Mr. Darcy was a good, if proud, man — a very good man. Elizabeth wished him well. Perhaps he would marry one of those half-dozen accomplished women he knew. Perhaps he already knew the choice of his heart and only waited to recover to claim her as his own. Elizabeth hoped this mystery woman would be kind to Mr. Darcy.
Walking past the sitting room, she heard the pianoforte in use. Curiosity won out, and upon entering, she observed Mrs. Annesley demonstrate fingering for the benefit of Mary and Miss Darcy.
“Miss Elizabeth! We were just sitting down for lessons. Would you like to join us?” Miss Darcy was all smiles.
Elizabeth saw Mary’s look of disappointment and demurred. “Oh, no. I should not disturb you.”
Mrs. Annesley now spoke. “Let me assure you that your presence, rather than diminishing our enjoyment, would only increase it. We would be happy to have you.”
Mary bit her lip and said, “Yes, Lizzy. Please stay.”
Elizabeth capitulated to the entreaties, silently vowing to allow Mary the majority of the attention. The four ladies passed the next hour contentedly, and in Mary’s case, joyfully. As they quitted the room — Miss Darcy remaining for her German lesson from Mrs. Annesley — Mary uncharacteristically seized Elizabeth’s hand.
“Oh, that was so delightful!” she cried. “We shall practice every day with Miss Darcy and Mrs. Annesley while they are here, shall we not, Lizzy?”
Elizabeth assured Mary that they should, touched by this affectionate display from her normally serious sister.
Tea brought Mr. Bingley and Colonel Fitzwilliam, but not Miss Bingley or the Hursts. Mr. Bingley apologized for his sister’s sake; a sudden headache must be her excuse, and Mrs. Hurst stayed to attend her. A glance at Colonel Fitzwilliam showed that gentleman was uncomfortable, and Elizabeth lowered her head, hoping her countenance did not give the lie to Mr. Bingley’s statement.
The rest of tea passed uneventfully. Colonel Fitzwilliam rallied and was his usual charming character, Mr. Bingley had eyes only for Jane, and Mr. Darcy was less severe with her. Now aware of Mr. Darcy’s design, Elizabeth found herself relaxed in his company and spoke as she always did, her wit now undiminished by worry. More than once she was in conversation with their invalid guest, happily debating some point of contention. When she turned her attention to Mrs. Bennet, she saw that, while her mother was confused and sometimes alarmed at the pair’s banter, she was also pleased with the apparent peace between her second daughter and their most honored guest. Elizabeth sighed. There was no way of convincing her mother that her matchmaking schemes were in vain.
There was only one small mystery. Today it was Kitty’s turn to gaze reverently at Mr. Darcy. Elizabeth shook her head — first was Jane’s admiration, then Mary’s adulation, and now Kitty. Was it every Bennet girl’s fate to fall in love with Mr. Darcy, save Lydia and herself?
Mr. Bingley and the colonel could not remain for dinner, citing Miss Bingley’s indisposition. The meal passed without incident — roast beef and Yorkshire pudding had returned to the table, even though it was a Tuesday — but the same could not be said for afterwards. While Miss Darcy entertained the group at the pianoforte, Lydia sat and grumbled.
“Lydia, please,” Mary scolded softly, “Miss Darcy is playing.”
“Oh, who cares about that?” Lydia shot back, not lowering her voice at all. “Today is the twenty-sixth! We should be at Netherfield, dancing the night away with all the handsome officers! Instead, Mr. Bingley’s ball is canceled, and we must sit bored at home. It is unfair!”
“Lydia, please, lower your voice,” Jane advised. “It is no one’s fault that the ball had to be postponed.”
“Yes, it is,” Lydia cried. She pointed at Mr. Darcy. “It is all his fault!”
Up to now, Miss Darcy dutifully continued her piece. But at Lydia’s outcry, she stopped. Heedless of the spectacle she was making, indeed, reveling in the attention, Lydia continued.
“If Mr. Darcy had not broken his leg in that stupid manner, Mr. Bingley would not have cancelled the ball, and we would be dancing now! I believe he did it a-purpose! You saw how he insulted you at the assembly, Lizzy. He hates dancing!”
