by Jane Austen
Mr Darcy refused to rise to her taunts. “Have you anything else to propose for my domestic felicity?”
“Oh, yes. Do let the portraits of your uncle and aunt Phillips be placed in the gallery at Pemberley. Put them next to your great-uncle the judge. They are in the same profession, you know, only in different lines. As for your Elizabeth’s picture, you must not have it taken, for what painter could do justice to those beautiful eyes?”
Images of those beautiful eyes clouded with desire while he ploughed into her body and drove her to the pinnacle of ecstasy rushed into his mind’s eye. He shook his head to clear it. “It would not be easy, indeed, to catch their expression, but their colour and shape, and the eyelashes, so remarkably fine, might be copied.”
At that moment they were met from another walk by Mrs Hurst and Elizabeth herself. No sooner than his gaze landed upon her did his cock begin to harden. It was his constant reaction to her now and one he had no power over whatsoever.
“I did not know that you intended to walk,” said Miss Bingley, in some confusion, lest they had been overheard.
“You used us abominably ill,” answered Mrs Hurst, “running away without telling us that you were coming out.”
Then taking the disengaged arm of Mr Darcy, she left Elizabeth to walk by herself. The path just admitted three. Mr Darcy wished it were Elizabeth who had taken his arm. He felt their rudeness, and immediately said, “This walk is not wide enough for our party. We had better go into the avenue.”
But Elizabeth, who had not the least inclination to remain with the sisters, laughingly answered, “No, no, stay where you are. You are charmingly grouped, and appear to uncommon advantage. The picturesque would be spoilt by admitting a fourth. Goodbye.”
She then ran gaily off, rejoicing as she rambled about, in the hope of being at home again in a day or two. Jane was already so much recovered as to intend leaving her room for a couple of hours that evening, and Elizabeth hoped some space away from Mr Darcy would cure the incredible craving she experienced whenever she looked at him.
Chapter Eleven
When the ladies removed after dinner, Elizabeth ran up to her sister, and seeing her well guarded from cold, attended her into the drawing-room, where she was welcomed by her two friends with many professions of pleasure. Elizabeth had never seen them so agreeable as they were during the hour which passed before the gentlemen appeared. Their powers of conversation were considerable. They could describe an entertainment with accuracy, relate an anecdote with humour, and laugh at their acquaintance with spirit.
But when the gentlemen entered, Jane was no longer the first object. Miss Bingley’s eyes were instantly turned towards Darcy, and she had something to say to him before he had advanced many steps. He addressed himself to Miss Bennet, with a polite congratulation. Mr Hurst also made her a slight bow, and said he was “very glad,” but diffuseness and warmth remained for Bingley’s salutation. He was full of joy and attention. The first half-hour was spent in piling up the fire, lest she should suffer from the change of room, and she removed at his desire to the other side of the fireplace, that she might be farther from the door. He then sat down by her, and talked scarcely to anyone else. Elizabeth, at work in the opposite corner, saw it all with great delight. But the preponderance of her attention was fixed on Mr Darcy, however much she wished it otherwise distracted.
When tea was over, Mr Hurst reminded his sister-in-law of the card-table—but in vain. She had obtained private intelligence that Mr Darcy did not wish for cards, and Mr Hurst soon found even his open petition rejected. She assured him that no one intended to play, and the silence of the whole party on the subject seemed to justify her. Mr Hurst had therefore nothing to do, but to stretch himself on one of the sofas and go to sleep. Darcy took up a book, Miss Bingley did the same, and Mrs Hurst, principally occupied in playing with her bracelets and rings, joined now and then in her brother’s conversation with Miss Bennet.
Miss Bingley’s attention was quite as much engaged in watching Mr Darcy’s progress through his book, as in reading her own, and she was perpetually either making some enquiry, or looking at his page. She could not win him, however, to any conversation, he merely answered her question, and read on. At length, quite exhausted by the attempt to be amused with her own book, which she had only chosen because it was the second volume of his, she gave a great yawn and said, “How pleasant it is to spend an evening in this way! I declare after all there is no enjoyment like reading! How much sooner one tires of anything than of a book! When I have a house of my own, I shall be miserable if I have not an excellent library.”
