“What a charming amusement for young people this is, Mr. Darcy! There is nothing like dancing after all. My dear Miss Eliza, why are you not dancing? Mr. Darcy, you must allow me to present this young lady to you as a very desirable partner. You cannot refuse to dance, I am sure, when so much beauty is before you.”
Elizabeth’s cheeks burned afresh as she suffered the grave stare of Mr. Darcy yet again. “Indeed, sir, I do not intend to dance any more this evening. I find myself fatigued. I entreat you not to suppose that I moved this way to beg for a partner.” She implored Sir William with her speech, but Mr. Darcy with her eyes, hoping he would somehow understand that despite all appearances to the contrary, she held no more interest in dancing with him than he with her.
Sir William, as ever, was not to be swayed by such slight insinuation. “Surely, Miss Eliza, a lively young lady such as yourself cannot be fatigued so early in the evening! You excel so much in the dance, that it is cruel to deny me the happiness of seeing you; and I would wager that Mr. Darcy is adept in the science himself, as it is one of the first refinements of polished society.”
Mr. Darcy once again fixed Elizabeth with an intense gaze and spoke in a tone that was as impersonal as it was proper. “Of course. Miss Bennet, would you do me the honor?”
Elizabeth had no wish to offend him, but neither did she wish to impose upon his clear reluctance or suffer his scrutiny for a full half-hour. She pressed her lips together and inhaled deeply before addressing Sir William.
“Sir, surely Mr. Darcy would agree that polished society holds no monopoly on dancing. Even a child can dance. We need not impose upon Mr. Darcy to prove his refinement by engaging in such a pursuit, and for my part, I am not inclined to dance further this evening. Dancing or no, I fear Meryton society does not polish to its finest luster on this occasion.” She cast an apologetic smile in Mr. Darcy’s direction, curtsied with a lighter spirit than she felt, and sought a quiet corner to be alone with her humiliation.
With this exchange, Elizabeth’s amusement for the evening was at an end. Having refused Mr. Darcy’s offer, she was now obliged to feign indisposition and dance with no one for the remainder of the assembly. And thus deprived of dancing, she had no means by which to prevent her mind from revisiting every detail of their interactions. It was a history as utterly mortifying as it was brief. Her mother, Sir William, even his own friend—Mr. Darcy must feel himself the subject of a great conspiracy to throw her into his path.
Her embarrassment was not sufficient however, to keep Elizabeth from surreptitiously tracking Mr. Darcy through the hall. He spent the evening in similar solitude, only occasionally speaking to one of his own party and thereby engendering much ill will among the good people of Meryton. The general impression his behavior created was that of a gentleman too arrogant to associate with country folk; but Elizabeth imagined that the proud set of his jaw belied the unease with which he shifted his feet. Surely he could not avoid overhearing the presumptive remarks about his fortune and character now bandied about the crowd, and she surmised that his silence displayed nothing so much as a reluctance to fuel further speculation.
Elizabeth recalled the remarks of his housekeeper at Pemberley, a generous woman who held only the truest approbation of her master’s character. Some people call him proud, she had owned, but I am sure I never saw anything of it. To my fancy, it is only because he does not rattle away like other young men. One could certainly never accuse Mr. Darcy of ‘rattling away,’ Elizabeth considered with amusement. If he spoke more than ten words for the remainder of the evening, she did not notice it; and rarely did her eyes leave his tall, noble figure. She was reminded of the housekeeper’s excellent opinion once again—I am sure I know none so handsome. On more than one occasion, she discovered his solemn gaze locking with hers across the room, and she diverted her eyes quickly to study the ceiling or the seam of her glove.
Elizabeth shuddered to imagine what Mr. Darcy must think of her after this evening. The only consolation was the knowledge that fortune was against their ever meeting again, moving as they did in social circles so thinly overlapped.
Little could Elizabeth have known that her reluctance to dance had not injured her in Darcy’s estimation. To the contrary, he passed a great deal of the evening meditating on the pleasure of being followed by a pair of fine eyes, especially those so happily situated within a pretty face and enlivened by intelligence. He found it all too easy to imagine spending many pleasant evenings not dancing with Miss Elizabeth Bennet.