The entire room was aghast at Lydia’s outlandish pronouncement. Both Mr. and Miss Darcy turned pale, but before Elizabeth or Jane could take Lydia to task, correction came from a most unexpected corner.
“You naughty, naughty girl!” cried Mrs. Bennet. “How can you say such a thing about Mr. Darcy? He has suffered a serious accident, and it is only by God’s grace that he did not lose a limb! He is very welcomed here, and he deserves our pity and care. Oh,” she fanned herself, “you will give me a case of the nerves, you ungrateful child! Dancing — who cares about dancing! You can dance any old time at the assemblies! You will apologize to Mr. Darcy right away — and Miss Darcy, too — or you will be sent to your room!”
“Yes,” cried Kitty, “Mr. Darcy has been very nice, and you are being mean to him! For shame!”
Lydia, who well knew she was her mother’s and sister’s favorite, was shocked into tears.
“Lydia,” said Mr. Bennet finally, “we are waiting.”
“Oh, everyone hates me!” Sobbing, Lydia dashed from the sitting room and up the stairs. After a moment, Jane and Mary rushed to Miss Darcy’s side to reassure the shaken girl. Meanwhile, an anxious Mrs. Bennet turned to Mr. Darcy.
“Sir, I hope you will forgive my youngest. She enjoys dancing very much, and her disappointment must be her excuse. She is young and spirited, not mature like my other girls! Oh, yes, my girls are very kind and level-headed, especially Lizzy! You will find no more sensible girl than my Lizzy!”
Elizabeth, already blushing in mortification over Lydia’s antics, flushed deeper hearing her mother’s uncalled-for praise.
Mr. Bennet, clearly askew at his wife’s proclamations, nevertheless echoed her sentiments. “Yes, my girls are usually more sensible than that and know better than to insult a guest, particularly one forced to use a wheel-chair. My apologies, sir.”
“Accepted,” Mr. Darcy said shortly. He glanced at his sister, deep in conversation with Jane. “Miss Lydia’s youth must be her excuse.” He turned back to Mr. Bennet. “I know we are a burden to you all.”
“Of course not!” Mrs. Bennet exclaimed.
“Once again, I must agree with my wife, as unusual as that may be,” said Mr. Bennet. Elizabeth winced slightly. She hoped Mr. Darcy did not detect the derision in her father’s voice. “You are welcomed here for as long as you can bear it.”
Her parents then moved to speak to Miss Darcy, which gave Elizabeth a chance to add her own regrets. “I am so sorry for what you have endured, Mr. Darcy! We do not deserve your forgiveness.”
For a disconcerting moment, he stared hard at her, searching her face. He then sighed. “It is quite all right, Miss Elizabeth. It is all forgotten.” He gave her a small smile. “I suppose none of us are immune from saying things we do not mean — for giving offence when none is intended.”
Elizabeth blinked. Was Mr. Darcy apologizing to her? Why? “We are all poor sinners. None of us is perfect.”
There was that penetrating stare again. She could almost feel his gaze caressing her skin. “Some of us, perhaps,” he said huskily. His closed his eyes for a moment, and then looked at Jane and continued in a lighter vein. “Your sister, for example — would you not say she is a perfect angel, as some have said?”
Elizabeth laughed. “Yes, Jane is as perfect as can be and shames us mere mortals!” The moment was past, and Mr. Darcy appeared weary. “I believe you are tired, sir.”
“Yes, it has been a long, trying day.” He glanced at her. “I believe I shall surrender — to rest,” he said cryptically.
“I shall summon Mrs. Hill, then. Good night, sir.”
“Good night, Miss Elizabeth.”
Elizabeth went in search of the housekeeper, convinced that it was a sign of Mr. Darcy’s fatigue that he lingered slightly over the syllables of her name.
* * *
Darcy was tired, and he longed to surrender. He was tired of fighting his attraction to Elizabeth, and he longed to surrender to her charms. Her liveliness during tea, her intelligent conversation during dinner, and her genuine regret for Lydia’s actions had completely overset Darcy’s intention of putting distance between himself and the girl in less than a day. No one outside of the Drury Lane stage could be that good an actress. Her sincerity could not be denied. Elizabeth may have been angry with him yesterday, but she seemed to think better of him today.
Not that it mattered. Darcy knew he had found the woman he wanted. Now he must prove worthy of her.