No one made any reply. She then yawned again, threw aside her book, and cast her eyes round the room in quest for some amusement. Hearing her brother mentioning a ball to Miss Bennet, she turned suddenly towards him and said, “By the bye, Charles, are you really serious in meditating a dance at Netherfield? I would advise you, before you determine on it, to consult the wishes of the present party. I am much mistaken if there are not some among us to whom a ball would be rather a punishment than a pleasure.”
“If you mean Darcy,” cried her brother, “he may go to bed, if he chooses, before it begins—but as for the ball, it is quite a settled thing, and as soon as Nicholls has made white soup enough, I shall send round my cards.”
“I should like balls infinitely better,” she replied, “if they were carried on in a different manner, but there is something insufferably tedious in the usual process of such a meeting. It would surely be much more rational if conversation instead of dancing were made the order of the day.”
“Much more rational, my dear Caroline, I dare say, but it would not be near so much like a ball.”
Miss Bingley made no answer, and soon afterwards she got up and walked about the room. Her figure was elegant, and she walked well, but Darcy, at whom it was all aimed, was still inflexibly studious. In the desperation of her feelings, she resolved on one effort more, and, turning to Elizabeth, said, “Miss Eliza Bennet, let me persuade you to follow my example, and take a turn about the room. I assure you it is very refreshing after sitting so long in one attitude.”
Elizabeth was surprised, but agreed to it immediately, though she was sure she understood Miss Bingley’s motives and they had nothing to do with her. Miss Bingley succeeded no less in the real object of her civility. Mr Darcy looked up. He was as much awake to the novelty of attention in that quarter as Elizabeth herself could be, and unconsciously closed his book. He was directly invited to join their party, but he declined it, observing that he could imagine but two motives for their choosing to walk up and down the room together, with either of which motives his joining them would interfere. “What could he mean? She was dying to know what could be his meaning?”—and asked Elizabeth whether she could at all understand him?
“Not at all,” was her answer, “but depend upon it, he means to be severe on us, and our surest way of disappointing him will be to ask nothing about it.”
Miss Bingley, however, was incapable of disappointing Mr Darcy in anything, and persevered therefore in requiring an explanation of his two motives.
“I have not the smallest objection to explaining them,” said he, as soon as she allowed him to speak. “You either choose this method of passing the evening because you are in each other’s confidence, and have secret affairs to discuss, or because you are conscious that your figures appear to the greatest advantage in walking. If the first, I would be completely in your way, and if the second, I can admire you much better as I sit by the fire.”
“Oh, shocking!” cried Miss Bingley. “I never heard anything so abominable. How shall we punish him for such a speech?”
“Nothing so easy, if you have but the inclination,” said Elizabeth. “We can all plague and punish one another. Tease him—laugh at him. Intimate as you are, you must know how it is to be done.”
“But upon my honour, I do not. I do assure you that my intimacy has not yet taught me that. Tease calmness o
f manner and presence of mind! No, no, I feel he may defy us there. And as to laughter, we will not expose ourselves, if you please, by attempting to laugh without a subject. Mr Darcy may hug himself.”
“Mr Darcy is not to be laughed at!” cried Elizabeth. “That is an uncommon advantage, and uncommon I hope it will continue, for it would be a great loss to me to have many such acquaintances. I dearly love a laugh.” Elizabeth met Mr Darcy’s gaze and while she looked on, his eyes travelled over every inch of her body, his tongue wetting his lips. She shivered under the scrutiny, even though warmth blossomed in her core. She could not help but imagine his tongue trailing over her body in one luxurious sweep after another, then returning to her lips to steal her breath.
“Miss Bingley,” said he, “has given me more credit than can be. The wisest and the best of men—nay, the wisest and best of their actions—may be rendered ridiculous by a person whose first object in life is a joke.”
