Miss Bingley bent further in Mr. Darcy’s direction. Elizabeth cleared her throat to stifle a laugh. The lady would fall into his lap if she leaned any further. Mr. Darcy would, no doubt, view a portion of Miss Bingley’s bosom if he were to look in that direction, but his eyes remained fixed to the letter he was writing.
Was Miss Bingley’s more brazen behaviour due to her departure on the morrow? Was this her last effort to engage his affections? If it was, then it was a most pathetic display! Her normal manner towards Mr. Darcy was cloying and sure to be annoying, but this was ridiculous!
Had Mr. Bingley been present, he would surely correct his sister’s behaviour, but he had excused himself to make final preparations for Miss Bingley’s departure. He was not available to chastise her, and Mrs. Langford was obvious in her aversion to creating a scene before company.
"How delighted Miss Darcy will be to receive such a letter!"
He made no answer, but Elizabeth’s surreptitious peek at Mrs. Langford revealed the woman rolling her eyes.
"You write uncommonly fast."
"You are mistaken. I write rather slowly."
Elizabeth’s teeth dug into her cheek. If Miss Bingley continued, Elizabeth would have to leave the room or dissolve into a most impolite fit of laughter.
Poor Mr. Darcy! Her fawning was absurd, and he was obvious in his wish that she desist her attentions in his direction. His posture was positively rigid, and despite Miss Bingley’s attempts, his focus remained upon the paper before him.
"How many letters you must have occasion to write in the course of the year! Letters of business, too! How dull, indeed!"
"It is fortunate, then, that they fall to my lot instead of to yours."
His shoulders dipped as he sighed. He must be frustrated with her present manner, yet neither he nor her brother reprimanded her as they had the night prior. The presence of a guest must have provided Miss Bingley a reprieve.
"Pray tell your sister that I long to see her."
His writing hand dropped to the desk with a thud. "I have already told her so once, by your desire." The impolite tone of his voice was no surprise. He had lost all patience with her.
"I am afraid you do not like your pen.” Miss Bingley persisted. “Let me mend it for you. I mend pens remarkably well."
She reached for his quill, but Mr. Darcy halted his activity and levelled an unmistakable glare in Miss Bingley’s direction.
"I always mend my own." His arm stretched and pointed towards the settee. “I do not enjoy when people hover about my shoulders as I write, or read, for that matter. Please take your seat.”
Miss Bingley’s nose became pointier and her lips drew tight as she removed to the nearby sofa. "Tell your sister I am delighted to hear of her improvement on the harp; and pray let her know that I am quite in raptures with her beautiful little design for a table. I think it infinitely superior to Miss Grantley's."
He continued to glower in her direction as he practically bit out through his teeth, "Will you give me leave to defer your raptures till I write again? At present I have not room to do them justice."
Miss Bingley leaned back into the cushion of her own seat as his quill began to scratch against the paper once more.
"Oh! It is of no consequence. I am certain I shall see her in January."
A muttering came from Mr. Darcy, prompting Miss Bingley to sit forward.
“Pardon?”
Elizabeth smothered a giggle and placed a hand to her mouth. Had he truly said, “If wishes were horses, beggars would ride?”
If she had been biting her lips before, her teeth were now digging into the tender flesh in an attempt to restrain her mirth. Under normal circumstances, she did not enjoy finding humour at the insult of another, but Miss Bingley had thus far taken no notice of the subtle cues of Mr. Darcy to cease her overbearing attentions. Judging from the conversation the night prior, she had been disregarding his less than subtle entreaties as well.
“Mr. Darcy, pray how old is your sister?” Elizabeth started. Why? Why had she spoken?
Miss Bingley looked down her nose at Elizabeth with a sneer.
His eyes latched onto hers as he ignored his friend’s tiresome sister. “She will be sixteen next month, though she is quite tall for her age.”
“And has she played the harp long?”
