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“Perhaps his ready defence of you speaks more in his favour than charming manners might.”
“Perhaps you are right, Jane, for he seemed to care little for Miss Bingley’s opinion. Unless, of course, his true purpose was to vex her. She does grant him a great deal of her notice.”
Jane considered this. “To vex her? That seems a curious motive for kindness.”
“Mr. Darcy is a man of curious motives, I think,” Elizabeth replied thoughtfully. “But certainly I cannot fault him if he wishes to put Miss Bingley off.”
“She is most persistent,” said Jane, her smile giving way to a yawn she could no longer suppress.
“You, dear sister, ought to have rested instead of only feigning it.” Elizabeth urged her to take a little more water, and did not leave until she saw her sister settled to rest once more.
∞∞∞
Elizabeth found the quiet of the drawing-room a shield from the presence of Mr. Bingley’s sisters, and so she was content to spend the morning there. She applied herself to her needlework, a task she often found soothing, while the steady scratch of Mr. Darcy’s pen and the occasional rustle from Mr. Bingley’s stack of correspondence provided the only interruptions. Mr. Hurst, as ever, dozed in his chair, undisturbed by the faint noises about him. Twice, Elizabeth slipped away to look in on Jane and was relieved each time to find her sister sleeping, her mind recalling Mr. Jones’s opinion that rest was the surest physic for any ailment. Yet, even amidst the stillness, Elizabeth could not ignore an increasing awareness of Mr. Darcy’s presence, the quiet lending it a peculiar force.
Mr. Darcy’s defence of her was never far from her thoughts, and her needlepoint suffered for it. She pricked her finger, and in her vexation looked up from the offending stitch—only to find his eyes upon her. He held her gaze a moment longer than propriety dictated, then set down his pen and approached her chair.
“Your work is remarkably neat, Miss Elizabeth,” he said. “My sister is accomplished in many things, but the backs of her pieces are always quite disorderly. I believe if you were to display the back of your work, I could not tell that it was not intentional.”
Elizabeth looked up at him, surprised. “You are too kind, sir, I am sure. And Miss Darcy is very young, I understand, so I daresay she will improve and surpass me with a few more years of instruction.”
Mr. Darcy smiled at this, a rare and unexpected sight that took Elizabeth aback. “I do not know if that shall be the case. Miss Darcy does detest needlework above all things and will likely give up such instruction as soon as is allowed.”
Elizabeth laughed. “Then I shall not fear being surpassed in this, at least. A reluctant student rarely outshines one who enjoys the task. Yet, as you said before, one cannot accomplish everything. If half of what Miss Bingley claims about your sister’s talents in other areas is correct, then she is making better use of her time in perfecting her skills elsewhere.”
To this, Mr. Darcy offered no reply, but gave a slight bow and returned to his letter.
∞∞∞
When the gentlemen were done with their correspondence and Mr. Bingley’s sisters had returned downstairs, it was already midday. Miss Bingley began immediately to question her brother about his intention of hosting a ball.
“I am quite serious, Caroline. We have been hosted by a dozen families in this area, some doing so more than once. We must repay their kindness. It is no less than our duty,” was his response.
“I would advise you, before you determine on it, to consult the wishes of the present party; I am much mistaken if there are not some among us to whom a ball would be rather a punishment than a pleasure.”
“If you mean Darcy,” cried her brother, “he may go to bed, if he chooses, before it begins—but as for the ball, it is quite a settled thing; and as soon as Nicholls has made enough white soup, I shall send round my cards.”
Miss Bingley declared, “I should like balls infinitely better if they were carried on in a different manner, but there is something insufferably tedious in the usual process of such a meeting. It would surely be much more rational if conversation instead of dancing were made the order of the day.”
“Much more rational, my dear Caroline, I dare say, but it would not be near so much like a ball.”
Miss Bingley made no answer, and soon afterwards she got up and walked about the room. Her figure was elegant, and she walked well, but Darcy, at whom it was all aimed, had his attention fixed upon his book. In desperation, she requested that Elizabeth join her in a turn about the room. Although surprised, Elizabeth agreed. Miss Bingley succeeded in her goal, for Mr. Darcy looked up; the sight of Miss Bingley and Miss Elizabeth walking together was so unexpected that he set aside his book entirely.
“Will you not join us, Mr. Darcy?” asked Miss Bingley after a moment.
“As I can imagine but two motives for your choosing to walk up and down the room together, I shall not, as my presence would interfere with either,” was his reply.
“What can he mean by that?” Miss Bingley asked Elizabeth in a loud whisper. “I am simply dying to know. Do you take his meaning, Miss Bennet?”
“Not at all,” was her answer, “but depend upon it, he means to be severe on us, and our surest way of disappointing him will be to ask nothing about it.”
Yet Miss Bingley was incapable of disappointing Mr. Darcy in anything and therefore persisted in her demand for an explanation of the two motives.
“I have not the smallest objection to explaining them,” said he, as soon as she allowed him to speak. “You either choose this method of passing the evening because you are in each other’s confidence, and have secret affairs to discuss, or because you are conscious that your figures appear to the greatest advantage in walking; if the first, I would be completely in your way, and if the second, I can admire you much better as I sit by the fire.”
“Oh! shocking!” cried Miss Bingley. “I never heard anything so abominable. How shall we punish him for such a speech?”
Stunned by the web of thoughts her mind had spun—connecting Mr. Darcy’s words now to those she had previously overheard—Elizabeth did not respond until Miss Bingley repeated her question.
