by Robin Helm
She assumed the older of the ladies seated was Lady Catherine, who sported a severe expression as she regarded them with a haughtiness Elizabeth almost expected.
Though Miss de Bourgh was pastier than most, even in the winter, she smiled and had a pleasantly intelligent sparkle in her eye. Elizabeth’s first impression was that she was going to like Miss de Bourgh. To the side and slightly separate, seated in a plain wooden chair, was another woman, whom Elizabeth assumed was Miss de Bourgh’s companion.
Behind the ladies of the house stood two gentlemen. The one in the uniform leaned over to say something to the other — Oh! What was Mr. Darcy doing here?
Her surprise was short-lived for her memory served her well. She recalled her embarrassment at Mr. Collins’s introducing himself to Mr. Darcy at the ball at Netherfield.
Upon thinking of her sister’s new country home, irritation coursed through her. Following Mr. Darcy’s unforgiveable slight of her sister and new brother’s wedding, she had hoped to go her whole life without having to see the gentleman ever again, let alone having to be polite to him in company.
Heaven help her, she had almost forgotten how handsome he was.
He may be handsome, she reminded herself, but his selfish disdain for the feelings of others—namely Jane and Charles, as well as his treatment of almost everyone in the neighbourhood of Meryton — is proof of his arrogance, conceit, and pomposity.
He met her gaze and bowed his head. Realizing she had been staring at him, Elizabeth’s face heated. She raised one eyebrow and looked away.
Charlotte made most of the introductions, but since she did not know one of the gentlemen, and Mr. Darcy was acquainted with the entire party, he concluded by presenting his cousin, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam.
After all she had heard from her cousin, it was no surprise to Elizabeth that Lady Catherine presided over the company as if she were an empress engaged in an inquest. She supposed it might be an efficient way for everyone to get to know each other, but she would have preferred conversation that evolved naturally.
Maria, Charlotte’s younger sister, somehow managed to shrink into the couch even though she sat completely erect, answering in one-word whispers when it was her turn to be questioned. Even Sir William seemed in awe of his surroundings.
Lady Catherine then turned to Elizabeth. “I understand it was at your family’s home that Mr. Collins stayed in the autumn.”
Catching Charlotte’s lead while her friend had endured her own questioning, Elizabeth answered very briefly. “Yes, Lady Catherine, he did.”
“And Mr. Collins is to inherit the estate when your father passes on.”
Elizabeth blinked. Being acquainted with the lady’s nephew, Elizabeth already knew that being of the upper ten thousand certainly did not preclude rudeness, but even so, this question was a bit of a shock. “Yes, madam.”
“Although it will work out well for Mr. Collins someday, I do not agree with entailing family estates away from the female line. Anne’s husband…” She glanced at Mr. Darcy. “…will inherit Rosings Park.”
Elizabeth looked at Mr. Darcy, whose colour had risen and was obviously none too happy. Her gaze naturally fell next to Miss de Bourgh, who, interestingly enough, shook her head a little.
Elizabeth bit back a smile. Even his own cousin did not like him.
Lady Catherine went on with the questioning, dissecting any of Elizabeth’s opinions that the lady allowed her time enough to pronounce, and she did not give up her inquiries until she had made clear her determination that Elizabeth’s parents had made many errors in her upbringing. They had done a dreadful job of rearing her four sisters, as well, especially when compared to her own choices in raising Miss de Bourgh.
Glances at Charlotte during all this showed she was being entertained quite nicely.
Although Elizabeth disliked displaying what she thought of as her lack of talent in company, she was so relieved when the grand dame ended her examination by ordering her to demonstrate her skill at the pianoforte, she thanked the lady.
As Elizabeth searched through the sheet music for something to play, Colonel Fitzwilliam approached, offering to turn the pages.
