In Netherfield Library and Other Stories

by Meg Osborne

  He liked her, perhaps more than he had liked any young woman. She was unlike any young woman he had met to date, so perhaps that explained his conflicted feelings towards her.

  The sound of conversation reached his ears, the two young ladies drawing closer to the library. His first instinct was to hide, to turn his chair away from the door, and sink down into it, so that they might not identify his presence. In spite of this, he found himself, quite to his own surprise, standing, and crossing the small library towards the door in two strides. It was open, and he was rewarded by the sight of the two young ladies’ retreating backs. They had passed the library, without going in. He might safely stay there, then. But just at that moment, the idea of solitude was less appealing to Fitzwilliam Darcy than it had ever been before.

  “Miss Bingley, Miss Elizabeth,” he called, hastening his pace to catch up with them. “Has your tour reached its conclusion so quickly?”

  “Mr Darcy!” Caroline turned a simpering smile towards him. “I assured my brother I would not take long. Come, let us all return to the parlour. Charles will be eager for some company.”

  ELIZABETH HAD NEVER been so happy to see Mr Darcy before. In fact, the realisation struck her as somewhat amusing that his appearance behind them in the corridor provoked such a wave of relief that she could barely keep the broad smile from her features. He, too, seemed gratified by such a greeting, and the three walked back into the Netherfield parlour as if they were old friends.

  It was only shortly after this that Elizabeth was able to excuse herself in order to dress for dinner. The notion was comical: she had little enough to wear, having hurried to Jane’s side at first hearing of her been unwell. Jane had not brought clothing with her, not intending to stay above a few hours. Elizabeth regarded her reflection in the glass with a wry smile. She wondered what comments Caroline would greet her with that evening. Her friend’s attempts to spare Elizabeth blushes at being seen so often wearing an identical dress were, she was sure, instead designed to highlight the variety of Caroline’s own wardrobe. She had even been overheard by the gentleman offering Elizabeth the loan of a dress that she was quite sure would suit Eliza’s sharp features rather better than Caroline’s own. Lizzy laughed, remembering the horrified glances the gentleman exchanged, and the hurried way Mr Darcy began at once to speak, drawing Charles into a most ardent conversation about the state of the weather on the grounds, and what that might mean for the winter’s shooting.

  She had been grateful, then, for Mr Darcy’s attempts to ease her embarrassment, although it was Caroline who ought to be embarrassed for acting so unkindly. It was plain for all to see that Elizabeth had no other clothes to wear, and she was under no illusions as to the poverty of her family in comparison with the Bingleys. Yet to have it pointed out, intentionally or otherwise, was the height of bad manners.

  This evening, Elizabeth found herself taking rather more time than usual over her appearance. The dress was a favourite, at least there was that. A rich green that complimented her pale skin, dark eyes and dark hair. Yet today, her features were not so pale. There was a rosy glow to her cheeks, and a light in her eyes that must, she felt, be due to the sense of great relief she felt at Jane’s steady improvement.

  The reminder of Jane also served to remind Elizabeth of how gently Mr Darcy had asked after a sister’s health that very afternoon. That, in turn, led her to remember the chessboard. She crept lightly to the door, pulling it open and waiting a moment to listen to the sounds of the household. She had time yet before dinner would be served, she knew, time enough to make her move. She tiptoed quickly down the stairs, determined to avoid Caroline Bingley as long as possible, and slid hastily into the library at the sound of another lady’s steps overhead. When she reached the chessboard, she smiled. Darcy had somehow beaten her to it and made his next move. Then he was as determined as she to keep the game going, despite Caroline Bingley’s best attempts at interference.

