is Miss Darcy much grown since the spring?” said Miss Bingley. “Will she be as tall as I am?”
“I think she will. She is now about Miss Elizabeth Bennet’s height, or rather taller.”
“How I long to see her again! I never met with anybody who delighted me so much. Such a countenance, such manners! And so extremely accomplished for her age! Her performance on the pianoforte is exquisite.”
“It is amazing to me,” said Bingley, “how young ladies can have patience to be so very accomplished as they all are.”
“All young ladies accomplished! My dear Charles, what do you mean?”
“Yes, all of them, I think. They all paint tables, cover screens, and net purses. I scarcely know anyone who cannot do all this, and I am sure I never heard a young lady spoken of for the first time, without being informed that she was very accomplished.”
“Your list of the common extent of accomplishments,” said Darcy, “has too much truth. The word is applied to many a woman who deserves it no otherwise than by netting a purse or covering a screen. But I am very far from agreeing with you in your estimation of ladies in general. I cannot boast of knowing more than half-a-dozen, in the whole range of my acquaintance, that are really accomplished.”
“Nor I, I am sure,” said Miss Bingley.
“Then,” observed Elizabeth, “you must comprehend a great deal in your idea of an accomplished woman.”
When Mr Darcy met Elizabeth’s pointed gaze, his body filled with a burning desire he tried his utmost to disregard. “Yes, I do comprehend a great deal in it.”
“Oh, certainly,” cried his faithful assistant, “no one can be really esteemed accomplished who does not greatly surpass what is usually met with. A woman must have a thorough knowledge of music, singing, drawing, dancing, and the modern languages, to deserve the word. And besides all this, she must possess a certain something in her air and manner of walking, the tone of her voice, her address and expressions, or the word will be but half-deserved.”
“All this she must possess,” added Darcy, “and to all this she must yet add something more substantial, in the improvement of her mind by extensive reading.”
“I am no longer surprised at your knowing only six accomplished women,” Elizabeth remarked. “I rather wonder now at your knowing any.”
“Are you so severe upon your own sex as to doubt the possibility of all this?”
“I never saw such a woman. I never saw such capacity, and taste, and application, and elegance, as you describe united.”
Mrs Hurst and Miss Bingley both cried out against the injustice of her implied doubt, and were both protesting that they knew many women who answered this description, when Mr Hurst called them to order, with bitter complaints of their inattention to what was going forward. As all conversation was thereby at an end, Elizabeth soon afterwards left the room.
“Elizabeth Bennet,” said Miss Bingley, when the door was closed on her, “is one of those young ladies who seek to recommend themselves to the other sex by undervaluing their own, and with many men, I dare say, it succeeds. But, in my opinion, it is a paltry device, a very mean art.”
“Undoubtedly,” replied Darcy, to whom this remark was chiefly addressed, “there is a meanness in all the arts which ladies sometimes condescend to employ for captivation. Whatever bears affinity to cunning is despicable.” Mr Darcy did not believe Elizabeth Bennet to be cunning thus. For a reason he could not comprehend, Elizabeth seemed to take great pleasure in her contradictions towards him, though the idea did not fill him with ire. Instead, her curious manner intrigued him further. He rather liked that she challenged him, for she was the only person to do so.
Miss Bingley was not so entirely satisfied with this reply as to continue the subject.
Elizabeth joined them again only to say that her sister was worse, and that she could not leave her. Bingley urged Mr Jones being sent for immediately, while his sisters, convinced that no country advice could be of any service, recommended an express to town for one of the most eminent physicians. This she would not hear of, but she was not so unwilling to comply with their brother’s proposal, and it was settled that Mr Jones should be sent for early in the morning, if Miss Bennet were not decidedly better. Bingley was quite uncomfortable. His sisters declared that they were miserable. They solaced their wretchedness, however, by duets after supper, while he could find no better relief to his feelings than by giving his housekeeper directions that every attention might be paid to the sick lady and her sister.
Mr Darcy made his excuses and slipped out of the room after Miss Bennet took her leave to attend to her sister. He rushed after her in the hope of conversing with her briefly, though he had no notion of what he should say. He found her on the upstairs landing, about to enter the chamber in which her sister resided.
“Miss Bennet!” he called out.
When Elizabeth turned, her face filled instantly with surprise at having been sought out by him.
“Sir?” she enquired.
Darcy knew not how to respond. He strode forward and stopped in front of Elizabeth. With a private curse, he lowered his gaze and, frustrated by his sudden unease, ran a hand through his thick hair and exhaled a long, unsteady breath. When he next met her eyes, he found no annoyance or impatience in their depths, only curiosity.
