Elizabeth remained silent. Fiennes had not desired an intelligent wife; indeed, he had discouraged her every attempt to broaden her mind through reading. She had been little more than an ornament and a bearer of heirs—nothing more was required, and anything more was met with punishment. Since his death, she had devoured every volume once forbidden her, an act of private rebellion against a man who no longer held power over her.
“Mr Blythe values a sharp mind,” Suzanne continued, drawing Elizabeth’s attention back to the table. “It is one of the qualities I most admire in him. He encourages my ‘unladylike’ tendencies—one might say he indulges them.”
Before Miss Bingley could respond, a flash of lightning illuminated the windows, followed almost instantly by a peal of thunder so loud it made the china tremble and all the ladies start.
“Dear me,” Miss Bingley lifted a hand to her throat, her gaze darting towards the windows. “It grows rather wild without. Ladies, I doubt your carriage will be able to manage the road between here and Longbourn.”
“The gentlemen have not returned.” Mrs Hurst observed, moving to the window, her hands tightening together in unease.
“We shall know more once they arrive,” said Lady Westland. “Miss Bingley, if the weather prevents our return to Longbourn, might we beg the favour of rooms for the night?”
Their hostess brightened at once and assented with delight. Mrs Hurst resumed her seat, and the conversation turned to lighter topics.
Elizabeth tried to attend, but her thoughts clouded. Her mind strayed to Longbourn—to Elinor—and unease pressed on her as she wondered how her daughter would fare if her mama did not return before bedtime.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
12 November 1811
Netherfield Park
Darcy
“Well,thatwasanenjoyable afternoon.” Bingley adjusted his hat and pulled on his gloves before settling his greatcoat about his shoulders. “I regret riding now, however. Hurst, forgive my doubts—you were right about the rain.”
“My knees never lie.” Hurst stamped one foot on the threshold. “Though I am a young man still, they ache fiercely before a storm. I fear the roads will be nigh on impassable now.”
Darcy made no reply; the observation was true enough. The rain fell in relentless sheets, drumming against their hats and soaking through the heavy cloth of their greatcoats. They would be drenched before reaching Netherfield. The road had turned to mire, and to press their horses faster would be folly.
“I hope Caroline has ordered something warm for dinner,” Bingley hunched within his collar, water dripping from the brim of his hat. “A hot bath and a cup of tea will be most welcome to ward off this chill.”
Hurst gave a weary groan. “Aye, the cold seeps right into one’s bones. I am not averse to summer rain, but any drizzle after October is beyond thepale. I shall never be warm again.” He continued to grumble as they rode on, shaking a damp fist at the heavens in protest.
Darcy remained silent. He disliked the chill and the downpour as heartily as the others, yet complaining would serve no purpose. All three were wretched, and nothing but arrival at Netherfield could relieve their misery. He bent his mind to guiding his mount through the muck, eyes fixed on the faint line of the road. When a cross-field track offered to shorten their journey by half a mile, he led them across it without a word.
At last, the warm lights of the stables came into view. Grooms hurried out, taking the reins as the riders dismounted. Darcy handed his mount to a waiting lad with a brief word of thanks, adding instructions that the animal be well attended before stabling. Then, weary and chilled to the bone, he turned towards the house. A hot bath and a pot of tea were all he desired.
They entered the house by a side door. “It would be dreadfully boorish to soil the floors with mud,” Bingley declared with good humour, leading the way to an antechamber near the kitchens. There, they shed their dripping greatcoats and mud-spattered boots, leaving them for the servants to clean and dry. House slippers soon appeared—proof that the valets had been watching for their masters’ return. Still damp, they made their way to their chambers.
“Have hot water for baths sent up, will you, Jones?” Bingley asked his valet.
“At once, sir. Shall I inform the ladies to hold tea?” The valet’s hands rested neatly behind his back, his expression a polite mask.
“If it is not too much trouble.” With a boyish grin, Bingley disappeared down the passage, Darcy and Hurst following.
Darcy’s own valet awaited him. A steaming bath already prepared—a mark of Brisby’s habitual forethought. Immersing himself, Darcy let thewarmth drive the chill from his limbs. After half an hour he emerged restored, dressed afresh, and descended the stairs in search of tea. Halfway down, he remembered Miss Bingley would also be present. He grimaced, but pressed on; avoidance was beneath him.
His fortitude was quickly rewarded. The ladies had company: Lady Westland, Mrs Fiennes, and Miss Bennet sat near the fire with Bingley’s sisters. Their smiles of greeting met him as he entered, and he crossed to join them.
“We had no notion you were to call, Lady Westland.”
“Miss Bingley invited us to dine. The rain has trapped us here, it seems, and we shall not return to Longbourn this evening. ’Tis a shame, for Mrs Bennet had planned a fine supper.” Her tone held no great regret. A glance at Elizabeth told him she was not so sanguine to be away from home for the night. He did not blame her. Her little girl would miss her mother.
“Let us pray the weather is more obliging on the morrow.” The words carried a double sense, for in truth he prayed the rain might continue, detaining them another day. The thought no sooner formed than he reproved himself—selfishness ill-became him when a child might pine for her mother. He amended with a smile. “May the sunshine and the wind speed the drying of the roads so you may return to Mrs Bennet’s hospitality.” He added a playful wink, earning a laugh from Lady Westland.
“I would accuse you of wishing us gone, but I know you better than that, sir. I shall simply agree and enjoy the evening.”
Miss Bingley, quick to reclaim the countess’s attention, engaged her at once. Miss Bennet conversed with Mrs Hurst, leaving Elizabeth momentarily unoccupied.
