by P. O. Dixon
It did not take very long before Fitzwilliam Darcy’s attention toward Miss Bingley faded, for he left her standing in the same place where she had originally accosted him. Elizabeth’s stomach fluttered for a moment or two when the gentleman appeared to be headed in her direction. She exhaled inside when, in fact, he made an about turn in Jane’s direction.
This time she smiled. Everything is progressing exactly as it ought to this evening.
Her joy was short lived, however, for instead of joining Jane and her companions, the gentleman went to another part of the room, picked up the book he had been reading the evening before and progressed through the pages until he came upon the place he had left off. If his intention had been to escape Miss Bingley, then he had failed miserably for she would not be deterred. She also had a book at her disposal, no doubt in anticipation of such an occasion, and she went to where the gentleman sat.
Miss Bingley’s attention was quite as much engaged in watching Mr. Darcy’s progress through his book as in reading her own, and she was perpetually either making some inquiry on the story or looking at his page. She could not, however, succeed in engaging him in any meaningful conversation. He merely answered her questions in monosyllables and resumed reading.
At length, quite exhausted by her half-hearted attempt to amuse herself with her own book, Miss Bingley declared, “How pleasant it is to spend an evening in this way!”
Elizabeth found that she could not deny the truth of those words. She would have preferred it if Fitzwilliam Darcy was the one sitting next to her sister, encouraging her smiles. However, watching him ignore Miss Bingley was a fitting alternative.
In response to her sitting companion’s continuing inattentiveness, Miss Bennet said, “I declare after all there is no enjoyment like reading. How much sooner one tires of anything than of a book. When I have a house of my own, I shall be miserable if I have not an excellent library. Indeed, nothing short of a library, the likes of the one here at Pemberley will do.”
When absolutely no one in the room made a reply, she tossed aside her book and cast her eyes about the room in her search for amusement. She stood and waltzed across the floor. Despite her elegant figure, her fashionable satin gown, and her graceful air, she failed once again to garner Mr. Darcy’s attention, which was no doubt her primary aim. Not once did he tear his eyes away from his book.
Sensing a different approach was warranted, Miss Bingley drifted over to where Elizabeth sat. “Miss Eliza Bennet, let me persuade you to follow my example and take a turn about the room. I assure you it is wonderfully refreshing after sitting so long in one attitude.”
Although surprised that Miss Bingley would single her out when she might just as easily have prevailed on her sister, Elizabeth immediately agreed to the request. Miss Bingley’s self-satisfied expression attested to her triumph for not only did Mr. Darcy look up, but he also closed his book. Assuming an entirely different attitude, he crossed one long leg over the other and proceeded to gaze at the two ladies.
“Would you care to join us, Mr. Darcy?” Miss Bingley asked.
“I think not.” He replied before further remarking he could imagine but two motives for their choosing to walk up and down the room together, with either of which motives his joining them would interfere.
She laughed coquettishly. “Whatever can the gentleman mean in suggesting such a thing, Miss Eliza?”
Not wishing to be a party in whatever game the lady was playing with the gentleman, Elizabeth said nothing at all.
“Your silence on this matter simply will not do.”
“Surely as intimate as you are with the gentleman, you will have no hesitation in appealing to him directly,” Elizabeth responded.
“On behalf of Miss Eliza as well as myself, I insist you elaborate further on our supposed motives, sir.”
“Indeed. You either chose this method of passing the evening because you are in each other’s confidence, and you have secret affairs to discuss, or 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 from here.”
“How shocking!” cried Miss Bingley. “I never heard anything so abominable. How shall we punish him for such a speech?”
“Tease him. Laugh at him.” Elizabeth shrugged. “Again, as intimate as the two of you are, you must know how it is to be done.”
Aghast, the young lady said, “If you suppose that laughing at Mr. Darcy is the best thing to do, then you do not know him so well as I had suspected.”
