Mrs Bennet’s rejoicing was immediate and noisy. Elizabeth’s was quieter but sincere. It was Miss Jane Bennet whom Darcy watched most carefully. She made no noise at all but, as per Elizabeth’s directions, he was able now to perceive that she did indeed seem to be holding her head a little higher, and her smiles, though not any broader, no longer vanished whenever she thought nobody was looking. He despised Bingley in that moment, a sentiment that shocked him out of his seat.
“Might I have use of a writing desk, Mr Bennet? I must send word to Lucas Lodge and the inn at Meryton to have our effects moved.”
As he followed his host to a dark room at the front of the house, Darcy sent a silent apology to his friend. He did not despise Bingley—far from it. But he found he did resent his friend’s certain happiness with Jane Bennet. Resented it with an intensity for which he could not account, for resentment implied regret, and he would never regret avoiding a similar alliance with the Bennets, no matter how well he admired Elizabeth. No matter how well he had enjoyed his day, against all expectation. No matter how every reason that opposed inclination was crumbling away to nothing.
He owed his family too much. Duty forbade him from even contemplating it. In fact, he was glad Bingley’s notes had arrived when they did. It was high time he left. Before he fell so far under Elizabeth’s spell that leaving became impossible.
* * *
Elizabeth took her shawl with her as she stole away from the excitement in the drawing room to the quiet but cold entrance hall. She shared her mother’s hopes for Jane, but she also shared Jane’s quietly expressed anxiety, for there had been no mention in Mr Bingley’s note of his purpose in returning. There was every possibility that he had come merely to open his house for his friend’s convenience.
One thing was certain, however. Jane had suffered enough doubt. It was Christmas Day, and Elizabeth would have her dearest sister enjoy this happy turn of events, instead of being tortured by it. It was why she had resolved to eschew all propriety and ask Mr Darcy directly why his friend had come.
“Miss Elizabeth, a word?”
She turned in surprise. Miss de Bourgh had followed her into the hall, which she supposed meant the word was unlikely to be a pleasant one, else she would have said it in company.
“If you like.”
Perhaps she had not expected Elizabeth to agree, for she floundered a little before continuing stiltedly. “You can be at no loss to understand the reason I have been desirous of speaking with you.”
“Indeed, you are mistaken, madam, but if you would come to the point, then we might return to the warmth of the drawing room.”
Miss de Bourgh huffed in displeasure. When she spoke, Elizabeth thought she could detect a note of agitation in her voice, though she was evidently striving to sound superior.
“Very well, I shall speak plainly. The fact that your sister is on the verge of being most advantageously married should not be taken as encouragement for any of your preposterous aspirations towards my cousin.”
Elizabeth looked at her with unaffected astonishment. “I beg your pardon?”
“May I remind you that he is engaged tome?”
“You may, though it is entirely unnecessary, for I had not forgot.”
“That only puts your behaviour in a worse light. But you have not a hope of ensnaring him. From our infancy we have been intended for each other.” Her words had become hurried, muddling her delivery of what sounded very much like a rehearsed speech. “It was the favourite wish of his mother as well as mine. We are descended from the same noble line. Our fortune on both sides is splendid. We are destined for each other by the voice of every member of our respective houses, and the upstart pretensions of a young woman without family, connexions, or fortune will not divide us. Honour, decorum, prudence, nay—interest forbid it. If you are not lost to every feeling of propriety and delicacy, you will stay away from Netherfield tomorrow, and you will promise meneverto enter into an engagement with Darcy.”
Elizabeth’s incredulity had increased with Miss de Bourgh’s every word, but now that she was silent, it began to ferment into indignation. “I wonder at your believing my word necessary, if you think so highly of his honour.”
“I have seen how you try to work on him! You are relentless in your flirtation, but you will not draw him in. Do not be fooled by what you think are his attentions. He is only being civil.”
“And barely that!” Elizabeth tugged her shawl tighter, not chilled but greatly discomfited. “Miss de Bourgh, youreallyneed not have mortified us both in this manner. Before today, I should have said your cousin did not evenlikeme.”
Miss de Bourgh gave a bitter laugh. “Gratifying though it is to hear you believe that, I would still have your promise.”
“I hope you will not be too disappointed when I tell you that you will never succeed in extracting any promise of the kind from Lizzy,” said Mrs Bennet, appearing out of the shadows like a menacing pantomime dame. “She will no more marry your cousin than she would marry her own, for she dislikes the one even more than she did the other, but you can be sure that she will neither accept nor refuse any man because someoneelsedemands it of her. She will do as she pleases. She always does.”
Miss de Bourgh blushed deeply enough for it to be visible even in the nocturnal gloom of the hall. “This is a private conversation, madam.”
“I am afraid I must correct you there, also, for I heard every word. I must say, I really think you ought to concern yourself less with Lizzy’s aspirations and attend more to your own. Mr Darcy would be a terrible match for you. His fortune may be as splendid as yours, but you are ill-suited in other, more pertinent ways. You are too sickly, too inactive. Besides, he is in desperate need of a wife who will teach him some liveliness, and you are hardly qualified in that regard. No, you ought to aspire to a man of the cloth, or better yet, a physician. He could practise on you and make himself rich.”
“You presume to address me in such a way? Do you know who I am?” Miss de Bourgh spluttered. Then, looking as though she were anxious this was not threatening enough, she added, “Who mymotheris?”
“I know who your cousin is. I have just fed him Christmas dinner.”
Elizabeth had never enjoyed her mother’s impropriety so well, though she was too shocked to laugh properly. It came out more as a nervous exhalation that halted altogether and turned into a held breath when the door to her father’s library opened, and Mr Darcy himself stepped into the hall.
That he was surprised by the scene before him was obvious. He looked alarmed and inordinately wary as he took it in. In fact, he looked a lot of things, and Elizabeth suddenly could not comprehend how she had ever thought him inscrutable.
Mostly, however, he lookedat herpiercingly, as though he were trying to know her thoughts. Elizabeth’s heart began to hammer against her ribs as the implication of Miss de Bourgh’s speech, indeed the entire purpose of her visit to Hertfordshire, dawned on her. Mr Darcydidlike her—possiblymorethan liked her. At least, so his cousin suspected and strongly enough to think she needed to intervene.