Damn it. Elizabeth was captivating and the yearning to pull her into his arms and cover her mouth with his was strong. He inched closer and focused on her plump, rosy lips. What would be the harm in an innocent kiss? What injury would it cause to slide his tongue into her mouth and taste her as he was aching to do? Though Mr Darcy knew one kiss would not satiate his need, and he doubted she would allow even that. His desire was to ravage her—to take her body and possess it. He wanted to lie with her and enter her, to show her the ecstasy they could derive from one another. Elizabeth’s eyes widened and she pulled in a sharp breath when he moved closer still, and reached out as if to touch her, his mouth a hairsbreadth from hers.
Time halted as they stared at one another in silence. Darcy’s gaze focused exclusively on her mouth. Her lips parted and
her tongue snaked out to wet them. It was too much. A low moan tore from his throat and, without giving his design another thought, he pressed his lips to hers. The fire that ignited in his stomach as their lips connected was unlike anything he’d felt before. He slid his hand around to the small of her back to hold her in place as he deepened the kiss, and slipped his tongue into her mouth. She did not object, rather she opened her lips wider and welcomed him inside. He pulled her body to his and she gasped as she came into contact with the hardness that was confined in his trousers, pleading for attention. The kiss was divine, exactly as he had imagined it would be. The heat of her mouth, the taste of her, the tentative glide of her own tongue against his sent his body into a frenzy and the release he so desperately needed began to build in his loins. When the need to take a breath became too much to endure, he moved back, and during the brief separation he caught the surprised look on her face, and it was enough to bring him to his senses. What on earth was he doing? This could not be permitted to advance.
“I…” He closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath. With great resolve, he removed his hands from her body and took a step back. Though he wanted her with every fibre of his being, he could not disgrace himself or her a moment longer. It was not proper. When Elizabeth’s eyes widened and her cheeks flushed a deep shade of pink, Darcy knew it must end.
“Please tell your sister I wish her a speedy recovery,” said he, bowing deeply. He turned and quickly departed, very nearly breaking out into a run.
Elizabeth stood outside the door to her sister’s bedchamber for some time after Mr Darcy disappeared. She could barely breathe and her lips still tingled from her first kiss. And what a kiss it had been. There could have been no mistaking the heat and longing in his eyes, and for a time she had thought he would take it further, had expected his hands to glide over her body, to touch her in places no other had touched before.
She raised her hand to her lips, remembering the kiss, savouring it. Would she have allowed it to go further? Every sensible instinct told her she would have been a fool to permit anything more, but her body had other ideas. Though she was well aware of the impropriety, she had to concede that yes, she would have consented to more, and she had the distinct impression she would have loved every second of it. She could not be certain if she would have been able to stop herself from doing the very thing which society told her she should not, as a lady, desire, certainly not outside the sanctity of marriage.
Chapter Nine
Elizabeth passed the chief of the night in her sister’s room. Jane was not well enough to converse, so Elizabeth sat mostly in silence, contemplating what had passed between herself and Mr Darcy. Her sister would have been scandalised if she knew about the kiss, and Elizabeth would have felt guilty for not being equally so. Now that she was no longer in his company, the entire episode felt strangely like a dream. It was too unbelievable to be real and she had to wonder if it had really happened at all.
In the morning she had the pleasure of being able to send a tolerable answer to the enquiries which she very early received from Mr Bingley by a housemaid, and some time afterwards from the two elegant ladies who waited on his sisters. In spite of this amendment, however, she requested to have a note sent to Longbourn, desiring her mother to visit Jane, and form her own judgement of her situation. The note was immediately dispatched, and its contents as quickly complied with. Mrs Bennet, accompanied by her two youngest girls, reached Netherfield soon after the family breakfast.
Had she found Jane in any apparent danger, Mrs Bennet would have been very miserable, but being satisfied on seeing her that her illness was not alarming, she had no wish of her recovering immediately, as her restoration to health would probably remove her from Netherfield. She would not listen, therefore, to her daughter’s proposal of being carried home. Neither did the apothecary, who arrived about the same time, think it at all advisable. After sitting a little while with Jane, on Miss Bingley’s appearance and invitation, the mother and three daughters all attended her into the breakfast parlour. Bingley met them with hopes that Mrs Bennet had not found Miss Bennet worse than she expected.
“Indeed I have, sir,” was her answer. “She is a great deal too ill to be moved. Mr Jones says we must not think of moving her. We must trespass a little longer on your kindness.”
“Removed!” cried Bingley. “It must not be thought of. My sister, I am sure, will not hear of her removal.”
“You may depend upon it, madam,” said Miss Bingley, with cold civility, “that Miss Bennet will receive every possible attention while she remains with us.”
