“Oh, but of course—Georgiana has an excellent knowledge of drawing and singing, music and dancing; she is well versed in the modern languages and, despite her tender years, she is already in possession of a great elegance in her air and manner of walking, in her address and her expressions. Those are all necessary qualities in a truly accomplished woman, do you not agree, Mr Darcy?”
He looked amused. “You appear to have given the matter much thought and have compiled a definitive list.”
“Surely no woman can be deemed accomplished without also adding something more substantial in the improvement of her mind by extensive reading,” Elizabeth spoke up indignantly. She flushed as the other two looked her way, realising that she had made them aware of her presence for the first time. She had spoken without intention and now regretted her impulse, but it was too late. Mr Darcy and his companion were eyeing her keenly, the former with a look of quiet amusement and the latter with a scowl of displeasure. Elizabeth felt obliged to make her way over to join them.
“I believe you may be right, Miss Bennet,” said Darcy, giving her a small bow as she approached and bestowing a smile on her that could almost have been called teasing. She was surprised by the change such a smile brought to his features. His dark eyes betrayed a twinkle of humour and his countenance lost its forbidding mien.
“We thought you had retired to bed, Miss Bennet,” said Miss Bingley coldly.
“That is my design, but I felt the need for a book to soothe my restless mind.”
“Allow me to recommend this volume, madam. I believe you would find it excessively diverting,” said Darcy, handing Elizabeth the book that he had been holding.
“Why, thank you, sir,” said Elizabeth with some surprise, taking it and adding it to the books already in her arms.
Caroline Bingley’s face grew pinched and sour. “And I, sir? What would you recommend for me?”
Darcy made her a small bow. “You’ll excuse me, but I have no other recommendations at present.”
“I shall take the second volume by the same author,” said Caroline Bingley quickly, pulling the aforementioned title from the shelf.
A sudden force rattled the windows of the library and all three of them looked up sharply. Rain lashed at the windowpanes and the wind howled outside. It appeared that the storm had returned to Hertfordshire—and returned with a vengeance.
“Will we be quite safe, do you think, Mr Darcy?” asked Caroline Bingley, drawing closer to him than propriety warranted.
If she had been hoping to elicit any tender solicitude on his part, however, she was sorely disappointed for he merely stepped away from her with a careless remark about the effects of the storm being greatly exaggerated. Elizabeth hid a smile as she saw Miss Bingley’s chagrined face.
The lady must have caught an inkling of Elizabeth’s amusement, however, for she turned and said with a sneer, “Pray, Miss Bennet, will your partiality for wild country rambles tempt you into venturing out in such weather? I believe the muddy delights on offer should be more than enough to satisfy even so great a walker as yourself!”
“Rest assured, Miss Bingley—while I am a great admirer of stormy landscapes, I am content to view them at a distance, from the comfort and safety of shelter,” said Elizabeth. “In this respect, it is fortunate that we have the works of such great painters as Claude-Joseph Vernet, is it not? He enables us to enjoy the harmony and savagery of nature, without the need to partake of such experiences in the person.”
“You are familiar with the works of Vernet?” asked Darcy, looking at Elizabeth with new respect.
“Yes, though I lament that I have only had the opportunity to view a few of his paintings. But his seascape, A Shipwreck in Stormy Seas, remains one of my favourites,” said Elizabeth, smiling as she warmed to her subject. “I believe he depicts the natural effects of atmosphere on the landscape uncommonly well.”
“He does, indeed,” agreed Darcy. “There is no other artist who can render a landscape or seascape so well; to draw on natural themes so successfully without unnecessary sentimentality. I was so fortunate as to view some of his works in Rome during my Grand Tour.”
“Oh, I have always felt it excessively unjust that the Grand Tour should be confined to gentlemen!” exclaimed Elizabeth. “I should dearly love to experience the great examples of art and music readily available on the Continent, but I fear that I shall never gain the opportunity.”