Chapter Two
Netherfield Hall
Elizabeth smoothed a stray lock of hair from her sleeping sister’s face. Jane’s complexion, normally as fair and even as her temperament, was mottled with fever; her cheek distressingly warm to the touch. Elizabeth was loath to leave her sister’s bedside, but she knew she could not excuse herself from all social obligation to her hosts. Someone must make a reputable showing on behalf of the Bennet family, and as its singular example of genteel breeding lay abed with fever, the duty fell to Elizabeth.
She sighed wearily as she descended the grand staircase of Netherfield Hall, feeling her spirits sink lower with each step. No doubt she would one day find great amusement in the sequence of events which precipitated this evening. Jane arriving for dinner on horseback in a rainstorm, then taking ill just as the fish course was served; Elizabeth appearing on foot early the next morning, looking no less ill than her sister for having traipsed through muddy fields; Miss Bingley forced to offer not one, but two Bennet sisters hospitality for an undetermined duration. On some future occasion, in some other drawing room, it would make an entertaining tale with which to regale her friends. And she was certain that nothing would provoke greater laughter in the telling than a description of the expressions that greeted her upon her presentation in the breakfast room. She recalled the confused countenance of Mr. Bingley, divided between utter joy at housing Jane under his roof and genuine distress at the illness to which he owed this good fortune; the slack-jawed disdain of Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst, who unwittingly displayed a family legacy of poor dentition as they eyed her muddied hem; and the lascivious leer of Mr. Hurst as he appraised a shapely leg … of mutton.
Even now, Elizabeth was tempted to laugh at the scene—until she recalled the foreboding expression on Mr. Darcy’s face. The disapproval and suspicion she had read in his countenance that morning now chastened her as she neared the drawing room. She resolved to speak only as propriety demanded, to politely decline whatever amusement might be offered, and to generally make herself as invisible as possible.
She was therefore relieved to find the entire party engaged at the card table. Miss Bingley followed a bland inquiry on her sister’s condition with a cry of genuine dismay. The strength of the lady’s emotion quite surprised Elizabeth until she realized its basis to be the game of loo, rather than Jane’s health. Miss Bingley entreated her to join the group, but Elizabeth politely declined, declaring her intent to read. She walked to a small table that held a collection of books.
“Miss Bennet,” called Mr. Bingley from the card table, “Allow me to offer you a wider selection from my library. I only wish the books there numbered more, for your benefit and to my credit. As few as I have, they are far more than I ever look into. Nonetheless, they are free for your perusal.”
Elizabeth assured him that the books on the table before her would be sufficient for her needs and selected one at random, hoping to retreat behind its cover for the remainder of the evening. Unfortunately, the volume she had selected so carelessly was an agricultural treatise which served little to distract her from the continuing conversation.
“It is astonishing,” Miss Bingley declared, “that our father left such a small collection of books. How fortunate you are, Mr. Darcy, to have such a delightful library at Pemberley!”
“It ought to be good,” Mr. Darcy said. “It has been the work of many generations.”
“What a shame, then, that Miss Eliza Bennet canno
t avail herself of its treasures this evening, as she is a great reader to the exclusion of all other amusement. I assure you, Miss Eliza, the grandeur of Pemberley’s library is unmatched anywhere in England. As are all the other features of that elegant estate.”
Mr. Darcy saved Miss Bingley the trouble of enumerating Pemberley’s elegant features by interjecting, “Miss Bennet has seen Pemberley and its library for herself, and is likely to have formed her own opinion of it.”
Miss Bingley looked at Elizabeth as though making her acquaintance for the first time. “Is it so, Miss Bennet? You have seen Pemberley?”
“Yes, briefly. I recently toured the Peak district with my aunt and uncle, and we visited many of Derbyshire’s fine estates.” Elizabeth hoped to close the topic to further conversation, but Miss Bingley persisted.
“Oh! Then you must share with us your impressions!”
“You will excuse me, Miss Bingley, but the observations of a tourist can be of small consequence in this room. I would not dare to place my own judgment alongside the perspective of one who has lodged there as a guest, much less of its proprietor.”
