by Emma East
Elizabeth kept quiet. Engaging her mother would only prolong her mother’s obsession with the topic. She also didn’t want to draw more attention to Darcy than she could help. Her mother could sniff out inappropriate thoughts like a foxhound.
But with Mr. Darcy, she will probably encourage me!
Later, once her mother had left to arrange dinner for them, Jane took the seat beside Elizabeth near the window. “Tired of knitting?”
“Not at all. Just resting my hands. How are you, Lizzy?”
“Fine,” Elizabeth said. “Why do you ask?”
Jane chuckled and nudged her shoulder with her own. “I’m impressed at you, Lizzy. How often is it that any of us can withstand our mother’s speeches?”
“It only impresses you because normally I am the ungrateful daughter.”
Jane reeled away, horrified. “I never meant to imply—”
Elizabeth laughed. “It is true, though. I know it well enough. You need not fear hurting my feelings.”
Jane let out a small laugh, but there was something in her tone and manner that bade Elizabeth to wait. She watched her sister as the rain drummed on the window behind her.
Jane lifted her gaze to meet Elizabeth’s. She hesitated and then, looking over her shoulder, finally asked, “Do you have feelings for Mr. Darcy?”
Jane, blushing, looked down, and because of that she missed Elizabeth stiffen. She went on, not noticing. “I assumed, but maybe I should not have without speaking to you first. If you don’t want to answer—”
Elizabeth hated lying to her sister. They were as close as two people could be without being one person. If Jane lied to Elizabeth about the same thing, it would crush Elizabeth. She didn’t want to put her sister through the same thing.
But if Jane suspected that Elizabeth’s feelings were less than pure… that she had fulfilled sinful desires… it would horrify Jane.
And if she knew that Elizabeth held Darcy in some regard, Jane would search for a foundation for love. If she caught Elizabeth and Darcy in a less than ideal situation, then the charade would be broken.
Either way, truth or lie, it damned her.
“No, I don’t have feelings for him,” she said with as much indifference as she could muster. She ensured her expression was worried, a little exasperated. “It embarrasses me to think our mother could believe otherwise.”
Jane reached over and placed her hand over Elizabeth’s on her knee. “I know it would take more than wealth to interest you, but does Mr. Darcy truly hold no interest for you? He seems to hold you in some regard already.”
Elizabeth could feel her face heating. A thrill went through her at the thought of Darcy’s regard and just how… intense that regard could be. But it was terrifying to think their chemistry could expose them to the censure of her family and friends.
She pulled away, spreading her hands out in front of her in a helpless motion. “Though I wish otherwise for the sake of my mother’s sensibilities, I do not share in her eagerness about an attachment between myself and Mr. Darcy.”
“Oh.”
“Who is this arriving outside?”
They met Lydia’s curious question with excitement. They crowded the window, murmuring to one another. Elizabeth thought Jane identified the coach first, taking a quick step back from the window and blushing, but their mother soon followed.
Mrs. Bennet’s eyes bulged and she cried out. “Oh, that is Mr. Bingley’s carriage! Jane, Lizzy—hurry and put up your work. You two, pick up those ribbons and that mess. Mary, go tell Hill to arrange tea. Quickly now, quickly!”
At their mother’s cry, the Bennet sisters quickly went to work straightening the room. By the time that the servant announced Messrs. Bingley and Darcy, the sisters were perfectly posed on the sofas and in front of the windows with nary a hint of their previous urgency.
“Oh, hello, Mr. Darcy, Mr. Bingley! What a surprise you have come here in this dreadful weather!”
The gentlemen accepted Mrs. Bennet’s enthusiastic welcome with equanimity. Excited and pleased by such an unexpected visit, Mrs. Bennet made no qualms about her motives for removing herself and Jane and Elizabeth’s younger sisters from the room. Her thin disguise—sending Mary upstairs to practice her piano and Kitty and Lydia to help her sort through a box of fabric upstairs—would not have stood up to even a second’s worth of scrutiny. Though deeply mortified by her mother’s behavior, she could not help but feel grateful toward her for removing herself from the room. Undoubtedly, Mrs. Bennet would have implied something just as mortifying.
