by Kara Louise
“How is your sister this morning?” he asked when she opened the door to his knock.
“She is much improved, thank you.”
“I am glad to hear it.” Darcy paused, as if waiting for a response from Elizabeth or deciding to make another himself. He looked over and noticed Jane sitting up in bed, and at length he excused himself with, “Shall you come down and join us this morning?”
Elizabeth nodded. “I shall be down shortly.”
He smiled and turned to join the others downstairs.
Elizabeth returned to Jane, who was enjoying a light breakfast brought earlier by one of the servants. Yes, she was grateful Jane seemed better. But it was her own spirits that had worsened during the night. She thought repeatedly of Darcy’s words that they must talk. Each time she conjectured what he would wish to talk to her about, it always came back to their marriage, its annulment, and Miss Bingley.
She wondered whether Darcy viewed their façade of a marriage in a cool, dispassionate light and wanted to ensure that she let nothing slip of its occurrence to anyone in the household. She looked at Jane, and wondered if he was concerned that she would have confided it to her.
She did not think she could bear hearing the words from his own mouth that the leanings of his heart were for Miss Bingley. Elizabeth closed her eyes as she pondered this. Just the thought of it brought her much distress, and she knew not how she would hold up if he spoke to her on this matter.
When Elizabeth had ascertained that Jane was comfortable, she went downstairs and joined the others in the breakfast parlour.
Upon walking in, she found Miss Bingley to be in a very animated discussion with Darcy. She believed the expression on his face betrayed a look of discomfort.
As her presence was noticed, all eyes turned to her, and Bingley expressed with great enthusiasm, “It is so good to hear that Miss Bennet is improved! Should we send a note home to your family? Should we extend an invitation for your mother to come and see for herself how she is faring?”
Elizabeth, with more apprehension at what Darcy would think of her mother than conviction that her mother actually had a real concern for Jane’s recovery, simply said, “I think a note informing her of her improvement would be sufficient. I would not want to burden her to come if she has other engagements.”
“Nonsense!” cried Bingley. “We shall send a note and extend the offer, and she may reply as she wishes!”
As Elizabeth sat down to join the others in the meal, she sensed tension in the air, and felt it was directed at her. She wondered whether Miss Bingley’s address to Darcy as she was walking in had something to do with finding him with her in Jane’s room last evening. He obviously was distressed that she imagined there was more to it than really was.
The breakfast continued in relative silence. Elizabeth was content to concentrate on the plate before her, not because she was particularly hungry but because she was very much aware of the two pair of eyes across the table bearing down on her. The one pair sent out fiery darts in their connection with hers; the other pair was quite disarming, and if Elizabeth did not know any better, would have supposed it was a look more of tender regard than disinterest.
The note was immediately dispatched, and Mrs. Bennet, accompanied by her two youngest girls, set out for Netherfield soon after the family breakfast. Her prompt arrival seemed less driven by a desire to dispense any words of comfort to Jane or any encouragement to Elizabeth, but instead, to see how things were progressing with Mr. Bingley.
Had she found Jane in any apparent danger, Mrs. Bennet would have been very miserable indeed; but being satisfied 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 Elizabeth’s proposal for the two of them to return home.
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. Mr. 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 just yet. 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 shall receive every possible attention while she remains with us.”
Mrs. Bennet was profuse in her acknowledgements. To Elizabeth’s dismay, her mother exhibited her typical boisterous and unchecked behaviour, and Lydia insisted in a manner bordering on brazenness that Mr. Bingley give a ball.
By the time her mother and two sisters left, Elizabeth was quite certain that her family’s character had been decided by Mr. Darcy and found lacking. Elizabeth returned instantly to Jane, leaving her own and her relations’ behaviour to the remarks of the two ladies and, she was sure, Mr. Darcy who, however unbeknownst to Elizabeth, could not be prevailed upon to join in their censure.
In the silence of the room as Jane slumbered, Elizabeth could not relax, having felt the greatest humiliation at the hands of her mother. How he must congratulate himself that he has annulled the marriage and will not have to endure being married into a family with a mother such as mine! It would be a wonder if he were not thinking at this very moment that had he known of my family, he would never have even considered such an alignment with me. “Ohhh!” Elizabeth cried out and pounded her fists down onto her lap.
Jane opened her eyes. “Lizzy, is something the matter?”
“Oh, Jane.” Elizabeth came over and sat down next to her on the bed. “I may tell you someday, but for now, just believe me that I did a foolish thing a while back, and it has come back to haunt me.”
Elizabeth spent the rest of the day with Jane, certain of two things: that Darcy did not wish her company and the two sisters desired her gone. Mr. Bingley had proven himself to be most gracious, and Elizabeth saw such goodness and acceptance from him that she felt he could love Jane completely despite all their family oddities. For that she was grateful.
