Fitzwilliam Darcy, Poet

by Jennifer Joy

  A man peeked from behind Mr. Darcy. He had dark, wavy hair and smiling eyes that met Elizabeth’s unabashedly. His boldness lent her courage.

  Stepping forward, she said, "Excuse me, is my sister well?"

  Chapter 5

  Momentarily struck dumb at the sight of Miss Elizabeth, her face glowing with the warmth of exercise, Darcy soon recovered his senses when Wickham stood to welcome their guest.

  Wickham grinned roguishly at Miss Elizabeth — a grin she too quickly rewarded with a smile of her own as Darcy went through the motions of performing introductions.

  She had not smiled so widely when Darcy had been introduced to her at the assembly. Not that he would have wanted her to. He had been cautious not to encourage the attentions of the local ladies by limiting his conversation and taking care not to dance with anyone outside of his party. He had come to counsel Bingley on property management, not to mislead a lady with a mother eager to marry off her five daughters.

  But Darcy had noticed how his cutting remark (which he had to admit after further observation of Miss Elizabeth was a trifle harsh), had emboldened the young lady. She was not easily intimidated, and Darcy had been relieved to see that his comment had not seemed to lessen her merriment. He had wanted to establish clear limits, not offend … though, too often, his true intention was misinterpreted. It could not be helped.

  Wickham bowed over her hand, saying, “George Wickham, at your service, Miss Elizabeth.”

  Most females giggled or gasped at this point, and it was to Miss Elizabeth’s credit that she did neither. Her smile did, however, deepen to show her pleasure in the gentleman.

  The lout said, “I am honored to finally meet the lady I have heard praised so generously. You are as handsome as you are reported to be intelligent.”

  Had Wickham lost his mind? Did he not remember Miss Elizabeth’s lack of fortune, her want of connections, or her unfortunate family? Darcy would have a word with him later lest the fool continue in this pointless flirtation.

  Miss Elizabeth’s eyebrows knit in confusion, and her insightful eyes wandered the room (in order to ascertain from whence the praise had originated, Darcy presumed.) Skipping over the ladies in the room as well as himself, Miss Elizabeth nodded at Bingley.

  Of course, she would credit him. Unlike his sisters, Bingley rarely spoke an unfavorable word of anybody.

  While it irked Darcy to have his own compliment ascribed to another, he could not in good conscience correct her without giving her cause to place more weight on his praise than he had intended. Wickham had asked specifically about the female population in the area, and Darcy had merely said that Miss Elizabeth was clever. Nothing more.

  If he did not put an end to their conversation, Wickham would continue in the same empty flattery. Darcy said, “You inquired about your sister.”

  “Yes, how is she?” Miss Elizabeth asked.

  Miss Bingley replied, being the greatest authority on the care of their guest. “I wish I could give you a more favorable answer, but Dear Jane slept ill, and though she was up when I last checked, she was very feverish and not well enough to leave her room. I sent for the apothecary…” her sentence trailed off. She wiggled her fingers as if the name she searched for was within grasp.

  “Mr. Jones,” Bingley supplied. “I went to Meryton to fetch him myself. He could not come immediately as I had hoped, but he promised to call as soon as he had seen about some business in the village. He said he would not tarry.”

  Miss Elizabeth smiled again. “Thank you for your kindness. Might I see Jane, please?”

  Before Bingley could offer, Darcy extended his arm to Miss Elizabeth. He was nearest, so it only made sense for him to assist her. Anything to get her out of the room and away from Wickham.

  Her smile faded, replaced with a look of puzzlement. She curtsied to excuse herself before resting her hand on his arm, and Darcy could not fail to notice how she stretched her arm as far as she comfortably could to widen the gap between them.

  It was a relief to get to the stairs.

  Should he say something?

  Miss Elizabeth hesitated at the top of the landing, busying her hands with her skirts and making it plain to Darcy that she did not wish to take his arm again. So, he led her wordlessly to her sister’s bedchamber, wondering why it had not occurred to him until then to let a servant show her the way.

  Assuring Miss Elizabeth was comfortable and that Miss Bennet did not require anything beyond what the maid Miss Bingley had put at her disposal could provide, Darcy spun on his heel and returned to the breakfast parlor as quickly as his feet could carry him.

