In Netherfield Library and Other Stories

by Meg Osborne

  “Here, won’t you sit down?” Charles leapt to his feet, flying across the room and offering his own arm to Jane. Between him and Elizabeth, Jane was gently escorted to Charles’s own seat, close enough to the fire that she might feel its warmth.

  “You are very kind,” Jane said. Her voice still sounded thin, and Darcy was aware that although she was much recovered, she was still not yet herself. He lifted his gaze to Elizabeth, and saw this same concern reflected in her features.

  “Drinks!” Charles had risen to the task of gracious host with utmost enthusiasm, and took it upon himself to personally arrange every detail of the room for the promotion of Miss Bennet’s continued well-being. Caroline, unhappily elbowed from the centre of attention by the arrival of both Bennet sisters, haunted the piano like a malevolent spirit. Darcy felt a flicker of appreciation that even she did not feel the need to undercut their present felicity with an unkind comment. Surely she, too, was human enough to know the depth of anxiety that had fallen over the house when Miss Bennet’s illness was at its most severe. And in any case, he reasoned, with Jane recovering, the question of their return to Longbourn will not be too far off.

  This did not offer Darcy the same level of comfort it might have done just a few days earlier. He feared Elizabeth Bennet’s departure, feared to lose the intimacy they had won so very recently. Her appearance in his thoughts seemed to drag his eyes like a magnet back to hers, and this time he was surprised to see her already looking at him. Their eyes met for half a second, and her hands stole to the book which was still nestled beneath one arm. She tapped the side of the book, and smiled very slightly. It was a coded message, Darcy realised. Thank you, she said. Thank you for your note. And yet, there was more. The merest hint of a smile that tugged at the corners of her lips, an amusing light to her eyes that suggested she had a full response in store for him. She lifted her eyebrows, a silent challenge, and he felt his heart rate increase. Had she left him his own message in the library?

  Suddenly unable to sit patiently with the possibility of such a promise, Darcy got to his feet.

  “Let me make enquiries as to the tea things,” he offered, addressing Charles. “You must stay and speak with Miss Bennet, who I am quite sure is eager for some happy conversation.”

  He reached the door before anybody could comment on his sudden display of hospitality, and he heard the crash of a chord on the piano. Caroline Bingley was working out her agitation through song. It was not enough to delay him, however, for he was gripped with an urgency to reach the library, and see what trap Elizabeth had laid for him.

  Reaching the room, he went straight to the chess table, taking in the action at a glance. He frowned, attempting to decipher her intent, for he was ill practised at playing against one with whom he was so evenly matched. Indeed, it was a surprise to him to find Elizabeth so talented at chess. He had never known a young lady to have an interest, let alone a talent, at the game of strategy. And playing against Charles, although diverting, had hardly posed a great challenge to Darcy’s own skill. His eyes fell upon a leather bound novel that sat in front of his pieces, and he reached for it, instinctively opening the book to the note that she had left, mirroring his own. He read through the few lines, unable to help the grin that made its way up his cheeks. He glanced up at the board only when he reached her mention of his bishop, frowning again, before he realised that she was right. He had moved in error, and left his senior pieces open to threat. He would remedy that this turn. He turned his attention back to the letter, reading it once more through, before a word made him pause. His breath caught. Had he imagined it? He retraced her words. No, there it was. She had signed the letter with affection. He ran his thumb over the word. Affection. Did she mean it? Was it merely a word deployed in the leaving of notes for one’s chess opponent on a regular basis? He did not know, he had never been in this position before. It was no love note, that much was certain. It was humorous, a joke, and yet... With affection. Folding the book closed he lifted his gaze back to the chess set, and narrowly avoided her advance in one move. He paused to scratch a note in reply, hardly aware of the words his pen formed and not trusting himself to read over the lines again. Holding tight to his book, he retreated back to the parlour, his step jaunty.