“Mr. Darcy is not to be laughed at!” cried Elizabeth. “I truly hope you are speaking in jest, for it would pain me deeply to suffer such an acquaintance. I dearly love a laugh.”
“It appears, Mr. Darcy, that Miss Eliza has identified what she perceives as a defect in your character—one that renders you wanting.”
“I am afraid you have attributed sentiments to me that are wanting. Follies and nonsense, whims and inconsistencies, do divert me, I own, and I laugh at them whenever I can. However, I hope I never ridicule what is wise and good.”
The gentleman regarded Elizabeth intently—as though she was the only person in the room. “There is, I believe, in every disposition a tendency to some particular evil—a natural defect which not even the best education can overcome. My own defect is not that I am not to be laughed at, but rather my inability to forgive someone who has used me poorly. My good opinion once lost, is lost forever.”
“You have chosen your defect wisely, sir.”
He approached her directly. His eyes pored over her from head to toe. “And now it is your turn. Pray, what is your defect, Miss Elizabeth?” he inquired. “I dearly hope it is not a willingness to misunderstand, for I should hate to find myself in the unenviable position of having garnered the disapprobation of a young lady of your discerning taste.”
Fearing every eye in the room was trained on the two of them, it was Elizabeth’s turn to be amazed by the gentleman’s speech, for what could be his purpose in declaring such a bold assertion in front of the entire party?
“Shall I play something for you, Mr. Darcy?” Miss Bingley intervened, no doubt, tired of a conversation in which she had no share. “Louisa, you will not mind my waking Mr. Hurst?”
“I shall not put forth the smallest of objection. A little music is exactly what this evening lacks,” replied Mrs. Hurst, standing and crossing the room. “In fact, I should like very much to accompany you.” With that, Miss Bingley sashayed away, and the instrument was opened.
Whatever was Fitzwilliam Darcy’s opinion on the deliberate diversion on the part of Miss Bingley, Elizabeth could not say. As for her own sentiments, she was not sorry for it, for she did not only see but she also felt, deep inside of her, the danger of teasing such a man, especially while in the company of others.
Chapter 14
Handsome Gentleman
Elizabeth folded her latest letter from home and placed it in the top drawer of her writing table along with all the others she had received since arriving at Pemberley. The letters from her younger sister Mary, more often than not, were filled with platitudes and an abundance of multiple syllable words that flowed well and evidenced her sister’s dedication to the art of composing letters, but did not do very much to satisfy Elizabeth’s curiosity about what was happening in Meryton among their friends and neighbors. At least Mary wrote, which was more than she could say about her two youngest sisters, Kitty and Lydia. Not that Elizabeth expected it for the two of them could rarely be bothered by anything that did not directly affect their own chances for gaiety. Then there were the letters from her mother remarking upon every word that Elizabeth had written to her that had anything in the slightest to do with the members of the Pemberley party.
“What is Lady Catherine de Bourgh really like?
“Are the aristocrats all that different from the rest of us?”
But even more than that, her mother wanted to k
now more about the single gentlemen. Of Jane’s ability to secure the younger Mr. Darcy’s affections, Mrs. Bennet had no doubt for she always was certain that her eldest daughter could not have been so beautiful for no reason. But what of the handsome gentleman from the North, whom apparently Jane had also mentioned in her letters?
“Is he as rich as Mr. Darcy will one day be with the passing of his father?
“Is he engaged to another, or is he in want of a wife?”
Her mother would further decry that if the gentleman was not single, what difference did anything having to do with him matter? And if he is in want of a wife, which was indeed her hope, then Elizabeth must do everything in her power to garner his notice and, eventually, his affections.
Mrs. Bennet’s desire to know more about Mr. Darcy’s cousin was equally heightened. The son of an earl, even a second son, was no small prize. He, after all, was wise enough to have obtained a commission in the military, which was really something in Mrs. Bennet’s way of thinking.
