I can truly say that I am, once again, a most fortunate girl, for I have you as my brother and loyal friend. Rest easy tonight, my dear.
Your loving and now much wiser
Georgie.
As he put the letter down, a feeling of sweet relief flooded Darcy’s body. For the last six months since he had accidentally discovered the plot to elope with Georgiana that had been hatched by the son of his father’s steward (and his occasional childhood playmate) George Wickham, he had strained every nerve to help his sister realise the man’s villainy and regain her emotional equilibrium. Initially she had made good progress, but then as he had watched, a melancholy had settled upon her and lingered there. She had denied it but he knew her too well. Nothing he had said or done had been able to move it. He had begun to despair, believing that the damage was permanent; but now it seemed that she had found a new understanding and thereby accomplished her own cure.
Darcy and Georgiana’s unusual closeness had its foundations in a youth deprived of love. Their parents (both products of centuries of inbred arrogance) had unfortunately seen much to irritate and very little to like in each other. As a couple, they had performed their marital duties with distaste. And when two people of more than adequate resources and fixed opinion are forced into an arranged marriage and are unable to find anything appealing in one another, then their relationship will remain strained and distant forever, if only because they have the financial means to continue avoiding each other’s company.
However, it must be said that the Darcy household was little different from many others in society. Before Georgiana’s birth Darcy had been alone. A series of strict nannies and masters had been employed to shape him into a dutiful son, but their presence had not prevented the damage done by his parents’ long absences and coolly, correct manner towards each other when they were at home. Tucked away at Pemberley until he went to school, Darcy learned - like many of his peers - to adopt a prematurely cynical view of life. And when confused by his emotions, he fell back on cold logic or the traditionally accepted responses that had been taught him by his many caregivers. Over time he evolved into someone who knew a lot about duty and very little about love. Like his parents – he learned to maintain many protective layers between himself and others.
The loneliness of Darcy’s adolescence had ended with the birth of his sister. At last he had someone who needed his affection, and when his both of his parents died in the scarlet fever epidemic that swept London in 1802, he was as emotionally prepared to be both brother and parent as one so young and previously isolated could be.
Thrown together, Darcy and Georgiana’s reliance on one another became absolute: so that even though he had been the one to shatter her dreams of happiness with Wickham, Georgiana had not resented him for it and the trust between them had remained strong. But, as dear to her as he was, it seemed clear now that his presence had somehow inhibited her recovery.
He leaned his elbows on the window sill and smiled foolishly down upon a cat rubbing itself against a tub of flowers on the paving below. No matter how she had come by it, Darcy was happy to see Georgie cheerful once more. What did puzzle him was the extent to which she had recovered. She now saw her ordeal in such a positive light that it seemed it had almost become a blessing. Therein lay another of the real differences between them, Darcy thought. He could never bring himself to forgive a deliberate injury. In fact - although he wouldn’t have admitted it - he took pride in the idea that once he had turned his face away, he never looked back. And he had certainly turned away from Wickham now.
Several times in the past he had rescued the man from the consequences of his actions, but after this Wickham could expect nothing from him ever again.
____________________________
The morning after the arrival of Georgiana’s letter dawned damp and cold. But the turn in the weather couldn’t check the new found optimism and energy that coursed through Darcy’s veins. He took the stairs down to breakfast at a trot and entering the room with a smile on his face, was rewarded with further good news.
It seemed that, contrary to Bingley’s expectations, his sisters would not arrive at Netherfield on the following day. Instead a letter from his younger sister, Caroline, had irritably informed him that their departure had been set back a whole ten days. This, she said, was due to delays caused by the incompetent London dressmaker to whom she had entrusted the creation of an entire summer wardrobe, designed specifically for this visit to the countryside.
An extra ten days of freedom! Darcy looked down at his lap, fiddling with his napkin to hide his relieved smile. It was just possible that he would be gone from Netherfield by that time. There was no doubt in his mind that the new wardrobe had been commissioned by Miss Bingley with the idea of renewing her onslaught on his sensibilities. And it was not his vanity speaking. Since their first meeting, her ambitions had been clear. In her company, he never knew a minute’s peace.
Even Bingley looked thankful at this delay. His sisters were difficult enough on their own. Together, they fed off each other’s spiteful remarks and managed to poison even the most pleasant atmosphere. He too had no desire for their company, having only issued the current invitation to keep the peace. His next words expressed a watered down version of his relief.
“I can’t say that I am too disappointed, Darcy. I am not looking forward to the innumerable dinners and teas that will take up my time once my sisters arrive. As you know, a day without some event at which Caroline can show off her latest gown, is a day lost. Never known anyone to gad about as much as that girl does.”
Although Darcy had long been an unwilling victim of Caroline Bingley’s aspirations and shared his friend’s views, he knew better than to test his friendship by agreeing with him, so he diplomatically turned the topic.
“Shall we go into Meryton today, Bingley? If we are not to ride, I must have some reading matter. Upon closer inspection, that library of yours is abysmal. I thought that I saw a circulating library to one side of the square when we arrived.”