  She slipped into the seat that had so recently been hers, and interlaced her fingers, nestling her chin into them. She regarded the board carefully. It was still very early in the game, both she and Mr Darcy had made scarcely a handful of moves apiece. She considered her options. How glad I am, she thought, that Father sought to teach me chess. None of Mr Bennet’s other daughters and shown any proficiency or interest in the game, and so her father had ploughed all his disappointment at not having a son into Elizabeth’s gentlemanly accomplishments. This, too, made her smile. She knew, compared to Caroline, and even Jane, she could not begin to compete in terms of being an accomplished lady. And yet what interest had she in being such a creature? Accomplished ladies were not required to think, in fact, it was considered a hindrance to be avoided. She certainly did not wish to spurn her greatest asset: her mind. With determination, she lifted a piece and made her move. She stood, glancing once more over the chessboard, and grinned. Well, Mr Darcy! Let us see how you react to that. She tiptoed towards the door and made her way slowly towards the dining room, where she could already hear the first snatches of conversation that indicated she would not be the first to arrive.

  She was not the first, but she was also not the last. Mr Bingley stood, as he recognised her approach, and after half a moment Caroline joined him, greeting Elizabeth with a warm, if ostentatious, welcome.

  “Oh, Miss Eliza! How beautiful you look in that green dress. I imagined it a favourite of yours, for you wear it so often.”

  Elizabeth smiled, unwilling to allow Caroline’s attempt at insult to dent her inexplicably good mood.

  “Is Mr Darcy not joining us for dinner?” she asked, addressing her question to Charles.

  “He shall be along shortly,” Mr Bingley said. “He was but a few paces behind us.”

  Indeed, it was just a moment later that the door to the dining room opened, and Mr Darcy entered. With a warm nod to his companions, he took the seat had always been his, and everybody settled down to their meal.

  “Well, Darcy,” Charles said, after a few moments of quiet consumption. “Do you think it at all possible the rain might break tomorrow?”

  “Do you wish to be rid of us, Mr Bingley?” Elizabeth asked, with a sly smile towards the gentleman.

  “No, indeed!” Charles said, with a wide smile. “In fact, I quite wish you and your sister might feel welcome to stay just as long as you like. Although, of course, I do wish for Miss Jane to be recovered, and soon. Did you say she seems still better this evening?”

  “She does,” Elizabeth said, relaying the conversation she had had with Jane less than an hour previously. “In fact, she is hopeful that she might join us for a short spell after dinner. She is not yet equal to eating a meal, or much in the way of entertainment, but I think she is eager for some conversation.” Elizabeth lifted her glanced Caroline’s, in order to see how the suggestion might be met by their hostess. For once, Caroline’s features were impassive. “I trust that will be agreeable to you, Miss Bingley?” Elizabeth asked.

  “Of course it is!” Charles said, leaping in before his sister could summon up a word. “She must definitely join us this evening, and need not feel the exertion of entertaining us. Caroline will play something, and we might enjoy it quite peacefully.” Charles beamed. “Does that not seem like a pleasant enough distraction for your sister?”

  Elizabeth resisted the urge to glance back at Caroline, certain that this suggestion of her brother’s would have provoked some sort of response on Caroline’s features.

  “What a wonderful idea,” she said. “I shall go upstairs and fetch her once our meal is over. I am sure she will be delighted to be among us again.”

  Chapter Four

  Charles had seemed so utterly thrilled with himself that his suggestion had been met with approval Darcy almost laughed aloud. His amusement was intensified when he happened to glance at Caroline Bingley, and saw that her reaction to Charles’ suggestion was not at all as enthusiastic as Elizabeth’s had been.

  The conversation moved away from
their plans for the evening, to the friends they might have in common. Elizabeth had been describing her aunt and uncle, a Mr and Mrs Gardiner, who lived in London. This detail had sparked Charles into still greater fervour, and he began listing friends and connections he might have in common with this mysterious couple. At length, Elizabeth was pressed to admit that they resided in Cheapside, and she thought it quite unlikely indeed that they had ever moved in the same circles as Mr and Miss Bingley.

  “Cheapside?” Charles asked, turning the word over in his mouth. “Well, I certainly think we have been there, have we not, Caro?”

  If Caroline was already irritated by her brother’s words, this latest suggestion pushed her into outright anger.

  “I certainly have never been to that part of London,” she said. “Not that I mean to cause any disparagement to your relatives, Eliza dear.”

  This last had been offered, with a snide smile across the table towards Elizabeth, who met the expression with one that was altogether more genuine.

