I said, “Will you give me leave to concentrate on writing for now?”
Finally, Bingley rescued me, sort of, because he was teasing me, saying that not only did I write long letters, I made sure to use the biggest of words available to me additionally. “I am certain Darcy sits about, staring into space, and thinking, ‘Drat, that word has only three syllables, I must have one with four.’”
I sighed, but was glad enough that someone else had joined the conversation.
Caroline began to speak about her brother’s inability to write letters well, and Bingley obligingly agreed with her, saying that he could not keep up with the flow of his ideas and that sometimes, his letters conveyed no ideas at all.
It was a joke. We laughed.
Elizabeth said, archly, “Your humility, Mr. Bingley, must disarm reproof.”
And this, you see, was far too familiar a situation. It was the way it usually was, Caroline and me against Bingley, but this was Elizabeth and me against Bingley, and perhaps I thought to win some favor with her by taking her part, I did not know.
I said, “Nothing is more deceitful than the appearance of humility, especially when it is actually a concealed boast.”
“And what am I boasting of?” said Bingley, laughing.
“Because you really think it is not a defect to write letters that make no sense. You think, at the very least, your rapid thought and careless execution, makes you interesting. You are proud of being quick and changeable. You said that thing to Mrs. Bennet this morning about how quickly you would change your mind to quit Netherfield, and you meant that as a virtue, even though it means only that you are not a particularly dependable person.”
I saw my error right away. I had cut too deep, gone too much to the essence of him. I had hurt him, even as we were meant to be having a lighthearted conversation.
“Well,” he said tightly, “we can not all be as great and tall a person as Mr. Darcy, can we?”
I knew he wasn’t referring to my height.
“Indeed, Mr. Darcy does enjoy throwing his height around, does he not?” said Elizabeth, lifting her chin, her bright eyes dancing.
Damnation.
“Perhaps,” she said, “he had better finish his letter.”
I took her advice, and finished my letter.
CHAPTER FOUR
If I had hoped that my conversation with Caroline had communicated to her that I was not interested in her in that way, I was sorely disappointed in that. The following day, she somehow contrived to separate all of us walking so that it was just her and me.
She used this opportunity to tease me incessantly about marrying Elizabeth, and I wondered if her teasing was making the entire notion seem more feasible than it actually was.
I could not marry a woman like that.
She hated me.
But I told Caroline, when she teased me that I should never be able to get a painter to copy the likeness of my new bride’s bright eyes, that I should simply have to engage five or ten and have her sit for all of them.
“And where will you put all of these portraits?” she said icily as we walked by the shrubbery.
“Oh, I shall have a room entirely devoted to portraits of her, quite clearly. I shall call it, ‘The Elizabeth Room.’ I shall have it done all in blues. And I shall insist everyone who visits the house come in and sit inside and stare at my wife’s bright eyes and tell me that she is the most beautiful creature in the world, as I know is true.”
Which was, of course, when Elizabeth herself appeared around the hedgerows, her eyes quite wide.
What must she think of that thing I had just said, especially because there had been a great deal of venom in it, a rather nasty tone. I had said it to hurt Caroline, but she had said the other things to hurt me, and it had not been for Elizabeth’s ears.
“You used us abominably ill!” cried Mrs. Hurst, who was right behind Elizabeth. “You cut us off and walked very fast and got yourself lost amongst the hedges so that we could not find you. What are you thinking, Caroline, really, alone with a man like that?”
I recoiled from her. I looked at all three of the women and I stalked off into the coldness of the November garden.
I walked alone for some time until I perceived footsteps behind me, and I called out, “Miss Bingley, I have no more interest in your company at this time, I am afraid. Pray give me but ten moments of solitude.”