  When he entered the room, Caroline Bingley had at least been prevailed upon to play a happy, relaxing piece of music. The mood of the room was content, and he was pleased to see Charles smiling across the fireplace at Jane, the two of them lost in a quiet, peaceful conversation. How could he have ever thought it possible that his two friends were not meant to be together? He had seen such looks as they exchanged only rarely, but it was indicative, even at an early stage in their friendship, of the depths of their feelings. He turned to the window, and saw Elizabeth poring over her book. She had looked up as he came in, her eyes holding him fast. Affecting nonchalance, out of fear of being thought too eager, he sauntered towards her.

  “I see great minds think alike, Miss Elizabeth,” he remarked, brandishing his own book.

  “Indeed.” Elizabeth smiled.

  “I must also thank you for your very wise advice,” he continued.

  “You have remedied your oversight?” Elizabeth asked, her eyes sparkling with fun.

  “My bishop lives,” he returned. “Although you have sacrificed a rook.”

  Their voices were low, their conversation whispered. There was no danger of being overheard, however, for Jane and Mr Bingley were still absorbed in their own conversation, and Caroline in her music. At least, so Darcy thought. The music sped up, almost unnoticed, until Caroline’s fingers flew over the final arpeggio and she stood, pushing her stool back noisily from the piano.

  “Are we destined to never take refreshments this evening?” she cried, her voice verging on a shriek.

  Both gentlemen looked up at her in surprise, and Darcy opened his mouth to apologise. The notion of going for refreshments had utterly faded from his mind when he saw Elizabeth’s note. There would be no refreshments, for he had not requested them.

  “I see I must attend to everything myself,” Caroline announced, looking sourly from her brother to Mr Darcy back again. She stalked towards the door, and Darcy braced for the slam that was sure to follow her exit. Instead, she pointedly left the door open, and her footsteps could be heard stomping down the corridor.

  “Perhaps we ought to be a little more sociable when Miss Bingley returns,” Elizabeth said, with a wry smile.

  “Indeed we must,” Darcy said, with a nod towards the fireplace. “For it seems apparent that her brother and your sister are lost to us all!”

  CAROLINE WAS GONE QUITE some time, but when she came back, a modicum of peace reigned over the room. Jane conversed quietly and contentedly with Mr Bingley, and it seemed to Elizabeth that they were both completely unaware that anyone else was in the room with them. Her own quiet conversation with Mr Darcy was interrupted by Caroline marching over to them and sitting directly in their midst.

  “I am glad both you and your sister saw fit to join us this evening, Eliza dear.” Caroline punctuated her words with a noisy sip of her drink. “I imagine, with Jane finally on the mend, you will be eager to return to Longbourn.”

  “Indeed, Miss Bingley,” Elizabeth said. “We wait only for a break in the weather.”

  With Caroline’s arrival, it was as if Mr Darcy had retreated back into himself. Gone was their comfortable banter, gone was the hint of a sense of humour behind his words. In fact, he had retreated almost entirely into silence, a state which Elizabeth felt some anxiety over, until she noticed the way his hand rested on the cover of the book that she had left for him. Her cheeks warmed as she considered the note she had left. It was not as if she had ever imagined writing to Mr Darcy, yet this version of Mr Darcy was so different from the man she thought she knew.

  “... Georgiana?”

  Elizabeth started. She had not been aware of Caroline speaking, so lost was she in her own thoughts. When Mr Darcy cleared his t
hroat and began to speak, her eyes lifted to him, but she was disappointed to see his old scowl back in place. His words were perfunctory, ringing with boredom. If I was Caroline Bingley, Elizabeth thought, I might presume that he had little enough interest in speaking to me, or speaking of the mysterious Georgiana.

  “I am sure Mr Darcy has told you of his sister, Miss Elizabeth,” Caroline remarked, with the tilt of her head. “I, of course, know dear Georgiana quite well. She is such a gentle creature, and so talented at music. That reminds me, Miss Eliza, you must play for us this evening. You have escaped it thus far, but I’m sure we are all eager to hear your skill on the piano.”

  “In that case, I am afraid you are likely to be disappointed, Miss Bingley.” Elizabeth sensed that Caroline had intended her words for a slight and determined she would not give her the satisfaction of reacting. “I am not particularly skilled at the piano, a state which I have never denied. I play a little, but compared to your own formidable skill, fear that even that would be found wanting.”