Mr. Darcy shifted in his chair, his quill forgotten upon the desk. “No, she began with a master but a year ago. She has made significant progress, but I would not say she is accomplished at the art as of yet.
“She is proficient at the pianoforte,” he blurted when Miss Bingley opened her mouth to speak.
“Does she have a favourite composer?”
He gave a deep rumbling laugh. “Her preference for composers is alterable, I would say. Last winter, she favoured Handel, and this autumn, she plays nothing but Mozart. By summer, she will likely decide Scarlatti’s work has no equal and will not hear a word to the contrary.”
With a grin, she shifted forward. “What? No Bach?”
His laugh filled the room with its rich low tones. “Bach was two years ago. She has yet to repeat a favourite.”
“Ah, so she is fickle.”
“How rude!” exclaimed Miss Bingley as she bolted to her feet.
Elizabeth pressed back into the cushions of the sofa as Mr. Darcy speared Miss Bingley with a withering scowl. “May I inquire as to whom you are calling rude, Miss Bingley?”
“Why, Miss Darcy has the sweetest temper and is so accomplished! To call her fickle is to imply she has no loyalty to her friends or to you, her brother!”
Miss Bingley’s voice was one of horror, but her expression did not quite match her tone. Why would she pick such a trifling thing over which to feign offence? She was sure to realize Elizabeth was teasing.
“Mr. Darcy, I hope you understood I meant no disrespect.”
His lips were drawn into a fine line as he held up a hand in Elizabeth’s direction.
“Miss Bingley, I am quite capable of defending my sister when and if the circumstances arise. In this case, Miss Elizabeth was doing no more than teasing, using the word fickle when I used alterable a few statements prior. She has done naught to cause insult.”
Miss Bingley gave a huff and dropped into her chair. Her eyes bore into the side of Elizabeth’s head, and despite keeping her attention in Mr. Darcy’s direction, the heat of Miss Bingley’s disapprobation caused an odd sensation on the side of Elizabeth’s scalp.
“Caroline, you are travelling in the morning and should retire for the evening.”
Mr. Bingley came to stand by his sister’s chair and held out his arm. When had he returned? “I will escort you from the room. I wish to have a word with you in the study before you adjourn to your chambers.”
A strange whistle came from Miss Bingley when her lips parted but a fraction, and she sucked air through her teeth.
“Come along. I would prefer to remove you before you offend my guests further. Besides, I would not care to stand thus all evening.”
She paled and stood, placing her arm upon her brother’s. Once they departed, Mr. Darcy relaxed back into his chair.
“I am aware you were teasing and meant no harm, Miss Elizabeth. I was in earnest when I said as much to Miss Bingley. Please do not make yourself uneasy.”
“Thank you, Mr. Darcy.” She glanced to her hands, clasped in her lap, and back to his face. “I must admit Miss Bingley startled me. I had not expected such an exhibit.”
He glanced over from Mr. Hurst, who was still drowsing on the settee, to Mrs. Hurst, who appeared engrossed in a novel.
“Miss Bingley has always insinuated a greater friendship with my sister and myself than what exists. I fear she would have found displeasure in some statement you made, no matter how innocent.”
His pen shifted with the movement of his fingers. “May I ask how your sister fares? I have heard no one inquire as to her health this evening.”
“She is better, thank you. Sh
e was not as feverish and was resting comfortably as of an hour ago.”
His lips curved up just a bit. “I am glad to hear it.”
She nodded and gestured toward the desk. “I had not intended to interrupt your letter. I am certain your sister will be pleased to receive news of how you are spending your time.”
“Oh,” he blurted as if he had remembered something. “Yes, I should finish. I had hoped to post it in the morning.”
Elizabeth picked up a small book of poetry on the side table and began to stare at the page, though she could not concentrate upon the words.
What had happened tonight? Why had she been compelled to come to Mr. Darcy’s aid?
He was full of improper pride, and unpleasant. Was he not? He had come to her family’s defence with Miss Bingley, but was his manner altered due to the presence of the insufferable Miss Bingley?