“Is he handsome?” she had asked in her first letter. “Oh, what did that matter?” she had subsequently responded and further amended by way of a question in the very next line: “More importantly, is he single?”
The occasional citation of how it might have been so much better if her Lydia had gone to Pemberley in Elizabeth’s stead had to be mentioned, for surely she would know how to act in the company of a young man in want of a wife. There were detailed instructions on how Elizabeth should comport herself toward that endeavor, which always completed her mother’s missives. By the third or fourth letter, Elizabeth comfortably skipped those parts having committed her mother’s not always so helpful advice fully to heart.
What would she do without Charlotte was always Elizabeth’s question to herself upon finishing letters from her mother? Charlotte’s letters, she always saved for last and upon occasion read them more than once. Such sensible correspondence could also be relied upon from her aunt in London, a Mrs. Madeline Gardiner, who was the wife of her mother’s brother. A fashionable woman of education and intelligence, she was one of the few people in her family of whom Elizabeth could only find reasons to admire, which was really saying something for despite their share of faults, Elizabeth was not wont to criticize her relations, at least not aloud. She could only imagine how her aunt would regard the Pemberley party, especially the Bingley sisters.
Perhaps on the occasion of a particular blessed event, I shall find out, Elizabeth considered. How wonderful it would be to walk about the lanes of Pemberley arm in arm with my favorite aunt in the not so distant future. She prayed her mother was correct in her estimation of Jane’s prospects. What a wonderful thing that would be indeed.
Chapter 15
Inexplicable Yearning
Elizabeth and Jane were enjoying a walk about the garden, arm in arm, contemplating the events of the day ahead. At last, after several weeks had passed since their arrival at Pemberley, they were to meet young Miss Georgiana Darcy.
Elizabeth did not know which of the two of them suffered the greater share of anticipation over the pending occasion, her sister or herself. For Jane’s part, Elizabeth desperately hoped the meeting would go exceedingly well. Having had a chance to walk with Mr. Darcy quite by chance on more than a few early morning occasions, Elizabeth had grown even more aware of what making a favorable impression on his young sister would mean to the gentleman himself. Of course, she need not worry as much as she did. From all she had surmised during her talks with Mr. Darcy, his sister would love Jane very much.
On the other hand, the gentleman had given hints that his sister was just as eager to meet Elizabeth as she was to meet Jane. Elizabeth could hardly imagine why that might be. As best she could tell, what possible difference could it make? Then she began to consider that perhaps the young lady was simply looking forward to the day when Jane might be mistress of Pemberley … that and the general expectation that Elizabeth would remain at Pemberley for the unforeseeable future as Jane accustomed herself to her new station in life.
No doubt such an occasion would afford Miss Darcy and me prodigious opportunity to spend time in each other’s company. Indeed, it is essential that we get along very well.
Upon examining their watches, the Bennet sisters retraced their path in haste to return to the manor house to meet Miss Georgiana Darcy. Much to their delight, they were to have a private meeting with the young woman, which again gave Elizabeth to wonder. Part of gauging the young woman’s character, in Elizabeth’s mind, was seeing how she got along with Miss Bingley. Were the two ladies truly as fond of each other as the latter boasted? If they were, then Elizabeth was certain it would be a consideration on how she would act and how her sister ought to act as well.
Shortly thereafter, Jane and Elizabeth were sitting in the drawing room when the doors swung open and in walked Fitzwilliam Darcy, accompanied by an angelic young creature whose bright eyes and golden hair immediately summoned a younger incarnation of her own dear sister Jane. The two sisters exchanged the briefest of glances—a silent affirmation of sorts that they were of the same mind.
Once the formidable introductions were over, Elizabeth was at liberty to sit back and observe her own sister engage with the young lady she might one day know as her sister’s sister-in-law. Miss Darcy was tall, and although little more than six and ten, her figure was formed and her appearance, womanly and graceful. The young woman was less handsome than her brother, but there was sense and good humor in her face, and her manners were perfectly unassuming and gentle.
