“There is something to be said for a woman who comes from close family,” Bingley continued, though Darcy suspected his friend was finding more reasons to like Jane than the argument of such logic would allow.
“That would depend on the family,” Darcy answered.
“Miss Elizabeth looked well, did she not?”
“She should not have walked so far alone.”
“I think it’s a testament to her love for a sister.” Bingley finally drew his eyes away from the window. He could see nothing anyway.
“And I think it’s a testament to her foolish impulses.”
“Would you not walk ten times as far if it were Georgiana who were ill?”
Darcy’s frown deepened. “That argument is faulty for I am not a young woman.”
“I should say not,” Bingley laughed, unwilling to let Darcy’s mood infect his own. “You know I have not thought once of the charms of other ladies since first meeting Miss Bennet? I could be walking in Covent Garden right now and the prettiest of doves would not tempt me with their wiles.”
“Perhaps you should aim higher in a mistress,” Darcy said gruffly. It had been far too long since he had been with a woman, and having his late night obsession now under the same roof did not help. Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Just thinking of her flushed cheeks and dirty hem caused a stirring deep within his stomach. His back stiffened, as if in doing so he could hide the arousal now forming beneath his tight trousers.
“Who can think of a mistress when I am imaging a wife?”
Bingley asked.
“Have your feelings developed to such a state?” Darcy did not try to hide the worry in his voice. Whereas he found little fault with Jane, he did not observe the same level of commitment within the lady that his friend seemed to feel. However, he did not worry about it yet. Bingley had such a nature that allowed him to fall in love easily, for he was apt to like people in general.
“Do not look at me like that!” cried Bingley. “Till you have found yourself flown away by the face of an angel, you cannot possibly understand.”
“The only angel I’m sure to be flown away by will assuredly appear over my deathbed.”
Bingley’s disbelieving laughter was his only answer, as he made his way back into the house.
Now alone, Darcy took a deep breath. His eyes turned upward, to the window that had captured his good friend’s attention. His thoughts were not so pure as Bingley’s. When he imagined Elizabeth, it was not marriage that came first and foremost to his mind, but a more sordid affair filled with impossibilities and improbabilities.
Whenever he was near her, he felt beside himself, nervous and thick of tongue. Afterwards, he would think of a great many things he could say to her, but whenever he stood in her presence, he found himself without the proper tools of discourse. He attributed part of this to his attraction for her, and part to his own genuinely reserved nature. Whereas people like Miss Elizabeth and Mr. Bingley had the ease of character to make new acquaintances into quick friends, Darcy did not.
The full force of his desires clouded his judgment and he knew he would never calm himself if he continued to stare at her window like a lovesick Romeo waiting for his Juliet. A brisk walk later brought him to the privacy of his room and the delinquency of his thoughts. Part of him hated her for making him feel such longings; but as he thrust his hand down into the front of his trousers, he gave up on trying to fight the temptation. Resistance was not in him, not when it came to his desire for Elizabeth Bennet.
When breakfast was over Elizabeth and Jane were joined by Mr. Bingley’s sisters. Elizabeth began to like them herself, when she saw how much affection and solicitude they showed for Jane. The apothecary came, and having examined his patient, said, as might be supposed, that she had caught a violent cold, and that they must endeavor to get the better of it. He advised her to return to bed, and promised her some draughts. The advice was followed readily, for the feverish symptoms increased, and her head ached acutely. Elizabeth did not leave her room for a moment, nor were the other ladies often absent for the gentlemen were out, and they had nothing to do elsewhere.
When the clock struck three, Elizabeth felt that she must go, and very unwillingly said so. Miss Bingley offered her the carriage, and she only wanted a little pressing to accept it, when Jane testified such concern in parting with her, that Miss Bingley was obliged to convert the offer of the chaise to an invitation to remain at Netherfield for the present. Elizabeth most thankfully consented, and a servant was dispatched to Longbourn to acquaint the family with her stay and bring back a supply of clothes.
CHAPTER EIGHT
AT FIVE O’CLOCK THE TWO LADIES RETIRED to dress, and at half-past six Elizabeth was summoned to dinner. To the civil inquiries which then poured in, and amongst which she had the pleasure of distinguishing the much superior solicitude of Mr. Bingley’s, she could not make a very favorable answer. Jane was by no means better. The sisters, on hearing this, repeated three or four times how much they were grieved, how shocking it was to have a bad cold, and how excessively they disliked being ill themselves; and then thought no more of the matter. Their indifference towards Jane when not immediately before them restored Elizabeth to the enjoyment of all her former dislike.