The lady was undeterred. “Did you also visit Chatsworth? How did you find it in comparison? I am certain I have not seen Pemberley’s equal anywhere, for my own tastes. I have often advised Charles that he should secure property in the neighborhood to build his own home and take Pemberley as his example. The severity of Derbyshire’s landscape, of course, may present some challenge. But with the best architects and gardeners, any wild location may be tamed to present a delightful prospect, I am sure.”
Elizabeth smiled at the idea of Miss Bingley attempting to smooth the Derbyshire countryside as though it were a rumpled coverlet. “I will happily agree, Miss Bingley, that to approach Pemberley’s elegance through imitation would be a challenge indeed. For I am certain I have never seen a place for which nature has done more, or where natural beauty has been so little counteracted by awkward taste.”
At this, Mr. Darcy’s expression was one of obvious amusement; a pleasure not at all in concert with his opponent’s having laid the winning card. Their game at an end, the players determined to break for coffee.
Feeling the danger of remaining in company so determined to draw her out, with nothing but a dry agricultural treatise to otherwise occupy her, Elizabeth asked Mr. Bingley if she might survey his library after all. She refused his kind offer to let Miss Bingley guide her there, claiming some familiarity with Netherfield from her acquaintance with the hall’s previous occupants.
Indeed, she located the library with little difficulty and went directly to examine its sparse collection. She sought an entertaining novel, or some well-loved poems—any text sufficiently interesting to engage her eyes and still her tongue. It was all too tempting, in the company of ladies like Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst, to allow prudence to trail some paces behind her wit. She was well aware that she and Jane’s installment at Netherfield held all the appearance of a brazen scheme to hold captive the attentions of wealthy gentlemen. The truth was none too far from the appearance, Elizabeth acknowledged ruefully. What she was powerless to alter in her mother’s shameless behavior she must counteract by closely governing her own conduct.
A noise from the direction of the doorway startled her, and Elizabeth turned to face Mr. Darcy as he entered the library with a slight bow.
“Forgive me for alarming you, Miss Bennet.” He stopped a few paces from her and fixed her with a gaze of unsettling intensity. “But I realized that I had neglected to inquire earlier after your sister’s health. Pray, is she much improved?”
Elizabeth looked into the open hall behind him, anxious for how improper this encounter must appear to any passers-by. She neither saw nor heard anyone, however, and Mr. Darcy’s measured tone and countenance reflected only polite concern.
“I thank you, sir,” she replied, at last remembering to curtsy. “She still suffers a fever, but is resting comfortably.”
“I hope her illness will be of short duration. She is fortunate to have a devoted nurse in her sister. Certainly, your presence and care will speed her recovery.”
“Thank you. We are indebted to Miss Bingley’s hospitality, but I also hope that my sister may soon recover sufficiently to allow us to return to Longbourn. The rest of our family will be equally eager to see her returned to health. Though Jane’s illness is not grave, no one who appreciates her gentle spirit can feel at peace while she suffers.”
“Then your dedication is a credit to you both.” Mr. Darcy bowed and turned to leave.
“Surely you must understand my feelings.” Elizabeth regretted the words the instant they left her lips. She was left no choice but to explain them, however, when the gentleman halted and faced her with a quizzical expression.
“Forgive me, Mr. Darcy,” she began haltingly, “but when we visited Pemberley this summer, your housekeeper informed us of Miss Darcy’s recent illness. May I be so bold, sir, as to return your kindness and inquire after your sister’s health?”
“I thank you for your concern, Miss Bennet. Her recovery is nearly complete, but she remains in London for the time. I do not wish her to travel until she is restored to full health.”
Mr. Darcy’s countenance softened measurably as he spoke of his sister, and Elizabeth noted with appreciation how this warmth of brotherly affection enhanced his noble features. It seemed some ember of Promethean fire still smoldered beneath the stony visage of pride, she mused. Perhaps the inscrutable Mr. Darcy might prove human after all.