“Perhaps that is a deficiency that can be remedied on your honeymoon,” said Darcy with a smile. “An extended trip to Europe after the wedding is quite the fashion these days and I have no doubt that your future husband would be amenable to anything that could ensure your happiness.”
For some reason she could not comprehend, Elizabeth felt her heart beat faster as she looked up into Darcy’s eyes. She coloured and looked away. What could he mean by such remarks? Perhaps he meant to tease her—after all, he must realise that such travel on honeymoons was only undertaken by those of large fortune, and with her lack of prospects, her chances of making a good match with a man of the necessary means would be poor. Indeed, it was uncharitable of him to suggest a pleasure she could have little hope in experiencing. And yet Elizabeth did not feel that Darcy had spoken in jest. There had been a pensiveness in his tone, when he had spoken of her possible future nuptials, which puzzled her exceedingly.
She was also astonished at his sudden loquacity and the general gallantry of his behaviour towards her, during her time in the library. It was hard to equate this knowledgeable, entertaining companion with the same proud, taciturn man who had barely uttered two words to her earlier. Elizabeth was surprised to discover that Mr Darcy could be charming. Caroline Bingley must have felt the change too and resented the development of a conversation in which she had no part, for she stepped quickly between them and said brightly:
“Er… shall we remove to the drawing room? The lighting there may be more conducive to reading.”
“Thank you, but I shall return to my own chamber now.” Elizabeth indicated the books in her arms. “I have that which I came for, and my bed beckons.” She curtsied, then left the library, aware of a pair of dark eyes belonging to a certain gentleman following her out of the room.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Elizabeth was disappointed, upon returning to her room, to see the selection of books she had gained from her foray downstairs. The titles she had chosen at random from the shelf were a treatise on successful apiculture and a volume of essays by a Dutch navigator and explorer. Neither appealed. She turned hopefully, instead, to the book that Mr Darcy had given her and settled on that. After several minutes of reading, however, she was dismayed to discover that it was a volume by the German poet, Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, whose tales of supernatural horror sent uneasy chills down her spine. It was not in her general disposition to focus on the morbid and the paranoid, and under normal circumstances, Mr Darcy would have been quite right in supposing that she would have found such a book enjoyable. In the present circumstances, however, sitting there alone in her room, with the moaning of the wind outside, and the creaking and sighing that accompanied any old house such as Netherfield, Elizabeth could not prevent her mind from meandering down more fanciful pathways.
Eventually she laid the volume aside and stood up, impatient with her own imagined fears. A sense of oppressive gloom filled the room and her head was throbbing with a headache again. Elizabeth went to the window in search of some fresh air and tried in vain to slide the sash open. It appeared that the window frame was jammed and no amount of shaking and shoving would move it.
Desperate now for some relief from her headache and convinced of the benefits of a refreshing breeze, Elizabeth considered her options. She was still fully dressed and strongly disposed to undertake a short excursion outdoors. She recalled Caroline Bingley’s taunting words in the library, and hesitated—then reminded herself that she was not proposing to go for a walk about the countryside, simply to step outside for a moment
to partake of some fresh air.
Elizabeth opened her bedroom door slightly and peered out into the hallway. The house seemed quiet now and most of the residents were abed. It could do little harm, she reasoned, to venture outdoors for a brief excursion. No one need ever know.
Her mind made up, Elizabeth slipped on her pelisse and left the room, making her way softly down the stairs. She was relieved to find that the servants had left a few sconces burning, which enabled her to find her way easily through the main part of the house. An attempt to leave the house via the locked front doors would undoubtedly cause the kind of noise and commotion she would like to avoid, so Elizabeth decided to try the back servants’ entrance. Surely this would be left more accessible for the servants to exit and enter as they went about their duties in the morning. It would likely open onto a rear courtyard, where she could stand in safety whilst enjoying the invigorating atmosphere outside.