  Darcy was amused to see the exchange between the two ladies, and forced to acknowledge that Elizabeth was far better at handling Caroline Bingley’s attempts at slights then Caroline Bingley was in managing her brother’s quite natural politeness. It did not paint her in a good light, and Darcy could not help but be pleased, somehow, to see Elizabeth Bennet contrast so favourably with the other young woman.

  “Do you go often to London, Miss Bennet?” he asked, suddenly curious about this part of Elizabeth’s life that had heretofore been shrouded in mystery. He could not imagine Elizabeth in London. To him, she was everything that was vivid and alive about life in the country, and he felt certain that London society would be as stifling to her as it was to him. This acknowledgement surprised him. How was it that this young lady he felt so certain was utterly different from him, in fact seemed to possess more traits in common than even his dear friend Charles Bingley?

  “Not often, Mr Darcy,” Elizabeth admitted. “And when I do, it is so often a whirlwind of activity that I confess I am more than happy to return home.”

  “And what sort of activities do you like to do in London?” Caroline Bingley asked, her question weighted with unspoken malice.

  “Oh, I enjoy the music, the exhibitions, the parks,” Elizabeth said. “There is so much interest in exploring London, that I always feel I have not enough time to do it justice.”

  “Museums.” Caroline could not sound less enthusiastic if she tried, and Darcy buried his head in his meal, fearing his amusement would show in his features, and provoke still more agitation from Charles’ sister.

  “Yes,” Elizabeth said. “I am so fond of learning, and it is enjoyable to see so many new and different things in London. We are not afforded such opportunities in Hertfordshire.”

  “Thus your fondness for reading!” Charles said. “I can quite see how the library would appeal to you, Miss Bennet.”

  At the mention of the library, Elizabeth’s cheeks reddened, almost imperceptibly. Darcy noticed, however, because he found his gaze straying more often than not to Elizabeth’s face. Seeing her, illuminated by candlelight, it was as if he was seeing her for the first time. She lifted her eyes, then, and met his, almost by chance. She did not look away immediately, however, and Darcy felt as if they were somehow able to communicate even without the need of words. He recalled their chess game, and was amused to remember the progress she had made in his absence. He had called into the library on passing, merely by chance, not expecting anything to have changed. Yet somehow, Darcy was not sure how, Elizabeth had managed to slip in there and make the next move in their chess game. It was a creative approach, and it took him a few moments of pensive study to deduce her plan. Yet deduce it he did, and manoeuvred his own army accordingly. A slight smile crept onto his face, as he considered what her reaction might be. She certainly seemed as intent as him to continue their game, even if it must be done by stealth.

  “Yes, Miss Elizabeth,” he said. “You must ensure to visit the library again before the evening is over, for I was in there earlier and noticed you had forgotten your book.”

  “Indeed!?” Elizabeth said, returning his smile with one of her own.

  “Dear me,” Caroline remarked, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “I did not dream you to be so perceptive, Mr Darcy!”

  Her tone of voice brought Darcy up sharp, and he, at last, looked away from Elizabeth Bennet, instead, fixing his hosts with the attention they deserved.

  UNDER THE AUSPICES of fetching Jane down to join the rest of the party in the sitting room after dinner, Elizabeth found her way to the library for another perusal of the chessboard. She smiled, gratified yet unsurprised to see their game advanced by a move.

  “Well, Mr Darcy,” she murmured aloud, slipping into her usual seat. “Let me see if I can deduce your plan...” She hovered her fingertips over her pieces, surveying the battleground, while she made her choice. She lifted a piece, and moved it quickly. “And with that move,” she smiled. “I may have successfully routed it.”

  She pushed her chair back from the table, intent on continuing on her original errand towards Jane’s room, but something in the window caught her eye. There, propped against the glass, was the small, leather-bound book that had first spurred her and Mr Darcy into conversation. Her smile widened, remembering his suggestion that she retrieve her book at dinner. She had thought him merely inventing an excuse to ensure her attention to their game, it had not occurred to her that he spoke in earnest. She reached for the book, and as she lifted it nearer noticed the edge of a piece of paper her protruding from within. Frowning, in confusion, she opened the book at the place the paper marked, and her eyes fell on a note. Scanning the careful penmanship, she smiled.