Their brother was the only one of the party whom she could regard with any complacency. His anxiety for Jane was evident, and his attentions to herself most pleasing. His attitude prevented her from feeling too much like an intruder. Miss Bingley was engrossed by Mr. Darcy, her sister scarcely less so. As for Mr. Hurst, by whom Elizabeth sat, he was an indolent man, who lived only to eat, drink, and play at cards, and who, when he found her to prefer a plain dish to a ragout, had nothing to say.
When dinner was over, she returned directly to Jane. Miss Bingley began abusing her as soon as she was out of the room. Her manners were pronounced to be very bad indeed, a mixture of pride and impertinence; she had no conversation, no style, no beauty. Mrs. Hurst thought the same, adding, “She has nothing to recommend her, but being an excellent walker. I shall never forget her appearance this morning. She looked almost wild.”
“I could hardly keep my countenance. Very nonsensical to come at all. Why must she be scampering about the country, because her sister had a cold? Her hair, so untidy, so blowsy.”
“Yes, and I hope you saw her petticoat, six inches deep in mud, and the gown which had been let down to hide it not doing its duty.”
“Your picture may be very exact, Louisa,” Bingley said, “but this was all lost upon me. I thought Miss Elizabeth Bennet looked remarkably well when she came into the room this morning. Her dirty petticoat quite escaped my notice.”
“You observed it, Mr. Darcy, I am sure,” said Miss Bingley. “I am inclined to think that you would not wish to see your sister make such an exhibition.”
“Certainly not.”
“To walk three miles, or four, or five, whatever it is, above her ankles in dirt, and quite alone! What could she mean by it? It seems to me to show a most country indifference to decorum.”
“It shows an affection for her sister that is very pleasing,” said Bingley.
“I am afraid, Mr. Darcy,” observed Miss Bingley in a half whisper, “that this adventure has rather affected your admiration of her fine eyes.”
“Not at all,” he replied. He hid his annoyance at her continually assuming to know what he was thinking. “They were brightened by the exercise.”
A short pause followed this speech, and Mrs. Hurst began again, “I have an excessive regard for Miss Jane Bennet. She is really a very sweet girl. I wish with all my heart she were well settled, but with such a father and mother, and such low connections, I am afraid there is no chance of it.”
“I think I have heard you say that their uncle is an attorney in Meryton.”
“Yes, and they have another, who lives somewhere near Cheapside.”
“That is capital,” added her sister, and they both laughed heartily.
“If they
had uncles enough to fill all Cheapside,” defended Bingley, “it would not make them one jot less agreeable.”
“But it must materially lessen their chance of marrying men of any consideration in the world,” Darcy replied. His friend may be flown away with emotion, but that only meant Bingley needed to consider the logic of his choice all the more. Darcy was sure logic would triumph over Bingley’s latest inclination of love.
To this speech Bingley made no answer. Nevertheless, his sisters gave it their hearty assent, and indulged their mirth for some time at the expense of their dear friend’s vulgar relations.
However, with a renewal of tenderness they returned to her room and sat with Jane till summoned to coffee. She was still very poorly, and Elizabeth would not quit her till late in the evening when she had the comfort of seeing her sleep. When she did go downstairs, it was because she thought it more right than pleasant that she make an appearance. On entering the drawing room she found the whole party at loo, and was immediately invited to join them. Suspecting them to be playing high she declined. Making her sister the excuse, she said she would amuse herself with a book for the short time she could stay below.
Mr. Hurst looked at her with astonishment. “Do you prefer reading to cards? That is rather singular.”
“Miss Eliza Bennet,” said Miss Bingley, “despises cards. She is a great reader, and has no pleasure in anything else.”
“I deserve neither such praise nor such censure,” admonished Elizabeth. She did her best not to meet the probing gaze of Mr. Darcy. “I am not a great reader, and I have pleasure in many things.”
“In nursing your sister I am sure you have pleasure,” said Bingley, “and I hope it will be soon increased by seeing her well.”
Elizabeth thanked him, and then walked towards the table where a few books were lying.
He immediately offered to fetch her others — all that his library afforded. “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.”
“I can suit myself perfectly well with what is before me,” Elizabeth assured him.
“What a delightful library you have at Pemberley, Mr. Darcy,” said Miss Bingley.
“It ought to be good,” he replied. “It has been the work of many generations.”
Elizabeth was now forced to acknowledge him, though she said nothing.
“And then you have added so much to it yourself,” Miss Bingley continued, “you are always buying books.”
“I cannot comprehend the neglect of a family library in such days as these.” Mr. Darcy glanced at Elizabeth’s hands and she felt compelled to hide her selection from his studious view.