Perhaps Elizabeth’s opinion of Darcy was not as high as he wished, but he was now persuaded that the lion’s share of the fault lay with him. Since Darcy tried and failed to give her up, it remained for him to undo the damage he had done. He was decided: He would win Elizabeth’s heart no matter how long it took.
While Mrs. Hill moved him back into the parlor bedroom, Darcy leaned back in his wheel-chair, contemplating a lovely set of eyes gazing at him in concern and friendliness. Great was his surprise with what awaited him.
Sally, the maid, was in Bartholomew’s arms, weeping.
“What is the meaning of this?” Darcy demanded.
“Sir! It is not what it seems!” cried an unsettled Bartholomew. To Sally, he pleaded, “Please, girl, you must stop this now!” For her part, Sally buried her head deeper into the valet’s chest and cried harder.
Mrs. Hill quickly closed the door behind them and moved to the pair. “I’ll see to this, Mr. Darcy. I know what ails her.” She gently placed her hands on the maid’s shoulders. “Come, child, enough of this. You’ll give Mr. Darcy a poor impression of you. Rest is what you need. Come with me.” To Bartholomew she said, “I hope she wasn’t too much of a bother.”
Bartholomew’s expression said that he thought she indeed had been a very great bother, but he only nodded and quickly backed away from the pair. Darcy waited until the two women left through the servants’ entrance before he began his interrogation.
His valet was rattled by his experience. “I had just returned from my meal in the kitchen when I found Sally standing by the window, crying uncontrollably,” he explained. “I, of course, enquired as to what the matter could be. The girl would not talk at first, and then she threw herself at me, clinging as if she were drowning. It was most disconcerting, sir.”
Knowing Bartholomew to be a confirmed bachelor, Darcy could only agree. “Do you know why she is distressed?”
“Yes, sir. She spoke at length.”
Darcy pursed his lips. Sometimes he wondered whether his closed-mouth servant enjoyed this game of compelling his employer to wheedle information out of him. “Then I require that you tell me what she said.”
“As you wish, sir. It seems Sally lives at home with her widowed mother, who until recently was employed as a cook in a house in Meryton. The family has this week quit Hertfordshire for Cornwall, never to return, leaving Sally’s mother with only a recommendation.”
“That is unfortunate,” said Darcy. “Surely, if the woman is of good character, she will secure employment soon.”
“Unlikely anytime soon, I am afraid to report, as there is no work to be had.”
Darcy frowned. “It is all very sad, but even with the small amount Sally makes working for the Bennets, they should get by with charity from the local parish until a position is secured if Meryton is anything like Lambton.”
“I am sorry to say that Meryton does not enjoy the patronage of a generous family as Lambton does,” he nodded to his employer, “but there is more.”
“Go on, Bartholomew.”
“Yes, sir. There is a brother. He left home to seek his fortune in the factories in Birmingham, but he fell afoul of one of the machines. The surgeon did what he could and saved his life, but he lost an arm. He has come home to recuperate.”
Darcy was uneasy. Perhaps two people could live on the merger earnings of a housemaid with assistance, but not three. “This is troubling, indeed. Is the brother out of danger?”
“It seems so, but of course there is no employment for him, either. He cannot work the fields or go back to the factories, not with one arm. It is a bad situation.”
Darcy said nothing. Bartholomew seemed to recognize the look on his employer’s face. “I regret bringing this to your attention, sir. It is bothering you. I am very sorry for Sally, but there is nothing to be done.”
Darcy did not agree, but he kept his thoughts to himself. Instead, he requested that his valet undress him for bed. Once Darcy was abed, Bartholomew was glad to see a contented expression on his employer’s face. He may have thought it was the comfort of fresh sheets, but he would have been wrong.
Darcy was working over the problem of Sally and was having a marvelous time. Nothing suited him as did being useful to others, and here was the perfect opportunity for him to engage in his favorite activity — solving someone else’s dilemma.
Chapter 12
AT BREAKFAST, ELIZABETH LEARNED Mr. Bingley had arranged a shopping expedition to Meryton that morning. Jane, Mary, and Kitty were to go with Miss Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam. Georgiana invited Elizabeth, but she declined as Charlotte was expected to visit. Lydia’s name was not mentioned. Due to her behavior the evening before, she was forbidden to leave Longbourn or entertain visitors for the next two days.