  Still, Caroline would not be deterred. It became apparent that she would not be silenced until Elizabeth had removed from Mr Darcy’s circle and made her way to the piano. This she did, if only to escape Caroline’s shrill commentary.

  She settled her fingers over the keys, and began playing a piece of music that she had devoted herself to learning some years previously. It was not fashionable, and certainly did not require a great amount of musical skill to play, but it was a pretty enough piece, and would certainly not shame her in front of her small audience.

  Familiarity ensured that she played without too much trouble, and she found her attention wandering. Her eyes rested first on Jane and Bingley, and then on Mr Darcy who, she was surprised to see, had fixed his gaze on the door. Caroline was talking to him, although what she said could not be deduced, for she spoke in so low a tone of voice that her words did not carry. Elizabeth presumed it was not pleasant, however, for a sly smile lurked about Caroline’s features, and, with every word she uttered, Mr Darcy’s scowl darkened.

  So intent was she on this little performance that she stopped watching her own progress over the piano keys. Her pace slowed, her accuracy diminished, and at length she abandoned the piece altogether, leaving an unhappy half scale hanging in the air.

  “Oh!” Caroline exclaimed. “Is everything alright, Eliza? You have stopped playing so suddenly, when we were all quite enjoying your little piece.”

  “Forgive me, Miss Bingley,” Elizabeth said. “I seem to have forgotten how it ends.” She smiled, a self-deprecating smile, and stood. “But I did warn you that I am no great musician. Please excuse me a moment.”

  Before anyone else could comment, she fled the room, intent on reaching the library. The ease she had felt with Mr Darcy had begun in that room, she felt certain she would be at peace again when she crossed the threshold. Instead, she found utter chaos. The small end table that housed the chess set had been knocked over, sending pieces flying in all directions, and drawing their game to a chaotic end.

  Elizabeth's cheeks flamed. Had this been Mr Darcy? Had she misunderstood his reaction to her note? She turned to the writing desk, seeking some response, some acknowledgement that he had read her words in the spirit they had been intended.

  He did not seem angry, she thought. In fact, he had seemed happy, happier than she had seen him before.

  “Idiot Elizabeth,” she muttered aloud. “Arrogant, idiot Elizabeth.”

  “Uunmusical, perhaps.” A low, male voice came at her shoulder. “But hardly idiotic.”

  Mr Darcy stepped past her into the library, accidentally catching a chess piece with his foot and sending it skittering noisily across the floor.

  “Sore loser?” he asked, a sly smile playing about his features.

  Elizabeth folded her arms across her front, and regarded him curiously.

  “I might say the same of you.”

  “As I have proved in my afternoon’s entertainments with Mr Bingley, I am quite capable of losing a chess match and keeping my temper.” Mr Darcy raised his eyebrows. “And in any case, our game was barely begun when I left it.”

  “How well you must think of me then, Mr Darcy, if you think I am responsible for this.” She knelt down and began to retrieve the lost pieces.

  “I have some suspicion of who might be responsible, and I do not believe her name is Elizabeth.”

  Elizabeth lifted her eyes to his, and saw a wry smile sneak across his face.

  “Did you get my note?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

  “I told you I had,” Elizabeth said, righting the table, and setting a handful of chess pieces down on its surface.

  “My second note,” Darcy qualified. He reached a hand out to her, laying it gently over hers, before she had time to remove it.

  Her heart began to beat faster, but she would not lift her eyes from the image of their joined hands. She could not trust herself to look at him, certain, now, that the words he was about to say were the words she had somehow, silently wished for all day. Longer, although she had scarcely been aware of her true feelings before now.

  “There was no note,” she murmured, dropping her gaze still further, but not making any attempt to remove her hand.

  “Then I must tell you what it said,” Darcy whispered. “Let me see if I remember...”

  Chapter Six

  “Is something the matter, Caroline?” Charles asked.