Mrs Bennet was profuse in her acknowledgements.
“I am sure,” she added, “if it was not for such good friends I do not know what would become of her, for she is very ill indeed, and suffers a vast deal, though with the greatest patience in the world, which is always the way with her, for she has, without exception, the sweetest temper I have ever met with. I often tell my other girls they are nothing to her. You have a sweet room here, Mr Bingley, and a charming prospect over the gravel walk. I do not know a place in the country that is equal to Netherfield. You will not think of quitting it in a hurry, I hope, though you have but a short lease.”
“Whatever I do is done in a hurry,” replied he, “and therefore if I should resolve to quit Netherfield, I should probably be off in five minutes. At present, however, I consider myself as quite fixed here.”
“That is exactly what I should have supposed of you,” said Elizabeth.
“You begin to comprehend me, do you?” cried he, turning towards her.
“Oh, yes—I understand you perfectly.”
“I wish I might take this for a compliment, but to be so easily seen through I am afraid is pitiful.”
“That is as it happens. It does not follow that a deep, intricate character is more or less estimable than such a one as yours.”
“Lizzy,” cried her mother, “remember where you are, and do not run on in the wild manner that you are suffered to do at home.”
“I did not know before,” continued Bingley immediately, “that you were a studier of character. It must be an amusing study.”
“Yes, but intricate characters are the most amusing. They have at least that advantage.”
“The country,” said Darcy, “can in general supply but a few subjects for such a study. In a country neighbourhood you move in a very confined and unvarying society.”
Elizabeth met Mr Darcy’s gaze and held it with great difficulty. She could feel the burn in her cheeks while she looked at him, but his eyes told her he knew exactly what she was thinking. She tried to put their unexpected kiss out of her mind while she remarked, “But people themselves alter so much, that there is something new to be observed in them forever.”
“Yes, indeed,” cried Mrs Bennet, offended by his manner of mentioning a country neighbourhood. “I assure you there is quite as much of that going on in the country as in town.”
Everybody was surprised, and Darcy, after looking at her for a moment, turned silently away. Mrs Bennet, who fancied she had gained a complete victory over him, continued her triumph.
“I cannot see that London has any great advantage over the country, for my part, except the shops and public places. The country is a vast deal pleasanter, is it not, Mr Bingley?”
“When I am in the country,” he replied, “I never wish to leave it, and when I am in town it is pretty much the same. They have each their advantages, and I can be equally happy in either.”
“Aye—that is because you have the right disposition. But that gentleman,” looking at Darcy, “seemed to think the country was nothing at all.”
“Indeed, mamma, you are mistaken,” said Elizabeth, blushing for her mother. “You quite mistook Mr Darcy. He only meant that there was not such a variety of people to be met with in the country as in the town, which you must acknowledge to be true.”
“Certainly, my dear, nobody said there were, but as to not meeting with man
y people in this neighbourhood, I believe there are few neighbourhoods larger. I know we dine with four-and-twenty families.”
Nothing but concern for Elizabeth could enable Bingley to keep his countenance. His sister was less delicate, and directed her eyes towards Mr Darcy with a very expressive smile. Elizabeth, for the sake of saying something that might turn her mother’s thoughts, now asked her if Charlotte Lucas had been at Longbourn since her coming away.
“Yes, she called yesterday with her father. What an agreeable man Sir William is, Mr Bingley, is not he? So much the man of fashion! So genteel and easy! He has always something to say to everybody. That is my idea of good breeding, and those persons who fancy themselves very important, and never open their mouths, quite mistake the matter.”
Elizabeth knew her mother spoke of Mr Darcy and was utterly embarrassed on his behalf. To distract her further, she asked, “Did Charlotte dine with you?”
“No, she would go home. I fancy she was wanted about the mince-pies. For my part, Mr Bingley, I always keep servants that can do their own work. My daughters are brought up very differently. But everybody is to judge for themselves, and the Lucases are a very good sort of girls, I assure you. It is a pity they are not handsome! Not that I think Charlotte so very plain—but then she is our particular friend.”
“She seems a very pleasant young woman.”
“Oh dear, yes, but you must own she is very plain. Lady Lucas herself has often said so, and envied me Jane’s beauty. I do not like to boast of my own child, but to be sure, Jane—one does not often see anybody better looking. It is what everybody says. I do not trust my own partiality. When she was only fifteen, there was a man at my brother Gardiner’s in town so much in love with her that my sister-in-law was sure he would make her an offer before we came away. But, however, he did not. Perhaps he thought her too young. However, he wrote some verses on her, and very pretty they were.”