At the appointed time, a carriage appeared containing only Mr. Bingley. Colonel Fitzwilliam chose to ride alongside on his tall charger. Neither Miss Bingley nor Mrs. Hurst accompanied their brother, and Elizabeth began to worry about Miss Bingley’s state of mind. Obviously, Caroline had taken the colonel’s words very hard, and in her mortification, she could not face the outside world, even to visit Miss Darcy.
The party was assembled, and Elizabeth noticed the presence of Mr. Darcy’s manservant. As Bartholomew helped the ladies into the coach, Elizabeth assumed the man was running errands for his master in the village. Mr. Bingley stood by his horse, heretofore secured to the back of the carriage, having a private word with Jane, when there was a squeal from the house.
“What is going on?” cried Lydia. “Where is everyone going?”
Jane answered her wayward sister. “We are all to Meryton. Mr. Bingley was kind enough to take us shopping — ”
“I want to go, too! Wait there and I will get my pelisse and bonnet.”
Mrs. Bennet stopped her. “You are indeed not going, young lady! You know very well you are to stay in the house until Friday. Now, be a good girl and return inside.”
“But, Mama, pleassse! I will be good! Mr. Bingley, please tell Mama you want me to come!”
Mr. Bingley was clearly uncomfortable. “It is not my decision to make.”
Elizabeth stepped over to her sister and tried to calm her down. “You must listen to Mama and go inside. Pray stop making a scene.”
Lydia would have none of it. “But I want to go! Mary and Kitty are going!”
“Because we were invited,” Kitty shot back from the carriage. “Mary and Georgiana are to select music while I will shop for a set of watercolors.”
Elizabeth did not know what surprised her more: Kitty’s familiar use of Miss Darcy’s name or that her submissive sister had stood up to Lydia.
“You should not expect nice things when you are so mean to people,” Kitty continued. “Please stop. You are embarrassing our guests.”
Kitty’s rebelliousness shocked Lydia silent, and Mrs. Bennet took her youngest by the arm. “Yes, Kitty has the right of it! Go inside the house this instant! Oh, what you do to my nerves!”
Lydia looked about but only beheld stern expressions or averted glances. With a sob, she turned and ran back indoors. The shopping expedition left under a small cloud of unpleasantness, and Elizabeth could only marvel at the changes at Longbourn.
Mama punishing her favorite? Kitty challenging her idol? Mary willingly going shopping? What was happening
to her world?
* * *
Darcy was in the sitting room across from the parlor, attending to his correspondence. It was not too daunting a task as there was little to command his attention at Pemberley during that time of year. The harvest in and repairs completed on the tenants’ houses, the steward’s concerns were now relegated to plans for the spring planting months hence.
The letters from Town were a different matter. His banker was concerned over uncertainties for trade due to the political tensions between the government and the former American colonies. And his solicitor had sent him yet another counter-offer for that property in Ireland. Darcy was working through the complicated terms — frowning, for he suspected that his solicitor was correct in alleging chicanery by the seller — when the door was flung open.
“Oh, it is you,” said a surprised Miss Lydia.
Darcy was busy and did not want to be disturbed, particularly by Elizabeth’s spoiled young sister, but he had been too well trained not to offer civilities. “May I help you, Miss Lydia?”
“No,” said the girl as she turned to leave. But she halted her progress and turned back to him. “Yes. Mama says I should apologize for yesterday.” She spoke as if every word were wrenched from her mouth.
Darcy put the contract down. “Yes?” he said expectantly.
Lydia’s toe made circles in the carpet. “I am sorry. What I said yesterday was silly. I mean, you would not break your leg on purpose to stop a ball, even if you do hate dancing. You would just stand in a corner and say mean things about Lizzy like you did at the assembly.”
It was the strangest apology Darcy had ever received, and her comment about his behavior at that blasted assembly drove all thought of work from his mind. Did all of Hertfordshire know of his unfortunate remark? No wonder Elizabeth had a low opinion of him!
“I suppose I should apologize to Miss Darcy, too. Did I hurt her feelings?”
Darcy considered his words. “I think an apology would be welcomed. However, do not bother if you are not sincere.”
Mr. Darcy Came to Dinner Page 15