  Several inquisitive eyes regarded him — Bingley, to know how his angel fared; Wickham with unadulterated mockery; Miss Bingley with pinched annoyance; Mrs. Hurst with feigned calm; and Mr. Hurst with absolute indifference to anything but the food piled on his plate.

  Darcy, not having an appetite, propped his elbow on the fireplace mantel and did his best to ignore everyone.

  “How is she?” Bingley asked.

  His sister rolled her eyes. “I doubt Miss Bennet has changed much in the half hour since you last asked.”

  To be sure, Darcy’s notice had been limited to the young lady whose rosy cheeks had paled at the sight of her sister. She had walked immediately to the water basin on the table, carrying it over to Miss Bennet’s bedside and bathing her face tenderly, speaking softly. With such attentions, Darcy suspected Miss Bennet would recover in remarkable time.

  Bingley watched Darcy, expecting a reply worthy of the hope reflecting in his anxious eyes.

  “Miss Elizabeth will be a great comfort to her. Miss Bennet will recover all the quicker for her sister’s attentions,” Darcy said.

  Bingley stood, clasping his hands together jerkily. “I must insist she stay as long as she sees fit. Until she is completely recovered.”

  Muttering a quick apology, for Bingley was always pleasant to those in his company, he darted from the room, intent on seeing to his task.

  Miss Bingley spoke as soon as he was out of hearing distance. “Miss Bennet really is a sweet girl, and I daresay she shall recover well under my diligent care, but her family is truly abominable. Do you not agree, Mr. Darcy?”

  Darcy would not argue that point with her, nor would he add coal to her burning scorn by agreeing openly. His thoughts did not belong to Miss Bingley to know. Mrs. Bennet had taken offense at Darcy, a fact which did not signify as her opinion mattered little to him. He had not come to Hertfordshire with the intention of impressing anyone.

  Wickham sat forward in his chair. “Abominable, you say? What an intriguing word you choose, Miss Bingley. Pray say more.”

  Miss Bingley was happy to oblige. “Mr. Bennet was one of the first gentlemen to call when we first arrived at Netherfield Park. However, he did not care to join his wife and daughters at the Meryton Assembly, leaving them to their own devices … which I assure you were of poor taste. Mrs. Bennet vulgarly spoke of the incomes of every unmarried gentleman in the room. And if that were not presumptuous enough, she proclaimed she would see one of her daughters happily settled at Netherfield Park before the end of the year.”

  Wickham cackled. “She is off to a good start if that is her aim. What a remarkable woman.”

  Miss Bingley was not charmed. “If Mrs. Bennet is remarkable, then Mrs. Prudence Pugmire is a beauty.”

  Wickham shivered forcefully. “Do not speak of that repulsive woman. I would rather live like a pauper than spend an hour in her company. Tell me more of Mrs. Bennet.”

  Encouraged, Miss Bingley continued, “Her youngest daughters are the biggest flirts I have ever encountered.”

  “Marvelous,” Wickham said with a grin and a gleam in his eye that made Miss Bingley’s cheeks redden.

  She was not done yet, though, and while her description was unflattering, it was truthful. “The middle daughter, Miss Mary, is professed to be accomplished, but at what, nobody can say. Miss Elizabeth is pleasant enough, but sh
e laughs a great deal too much for polite society. Poor, sweet Jane is the only one with whom I would dare show my face at a soiree in town, but with her lack of fortune and family, her prospects are limited.”

  Wickham nodded. “I suppose she is handsome and docile, a lady who would do credit to whomever she accompanied.”

  Miss Bingley huffed. “As if I stood to benefit from her company when she is nothing more than the daughter of an indifferent country gentleman of whom nobody has ever heard. Miss Bennet stands to benefit a great deal more from my association than I would from hers.”

  Miss Bingley’s blind arrogance disgusted Darcy. She liked to pretend she had been born into the first circles, to ignore the limitations society placed upon households which had earned their fortunes through trade as hers had. Darcy did not care from whence their fortune came so long as they were honest and did not give themselves airs about it. Bingley certainly did not.