A few minutes’ observation persuaded Elizabeth that young Miss Darcy was exceedingly shy. Indeed, she found it difficult to obtain even a word from her beyond a monosyllable.
Elizabeth was not unaware of the way Mr. Darcy observed his sister interacting with Jane and her. Judging by his smiles, he was pleased with all that he saw. Thoroughly comforted by his unspoken approval, she breathed a sigh of relief, for this must all mean something good for her sister.
The four of them had not been together for very long before Elizabeth was absolutely convinced that Miss Georgiana Darcy was nothing at all like Miss Bingley. No—the two of them could not possibly be intimate acquaintances. Miss Georgiana was like the sun, capable of bringing warmth and comfort to anyone’s day. It was no wonder that her older brother doted on her so. Miss Bingley, on the other hand, had the sort of character that dampened even the brightest day and in the worse possible way. Elizabeth wondered at even her own brother’s ability to tolerate her for very long stretches of time before having his fill of her unpleasantness.
As though thinking of Bingley was enough to summon his presence, before long the amiable gentleman strode into the room. Elizabeth could honestly say that Miss Darcy seemed genuinely pleased to see her older brother’s friend. Surely there was some affection of a long standing between the two of them. Elizabeth did not have very long to contemplate the true extent of their esteem for one another, for the manner in which her own sister’s countenance overspread with joyous delight took Elizabeth quite by surprise.
If she noticed the change in her sister’s demeanor, then certainly Mr. Darcy noticed it too. Looking at him in wonder, she detected no symptom whatsoever of concern.
Is it simply a matter of knowing and trusting his friend so well, or does he simply not care?
Before she could tear her gaze away from the gentleman in search of answers to unasked questions, their eyes met. Elizabeth’s heart slammed against her chest as it often did when he looked at her that way. As much as she wished to remain in the room and spend more time getting acquainted with young Miss Darcy, she did not know that she could. A sudden inexplicable yearning to be alone with Fitzwilliam Darcy was more than she could bear.
Elizabeth made some excuse of needing to be elsewhere while encouraging the others not to suspend their pleasure on her behalf and escaped the room in haste. Once she was outside the door and assured of her privacy, she braced herself against an opposite wall, clos
ed her eyes and breathed in deeply. Her eyes still closed, she exhaled.
What on Earth has come over me?
Opening her eyes, she was caught completely off guard for she was no longer alone.
“Mr. Darcy!”
“Pray you are all right, Miss Elizabeth?””
Her heart pounding, Elizabeth did not know how to look or how to feel. Did his following me arouse the suspicions of the others?
“Are you ill?” He asked, taking her hand in his. In an instant, he seized the other. “Your hands are cold. Pray accompany me inside,” he gestured toward the closed door just a few feet from where they stood. “I shall get you a glass of wine.”
Conflicted as to whether to accept or decline his request, she said nothing at first. This growing longing inside of her for the man who was meant for her sister was taking its toll on her sensibilities. Perhaps I ought to accept his offer of a glass of wine, she silently considered. Anything that will calm the warring sentiments in my mind and quell the bewildering bevy of sensations coursing through every fiber of my being.
“The blue room is seldom used. I shall pour a glass of wine for you, and once I am certain you are well, I shall leave you to your leisure. No one need know you and I were ever alone, if that is what concerns you. Need I remind you, you are safe with me.”
She may be safe with him, for he was, in every way that mattered, the consummate gentleman, but would he be so gallant if he were privy to her private thoughts? If he had the slightest hint of all the liberties she allowed him even if in her mind? Even if she was not quite certain of his intentions toward her sister, of one thing Elizabeth was absolutely certain, and that was that she had Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy’s good opinion.
Would he think as highly of me as his behavior toward me portends if he knew the depth of my unspoken longing for him?
