by Meg Osborne
He did not wish for things to go on precisely as they did before. How could they, now that he began to acknowledge just what Elizabeth Bennet had come to mean to him? He would not go back to denying her beauty or her good character.
He felt himself under scrutiny and when he glanced up saw Caroline Bingley regarding him with a bitter expression on her usually elegant features. His heart pounded, for it seemed to him, at that moment, as if she deduced, better than her brother, the true nature of Darcy’s thoughts, and he sought swiftly to change the subject.
“Did you speak of taking a turn about the grounds? I am at my ease, now, so perhaps I will accompany you. I dare say you are eager to see your estate again after so many weeks parted from it...”
Chapter Eight
“And Jane...that is, Miss Bennet, is she well?” Charles had asked this question, or some variation of it, at least three times in just the short time he and Darcy had been walking. Darcy nodded, for once not tiring of his friend’s enthusiasm over the fate of Miss Jane Bennet’s health. How had he thought Charles’ evident affection mere infatuation? His friend did not only admire Jane Bennet’s beauty but seemed to truly care for her, perhaps love her. Was it possible to form such a strong attachment after so short a time of acquaintance?
It has been possible for you, has it not? The bright, knowing voice of his sister rang through his mind again. He must surely make his way back to Pemberley before too long, for he must miss Georgiana more than he realised to be perpetually conjuring her voice with his own imagination, to plague him and remind him of facts that he was only too grudgingly aware of. Yes, he saw his own feelings for Elizabeth Bennet mirrored in Charles’ evident affection for her sister, and so he could no more deny Charles the details he craved than he could deny himself the pleasant recollection of how Elizabeth’s features had lightened when she recognised him on the road that morning, how they had walked together and talked as naturally as if they were old friends, or perhaps more than friends!
He started, and Charles ceased his interrogation into the specifics of Jane Bennet’s appearance and character long enough to inquire into it.
“Did you slip?”
“No, indeed!” Darcy grumbled, hurriedly beginning to walk once more and throwing a half-hearted glance over his shoulder. “I only think we ought to wait for your sister, Charles. It is hardly fair for us to go striding off together and leave her to walk alone.”
“Oh.” Charles looked a little crestfallen, but he rallied quickly. “Yes, you are quite right. Caro, I am sorry, dear. Here, take my arm, for it is icy underfoot and I dread to think of you falling and doing yourself some injury.”
“Thank you,” she said, shooting a haughty glance at Darcy as if disappointed that it had not been he, but her brother, who offered his arm. Darcy felt convicted, but before he had turned towards her, she slipped her hand stiffly into the crock of Charles’ elbow and the party began once more to walk, albeit at a slower, more careful pace.
“Darcy was just telling me how he found the Bennets upon his visits to them. You have called on them three times, did not you say?”
“Twice,” Darcy corrected, feeling a strange need to clarify under Caroline’s withering stare. “The third was today, and I saw Miss Elizabeth only. Our paths happened to cross as I went to examine the road to assess its suitability for travelling.”
He cleared his throat, wondering if he ought to assert that it was on that very occasion that their own carriage had almost run him over, and Elizabeth with him, but there was some strange glint in Caroline’s eyes that reminded him of a cat. He fancied if he mentioned it at all she would pounce, and, purely because she seemed to dare him to speak, he did not, changing the subject so that she might feel more included in their conversation.
“You have not told me anything about your own Christmas in London, Charles. Miss Bingley, I trust you are well recovered from your bout of ill health?”
“Oh!” Caroline’s features lifted in surprised, before softening into a simpering smile. “Oh, yes. You are so very kind to remember, Mr Darcy, and to ask after me. Why, I have always thought you a kindest and most caring friend of my brother’s. I am touched to know you thought of me at all!”