  Wickham continued goading her. “It is for the benefit of the villagers you are here, then, Miss Bingley. With such poor examples of manners and decorum, how are they to improve themselves? One can hope your exceptional example will inspire families such as the Bennets to soften their rougher edges and behave as their position demands of them in their limited, rustic society. You are a beacon of light in the center of a foggy mist,” Wickham said, his tone grave and his lips firm. He was ridiculous.

  Oblivious to his mockery when she would rather be flattered by the compliments Wickham seemingly showered upon her, Miss Bingley preened.

  Miss Elizabeth would have laughed. Unlike Miss Bingley, Darcy thought the sound pleasant. It wasn’t the nasal giggle of a senseless girl, but rather the hearty, sincere laughter of one who truly enjoyed life.

  Still warmed by Wickham’s excessive praise, Miss Bingley said, “I am certain Charles meant to extend his invitation for you to stay, Mr. Wickham. We would be delighted to have you join us for dinner. I will have the maid prepare a room for you.”

  Darcy restrained a groan. He had looked forward to observing Miss Elizabeth, perhaps conversing with her. But with Wickham around, Darcy would have to be cautious. For all his teasing, Wickham was adept at manipulating people to his advantage.

  Chapter 6

  Elizabeth held the last of the tea up to Jane’s lips, sitting with her sister until she fell into an uneasy sleep. After the fit of coughing Jane had endured, it was no wonder she was exhausted.

  It was not until the maid took the tray away that Elizabeth thought to request something else to drink should Jane begin to cough again or wake up thirsty.

  She waited several minutes, but when the maid did not reappear, Elizabeth took the matter into her own hands.

  Hoping the residents of the house lingered over their fare, she made her way back to the breakfast parlor, stopping mere steps away from the door in the hall when she heard Miss Bingley say her name.

  “Miss Eliza’s manners are very bad indeed — such a mixture of pride and impertinence. With no conversation, no style, and no beauty, it is no wonder she does not mix with society in town.”

  Elizabeth clasped her hand over her mouth and stepped against the wall to listen without being discovered.

  Not one person rose in her defense, though she knew she ought not expect them to when they hardly knew her. On the other hand, their lack of acquaintance did not prevent Miss Bingley from airing her blistering opinions aloud.

  Mrs. Hurst added, “In short, she has nothing to recommend her other than being an excellent walker. I shall never forget her appearance this morning. She really looked almost wild!”

  Miss Bingley added dramatically, “Her hair so untidy, so blowsy!”

  Elizabeth reached up to smooth her hair (wondering how Miss Bingley dared complain of her own lack of conversation when she could not express her distaste clearer than calling Elizabeth’s hair “blowsy.”) If they thought she looked “wild,” they had not seen her hair after she had dried it by the fire.

  Elizabeth bit her lips together to keep from laughing aloud and exposing her presence. That simply would not do when she was having too much fun listening to the superficial complaints brought against her.

  Mrs. Hurst had not finished elaborating on Elizabeth’s appearance yet. She continued, “I am absolutely certain her petticoat was six inches deep in mud, the gown which had been let down to hide it not doing its office.”

  “Above her ankles in dirt,” exclaimed Miss Bingley, “and alone! Quite alone! What could she mean by it? It seems to me to show an abominable sort of conceited independence, a most country-town indifference to decorum.”

  “It shows an affection for her sister that is very pleasing,” said Mr. Bingley.

  Three cheers for Mr. Bingley! It was high time a gentleman defended her against the pernicious sisters.

  But Miss Bingley was not done delivering her jabs. Elizabeth could hear the sneer in her tone as she said, “I am afraid, Mr. Darcy, that this adventure has rather affected your admiration of her fine eyes.”

  Elizabeth’s jaw dropped. Mr. Darcy thought she had fine eyes?

  Rather interested in the gentleman’s reply, Elizabeth stepped closer to the open door.

  In his deep, clipped voice, he said, “Not at all. They were brightened by the exercise.”