“Certainly,” replied Elizabeth—”there are such people, but I hope I am not one of them. I hope I never ridicule what is wise and good. Follies and nonsense, whims and inconsistencies, do divert me, I own, and I laugh at them whenever I can. But these, I suppose, are precisely what you are without.”
“Perhaps that is not possible for anyone. But it has been the study of my life to avoid those weaknesses which often expose a strong understanding to ridicule.”
“Such as vanity and pride,” she teased.
“Yes, vanity is a weakness indeed. But pride—where there is a real superiority of mind, pride will be always under good regulation.”
Elizabeth turned away to hide both a smile and the heat she was certain had tinted her cheeks, lest he see the effect he had on her.
“Your examination of Mr Darcy is over, I presume,” said Miss Bingley, “and pray what is the result?”
“I am perfectly convinced by it that Mr Darcy has no defect. He owns it himself without disguise.”
“No,” said Darcy, “I have made no such pretension. I have faults enough, but they are not, I hope, of understanding. My temper I dare not vouch for. It is, I believe, too little yielding—certainly too little for the convenience of the world. I cannot forget the follies and vices of others so soon as I ought, nor their offences against myself. My feelings are not puffed about with every attempt to move them. My temper would perhaps be called resentful. My good opinion once lost, is lost forever.”
“That is a failing indeed!” cried Elizabeth. She had to wonder how harshly Mr Darcy judged her for her perceived offences. She could only imagine what he thought of her relations. “Implacable resentment is a shade in a character. But you have chosen your fault well. I really cannot laugh at it. You are safe from me.”
“There is, I believe, in every disposition a tendency to some particular evil—a natural defect, which not even the best education can overcome.”
“And your defect is to hate everybody.” Only she hoped it was not so. She did not like the idea of Mr Darcy hating her.
“And yours,” he replied with a smile, “is willfully to misunderstand them.”
“Do let us have a little music,” cried Miss Bingley, tired of a conversation in which she had no share. “Louisa, you will not mind my waking Mr Hurst?”
Her sister had not the smallest objection, and the pianoforte was opened, and Darcy, after a few moments’ recollection, was not sorry for it. He began to feel the danger of paying Elizabeth too much attention, for as much as he wanted her, craved her even, he knew it was a fruitless endeavour. Miss Elizabeth Bennet did not want him in the way he desired her and even if she did it would be of little consequence. Her station in life, her relatives made her a very poor match for him even if he were of a mind to take a wife.
Chapter Twelve
In consequence of an agreement between the sisters, Elizabeth wrote the next morning to their mother, to beg that the carriage might be sent for them in the course of the day. But Mrs Bennet, who had calculated on her daughters remaining at Netherfield till the following Tuesday, which would exactly finish Jane’s week, could not bring herself to receive them with pleasure before. Her answer, therefore, was not propitious, at least not to Elizabeth’s wishes, for she was impatient to get home. Being around Mr Darcy was too dangerous on all accounts. Mrs Bennet sent them word that they could not possibly have the carriage before Tuesday, and in her postscript it was added, that if Mr Bingley and his sister pressed them to stay longer, she could spare them very well. Against staying longer, however, Elizabeth was positively resolved—nor did she much expect it would be asked. Fearful, on the contrary, as being considered as intruding themselves needlessly long, she urged Jane to borrow Mr Bingley’s carriage immediately, and at length it was settled that their original design of leaving Netherfield that morning should be mentioned, and the request made.
The communication excited many professions of concern, and enough was said of wishing them to stay at least till the following day to work on Jane, and till the morrow their going was deferred. Miss Bingley was then sorry that she had proposed the delay, for her jealousy and dislike of one sister much exceeded her affection for the other.
The master of the house heard with real sorrow that they were to go so soon, and repeatedly tried to persuade Miss Bennet that it would not be safe for her—that she was not enough recovered, but Jane was firm where she felt herself to be right.