Her supposition proved to be correct. She found the back entrance with little trouble and let herself quietly out of the house into a large rear courtyard. A gust of wind tore at her pelisse and threatened to overpower her, but Elizabeth wrapped her arms around herself and revelled in the thrill of nature’s display. The rain continued desultorily in the fashion of a few scattered drops, and high in the sky, between the dark clouds, showed a full moon, its white glare laying bare the landscape around the house.
Elizabeth drew a deep breath, filling her lungs with the cold night air, and sensing a lift in her headache. She had only intended to stand outside the door, but she found herself beginning to take a few steps along the flagstone pathway before she realised what she was doing. Perhaps the ordeal of the day—confined in the house with the tensions and dramas of the drawing room—had been greater than she realised, and her unconscious mind longed for the soothing activity of a walk to lift her spirits. There could be no harm in walking to the edge of the courtyard, where it joined the south wing of the house, and then returning directly, she decided. The exercise would prove beneficial and help to ensure a restful night’s sleep. So thinking, Elizabeth hastened her steps and made for the south corner of the house.
As she approached her destination, however, she was tempted to wander a bit farther and finding before her a narrow avenue between two hedgerows, she continued along this path. She was leaving the vicinity of the house now and its attendant lamps, but thankfully the light from the moon provided enough illumination to guide her steps safely. In any case, it was a short avenue and she soon came upon a small grove with a stone statue of a Greek cherub in the centre. What was curious was that someone had placed a small posy of white violets in the outspread hands of the cherub.
Elizabeth looked at it in surprise, wondering why anyone would place such a thing there. It looked fresh, as if it had been left there recently. She was just about to reach out and pick up the posy when an eerie scream rent the air, so loud and shocking it seemed to pierce into her very bones.
She gasped and whirled, then before she knew what she was doing, her feet were moving, running, carrying her back up the avenue towards the safety of the house. Just as Elizabeth exited the avenue, she suffered another shock when she nearly collided with a dark figure about to enter the avenue. Her surprise was so great that she cried out in alarm. In the confusion of the wind and rain, a wave of terror overcame her as she felt strong hands grip her shoulders.
Elizabeth was not one given to easy fears and her innate common sense and humorous appreciation of the absurd had provided her a strong basis of courage to face any situation. But any young lady would be forgiven in such circumstances to feel the natural fear of encountering a stranger alone. She fought the grip on her shoulders and managed to pull free, but she had barely run a few more steps towards the house before she felt the tall figure next to her again. He overtook her, barring her way, and she drew her breath to scream—but was checked by the genteel tones of the stranger.
“Please! I beg you, madam—do not scream.”
Elizabeth paused in surprise as she found herself gazing upon a most handsome countenance. She beheld a young man with dark hair, dressed in a black cape and scarlet coat, which brought to mind an officer’s uniform, though it was clear that this man was no member of the militia. She was keenly aware of the danger of being out here, alone, with this dark stranger. It was difficult, however, to be genuinely afraid, for the man presented such a dashing spectacle. He swept her a gallant bow and offered a charming smile as he tipped his hat.
“Be not alarmed, madam, for I mean you no harm. I would beg you not to alert others to my presence. Scenes may arise which would be painful to all. I am but visiting briefly and will be departing directly.”
“I… I have no wish to detain you, sir,” stammered Elizabeth.
“I am much obliged, ma’am.” The young man gave her another engaging smile, then with a swirl of his cape, he was gone into the night.
Elizabeth stood looking wonderingly after him for several long moments before she realised that the rain had turned heavy again and her pelisse was no protection against the drenching downpour. Turning hastily, she started back across the courtyard towards the back door of the house, only to be brought up short again as the sky flashed suddenly with white light.
Elizabeth gasped as the lightening was followed by a crack of thunder and glanced skywards. Her gaze moved involuntarily from the sky to the upper windows of the house which overlooked the courtyard. She felt the breath catch in her throat as she glimpsed a face against a windowpane and, for the second time that evening, drew her breath to scream before she realised that there was a familiarity to those noble features.