Bingley leant forward enthusiastically. “Yes. Speaking of that, doesn’t the existence of a circulating library in such a small market town surprise you, Darcy? I am more and more charmed by Meryton. And they hold a monthly assembly too. One wouldn’t have thought the local population large enough to warrant either of these things. It will be interesting to see all the young ladies of the neighbourhood together in one place, won’t it? ”
“Ah! If I understand you correctly, Bingley, you are really hoping that you might see a certain ‘Angel’ there. Well, I will keep you company while you make a fool of yourself, but I will not dance. Given the choice, I rarely attend country assemblies, even those around Pemberley. I find that there is a difference in social standing that makes such encounters awkward; and then one has to endure country manners… Although perhaps in the present circumstances, the less said about that the better.”
Chapter 4
“With beauty like a tightened bow, a kind
That is not natural in an age like this
Being high and solitary and most stern”
W. B. Yeats
A small bell tinkled overhead as Darcy and Bingley pushed open the door to the Meryton Circulating Library. Behind the counter a lanky young clerk, his movements rendered awkward by his unusually high shirt points, turned idly to see who it was and, as he took in the stylish appearance of the two gentlemen advancing on him, began tugging nervously at his cuffs.
As host, Bingley offered to take care of the formalities, leaving Darcy to look around him. The shop seemed to be divided into two halves. At the back were the rows of bookshelves. Three reading tables complete with lamps stood closer to the shop windows that looked out onto the street. It was all very plain and slightly shabby: hardly up to the luxurious standards of the circulating libraries frequented by Darcy in both London and Bath; but then he had never expected that it would be. He was just looking for something (even a novel would do) to help
him pass the time.
At the largest of the tables, a fair-haired young lady sat with her head bowed over a book. She looked up at the sound of their voices and Darcy immediately recognised her from the portrait Bingley had shown him on the hall table at Longbourn.
“Bingley,” he said, elbowing his friend. “You expressed your desire to meet the Bennet ladies and that is one of them at the reading table over there.”
Bingley immediately looked up from the book in which he was writing. “Ah! It’s the angel… and as exquisite as her picture. Now what say you to that, Darcy?”
“Well, I will own to a little cynicism at the time.”
“Very handsome of you, old man. Let me finish this and perhaps we can wander over in that direction and get a closer look. Wait! Is that not Miss Lucas walking up to her?”
Bingley hastily turned back to the counter and shoved the book back towards the clerk. “Perhaps I could leave this till later?” he said to the young man. “I’ll be back shortly.”
He turned eagerly to face Darcy. “Come. We cannot miss this opportunity to greet Miss Lucas: I’m sure she will feel obliged to make the appropriate introduction.”
“I see that you are well on the way to inflicting yet another of your famously short-lived infatuations upon me, Bingley,” protested Darcy, watching as his friend eagerly gathered up his gloves and hat.
In truth, while Darcy’s tone had been one of amusement, Bingley’s behaviour in this respect was an irritant. He did not understand the continual need his friend had to search amongst members of the opposite sex for a meaningful connection. To date, Darcy had not been troubled by any such impulse and (had society and his family approved) would have been content to live his life out as a bachelor. He had his sister for companionship and no desire to bare his soul to a strange female. Sexual satisfaction was another thing of course; but that, like anything else, could always be bought.
He crossed the room, following reluctantly in Bingley’s wake.
“Miss Lucas. We meet again!” said Bingley in the easy manner that Darcy envied. As both men bowed, Darcy caught a knowing look passing between Miss Lucas and her lovely friend. Ah! They see Bingley as ripe for the plucking, he thought.
“Mr Bingley. Mr Darcy. Allow me to introduce my friend, Miss Jane Bennet.”
“Miss Bennet. So pleased to meet you. We called on your father yesterday.”
“Yes. He told us as much over dinner,” said the young lady.
Darcy’s brows rose involuntarily at the purity of her accent. It was unusual in Meryton, where the local burr was a subtle presence in the diction of even the more wealthy of the district’s landowners.
“And how do you find your stay at Netherfield, Mr Bingley?” she continued
“Darcy here complains about the understocked library but otherwise I’m pretty comfortable and quite pleased with the surrounding countryside. Some good hunting to be had, I should think.”
“I believe that is so,” Miss Bennet nodded agreeably. “Do you intend staying long in the neighbourhood, sir?”
“I hardly know. But I should imagine that we will be here for another three weeks at least. My sisters are coming down from London in ten days or so to join us.”
Darcy, who had looked his fill at Bingley’s angel and become bored, now refocused on the three young people before him.
“Could you excuse me, Miss Bennet, Miss Lucas,” he said with a bow, and ignoring his friend’s sudden frown said, “Bingley, if you should need me, I will be at the back browsing through the books.”
“Mr Darcy,” said Miss Lucas, amusement at his obvious boredom glimmering in her eyes, “If you should come across Miss Elizabeth Bennet back there, could I trouble you tell her that we are waiting for her? We three are rather late and must return home soon.”
“Certainly,” said Darcy, silently resolving to do no such thing - especially as it would mean exchanging boring inanities with yet another country nobody.