That left Elizabeth nearly alone with Darcy, their only company being Mr. Bingley and Jane who took themselves to the opposite side of the room as they sought their own relative privacy.
Darcy did not give her a formal greeting, but his gaze welcomed her well enough. “I hope you did not attempt the journey to the cottage this morning.”
She smiled. “No, but I was afraid that you had.”
“I went out briefly to ensure that you were not stranded there. I had no idea when the rain started.”
“I’m touched by your concern,” she said, and her tone must have sounded arch because Darcy lifted one eyebrow at her.
“I prefer my kittens healthy, not drowned.”
She laughed, and it was not within her to dampen the girlish delight that swelled inside of her when she saw his eyes light up in response. To be in control of a man’s heart was one thing, she thought, but to be in control of his desires was quite another animal entirely.
When Mrs. Bennet returned approximately half an hour later, she at once convinced the gentlemen they should remain for dinner. She had obviously prepared herself for a battle, but Darcy and Bingley were quite willing to be convinced, though Darcy appeared reluctant at first.
“Good,” Mrs. Bennet said, deflating a little at the lack of obstacles in her path. “I will go see that we have more seats.”
She looked to Jane for some reassurance—reassurance that her mother would not embarrass them or become too overbearing—but Jane was preoccupied with speaking to Bingley, their expressions both consumed by nervous happiness. When she turned back to Darcy, she offered him a smile that rang false. She was far too nervous to settle. Her mother would undoubtedly imply that there was a romantic connection between her and Darcy—and though it was true, she did not want to know how Darcy would react if he realized how much Mrs. Bennet believed in their eventual marriage.
Elizabeth knew that she, for one, did not wish to marry Darcy. Besides sharing intimate moments together, she knew nothing about him. Other than his assets—of which there were supposedly many—she did not know of the type of man he was.
Considerate, to think of my pleasure foremost. Direct when he wants something. Humorous, though he did not appear that way initially.
Elizabeth struggled against these thoughts. She knew a little about him, but not enough that a reasonable person would say she understood his character, his personality, or his ambitions. He was still a mystery to her.
“Pardon me, I must go tell the driver we will stay a little longer yet.”
Elizabeth watched Darcy leave and then caught her mother’s eye as Darcy disappeared beyond the doorway. Mrs. Bennet lit up and promptly stole Darcy’s seat beside her.
“Is it going well, Lizzy dear?”
“Mama,” Elizabeth whispered, speaking through tight lips.
Mrs. Bennet widened her eyes. “What have I done now? I only wished that you could enjoy a day without your silly mother breathing over your shoulder—”
Elizabeth turned away from her mother as the bell rang for dinner. She refused to give her mother’s antics any more attention, and when her father strode into the room to ask who would join him for dinner, she gladly left her mother’s immediate vicinity.
Darcy rejoined them in the dining room. Mrs. Bennet, who had ensured the seat next to Elizabeth was empty for just this reason, hummed to herself as the servants prepared their dishes.
“
By no means is my wife responsible for the rain, but she would act as though she were,” Mr. Bennet said to Bingley, who only blinked in his confusion. Elizabeth would have laughed, but since she was one of the subjects of her mother’s humiliating efforts, she could not.
“The venison is perfectly cooked, madam.”
Mrs. Bennet beamed at Darcy’s compliment, though he stated it matter-of-factly and with no additional courtesy. “A herd runs through the northern part of our land, and Mr. Bennet always catches the plumpest of them for his family, don’t you, dear?”
“It is luck, rather than any skill that always wins me the slowest of the herd,” Mr. Bennet said.
“Who are, more often than not, the plumpest,” Elizabeth said, smiling as she shared a look with her father.
Mrs. Bennet continued to chatter through the night, but overall with the input of Messrs. Bingley and Darcy, and even occasionally Mr. Bennet, the table managed a decent conversation, if not a lively one. Jane, for her part, spoke well throughout the night and conversed on many topics, but her gaze remained upon Bingley for most of their time at the table. Elizabeth, however, felt all the embarrassment of her mother’s obvious matchmaking in every glance Mrs. Bennet bestowed her that night, which were many. So much was her embarrassment she expected that by the end of the night that Darcy would race into the night as soon as his coach was ready.