When she began to play a piece she knew fairly well, the colonel said quietly, “Brava, Miss Bennet. My aunt can be intimidating, but your courageous performance during that initial skirmish was extremely impressive. I have seen hardened soldiers break down under interrogations only half as comprehensive as the one you just endured. You came through it without batting an eyelash. I applaud you.”
Elizabeth chuckled. “Why thank you, Colonel Fitzwilliam.” She breathed more easily. It was a blessing that this gentleman was not as pompous as his cousin. “Perhaps I have missed my calling. Should I become a spy and join the fight against Napoleon, do you think?”
The two continued a lively banter as Elizabeth finished her song and began another which she knew almost as well.
⸟ﻬ⸞ﻬ⸟
Darcy’s whole being, nay his very soul, sighed. Miss Elizabeth Bennet was not married to her sycophant cousin, as he had feared when he saw her walk in on his arm.
Thank you, Lord.
Darcy had spent the months of October and November while at Charles Bingley’s estate in Hertfordshire trying to avoid her, but it had been a useless endeavour. Anywhere she was in a room, in a house, he would find himself drawn there like a moth to a flame. However, she was wrong for him, he knew. She was lacking all the qualities that were expected of the woman he married. Her place in society was well below his station in life, she had no fortune, and her family was an embarrassment.
So, he had left the country behind and returned to London, hoping if she was out of sight, he could put her out of mind. He would forget her. He must. He could do anything if he put his mind to it.
Therefore, he had not seen her in a month — three and thirty days, if he was to be precise.
Three and thirty days of accepting every invitation, hoping to stay so active, he would forget her. Three and thirty days of making a fool of himself wherever he went because he was distracted by thoughts of her instead of what he was supposed to be doing. Three and thirty days of imagining he heard her tinkling laughter in every crowd, and then spending the remainder of the evening searching scores of faces, hoping to catch a glimpse of her.
In other words, three and thirty days of pure torture.
Now she was in his aunt’s parlour, of all places, visiting her cousin and his new bride, formerly Charlotte Lucas, Elizabeth’s particular friend.
It all made perfect sense, and yet it made no sense at all.
But that did not matter; she was here, and somehow, she was even lovelier than he had remembered. It seemed impossible, but it was true.
Though he had been tempted to interrupt when some of his aunt’s questions became too personal, Elizabeth had handled the situation with grace, and he suspected only Mrs. Collins and he had understood some of her answers had double meanings.
Now, she sat at the pianoforte performing a song he had heard her present once before at Lucas Lodge. At that time, although her performance had not been executed perfectly, he had taken much pleasure from it. Now it was spoiled by the smile she aimed at Richard, who turned the pages for her.
“Is that not correct, Darcy?” Aunt Catherine asked, but he had no idea of what subject she had been speaking.
He glanced at Anne, who stifled a smile. Mr. Gibbs sat next to her, his eyes shining with repressed mirth.
Was his inattention that obvious?
Anne’s nod was faint. He hoped that was a signal as to what his answer should be.
“Yes, of course, Aunt,” Darcy replied.
He looked at Mrs. Collins.
Elizabeth’s friend found even more humour in the situation than Anne and Mr. Gibbs did.
Aunt Catherine did not seem upset. She probably thought Mrs. Collins was smiling in appreciation of whatever advice she was dishing out, which he had just agreed to. She had been talk
ing about caring for chickens earlier, but sometimes her instruction flitted from one subject to the next.
After what Anne had said about her mother’s memory, he only hoped whatever guidance he just supported was something appropriate for mixed company.
When Aunt Catherine turned her head, Anne gestured towards the pianoforte. Before his aunt began speaking again, he took his cousin’s suggestion and excused himself.
Once Elizabeth was in his sights, he could not take his eyes off her. He headed straight to the pianoforte, or as straight as one could in Aunt Catherine’s cluttered parlour.
A bit of jealousy coursed through him. Richard was always so smooth with the ladies, and as the party from the parsonage entered, Richard had leaned in and whispered to him that this was the dark-haired angel he had seen walking near the road on their way here. He hoped Elizabeth was not as taken with his cousin.
