“Mr Darcy suggested that you needed a master?” Jane asked, aghast.
“No, it was the supercilious Miss Bingley.”
“I am certain Miss Bingley had your best interest at heart, and I do not believe Mr Darcy is unbiased,” Jane said with a smirk.
Elizabeth released a contented sigh. It was a comfort to know that her sister had also noticed Mr Darcy’s preference for her, which mollified her disappointment a little. With the entire Netherfield party present, Miss Bingley had thwarted their every effort to speak in privacy. The only encouragement of the evening had been that Mr Darcy appeared as miffed as she at the woman’s constant interference.
Notwithstanding Miss Bingley’s efforts at impeding conversation, she had overheard that despite owning lush dales and magnificent peaks, Mr Darcy spent most of his time under the fog-covered skies of London. It was disappointing to her, having heard countless tales about the delights of Derbyshire, but perhaps he would spend more time at home if he married.
Elizabeth’s cheeks were on fire, and she glanced at Jane whilst thanking the Lord that no one could hear her wayward thoughts. Imagine Mr Darcy being privy to her musings! Would he laugh at her folly, wrinkle his nose in disgust, or take her into his arms and kiss her soundly? Continuing her contemplations did nothing to alleviate her discomfort, and she shifted in her seat.
“Methinks Mr Darcy is not the only one in a fair way to falling in love,” Jane remarked.
“I dare not acknowledge such lofty hopes in the privacy of my own thoughts, and I shall definitely not admit to anything so outlandish aloud.”
Jane giggled. “I believe you just did.”
Chapter 3 Hubris and Nemesis
“Outrageous!” Mrs Bennet cried. “It must be a mistake. Miss Bingley has simply forgotten to include Elizabeth’s name in her invitation. In fact, she should have invited all your sisters.”
“It would be abominably rude for those who are not invited to impose,” Jane protested. “I would rather send my regrets…”
“Out of the question!”
Jane had received an invitation to dine with Mr Bingley’s sisters whilst the gentlemen were engaged with the militia.
“Have you had word from Grandmother?” Elizabeth enquired in an effort to redirect her mother’s thoughts before she forced all the Bennet sisters upon Miss Bingley.
“No. It has been four weeks since she left, and one must presume something sinister has happened. I warned her against travelling so far at her age, but she never listens to me. The autumn storms are the worst, and she has most likely perished at sea if her advanced years have not already claimed her.”
Even Mr Bennet looked up from his newspaper with a furrowed brow. “My mother is in excellent health despite her age. She is probably too occupied with tending to her ailing brother to write.”
“I wonder whether they have reconciled?” Elizabeth wanted to know because it had been with great apprehension that her grandmother had decided to comply with the summons from her pig-headed brother, whom she had not seen these last five decades. It was strange that after all this time, he suddenly wanted to mend the breach.
“Why else would she travel so far?” Mr Bennet replied before ducking behind his newspaper.
“You should all go and make Miss Bingley’s dinner a merry party.” Mrs Bennet had not forgotten the missive from Netherfield.
“I do not mind staying at home, Mama.” Elizabeth tried to mollify her mother. An evening of gossip and thinly veiled insults did not tempt her. “Besides, the gentlemen are dining out.”
“You are correct, Lizzy. Mayhap not all hope is lost,” Mrs Bennet ruminated with a dangerous glint in her eyes.
“Papa, may I have the carriage?”
Mr Bennet did not manage to reply to Jane’s request before his wife answered for him.
“Absolutely not. You will take Nellie.” Mrs Bennet looked out of the window and brightened at the dark, threatening clouds. “The mare is so old she might perish on the way. If not, I am certain it will rain, and then you must spend the night.”
As if heeding Mrs Bennet’s wishes, the rain began pelting down not five minutes after Jane left the stables. It continued, relentlessly, throughout the evening, effectively prohibiting her from returning to Longbourn. Come morning, Elizabeth received a note from Netherfield wherein her sister admitted to some discomfort, a sore throat, and a fever. She immediately set out for the estate, following a path that shortened her walk by a mile compared to the road, but it came at a cost; the heavy rain had left it muddy and treacherously slippery. By the time Elizabeth reached Netherfield, she was covered in mud from head to toe after sliding down a slight slope, but grateful that by divine intervention, nothing but her pride was injured.
Elizabeth would have recognised his tall figure amongst a hundred gentlemen, but never had she been less inclined to encounter Mr Darcy as now—with grime running down her face. He not only cut a dashing figure, but there was also the matter of his perpetually immaculate attire, from the perfectly fitted coat and silk cravat—which, by the looks of it had actually gone a bit limp in the wind, but silk, nevertheless—to his polished Hessian boots. The shine alone would entice the eyes to study them closely and follow them up to the memorable face with its strong jaw, masculine cheekbones, and dazzling blue eyes.
The gentleman raised his gaze from the ground and laughed heartily. Should she be miffed? It was impossible, as his laughter was utterly contagious, and she joined his merriment.
“Pray, pardon my mirth,” he chuckled. “For a moment I wondered whether one of Netherfield’s statues had come alive and was about to approach me.” Then his smile vanished and deep crevices formed between his brows. “I hope you are uninjured.”
“Yes. It is only my pride that is suffering. I do not recommend the path to Longbourn before the rain has dried up.”