She closed the book with a snap. “If you will excuse me, I will ensure my sister is well and retire for the evening.”
Mr. Darcy nodded, and she made her way to Jane’s bedchamber where her sister rested. Her forehead was not as warm as earlier, and she slept without agitation, so Elizabeth moved to her own chambers. She changed into her shift and burrowed into the bedclothes, but her mind would not allow her to leave the question of Mr. Darcy alone and let her rest.
She pounded the pillow and dropped back down with a huff. Had she misjudged Mr. Darcy? “No, it just is not possible,” she mumbled. His defence of her family had to be the answer. She needed to return the kindness. They were now even—Elizabeth’s aid with Miss Bingley repaid Mr. Darcy for his set down of the same lady.
There was no reason he would be any different than he was at the assembly. After all, they were not friends, were they?
Darcy entered his bedchamber and leaned upon the door as it closed behind him. What had happened this evening? Had he done precisely what he swore he would not? Could he have given Miss Elizabeth reason to hope she could win his favour?
“Good evening, sir.”
He straightened and propelled himself away from the door. “Good evening, Clarke.”
“I hope you enjoyed dinner?”
He ran his hands along his topcoat and pulled Georgiana’s letter from an inside pocket. “Yes, of course. Would you see this is put in the outgoing post? I hoped it would be off first thing in the morning.”
“Yes, sir.” Clarke took the correspondence and placed it within his own coat pocket, walked behind Darcy, and began to help him shed his clothes.
Once Clarke disappeared into the dressing room with Darcy’s topcoat and waistcoat, Darcy stared at the floor. Could he have incited any feelings in Miss Elizabeth? They had bantered several times since she came to stay at Netherfield. After all, the discussion about composers—she had to be flirting with him!
“Sir?”
“Oh! Forgive me, Clarke.” He untied his cravat and handed his clothing to his valet, who provided him with a nightshirt.
“Do you require anything further this evening, sir?”
Darcy glanced down at himself and around the room. “I do not believe so. Thank you.”
Clarke bowed and departed the room, closing the door behind him.
A small thud reverberated in the room when Darcy dropped onto the bed, pulling his feet upon the side rails and leaning with his forearms upon his thighs.
He had sworn at the assembly he would not fall prey to Mrs. Bennet and her schemes, but was Miss Elizabeth of the same ilk as her mother? Could she be different? Unlike Miss Bingley and other ladies, she did not attempt to garner his attention at every moment, which was indeed a pleasant change.
Her teasing manner and intelligence also made it impossible for him to maintain his stern appearance. The dilemma now was how to behave in her presence from this point forward. Should he remain friendly and pray it did not entrap him, or attempt to don the mask he wore in public settings in an effort to preserve himself?
The situation was impossible with her residing under the same roof! He needed to regain his equilibrium. He needed Elizabeth Bennet to return to Longbourn.
Chapter 5
“Is there no poetry in this cursed library?” Elizabeth muttered under her breath.
Mr. Bingley had indicated that Netherfield’s library had meagre offerings; he had not exaggerated. A few volumes of Shakespeare, a plethora of out-dated books on farming techniques, and a few novels did not constitute a library. At least not in her mind!
She exhaled heavily, the dust on the books flying in every direction, prompting her to cover her mouth with the back of her hand and clear her throat.
“I hope you are not becoming ill, Miss Elizabeth?”
She whirled around. Mr. Darcy stood a few paces back, his posture stiff, his arms at his sides, and a few books in one hand.
“No, I exhaled towards the shelves, and the dust became caught in my throat.”
“Ah.” He stepped towards the fireplace and sat in a chair, placing his reading on the table beside him. “Have you found anything of interest?”
Was that a smirk upon his face?
“Not unless I desire to learn about wool production or how to produce a plentiful harvest.”