To Mr Darcy it was welcome intelligence—Elizabeth had been at Netherfield long enough. She attracted him more than he liked—and Miss Bingley was uncivil to her, and more teasing than usual to himself. He wisely resolved to be particularly careful that no sign of admiration should now escape him, nothing that could elevate her with the hope of influencing his felicity, sensible that if such an idea had been suggested, his behaviour during the last day must have material weight in confirming or crushing it. Steady to his purpose, he scarcely spoke ten words to her through the whole of Saturday, and though they were at one time left by themselves for half-an-hour, he adhered most conscientiously to his book, and would not even look at her—at least not so that she noticed. His anguish had to remain private, for he was certain if their eyes met, his resolve would crumble and he would say or do something he would be sure to regret.
On Sunday, after morning service, the separation, so agreeable to almost all, took place. Miss Bingley’s civility to Elizabeth increased at last very rapidly, as well as her affection for Jane, and when they parted, after assuring the latter of the pleasure it would always give her to see her either at Longbourn or Netherfield, and embracing her most tenderly, she even shook hands with the former. Elizabeth took leave of the whole party in the liveliest of spirits. She was happy to be returning home, even though she suspected her thoughts would return frequently to a certain guest at Netherfield.
They were not welcomed home very cordially by their mother. Mrs Bennet wondered at their coming, and thought them very wrong to give so much trouble, and was sure Jane would have caught cold again. But their father, though very laconic in his expressions of pleasure, was really glad to see them. He had felt their importance in the family circle. The evening conversation, when they were all assembled, had lost much of its animation, and almost all its sense by the absence of Jane and Elizabeth.
They found Mary, as usual, deep in the study of thorough-bass and human nature, and had some extracts to admire, and some new observations of threadbare morality to listen to. Catherine and Lydia had information for them of a different sort. Much had been done and much had been said in the regiment since the preceding Wednesday. Several of the officers had dined lately with their uncle, a private had been flogged, and it had actually been hinted that Colonel Forster was going to be married.
Chapter Thirteen
“I hope, my dear,” said Mr Bennet to his wife, as they were at breakfast the next morning, “that you have ordered a good dinner today, because I have reason to expect an addition to our family party.”
“Who do you mean, my dear? I kno
w of nobody that is coming, I am sure, unless Charlotte Lucas should happen to call in—and I hope my dinners are good enough for her. I do not believe she often sees such at home.”
“The person of whom I speak is a gentleman, and a stranger.”
Mrs Bennet’s eyes sparkled. “A gentleman and a stranger! It is Mr Bingley, I am sure. Well, I am sure I shall be extremely glad to see Mr Bingley. But—good Lord! How unlucky. There is not a bit of fish to be got today. Lydia, my love, ring the bell—I must speak to Hill this moment.”
“It is not Mr Bingley,” said her husband, “it is a person whom I never saw in the whole course of my life.”
This roused a general astonishment, and he had the pleasure of being eagerly questioned by his wife and his five daughters at once.
For the briefest of moments Elizabeth’s heart stopped beating. Was Mr Darcy to call? Her father had not yet had the pleasure of making his acquaintance and so he seemed the likeliest visitor. But what business could Mr Darcy have at Longbourn? She had envisioned his handsome, yet proud face often since their last meeting. Her imaginings too quickly became sexual in nature, an occurrence that was more frequent than she would like. But she deduced, with some regret, that his appearance must have nothing to do with her at all, more likely a neighbourly call to the entire household. Though why would he bother? Her contemplations on the matter were quickly impeded.
After amusing himself some time with their curiosity, Mr Bennet thus explained, “About a month ago I received this letter, and about a fortnight ago I answered it, for I thought it a case of some delicacy, and requiring early attention. It is from my cousin, Mr Collins, who, when I am dead, may turn you all out of this house as soon as he pleases.”
Elizabeth found she could breathe again, but she could not determine if she were relieved or disappointed by the news that Mr Darcy would not be in attendance at Longbourn.