  Caroline smiled, tightly, at her brother. It was typical that he would choose to lift his gaze from Jane Bennet and notice her at precisely this moment. With one swift flick of her elegant wrist, she launched Mr Darcy’s love note into the fire, and turned back to her brother.

  “Not a thing!” she said. Anymore. She had known there was something afoot, by Elizabeth Bennet and Mr Darcy’s continued disappearances along the corridor towards the library. The smiles the pair had shared that evening merely confirmed her suspicions, so she took it upon herself to visit the small room and see what she could find out. Their chess game had not caused her very much discomfort. Frankly, she could not see the attraction of a young lady with such dull pursuits. In any case, a languorous chess game was hardly worthy of her attention. She had been about to retrace her steps, when the writing table caught her eye. There, for all to see, was the sheet of paper covered in Mr Darcy’s handsome script. My dear Elizabeth...

  Caroline had acted on impulse, had barely been aware of lashing out. Before she knew what had happened, the chess set had been sent flying across the floor, and Mr Darcy’s note snatched from the table top and crumpled into a ball in her hand.

  I knew Eliza Bennet to be capable of many things, but such brazen flirtation! And that Mr Darcy was so easily taken in! Caroline had raged internally. Well, he was a fool, just like her brother was a fool. She had pressed Charles to invite Darcy to stay at Netherfield with them for one reason only: that she might find her way to securing his heart. It would have worked, too, had not been for Elizabeth Bennet’s wretched bright eyes. She took another malevolent glance at the fire, and was happy to see Darcy’s notes smouldering to ash.

  “I say, where has Darcy got to?” Charles asked, noticing the room had, until recently, held more than just he and Jane Bennet.

  His question brought Caroline back to the present, and she glanced towards the corner that had so recently been inhabited by Elizabeth Bennet, Mr Darcy, and herself. The corner was empty.

  Not stopping to qualify her actions to her brother, Caroline made for the door, rushing down towards the library as if, in haste, she might prevent the fateful declaration. She had no way of moving quickly enough, however, for as she reached for the door, she heard Elizabeth Bennet’s sharp intake of breath, followed by a soft, gentle voice, that sounded alien to her ears.

  “I can hardly believe it, myself,” Elizabeth murmured.

  “Then I am not entirely mistaken?” Mr Darcy’s voice was a whisper, too, yet lacking his usual superiority. With a muffled groan, Caroline
pushed the door open, and plunged headlong into the fray.

  “Mr Darcy! Eliza! We wondered what had become of you.”

  Caroline could say no more. When she noticed the closeness of her two guests, she knew it was all over for her. Mr Darcy had made his choice. It was hasty and foolish, and he would come to regret it in time. But she, Caroline, would not stand by and watch. Lifting an angry glare to Elizabeth Bennet, she drew herself to her full height and scowled.

  “I see your sister is not the only Miss Bennet with marriage in mind.” Turning on her heel, she stalked out of the room. She would not go back to the sitting room, would not bid the Bennets farewell when they, at last, made their return to Longbourn. She hurried up the stairs, her feet falling hard on the treads, and did not stop until she reached her own room. She slammed the door, scarcely caring who heard the sound, flung herself down on her bed, too angry to cry.

  THE NEXT MORNING DAWNED bright and dry, and it seemed to Darcy as if the weather in itself reflected his own new-found contentment.

  As soon as their breakfast was finished, he and Bingley helped Jane and Elizabeth into the Netherfield carriage, determined to escort the sisters back to Longbourn personally. He was not sure if Bingley’s commitment to the errand was the same as his, for his own reasons for visiting Mr and Mrs Bennet far outweighed his desire to ensure Elizabeth and her sister returned home safely. Much had been discussed the previous evening, far more than he had intended. Far more than he had alluded to in his letter - the letter that had so mysteriously disappeared. What he recited to Elizabeth, then, had not been the letter’s contents, at least not in its entirety. He had spoken of what was in his heart, without the medium of pen and paper to curtail his honesty. He had almost feared saying too much, yet she had not only listened, but agreed with his confession. He cared for her, and she cared for him too, more than she had ever thought possible.