His lip lifted on one side. “Yes, the library is rather bare as far as I am concerned.” He gestured towards the books on the table. “I only brought a few from Pemberley, but you are welcome to borrow one if it interests you.”
She approached and tilted her head in an attempt to read the spines without touching them. “Which are you reading at the moment?”
He pulled the bottom from the pile, and she leaned in an attempt to see the title.
“Marmion?”
“Yes, have you read it?” His head turned, and his blue eyes penetrated hers until she averted her gaze.
“I have. My uncle gave my father a copy Christmas last. I enjoyed it very much.”
“As did I.” His hand lay with a soft touch upon the cover as his fingers curved around its edge.
She flinched when he lifted the remaining books with his other hand.
“Forgive me, I did not mean to startle you.”
With a shake of her head, she reached to take the stack from him, her fingers brushing his as she grasped it. He recoiled, and she dropped his books like a lead weight.
“I am so sorry!” She fell to her knees to gather his property from the rug as he lowered himself across from her; however, she had already organised them and clutched them to her chest by the time he joined her. “Did I pinch you?”
His brow furrowed.
“I thought perhaps when I shifted them, your finger was pinched between the books for you to draw back with such haste.”
He waved his hand before him. “It is of no matter.”
“I—”
“Well, this is cosy.”
Her head swung to the door where Miss Bingley stood, a sour expression upon her countenance.
“I thought I might manage a moment alone with Mr. Darcy before I depart—to make my farewells.” Her eyes raked up and down the gentleman in question. “But once again, Miss Eliza, you stand in my way.”
Mr. Darcy stood as Miss Elizabeth rose from her seat. “I understand your carriage awaits you, Miss Bingley. I wish you a pleasant journey.”
She gave an ungracious smile and peered between Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth as her expression changed to one of scorn. “I have found Meryton intriguing. Would you care to know why?”
Elizabeth gave a slight shrug and glanced at Mr. Darcy, whose face was a mask. He was neither angry, nor happy. Could he be confused by Miss Bingley’s behaviour as well?
“Despite your lack of response, I am certain you wish to know, and I am more than pleased to tell you.” Miss Bingley gave a malicious-sounding giggle. “Mr. Darcy is such an honourable gentleman—well, except when it comes to me, and Miss Eliza, you believe him to be prideful, if the gossip in town is to be trusted. You took such offence to his remark at the assembly.”
Oh, but to
shrink to the size of a tiny bug and scurry away! Mr. Darcy’s eyes blazed at her, but she kept her eyes on Miss Bingley.
“What is the purpose of these reflections, Miss Bingley?” Miss Bingley was certain to have heard the fury in his voice, but she was angry as well, and angry people are not always wise.
“I had an amusing thought last night. Since I could not persuade you to marry me, then it would be such great fun to see you wed to someone who detests you.” Her hand moved to the edge of the door as it began to swing towards them.
Elizabeth gasped. “Miss Bingley!” She released the books, which clattered to the floor, as she lunged in an attempt to keep the heavy oak panel open, but it was too late. The latch clicked before she could grasp it, and a key secured the lock with a decisive clank.
Mr. Darcy raised a fist, but Elizabeth yanked his arm back to his side.
“What do you intend to do?”
“I shall call for help. Do you want to be trapped within this room so long that your reputation is ruined?”
“It makes no difference if we are confined for five seconds or five hours. The outcome is the same. I wish to marry for love, and I will be forced to marry no one—especially not you, Mr. Darcy!”
She took a deep breath, covered her mouth with her hands and scanned the room. Think, Elizabeth! This house was almost a second home when she was a child. She merely needed to concentrate.
Her eyes halted upon a far window near the left corner. She almost ran until she reached it, looking through the panes and laughing. A minute was all she required to work the latch and open the sash, but as she reached down to her feet, the boots of her present company invaded her line of sight.
She lifted her head. “I would appreciate it if you would turn around.”
“What do you have planned?”
Particular Intentions Page 4