They belonged to none other than Mr Darcy.
He gazed down at her, his dark eyes hooded and his expression inscrutable. From his vantage point, he would have a view of the entire courtyard and grounds surrounding the house. Had he seen her interlude with the stranger?
Unwilling to think further, Elizabeth lowered her gaze and bent her head against the rain as she hurried back into the house. Shaking the drops of water from her hair and pelisse, she hastened up the stairs, grateful that she did not encounter anyone along the way. As she made her way back to her bedchamber, Elizabeth wondered about the stranger she had met. She recalled Lydia’s descriptions of the dashing highwayman whose charm was legendary—and she remembered the stranger’s handsome countenance and the flamboyant gallantry of his bow.
Could that have been Wicked George? But if so, what was he doing here?
Though she was aware of the danger attendant upon such a meeting with an infamous highwayman, Elizabeth did not believe herself to have been in any great peril. Indeed, she had almost felt herself charmed by the brief encounter! Her head full of questions, she undressed and prepared for bed with hardly a thought of what she was doing. But the fresh air and invigoration must have had the desired effect, for Elizabeth had scarcely laid her head upon her pillow when she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The storm had abated again by the time Elizabeth was ready to go down to breakfast the following morning, though the skies remained grey and overcast. She had been to see Jane first thing and made sure that her sister was comfortable, and she would have liked to remain in the bedroom and take breakfast there. But courtesy demanded that she make an effort to join her hosts. However much she disliked the Bingley sisters, Elizabeth owed a debt of gratitude to the master of the house and she knew that one small way to repay him would be to give him the pleasure of a satisfactory report on Jane’s recovery.
When Elizabeth presented herself in the breakfast parlour, she was immediately met by Bingley’s anxious questions with regards to her sister’s health. She was able to answer favourably and took great pleasure in seeing the gentleman’s happiness. She was then thankful to Bingley’s attentive care as she was seated at the table, which was laid with tea and coffee, chocolate, pound cake, hot rolls, cold rolls, butter, and toast. She noticed Caroline Bingley exchanging mean
ingful looks with her sister, but she strove to ignore their behaviour, convinced that they were engaging in nothing but idle malice.
As she began to spread some preserves on a roll, however, Miss Bingley suddenly leaned forwards and said loudly:
“Miss Bennet, I confess myself surprised. I know of your independent spirit and your inclination to flout convention, but I had not thought you as bold as this!”
Elizabeth looked at her in bemusement. “I beg your pardon, Miss Bingley? I am at a loss to understand your meaning.”
“Why, I speak of your midnight walk, of course!” said Miss Bingley. “I have it on good authority that you ventured out last night, well past the time when everyone had retired to bed.”
Elizabeth felt her cheeks reddening. She did not think that anyone had been made aware of her nocturnal escapade except for Mr Darcy. She darted a look at that gentleman, but he appeared to be engrossed in stirring his cup of coffee and did not meet her eyes.
“I confess, I did venture out briefly,” said Elizabeth. “I had the headache and I anticipated that a bit of fresh air would revive me. I did not think I was in any great danger—I stayed within close proximity to the house and simply took a short stroll about the rear courtyard.”
Bingley exclaimed upon hearing of her ailment and hurried to add his good wishes for her health.
“Do not make yourself uneasy, Mr Bingley,” said Elizabeth quickly. “It was but a trifling headache and quickly dispersed. I was right in my estimation that the fresh air would provide some relief. I returned to my bedroom directly.”
“Ah… but I believe there is some part of your adventure that you are not sharing with us, Miss Bennet,” said Caroline Bingley slyly.
Elizabeth coloured even more and cast another look at the tall gentleman at the other end of the table. Again, she could discern no reaction from Mr Darcy. Had he told the party of his covert observations?
The Netherfield Affair Page 4