  Elizabeth forgot how to breathe. What was a lady to think of that? On one hand, Mr. Darcy could have described a horse at Tattersall’s with all the warmth with which he had described her eyes (fine and bright though he esteemed them to be.) On the other, Elizabeth was convinced Mr. Darcy was not the sort to dole out compliments haphazardly. Not like Mr. Wickham who had complimented her on introduction. Or even Mr. Bingley who was generously pleasant to everyone he met.

  Judging from the silence following Mr. Darcy’s comment, Miss Bingley had not expected such a reaction. To tell the truth, neither had Elizabeth.

  Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley… What could explain his reticence?

  Shyness? No, that could not be it. He was too confident and self-assured to be plagued with timidity.

  Elizabeth was about to step away before she got caught eavesdropping, and thus gave Mr. Bingley’s sisters yet another fault to add to their endless list of her unladylike behaviors, when Mrs. Hurst spoke again.

  “I have an excessive regard for Miss Jane Bennet. She is really a very sweet girl, and I wish with all my heart she were well settled.”

  What would another minute hurt? thought Elizabeth, settling against the wall again to listen. After all, it was not about her but about Jane.

  Mrs. Hurst continued, “But with such a father and mother, and such low connections, I am afraid there is no chance of it.”

  Was the woman blind? Had she not seen her own brother claim more than one dance with Jane at the assembly?

  Nobody could have ignored Mr. Bingley’s obvious favor toward Jane. Elizabeth suspected she knew what Mrs. Hurst was about, saying such things in the hearing of her brother. It was wicked of her to interfere in the happiness of others — and especially so after claiming to have an excessive regard for Jane.

  Miss Bingley chimed in. “I think I have heard you say that their uncle is an attorney in Meryton.”

  “Yes, and they have another uncle who lives somewhere near Cheapside,” Mrs. Hurst said merrily, and the two females (Elizabeth could not call them “ladies” when they did not deserve the word) giggled as if their family had never been in trade.

  “That is capital!” Miss Bingley exclaimed.

  A chair scraped against the floor, and Mr. Bingley’s voice boomed. “If they had uncles enough to fill all Cheapside, it would not make them one jot less agreeable.”

  Take that, you miserable naysayers! Mr. Bingley was a dear gentleman for defending Jane and her family. Elizabeth’s respect for him grew, and she was happier for Jane for choosing a gentleman worthy of her affection to grant her heart.

  Elizabeth stepped away from the wall again. Nothing good could come from her continued listening, and she really
must fetch something to drink for Jane.

  But when Mr. Darcy once again spoke, Elizabeth held her foot in the air and her breath in her throat.

  He said, “It must very materially lessen their chance of marrying men of any consideration in the world. With no connections or fortune and a family certain to send any gentleman of merit running in the opposite direction, their prospects are dismal.”

  And those were the words of a gentleman? Elizabeth wanted to march into the parlor to give him a piece of her mind. But even more than unleashing her ire upon Mr. Darcy, she wished to leave Netherfield Park.

  Her determination, however, was tempered when Jane’s fever increased over the course of the afternoon. And when Mr. Jones arrived to examine Jane, he proclaimed what Elizabeth feared. Jane suffered from a violent cold. The apothecary instructed her to remain in bed and promised to return with some draughts.

  Not only was Jane too ill to move beyond the confines of her sickroom, Elizabeth’s duty to her sister outweighed her own vexation at the possibility of staying on at Netherfield Park to care for her.

  Of course, Elizabeth’s preference was inconsequential if Miss Bingley did not extend an invitation for her to stay. After overhearing what she had, Elizabeth did not hold her breath that such an offer would be made. Miss Bingley had spent a goodly portion of her day in their company — and was with them presently — and she had shown no inclination of housing yet another Bennet.

  “Do not leave me, Lizzy.” Jane’s voice was weak and raspy.

  Elizabeth had become very aware of the time, inquiring the hour with every passing of a servant in the hall and wishing a miracle would see Jane greatly improved or slow the minutes remaining until she must return to Longbourn. If only Jane had fallen ill anywhere but at Netherfield Park, the pit of vipers.

  Giving Jane’s hand a squeeze, Elizabeth said, “I am sorry, but I told Mama and Papa I would be home by dinner.” She made it a point not to look at Miss Bingley. Elizabeth would rather trudge the three miles home in the rain than ask anything of her.