Darcy retired to the solitary confines of his room for the rest of the day. He had struggled; it was to be expected, with the unbridled outbursts of Elizabeth’s mother. Several times he had to fight the prevailing will to silently turn away. Again the quiet, persistent voices from his past rose up, needling him to put aside these irrational feelings and do what was required of him in finding a suitable wife. But Elizabeth is suitable! She is more than suitable for me! He walked to the window and looked out, slapping his hand against the wall and then leaving it to rest there.
As he looked out, mulling over the disparity in Elizabeth’s station and his, the refined Darcy name and her unchecked family, he came to one conclusion. He could not live without her. And until she told him, to his face, that she had no wish—no desire—to keep their marriage intact, he would do nothing to dissolve it. He took a deep breath. He told her last night he needed to talk to her. He needed to talk to her alone, and it was apparent that was not going to happen on its own. Darcy had to come up with a plan.
Jane continued to mend, though slowly, but she remained in her room, and in the evening Elizabeth joined the rest of the party in the drawing room. The loo table, however, did not appear. Mr. Darcy was writing, and Miss Bingley, seated near him, was watching the progress of his letter and repeatedly calling off his attention to it with messages to his sister. Mr. Hurst and Mr. Bingley were at piquet, and Mrs. Hurst was observing their game.
Elizabeth picked up her book, hoping to attend fully to it, although she watched with great interest what passed between Darcy and his companion. As Miss Bingley repeatedly praised either his letter writing, or the evenness of his lines, or the length of his letter, Elizabeth wondered at the woman’s behaviour. If she had already secured his affections, she was not behaving as if she ha
d.
Elizabeth almost laughed as she regarded his short, stilted answers to Miss Bingley’s words of praise. Sometimes he answered not at all. As she looked on curiously, Darcy turned to her.
“Have you finished the book yet, Miss Bennet?”
His address to her startled her. “I have a little bit left.”
“Then you think you will finish it tonight?”
“I imagine so.”
Elizabeth watched him for a few moments, her heart caught in her throat as she met his gaze. She had avoided turning her eyes upon him ever since her mother left earlier that day, afraid to see his censure.
Darcy’s gaze remained on her face several more seconds before Miss Bingley, feeling threatened by something that hung in the air between them, spoke up again, wishing him to send off a missive to Georgiana.
When he finished his letter, he applied to Miss Bingley and Elizabeth for some music, having a great desire to hear Elizabeth play and sing. Elizabeth watched him fold his letter ever so precisely and slip it into his pocket. Miss Bingley moved with alacrity to the pianoforte, and after a polite request that Elizabeth lead the way, which she politely and most earnestly declined, she seated herself. Mrs. Hurst joined her and sang while Miss Bingley played.
Elizabeth walked over to look through the music books that were lying on the instrument, and became aware of how frequently Darcy’s eyes were fixed on her. She hardly knew how to comprehend it, mindful of the fact that he had been exposed to her mother’s foolish oddities that day, and perhaps to an even greater extent the night at Lucas Lodge. To think that she could be the object of his admiration she dared not hope. He lingered at the table where she had been seated, picked up the book she had been reading, and then just as quickly placed it back on the table.
After playing several songs, Darcy drew to Elizabeth’s side, quietly saying to her, “I would be very much honoured to hear you play, Miss Bennet. While Miss Bingley is very proficient, her style does not always suit me.” He looked through the books himself, so as not to draw suspicion from Charles’s sister.
Elizabeth kept her gaze upon the music books but felt the warmth of his breath as he spoke. “I play very ill, indeed, Mr. Darcy.”
“Let me be the judge.” He picked up a piece of music and gently nudged Elizabeth toward the piano. When Miss Bingley finished playing, he presented the piece of music and Elizabeth to her, asking her to allow her to play.
With an air of decided displeasure, Miss Bingley conceded the piano playing to Elizabeth. Elizabeth sat down at the pianoforte, her nerves still resounding from Mr. Darcy’s closeness. She was not sure she would be able to play even two measures without her fingers getting all tangled up together. The piece he selected was a fairly easy piece, and she knew the words by heart. But she was not sure she could sing them in a way to do them justice, particularly the way she was feeling at the moment.
As she turned her attention to the piece before her, her fingers began to move across the keys with a mind of their own, and as she began to sing, she was suddenly no longer aware of anything in the room, except a pair of dark, tender eyes that had settled upon her.
Darcy had taken a seat where he could watch her expression as she played and sang. As she lifted her eyes from her fingers moving across the keys up to the music, she could see his dark eyes immobile and resting upon her. Instead of making her nervous or wondering what he thought of her or her family, instead of conjecturing whether Miss Bingley was an object of his admiration or not, she put all her heart and soul into the song, and the room listened in silence.
Darcy could not take his eyes off her. He had endured two days being in her presence and being unable to talk to her without Caroline interfering. He could only hope his plan would work.