Wait a second, he thought as he walked away and down the length of the first line of shelves. Elizabeth…that would probably be Lizzy: the young lady with the strange reading habits. Perhaps it might be entertaining to take her measure.
But Elizabeth Bennet was not to be found in the second row, or even the third. Then, as he rounded the fourth row, Darcy almost fell over a young woman sitting back on her heels. She was reading a page from a book that she had retrieved from the bottom shelf… a book with technical diagrams.
“I beg your pardon, Miss,” he said, scrambling about in an ungainly manner as he attempted to regain his balance.
She looked up at him with a far-away expression in her clear green eyes: her mind obviously still processing what she had been reading. Annoyed at the contrast between his stumbling awkwardness and her apparent disinterest, Darcy thought uncharitably, Ah! Definitely Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Another one who lives in her mind to the exclusion of reality. Like father, like daughter.
“Not at all, Sir,” the young lady said calmly, rising to her feet as she replied to his apology. “I should not have been crouched on the floor just here. You can’t have expected to encounter someone as you rounded the corner.”
Somewhat mollified at her response he said, “You must be Miss Elizabeth.”
He looked down at the young woman’s tumbled, dark curls. Her strongly marked brows had risen in surprise, and he was struck by the sudden haughtiness of her expression. She obviously resented him making free with her name. It would seem that she might be one of those ladies with what Miss Bingley disparagingly referred to as a ‘strong personality’.
In his mind Darcy contrasted her with her elder sister. Jane Bennet was more harmonious – everything about her so softly feminine, so exactly what it ought to be, that in her absence he would probably be unable to recall any one thing about her, except that she was beautiful. Miss Elizabeth shared the same aristocratic nose, although the flare to her nostril and the line of her jaw were more precisely defined; but she was smaller than her sister and a touch too slender.
True, she had been blessed with large, heavily-lashed, clear green eyes and a wonderfully fine complexion, but it was her eyebrows that Darcy would remember. They prevented her from being classified a beauty: giving her face too much strength and hinting at a strongly individual nature. Furthermore, her dress and hairstyle were atrocious and characterised by an inattention to detail that was indicative of a careless, unconventional attitude of which Darcy could not approve. Then too, those magnificent eyes did not share the mild expression that so became her elder sister. In fact, it made him uncomfortable to note that at that very moment they were in the process of assessing him just as critically as he was assessing her. But wait, she was speaking…
“How do you come by my name, Sir?” she asked frostily.
“I do beg your pardon,” Darcy said, his eyes suddenly gleaming with suppressed amusement at the tough attitude being displayed by this pint-sized person. “Miss Lucas, to whom I had been previously introduced, was standing at the reading tables and asked me to carry a message to you.”
“Ah! You should have said so.” She nodded briskly. “It must be getting late, then,” she said, closing the book decisively and stooping to replace it on the shelf.
“Let me do that, Miss Elizabeth,” interjected Darcy, now rather curious to read the title. He bent forward in an attempt to take it from her, just as she raised her head.
“Ouch” they exclaimed together as her head bumped against his jaw. They both recoiled from the pain of the contact.
Now somewhat annoyed, Darcy persisted, holding out his hand and asking her through gritted teeth, “Do you think you could hand me the book, Miss Elizabeth?”
She puffed away a stray curl that fell across one eye. “I could, but I don’t choose to, sir,” she retorted in an equally irritable fashion and held the book tightly to her chest - her look daring him to take it from her.
Darcy was astounded. “As you please then, Ma’am” he said icily.
“I bid you good day.” Bowing abruptly, he turned and retraced his steps without a backward glance. What an ill-tempered little chit, he thought as he walked away. She probably thinks to conceal what she was reading from me.
Having spent much of his lifetime calling the tune, Darcy was unaccustomed to reconciling himself to opposition from any quarter - even if the matter was clearly none of his business. So, ten minutes after he saw the three women walking past the shop window, he returned to the shelf - only to find an empty space. Miss Elizabeth Bennet had obviously anticipated his next move and decided to take the book out after all. He was quite certain that she had done so specifically to prevent it from falling into his hands.
Her action challenged him and consequently the incident had the effect of altering her status to something more significant in his mind.
Chapter 5
“It is better to have a permanent income
than to be fascinating”
Oscar Wilde
The sky remained a uniform grey. Tossed lightly by the breeze, branches swayed overhead, sprinkling their residual burden of rain water on the three women who hurried down the muddy lane to their respective homes.
As she walked - as far as possible keeping to the dry patches - Lizzy thought about the incident involving the man she had encountered between the library stacks. From his fashionable attire she had known straight away that he must be connected to Mr. Bingley, the fair-haired gentleman from London who had come to live amongst them, and she had immediately conceded that with his broad shoulders and long, muscular legs, he was every inch the man. However, when he had almost fallen over her, his handsome face had become marred by a very ugly frown. That had disappeared, only to return later and intensify into a look of strong dislike when they had bumped heads and she had refused to hand him her book. He was very obviously a man who was used to having his own way.
The Golden Apples of the Sun Page 3