Indeed, Darcy did seem impatient to leave by the end of the evening. No matter how gracious and sophisticated a host, at some point a guest becomes eager to leave. After sharing after-dinner drinks with Mr. Bennet and Mr. Bingley, he returned to the parlor and met the ladies with the attitude of relief common to guests about to be free of his host.
However, that plan of action was stymied by the arrival of Hill and, following her, an unfamiliar servant. The servant was the driver for Bingley and he appeared nervous to even appear at the door of the parlor.
“Mr. Greg, what is it?”
Bingley, worried and befuddled by this out of character activity by his servant, excused himself to speak privately with the man. A moment later, he came back in, looking worried and anxious.
“Mr. Greg is our driver, and he informs me that when he went to attach the coach to the horses that the axle on the coach broke. We cannot use the coach tonight by any means.”
“We can send you both home in our coach,” Jane offered, looking at her father for his approval.
“Do not be silly, Jane!” Mrs. Bennet cried with a mixture of annoyance and happiness. “It is much too muddy and wet for anyone to drive safely tonight! Is it not, dear? I must insist that you gentlemen wait until morning before attempting to leave.”
“It is only a three-mile trip, ma’am,” Bingley began.
Mrs. Bennet put her hands to her chest as she implored her husband. “Mr. Bennet could not live with it on his conscious if you were to go out and be wrecked or injured upon the road. Rest assured, we have more than enough bedrooms, and it will be little issue to have them made up for you.”
Elizabeth looked to her father. Surely Mr. Bennet would not allow this level of histrionics to literally keep the gentlemen there overnight! But Mr. Bennet only looked at the gentlemen and then toward the window just as thunder shook the windowpanes.
“I will allow you to make up your minds, gentlemen,” he said with some gravity. “But the storm may, on one hand, be the preferable option.”
Elizabeth covered her mouth, but not before a brief laugh escaped her. Mrs. Bennet, distracted by her husband’s callous disregard for her wishes, struggled to express her displeasure while continuing to make her entreaties to the wealthy would-be-suitors.
“It is kind of you to invite us. Charles, do you object to the hospitality?”
Darcy was the last person she expected to make the suggestion. Likewise, Mr. Bingley stared at him. “What? I, uh, no, if you do not?”
Darcy turned to Mrs. Bennet. Elizabeth couldn’t read his expression as he said, “We thank you for the offer, Mrs. Bennet.”
“Of course,” Mrs. Bennet said with warmth. Darcy turned to Elizabeth, and she frowned at the expression in his gaze. Why would he seem, of all things, pleased to be trapped in a house with her mother all night?
As Elizabeth followed her sisters to bed, Mrs. Bennet caught Elizabeth outside of her room. Her cheeks were pink with the wine from dinner and her success.
“Oh, what a boon it is you wore your prettiest dress today,” she said, pinching Elizabeth’s cheek. “Your eyes looked lovely in the candlelight.”
She tore her head away from her mother’s grasp. “Mama!”
Mrs. Bennet shook her finger at Elizabeth and Jane. “Now, you must not appear too eager for their company in the morning. And do not worry—I have Hill preparing a breakfast with their favorite foods. I asked them especially when I escorted them to their rooms. Oh, I wish we had two rooms with fireplaces, but Mr. Bingley will have to make do with the hot water bottles.”
“I am certain he will be comfortable,” Jane said.
Mrs. Bennet glowed. “What luck, to break an axle! I could not have arranged it better myself!”
Elizabeth refrained from sighing, but only just. She shared a look with Jane. “We are going to bed now. Goodnight, Mama.”
Mrs. Bennet went to her rooms, humming to herself, and Elizabeth followed Jane into their shared bedroom.
“I am beginning to think she did arrange it, Lizzy!” Jane whispered before the door was even shut.