I did not, Darcy almost blurted, clamping his lips closed at just the right moment. He did not wish to offend Caroline by brushing off her compliment, but her words were so effusive that they made it sound as if, rather than making a polite enquiry into the health of his friend’s sister, he had spent the season pining for the absent Caroline Bingley purely because he cared for her. Which I do not, he realised, blinking. Oh, he admired her for her accomplishments, of which there were many. He owed her a debt of chivalry and allegiance because of his affection for Charles. But beyond that, she was little more than a stranger to him. He had not missed her over Christmas. He had scarcely thought of her at all. And, if he had wondered about her health, it was merely idle curiosity as to how long she had spun her affectation of illness, for he had been certain, though he would never say as much aloud, that it had been entirely fabricated with the intention of keeping her brother at her side, his attention fixed on her, rather than on Hertfordshire and the young woman he had left behind.
“Yes, we had quite a quiet Christmas,” Charles said, rubbing his nose. “Although you were well enough to go to the Humphreys’ party the other night, Caro, and seemed to enjoy it thoroughly.”
“Oh, well,” Caroline conceded, with an absent sniff. “One must make an effort for one’s friends. Do not you agree, Mr Darcy? I am sure that you did not wish to trek out in the ice and snow all the way to Longbourn, knowing you would be unlikely to have a very warm reception or, indeed, a suitable show of gratitude, from the Bennets. And yet you did so anyway, because you are a gentleman and so very, very kind.”
Caroline’s voice trembled a little on this last word, and she looked as if she might cry.
Darcy frowned, uncomfortable at this apparent outpouring of admiration, and he was relieved when Charles came to his aid, laughing uproariously and quite undoing his sister’s tragic expression.
“Steady on, Caro! You make it sound as if Darcy were some kind of saint. He is but a mortal, like the rest of us, and did no more than could be expected of any gentleman, when considering the fate of neighbours less well situated than you in a time of trial. Do not compliment him too much, for he does not bear praise easily. Look, both of you, does not the water of the fountain resemble a mirror? Let’s go closer and see if we can see ourselves reflected in its icy surface.”
ALTHOUGH CAROLINE APPEARED to be listening to her brother’s inanely cheerful chattering, inwardly she was fuming. Now, not only did it seem inevitable that her brother would end up married to Jane Bennet, but her suspicion was growing ever stronger that Mr Darcy was poised to pose the very same question to Elizabeth - that very evening! Well, not if she could help it.
As they neared the fountain, both gentlemen’s eyes were captured by the light glinting on the surface of the frozen water. Caroline spied her opportunity and very deftly feigned catching her toe in an uneven patch of ground. As she had hoped, Charles’ reactions were quick, but not quite quick enough, and she tumbled to the ground with all the dignity she could maintain, whilst also making her pantomime seem believable.
“Ouch! Oh no, oh dear!” She bit her lip, fixing her features into an expression of pained bravery, and landing rather more heavily than she intended.
“Caroline!” Charles exclaimed, reaching out too late to catch her.
Even Mr Darcy was called back from the fountain, and both gentlemen reached down to offer assistance. It was Mr Darcy’s arm Caroline reached for, leaning past her brother and allowing her saviour to lift her carefully to her feet.
“Oh, thank you, Mr Darcy!” she murmured, blinking back tears as she hopped on one foot. She made a show of putting the other to the ground, before rolling her eyes skywards and clutching even tighter to Mr Darcy’s arm, before he could have the chance to remove it
. “Ouch! Oh, my ankle!”
“Did you hurt it?” Charles’ voice rang with such genuine concern that Caroline felt a flicker of guilt at manipulating him in this way. She was not hurt at all, only she could not imagine either gentleman would be willing to postpone the evening without a fight, and this way, at least, she could buy herself some time. She redoubled her efforts, leaning on Mr Darcy as heavily as she dared to.
“I think I twisted it as I walked. You see that uneven patch of ground there?” Caroline cried, injecting her voice with just the right amount of tremulous forbearance. “I shall...I shall be alright, I am sure. But I shall certainly not be dancing, this or any other evening!”
She laughed, a show of bravery intended to lift her in Mr Darcy’s estimation, but the smile she received from him in return was merely polite. Concerned, yes, but concerned as a gentleman for any lady of his direct acquaintance who had suffered a misfortune. There was no hint of real feeling there.