Elizabeth was laughing when she fixed hers eyes on him. His heart skipped a beat.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Darcy,” she said.
He hoped his deep intake of breath did not show. Whenever she said his name, he had a similar reaction.
He liked it much better when she was Miss Elizabeth. Now that Elizabeth was the eldest unmarried Bennet daughter, he would have to call her Miss Bennet in public. However, he would always call her Elizabeth in his thoughts.
“Miss Bennet.” He bowed.
“Colonel Fitzwilliam just asked how we met. I was telling him about my meeting you at the assembly ball in Hertfordshire, sir.”
“Were you?” Good grief, could he not muster up something better than that to say?
“Yes, shall I tell him all, sir?”
“Darcy can keep no secrets from me, Miss Bennet. I always sniff them out.” Richard threw a meaningful look his way, but Darcy could not sort it out.
Darcy nodded to Elizabeth. No matter what she said next, it would be worth being on the receiving end of the smile she now directed at him.
“Even though gentlemen were scarce, and more than one lady was left without a partner, Mr. Darcy danced only two sets, and those were limited to the ladies in his own party.”
Richard’s eyes widened. “Ah, I can believe that of Darcy. He is not one to dance with ladies he is not already acquainted with.”
“And of course, nobody can be introduced in a ballroom.”
Darcy summoned his voice. “You may remember I danced more than twice at Charles Bingley’s ball.”
“Three times,” she said, “but at least there were more gentlemen in attendance that evening than at the assembly ball, since the officers from the militia were in attendance.”
He glanced at Richard, who raised an eyebrow. As children, Darcy, Richard, and Anne had made up some signals to use in silent communication whilst the adults conversed, and they still benefitted from it at times like this. He understood Richard to be asking whether Wickham had been there.
Darcy slowly blinked once for no.
He could not, at the moment, inform Richard that Elizabeth had actually been defending that rat during their set that night. Both had ended their time together in an irritated mood.
If only Darcy could have explained to her the reason he despised the man, he was sure she would have a different opinion of Wickham, but he could not risk exposing his sister in such a public setting. He did try to warn Elizabeth in the best way he could with so many prying eyes and ears in the vicinity, but his words only annoyed her further. She was loyal to her friends, even those who did not deserve such dedication.
If they had been alone, the conversation would have taken a different turn. He would have trusted Miss Elizabeth Bennet with the reputation, even the very life, of his sister.
“Who was the third?” Richard asked.
Darcy blinked. He had been so lost in his thoughts, he could not remember to what Richard referred.
Elizabeth ended her song and played the first few chords from another. She met his gaze.
Ah, she took a chance that he would remember the first song they had danced at the ball at Netherfield.
He nodded his head towards Elizabeth. “Miss Bennet honoured me by accepting my invitation to dance.”
Elizabeth looked away to shuffle through sheet music.
It was now her turn to be teased. “And she kindly provided me with an interesting lecture as to what conversation should take place while dancing.”
“Lecture—” She raised her head quickly.
He smiled.
Elizabeth blushed prettily.
Richard chuckled.
“Darcy!” called Aunt Catherine. “Of what are you speaking? Anne should be included in your conversation.”
Darcy closed his eyes briefly and inhaled deeply.
“Music, Aunt,” Richard answered loudly and gestured towards the pianoforte. “We were speaking of music and dancing.”
“Miss Bennet would play better if she practiced,” Aunt Catherine said to no one in particular, as if the lady were not present.
Elizabeth’s eyes twinkled as if she found humour in the pronouncement.
It is true, and yet, I have never enjoyed any performance more than I do hers.
⸟ﻬ⸞ﻬ⸟
The gentlemen staying at Rosings escorted the Hunsford party to Lady Catherine’s carriage, which had been ordered to take them home. Colonel Fitzwilliam stepped back and allowed Mr. Darcy to assist the ladies. He handed up Elizabeth last. When she looked up at him, she had been momentarily startled by what seemed to be fire in his eyes, but then she realized it was a reflection from the carriage’s lantern.