She was once again reminded of Pemberley, and the unstinting praise of his housekeeper as she deemed him the best of brothers. Whatever can give his sister any pleasure is sure to be done in a moment. There is nothing he would not do for her. Such devotion, when bolstered by the advantage of unlimited means, must make Miss Darcy a very contented young lady indeed.
“Do you find something to interest you, Miss Bennet?”
“Excuse me?”
“In Mr. Bingley’s collection.” He indicated the sparsely populated shelves. “You see my friend speaks truthfully when he admits to neglecting his family library.”
“I have not yet had the opportunity to examine the titles closely,” Elizabeth admitted, “but I am certain I shall find something perfectly adequate to my tastes.”
“Then I shall leave you to your choice.”
Elizabeth lingered in the library longer than she ought, finding relief in solitude and comfort in the company of old books. It mattered not that Mr. Bingley’s haphazard collection offered little intellectual appeal. She took pleasure in the simple act of turning heavy ivory pages and enjoyed the familiar feel of worn leather as it warmed in her palm. She embraced each friendly volume as a traveler abroad cleaves to any countryman. In the end, despairing of finding more scintillating fare, she selected a book of sermons in hopes it would serve as a reminder to curb her speech in Miss Bingley’s presence. Thus armed with admonition, she returned to the drawing room.
The party was once again assembled around the card table, and Elizabeth resumed her place on the divan.
“And how does your sister fare, Mr. Darcy? Is she recovered from her illness?” Miss Bingley’s inquiry hung in the air for some moments.
“Thank you, she is well.”
Elizabeth cringed, sorely regretting her earlier conversation with Mr. Darcy in the library. She had not considered the amount of insincere fawning he must routinely suffer on the subject, from persons far better qualified to make such inquiries than she. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair as Miss Bingley continued.
“Oh! I am glad of it, for I take such delight in Miss Darcy. What a disappointment it must have been for her, to take ill and miss traveling to Ramsgate this summer.”
“Small disappointment, indeed, when compared to the untimely passing of her companion.”
“Oh, yes—her companion,” said Mrs. Hurst. “I would never have guessed her to be of such delicate constitution, to succumb so quickly. She al
ways seemed rather coarse to me. What was her name? Mrs. Yorke? Mrs. Yount?”
“Mrs. Younge.” Mr. Darcy rose from the table and went to pour himself a drink.
“What a tragedy, indeed, for Miss Darcy’s sake,” Miss Bingley said. “Surely, she must have been desolate without her. You were fortunate, Mr. Darcy, to find a suitable replacement so quickly. I can only hope the poor dear finds comfort in her music. To be sure, I have never known any lady so naturally talented as Miss Darcy, or so accomplished at a young age.”
Mr. Bingley gratefully seized this opportunity to turn the conversation from talk of illness and death. “Oh, yes, so very accomplished. I am continually amazed by ladies’ accomplishments. I have not met the lady who does not paint tables, or net purses, or engage in some equally clever pursuit.”
“Surely, Charles, you cannot equate such trivial skills with true accomplishment.” She applied to Mr. Darcy for support as he resumed his place at the table.
“Indeed,” he said, “the term ‘accomplished’ is applied far too liberally. I cannot boast of knowing more than a half-dozen women that are really accomplished.” He looked pointedly at Elizabeth, who immediately chastised herself for allowing her eye to stray from the page before her. She knew she ought to remain silent and return her attention to her book, but Mr. Darcy’s stare seemed designed to elicit a response.
“Then you must comprehend a great deal in the idea of an accomplished woman,” she said.
“Yes, I do.” His purpose in continuing to hold her gaze was unfathomable, as was the meaning behind the slight, but deliberate nod of his head.
“Oh, certainly!” Miss Bingley cried. “No one can truly merit the distinction without a thorough knowledge of music, singing, drawing, dancing, and the modern languages. And to all this, she must add a certain something in her manner of air and walking, and in her tone of voice, else the term will be but half-deserved.”
“I wonder now at your knowing even a half-dozen such ladies! I am certain I have never met even one as you describe.” If this impertinence could not deter Mr. Darcy’s continued attention, Elizabeth thought, the power to do so rested beyond the realm of her own accomplishment.
Elizabeth and Darcy- Ardently Yours Page 2