“Do not concern yourself too greatly. I shall not deny it was ill done, but that is not the only thing I have overheard you say about me.” Hearing him suck in his breath, she raised her eyes to his, smiling encouragingly. “I had not left Lucas Lodge on Christmas Eve when you defended me to your cousin. I had only left the room because I did not wish to walk home with Mr Wickham.” And then, because his continued gravity made her wonder if he had forgotten what he said in her defence, she added, “A commendation of one’s character is a far greater compliment than praise of one’s beauty. Even the best looks will fade, whereas good sense and disposition must last forever—or at least until one is so old that every other word is ‘four shades of nonsense’.”
They were interrupted again by Mrs Philips, who had several more pieces of imperative information to impart, including the full details of Miss King’s new inheritance, hitherto kept private from the world for no good reason that she could see, and the receipt for a poultice for piles that she asked to be passed on to Mrs Bennet. Eventually, Elizabeth’s family ran out of ways to embarrass her—or perhaps decided they ought to savesomefor her next visit—and it was agreed by all that they ought to go before the snow became too heavy.
Mr Darcy thanked Mr and Mrs Philips for their hospitality with a degree of civility that astounded Elizabeth. Her aunt and uncle were dear, well-meaning people, but refined they were not, and she doubted Mr Darcy had ever experienced a call quite like it. His kindness in not making them feel it meant a great deal to her and showed a generosity of which she had not suspected him capable a few weeks ago.
“Will you go directly to Netherfield?” she asked him once her aunt’s front door was closed. “I doubt Mr Bingley will still be at Longbourn.”
“Yes, I ought to. Colonel Forster likes to dine early. I must not make Bingley late in his first week back in the neighbourhood.” He continued to look at her and made no move to begin walking. Snowflakes swirled between them, some settling on the brim of his hat, the collar of his coat, his lips. Elizabeth was almost surprised when he continued speaking.
“I would have you know that every word you heard me say in your favour at Lucas Lodge was true.”
She smiled with genuine gratitude. It was a compliment she would treasure long after he was gone.
“Make haste, Lizzy, ’tis freezing!” Lydia complained.
There was no reason at all why Elizabeth should not do as her sister urged. Her feet simply did not move. And Mr Darcy’s gaze simply would not relinquish her.
“And every word you heard me say at the assembly was rot. Nothing could be further from the truth.”
She gave a little gasp that did no good, for it rendered her more breathless, not less. Since they were staring at each other, she took advantage of the opportunity to look at him closely—at his eyes, his nose, his mouth, his hair, his expression. It all felt so perfectly familiar, as though he were meant to be there, regarding her in his peculiarly intense way.
But there was something more than familiarity. She knew not when it had begun, but in that moment, Elizabeth understood her affection. It arose like a harmony, springing unexpectedly out of a melody that had been playing for so long it had gone unnoticed, and suddenly the thrum of life was grown richer for it. It flooded her with warmth, made her light with joy, and squeezed her heart with sorrow. What ill luck to fall in love with a man who was engaged to someone else.
“You are kind to say so,” she whispered. “I shall remember it.”
He might have frowned, but she could not tell, for they were both distracted by Lydia, now joined by Kitty, repeating her plea to leave.
“I had better go,” she said, rolling her eyes and giving him a rueful smile.
Mr Darcy bowed but did not move, and when Elizabeth glanced back at him before she and her sisters went around the corner, there was no mistaking his frown. She was sorry for it, but it could hardly be helped. She could not have said more without bursting into tears.
15
It continued to snow intermittently overnight and all the next morning, resulting in an increasingly gloomy air at Longbourn as the prospect of Mr Bingley calling that day grew ever less likely. Elizabeth commiserated with Jane but could not decide whether she was unhappy or relieved for herself. She suspected it would be as painful as it was pleasurable to see Mr Darcy again if he accompanied his friend. His choosing not to come would present an entirely different source of misery.
All of them were surprised when a carriage was seen rolling into the drive, and none were so perturbed as Elizabeth when its door opened, and two bonneted figures stepped down from it. The ladies of Netherfield had called, and nobody but she could guess why.
“Mr Bingley and my brother are otherwise engaged at present,” Miss Darcy explained once they were all settled in the parlour. “A part of the old stable roof has given way under the weight of snow, and they are organising the repairs. I am sure they will call as soon as they are able.”
Jane observably took heart from the promise, but looking at the sky outside, Elizabeth rather doubted it would be fulfilled in the near future.
“I am surprisedyouboth took the trouble to come in this weather,” she said. “We are honoured, of course, but the snow is getting rather heavy.”
“Our message could not be delayed, Miss Elizabeth,” replied Miss de Bourgh.
Mrs Bennet launched into transports of gratitude for saving Jane from an afternoon of suspense while the gentlemen saw to the stable repairs. Elizabeth, suspecting the message to be something entirely other than the one already relayed, entered her own state of wretched suspense as she waited to hear it.
“I hope this snow will not prevent Mr Bingley’s sisters from coming on Monday,” Jane said. “It would be a great shame if they were not able to attend the feast he has planned. It sounds wonderful.”
“Miss Bingley?” Miss de Bourgh enquired disdainfully, looking at her cousin. “The woman who has had her cap set for your brother since the turn of the century?”
Miss Darcy baulked and muttered a few inarticulate words, her hedging as good as a confirmation of the charge.
Miss de Bourgh sniffed contemptuously. “I should as soon pray for more snow, Miss Bennet. Any woman who has not yet worked out the difference between desire and delusion after eleven years cannot have much sensible to add to a party. I daresay she would not be missed.”
Elizabeth might have been diverted were it not for an unbidden swell of empathy for Miss Bingley, one of the most unpleasant women of her acquaintance and the last person on earth with whom she would ever have expected to feel an affinity.
“Nevertheless, I hope she is not detained. Miss Bingley was exceedingly good to me last autumn when I was taken ill at her house,” Jane insisted gently but firmly. “I shall be pleased to see her again.”