What a strange conversation she had had with Mr. Darcy. If she did not dislike him so much, she might have enjoyed the exchange, but as it was…
When he had smiled at her, it transformed his visage into that of a different person. Gone was the aloof gentleman she had known in Hertfordshire. And he had teased her! The change in him had taken her breath away. Warmth had spread through her, and she found she could not tear her gaze away.
She was thankful for Lady Catherine’s interruption.
What Colonel Fitzwilliam had said about him was interesting. Mr. Darcy typically would not dance with strangers?
Was the conduct she saw in him tonight more like how he normally behaved amongst people with whom he was comfortable? If so, it explained something that had perplexed her from the moment she met Charles and Mr. Darcy — the gentlemen were so dissimilar, how could they possibly be such good friends?
The coach pulled up to Hunsford cottage. The footman opened the door, and Mr. Collins and Sir William Lucas got out to hand down the ladies.
None of her musings about Mr. Darcy truly mattered. It would be easy to avoid the gentleman during her stay here, for she could not see their parties mixing often. She was sure she would not see him in Town whilst staying with Jane and Charles.
She took Sir William’s hand and descended from the coach.
After all, Mr. Darcy had already publicized his disapproval of their union by shunning their wedding.
There! That was the end of it. She would think of him no more.
Chapter Three
~The next morning – December 30, 1811
As Smithers tied his cravat, Darcy could not keep his mind from the person he wished to forget. The woman who occupied his every dream since the day he had met her, keeping him from a good night’s sleep for weeks. Miss Elizabeth Bennet.
At the ball at Netherfield, her light touch on his hand during their dances had caused his heart to accelerate in such a way that he knew he was in real danger from her.
With restraint in mind, he had left Hertfordshire, thinking if he separated himself from Elizabeth, he would stop aching to see her again. He would forget her.
Eventually.
Of course, he knew seeing Mrs. Bingley would remind him of her sister. Once he realized he could not attend the wedding, his plan included avoiding Charles and his new bride while they were in Town briefly before they left for the north. It
was the right thing to do for a newly married couple, anyway. On the Bingley’s way south again, he assumed they would stop at Netherfield once more, and then they would return to London to attend the later part of the Season.
If he could manage evading them for those few months, he would not be forced to think of Elizabeth again until the spring. And maybe by then, Darcy would have found an acceptable wife amongst this Season’s new batch of debutantes. Heaven knew he was not interested in any of the ladies who were already out.
He glanced out the window, towards the direction of Hunsford Cottage. Though he could not see it from here, he spied the smoke from the chimney.
She was there.
He turned his head and tried to concentrate on Smithers’s ministrations.
What had Elizabeth’s impression of him been after their exchange the previous afternoon?
Her reaction could not have been good. Why could he not speak correctly when around her? He could barely think whenever she was near!
He would strive to do better.
Smithers finished and stepped back. Darcy examined his reflection, nodded his approval, and then headed into the corridor.
He had to stop thinking about Elizabeth. Anne and Richard would be the perfect distraction.
At least at Netherfield, Elizabeth had been three miles away, except the few days when she stayed in the same house as he. She had proven to be a pleasant, undemanding houseguest. Seeing her at meals, coming across her in the hallways, having her present in the parlour after supper... he had enjoyed every moment she was there.
Now she was less than a half-mile away.
How would he endure the next fortnight with her so close by? And what if his aunt kept inviting the Hunsford party to Rosings?
Perhaps he should make an excuse and leave right away?
But what of Anne’s concerns about the steward taking advantage of Aunt Catherine?
He almost growled with frustration.
At least he had never told anyone about his attraction to her. Bingley had never guessed, so he must have hidden it well.
He would conquer this irrational preoccupation! No one else need ever know about his feelings for Miss Elizabeth Bennet.