Darcy knew not what to say to that. All he knew was that Elizabeth’s name reverberated in his thoughts, burying every rational denial. Evidently, he had not triumphed over his fascination as well as he imagined.
“I know I have been somewhat distracted myself since we returned from Netherfield, but I still know how to enjoy myself. You seem perpetually dissatisfied,” Bingley went on. “Now, do not glower at me in that way. It is true. Nothing pleases you anymore. You are uninterested in everything, and you seem to have entirely forgotten how to smile.”
Bingley’s accusations provoked a sensation of panic in Darcy, as though his friend were diagnosing him with some incurable disease. It made him wish to deny them, immediately and emphatically. He restrained himself, stating calmly, “Are you certain you are not imposing your own recent disappointment onto me?”
“Oh, I suppose I might be,” Bingley said morosely. His shoulders slumped, and Darcy felt a wretched sense of duplicity. “Pay me no mind. You have enough of your own problems to resolve. Be off with you to do whatever you must and then come back and see how cheerful I can be at the Christmas dinner table. And if I cannot be merry, then as long as you are there, at least Caroline will be happy.”
Even in his dejection, Bingley managed a mischievous smile, reminding Darcy why he treasured his friendship so dearly. He was a breath of fresh air to Darcy’s typically staid existence.
And one breath of fresh air was quite enough. He had no need of another. And he definitely did not need to see her while he was in Meryton.
* * *
On the following Monday, Mrs Bennet’s brother and his wife came to spend Christmas at Longbourn as usual. Mr Gardiner was bustled away into Mr Bennet’s library to discuss whatever either could think of that would keep them there until dinner. Mrs Gardiner was drawn into the parlour, where her four children were permitted to remain and play while Mrs Bennet—and her daughters, whenever they were able to squeeze in a word—regaled her with news of all that had befallen them since last they were together.
“Two of my girls almost married,” Mrs Bennet lamented. “Yet, both of them are still single. I am quite as broken-hearted as Jane, though Lizzy has not a care for it.”
Mrs Gardiner sent Elizabeth a private look of commiseration. Between the two of them and Jane there was an intimate understanding that ensured most of Mrs Bennet’s censure was met with sympathy, rather than scorn.
“Now we must suffer Charlotte Lucas parading about the place as though she already owns it,” she continued. “Though I do not know why she should be in such a hurry to be Mrs Collins. If I were her, I should seriously reconsider my decision to shackle myself to such a horrid woman.”
“Woman?” Mrs Gardiner asked in some confusion. “If Mr Collins is not a man, does that not resolve the entire problem of the entail?”
“I believe my mother is referring to Miss Anne de Bourgh,” Elizabeth replied, laughing. “She is his patroness’s daughter.” She and her sisters then explained Miss de Bourgh’s strange and eventful stay in Meryton, after which Mrs Gardiner puffed out her cheeks in wonder.
“I see. And Miss Lucas will have to answer to this lady and her mother when she becomes Mrs Collins? Poor woman.”
“Poor woman nothing!” Mrs Bennet objected. “Charlotte will have this house as soon as Mr Bennet dies. I have not one iota of sympathy for her. Besides, she is clearly going about pleasing the woman in the wrong way, for Miss de Bourgh is nowhere near as awful to Lizzy.” She turned to her daughter and said, “Further proof that it ought to have beenyouwho married Mr Collins.”
“What is this?” Mrs Gardiner enquired.
“Miss de Bourgh has singled Lizzy out as her favourite,” Mrs Bennet replied, preening as though this were not a highly dubious honour. “She asks after her constantly and speaks to her more than she does to anybody else.”
“I think Miss de Bourgh only feels more drawn to me because she discovered that I am slightly better acquainted with her cousin than most, having stayed with him at Netherfield,” Elizabeth demurred.
“Who is her cousin?” her aunt enquired.
“The friend of Mr Bingley’s we told you about, Mr Darcy.”
“Mr Darcy of Pemberley in Derbyshire?” she replied, all astonishment. “Her pride begins to make more sense. With such connexions, she has a good deal of which to be proud.”
“That is precisely what Charlotte said abouthim, though having met both, I am inclined to think the advantage is far more in Miss de Bourgh’s favour than Mr Darcy’s. He may be disagreeable, but she is awful.”
“Really, Lizzy?” said Jane doubtfully. “I should not have expected you to say so.”
Elizabeth had not expected it either and had quite surprised herself with the sentiment.
“Mr Darcy is disagreeable?” continued Mrs Gardiner, relieving Elizabeth of the necessity of answering Jane. “I confess that surprises me, for his father was highly regarded when I lived in the area.”
“Aye, Mr Wickham speaks fondly of him, too.”
“Mr Wickham?”
“He is an officer with the militia encamped in Meryton,” Mrs Bennet explained.
“And the late Mr Darcy’s godson,” Elizabeth added.
“And he is the handsomest of the officers by a mile,” Kitty said wistfully.