Darcy had acted the gentleman for the rest of the night after the decision to stay had been made. However, just as Mrs. Bennet urged her daughters upstairs, in the commotion of them bidding the others goodnight, he had whispered, “I will leave my door cracked, kitten.”
Elizabeth had blushed and stuttered over her farewells, but now she closed the door to her bedroom with trepidation. Her mind bid her to remain safe and secure in her bed. Her body, on the other hand…
She had a decision to make.
Chapter Twelve
Thunk.
Darcy swore under his breath. Naturally, his luck ensured that Mrs. Bennet would arrange for him to sleep in a heavy wooden bed with slightly misshapen feet, leading the bed to make a loud noise with his every movement upon the mattress. The night he had imagined with Elizabeth comfortably abed together seemed farfetched now. He could only imagine the curiosity it would create within the house and he was certain Bingley would make a comment about it.
That was if Elizabeth even came to him. After an hour of restless tossing, Darcy was beginning to think she would not accept his invitation. He flopped onto his back. Thunk, went the bed.
He sat up, tilting his head. Had that been a creak in the hallway? It sounded like a noise a slipper would make as a young woman crossed the hall. He wetted his bottom lip, waiting for the door to open and a figure to slip inside the room. But several minutes passed and he could not detect any movement from outside.
He picked up his pocket watch, which he had left on the nightstand. Half past midnight. He should have asked where her room was.
Bingley had given Darcy a queer look when they had finally obtained a moment of peace to themselves, outside of their guest rooms after bidding Mrs. Bennet a goodnight.
“I did not think you could abide a night here—much less suggest it, Darcy.”
“It is a little thing, and it is better to spend it here rather than stuck in the mud. The roads were bad enough in the daytime.”
Bingley snorted. “That is another thing I wished to ask—”
A servant interrupted them to deliver them fresh linens. They bid each other a good night and parted to their separate rooms. But Darcy could imagine what Bingley would say. Why did you insist upon us coming in this weather in the first place? Why were you so worried about Longbourn?
But waking up to the nasty weather, fearing that Elizabeth had ventured out despite the rain and not knowing otherwise, Darcy felt it imperative for him to discover the situation. He could not have stomached sitt
ing in Netherfield all day without knowing.
And Bingley could not complain too much considering he received an equal benefit. He had seen Jane Bennet when he had no chance to before Darcy convinced him to join him for the trip to Longbourn.
Darcy turned on his side, ignoring the bed’s complaint. He tilted his watch on the nightstand so he could see the time in the light from the candle still burning down and he could count the minutes until she arrived—or she didn’t.
Despite her absence, he was still glad he had come. He had thought about Elizabeth for so long that to be bound to Netherfield all day would have been torture. At least he had spent part of the day with her. Her reaction to him always pleased him. He had seen many women blush at his entrance into a room—but few who blushed at his presence. And despite all of their adventures together, she remained a shy, skittish colt.
Darcy had gone through a spell of grief after his parents’ deaths. It had led him to act in strange ways and to lose himself in the pleasures that women and gambling could provide. But it had lasted only months, and he had not let it consumed him as it would have consumed men weaker than him. He had also relied on the strength of his friends, like Willoughby, to support him. However, despite its brevity, those months had given him an education.
He was not loose with his affections; his tastes were particular and refined, and the women whose beds he had shared were always discreet and healthy. Women of good breeding who could hold an intelligent conversation before inviting him to their bed.
But none of them could compare to Elizabeth.
Perhaps it was her naivety. She was not a sophisticated woman full of guile, coyly drawing him in. She hesitated, she blushed, and she looked to him for guidance. Being the knowledgeable, experienced lover, he felt manly pride with each new sensation he gave her, each new pleasure.
But that did not explain why he would persuade Bingley to come to Longbourn today. He had never held this kind of obsessive need for a woman in his past, no matter how skilled in bed. No other woman would have driven him into torrential rain just to check on her well-being. He would have trusted in their judgment and expected them not to risk their health and safety in the storm. Darcy could find no explanation for his need or why all of his tension had left him at his first sight of Elizabeth, standing before the window with the rain pounding on the glass behind her.