As he watched her, as everyone watched her in polite silence, her playing and singing affected him in an even greater way. Her piano playing was very moving, flowing with an interpretation that he enjoyed immensely. But as she sang, the words and the soft, sweet tone of her voice wrapped around him as if they were as real as two arms in an embrace.
At the conclusion of her piece, everyone graciously applauded her, and a grin came across Darcy’s face that neither Elizabeth nor Miss Bingley missed. Each was just as surprised as the other.
Elizabeth, growing tired, and needing some time alone to ponder some of Darcy’s behaviour, excused herself.
As she turned to leave the room, Darcy stood up as she walked past. “Do not forget your book!” He picked up the book she had left sitting on the table and placed it firmly in her hands.
Elizabeth nervously smiled and thanked him.
She walked to Jane’s room to check on her and found her sleeping contentedly. Returning to her room, she placed the book next to the bed and readied herself for sleep. As she crawled in, she decided she would finish reading, as there was little left. As she opened the book, a small folded piece of paper fell out. She picked it up curiously and slowly opened it.
Looking down at the scrap of paper and reading what it said, Elizabeth gasped.
It read, There is no greater delightful diversion than a walk at sunrise. Tomorrow. Fitzwilliam.
Chapter 21
Elizabeth held tightly to the small scrap of paper. Her heart pounded fiercely and she felt a shiver course through her. Darcy had purposely placed this piece of paper in the book with the full intention of her finding it tonight.
She wished with every fibre of her being to believe that it was written purely out of a desire to begin the day with her out on a walk as they had done so often on the ship. She was well aware he wanted to talk; they had a great need to talk. She prayed he was not planning to tell her something that would be difficult to bear.
Elizabeth sat in her bed, knowing now that she would find it difficult to concentrate on the book and finish it. All she cared to do was to stare at the missive, written, as Miss Bingley had so eloquently stated, in such an even hand, and yet there was more: an elegance and a style that most men would not possess in their handwriting. She absently ran her fingers across the simple message and across his name.
She could hear, very slightly, a discussion from downstairs and recognized Miss Bingley’s shrill voice and Darcy’s calm, soothing voice. She could not discern their words, but began to feel a bit more confident that he was not blinded by that woman’s character and would not choose to align himself with someone such as her. At least that was her conviction if she had really come to know and understand the man as well as she thought she had.
She closed her eyes but could not sleep. Her heart was not going to let her easily forget that tomorrow morning she would start the day just as she had those days on Pemberley’s Promise , walking with her husband. She let out a long sigh, remembering with a sudden ache that she could no longer claim him as such.
Elizabeth savoured the clear memory of the two of them walking together aboard the ship, and she was not even sure when her wilful meditation gave way to dreams of the very same nature.
Later, as Darcy returned to his room, he paused in front of Elizabeth’s door. Had she read his note? Would she understand his meaning? Would she oblige him by meeting him tomorrow morning?
He put two fingers to his lips and then reached out and touched her door; his heart stirring at the thought of her just inside. He wondered just how much he should say to her tomorrow if she came. He was still unsure of her feelings for him.
If he knew for a certainty that she would remain at Netherfield a few more days, it would be easier. He decided that first he should get some basic issues out in the open with her. Curiosity and the pain that it caused him drove his determination to find out why she left the room that night and why she did not return at least to say goodbye. That would give him a good indication of her true sentiments toward him. If he were to discover any encouragement in her words, then his next step would be to subtly, without Miss Bingley’s observing, give Elizabeth some very definite hints that his feelings leaned toward a very st
rong regard. Dare he say love? His heart pounded at the thought.
Would she embrace his words warmly? Would he even be able to express the depth of his feeling to her in a way she would understand? Would she look favourably upon him still being her husband when he told her he had never annulled the marriage?
He would take one step at a time, and then he could only hope.
***
As the sun slowly made its appearance above the horizon, sending its first ray of light into Elizabeth’s room, she stirred. Stretching her arms high above her, she opened her eyes and it took her a few moments to begin thinking lucidly. As her mind cleared, she suddenly sat upright in her bed. The walk! She contemplated, with a thread of hope outweighing her doubt, and anticipation instead of apprehension, that soon she would be out walking again with Fitzwilliam Darcy. The chill of the late autumn night had inhabited her room, but the warmth of that anticipation flooded her.
She heard a door open down the hall and footsteps walk past her room, pausing, she noticed, just outside her door. She kept her eyes upon the door, half expecting a knock, but soon the steps continued on down the hall.
Elizabeth quickly arose, slipped on her dress, and sat at the dressing table, scooping her hair up. She looked at herself, at her dress, and began to think those same thoughts she had on the ship; her dress so simple, especially now compared with the fashionable attire of Bingley’s sisters and to what William himself was most likely used to.
Taking in a deep breath and opening her eyes wide, she let out a speculative sigh. Well, it is now or never!