  “Miss Bennet,” she read. “Further to our discussion this afternoon, I feel compelled to advise you of several titles you might consider perusing in the pursuit of self-improvement, instead of mere enjoyment. I have ascertained at least a couple of these might be found adorning the shelves herewith.” What followed was a list of half a dozen or so worthy titles, many of which were already familiar to Elizabeth from her father’s study. “I trust you will find this list helpful, and look forward to discussing your opinions on these titles at some point in the future. I remain, F. D.”

  Smiling thoughtfully, Elizabeth closed the book, and turned to leave, before an idea slowed her progress. Casting a glance around the room, she located the very same writing implements that Mr Darcy must have used to pen his note, and snatched up a clean sheet of paper, intending on returning the favour.

  “My dear F. D.,” she wrote, dashing off the letter quickly, before she reasoned herself out of such folly. “I am grateful for the time you took in composing your list of recommended reading. I am delighted to inform you I have actually already read many of these titles, and am not unfamiliar with the rest. However, as you so enthusiastically recommend them, I will seek to close any gaps in my literary knowledge, by reading those I have thus far missed. In return, I would like to draw your attention to the following titles, for your enjoyment instead of the mere pursuit of self-improvement. I also suggest you might wish to re-evaluate the position of your bishop.” She listed a number of titles that she thought might appeal to Mr Darcy’s sensibilities, dismissing anything too outrageously feminine. Pausing, she hesitated in considering how best to sign off such a note. Eventually, with a slight shake of the head, she followed her original intention, signing, with a flourish. “Yours with affection, E. B.”

  She turned towards the bookshelves, scanning the elegant spines, until she located one of the books on her short list. Easing it from its place, she slipped the note inside, leaving an inch or so of paper protruding that it might catch Mr Darcy’s eye. Then she set the book down next to his chair, where he might be certain to see it when he paused to peruse the chessboard. Barely containing a laugh, she fairly skipped towards the door, and hurried upstairs to Jane’s room.

  Knocking once, she opened the do
or, still barely containing her amusement.

  “Lizzy!” Jane was up, and dressed, looking more herself than she had done in days. “You look happy.”

  “With you looking so well, Jane, dear,” Elizabeth said, “How could I be otherwise?” She crossed the room to the seat that Jane was sitting in, and offered her elbow, in an old-fashioned reflection of chivalry. “The suggestion of your presence in the parlour this evening was met with great enthusiasm from a certain member of our party,” she remarked, with a sly smile. “And so, if you are ready, we had better hurry. For we certainly do not wish to keep Mr Bingley waiting.”

  Jane smiled, shaking her head at her sister’s teasing, and slowly, carefully, the two sisters made their way down the stairs to join the party waiting in the sitting room.

  Chapter Five

  From his seat by the fire, Darcy had a clear and unobstructed view of the door to the parlour. He was not aware of his attention straying to the entrance, yet he felt almost supernaturally attuned to the approach of the two sisters, as the vaguest strains of their quiet conversation reached the room. The door opened, admitting first Jane, and then Elizabeth. Darcy could not prevent a reflexive smile from creeping up his face upon recognising the novel he thought of as Elizabeth’s tucked neatly under one arm. Conscious, then, that his reaction might be noticed and remarked upon by another inhabitant of the room, he dropped his gaze almost immediately to the ground.

  “Miss Bennet!” He did not need to look at Charles to discern the delight that would be apparent on his friend’s face, for it was evident in the enthusiastic greeting he offered to the elder Mrs Bennet. Indeed, Darcy could not help but feel a measure of Charles’ happiness, to see Jane looking so well. He had not been immune to the household’s concern when Jane first fell ill. His affections for her might not rival Charles’, but he still possessed the humanity to feel sympathy for a young woman struck down in the company of strangers. His compassion had grown upon Elizabeth’s arrival, as he began to view the situation through her eyes, and feel, almost intuitively, how desperate the situation might be for her sister. He had a sister; he knew that concern.