“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.” Miss Bingley gave Elizabeth a superior look, and in that moment Elizabeth understood the woman desired her to know how very intimate she was of the details of Mr. Darcy’s life. Elizabeth concealed a laugh. Why should she care if Mrs. Bingley had her sights on Mr. Darcy? It was not as if Elizabeth entertained thoughts of marrying Darcy herself.
“I wish it may,” Bingley agreed.
“But I would really advise you to make your purchase in that neighborhood,” his sister persisted, “and take Pemberley for a kind of model. There is not a finer county in England than Derbyshire, or better families.”
“With all my heart,” Bingley assured her, “I will buy Pemberley itself if Darcy will sell it.”
“I am talking of possibilities, Charles.”
“Upon my word, Caroline,” he answered, “I should think it more possible to get Pemberley by purchase than by imitation. I do not have the lifetimes to match the generations of Darcy’s family, nor the great discipline to see it through.”
Elizabeth was so caught with what passed, as to leave her very little attention for her book. Soon she laid it wholly aside, drew near the card table, and stationed herself between Mr. Bingley and his eldest sister to observe the game.
“Has Miss Darcy grown much since the spring?” inquired Miss Bingley. “Will she be as tall as I am.”
“I think she will,” said Mr. Darcy. “She is now about Miss Elizabeth’s height, or rather taller.”
Elizabeth felt a small chill as he said her name.
“How I long to see her again.” Miss Bingley’s voice lifted in her raptures. “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 all young ladies can have the patience to be so very accomplished.”
“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, but I am very far from agreeing with you in your estimation of ladies in general. The word is applied too generously, and 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,” Elizabeth observed, “you must comprehend a great deal in your idea of an accomplished woman.”
“Yes, I do comprehend a great deal in it.” Darcy’s blue eyes met hers and she held his gaze boldly. She wondered at his straightforward attention.
“Oh, certainly!” cried his faithful assistant to draw their attention once more to herself. “A truly accomplished woman must have a thorough knowledge of music, singing, drawing, dancing, and the modern languages, to deserve the word. And 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,” agreed 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 forced herself to smile though she was not sure if she felt somewhat of a slight at the comment, or a challenge. Something within her wanted to challenge him, to irritate him just to see if she could raise his temper and crack the calm façade that normally graced his features, much like one could crack an expensive vase upon the floor. “I rather wonder now at your knowing any.”
“Are you so severe upon your own sex.”
Was she mistaken, or did she see a playful light enter his eyes? Was he teasing her? Surely, not. Elizabeth ignored the others in the room, captivated by the look. “I never saw such a woman. I never saw such capacity, and taste, and application, and elegance, united as you describe.”
Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley did their part in breaking the small spell when they both protested the injustice of her implied doubt. They both claimed to know many women who answered this description. Mr. Hurst called them to order with bitter complaints of their inattention to their cards. As all conversation was thereby at an end, Elizabeth soon afterwards left the room, glad for an excuse to leave their company.
Darcy was no less affected by the brief moment that passed between them, and watched with some small regret as she went to her sister’s bedside. Though he hardly agreed with her ideas, he found himself interested in how she expressed them.
“Elizabeth Bennet,” said Miss Bingley, when the door was closed, “is one of those young ladies who seek to recommend themselves to the other sex by undervaluing their own. With many men, I daresay, it succeeds. But, in my opinion, it is a paltry device and a very mean art.”
“Undoubtedly,” Darcy replied, to whom this
remark was chiefly addressed, “there is a meanness in all the arts which ladies sometimes condescend to employ for captivation.”
Miss Bingley was not entirely satisfied with this reply and did not continue the subject.
Elizabeth joined them again only to say that her sister was worse, and that she could not leave her. Bingley urged that Mr. Jones be sent for, and it was settled that the apothecary should come early in the morning if Miss Bennet were not decidedly better. Bingley was quite uncomfortable. His sisters declared they were miserable; however, they solaced their woes 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.
CHAPTER NINE
ELIZABETH PASSED THE NIGHT in her sister’s room, and in the morning had the pleasure of being able to send an acceptable answer to the inquiries which she very early received from Mr. Bingley by a housemaid, and some hours afterwards from the two elegant ladies who waited on his sisters. She requested to have a note sent to Longbourn, desiring her mother to visit Jane, and form her own judgment 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 parlor. Bingley met them with hopes that Mrs. Bennet had not found Miss Bennet worse than she expected.
Pride and Prejudice (The Wild and Wanton Edition) Page 6