No matter, she thought, gritting her teeth and allowing their small party to turn back towards the house. I know many men do not feel affection first. Love might come later, once we are wed...
She coloured, never having thought about it so starkly before now. Yes, she wished to marry Mr Darcy. She wished, at last, to be the young lady stepping into married life with a husband she would be envied for. Her brief sojourn in London had merely made it plain to her how many of her friends were making connections and marrying while she continued to move about the country at Charles’ beck and call. Her plan now had two goals. First, to prevent Mr Darcy from making a decision she knew he would regret, in pursuing Elizabeth Bennet and second, in winning his hand, if not his heart, for her own. She would succeed, she knew she would, if only she could begin things this evening.
“I wonder if we could find a messenger to go to Longbourn right away,” Caroline mused as if the idea had only just that moment occurred to her. “I imagine the poor Miss Bennets will be so disappointed to hear.”
“Disappointed?” Charles wrinkled his nose, then, seeing the sharp glance that Caroline had not been quick enough to prevent, smiled, encouragingly. “Oh, well, of course, dear. They will be so sorry to hear of your misfortune. But I hardly think that necessitates sending a messenger. We can tell them when they arrive.”
The blood in Caroline’s veins turned to ice.
“You cannot still mean to host them for dinner this evening?”
“Well, I do not mean to cancel it!” Charles’ laughter died away, and he coughed, suddenly serious. “That is, I will cancel it if that is what you wish...”
His voice was so wistful that Caroline knew at that moment that she was caught. If she did insist upon their cancelling the evening then she would appear churlish and bad-tempered. If not, she would be forced to sit in the corner all night and be ignored. She drew herself up to her full height and clenched her teeth together, stretching her lips into some approximation of a smile.
“No, indeed. Let us go on as planned. I would not dream of giving up the chance to see our dear friends again. Oh, Mr Darcy, do you think you could help me over the threshold - yes, oh, how kind you are. Thank you, thank you. I was so very clumsy and now I shall pay all evening for my foolishness!”
She chattered on, striving to keep her voice light and her compliments forthcoming, but Mr Darcy’s attentions to her, whilst utterly polite and correct, seemed, to Caroline, a little indifferent. He was careful to keep a respectable difference from her. He smiled, politely, at her self-deprecation but made no move to counter it. He did not even seem to acknowledge the praise she heaped on him, and whenever she chanced to release her grip on him, even a little, she sensed him pulling away from her.
Reaching the parlour, he helped her to a seat on a chaise, turning her so that she could stretch both her legs out and rest the injured ankle, while Charles hovered uselessly in the doorway.
“I suppose I ought to fetch a doctor -”
“No!”
“No.”
Darcy’s response had been perfectly calm, and he turned a surprised frown to Caroline, who had blurted out her own dismissal of Charles’ notion so quickly and desperately that she feared she had betrayed herself.
“No,” she repeated, firmly. “That is a kind thought, dear brother, but I shall be quite well here if I am permitted to rest my feet and stay warm.” She eyed a shawl that she had left, draped over a chair, and Mr Darcy noticed the look, reaching to retrieve it without her needing to ask.
“You see?” She beamed. “With such attention and care from you, Mr Darcy, I shall be better in no time. Now, shall we order tea, and make the most of the peace and quiet before our guests arrive? Here, Mr Darcy, you may sit beside me and distract me from the pain, if you would, by reading. I left a book on the chair there that I was hoping we would be afforded the opportunity to discuss and now look, Providence has done so.” She hiccupped a laugh. “Although I should not have chosen this means, myself, given half the chance...”
Chapter Nine
The first of her sisters to be ready for that evening’s outing, Lizzy crept slowly down the stairs and towards Mr Bennet’s study. The heavy oak door was closed, but that had long since ceased to be the barrier to Lizzy it remained to the rest of her sisters and her mother. She rapped smartly on the door and pushed it open before her father had even managed to call out a response.
“Ah, Lizzy!” He beamed, blinking a little ruefully at her as she tripped lightly into the room. “I do not know why you bother to knock, my dear, as you are determined to enter whether I answer or not.”
“Sorry,” Lizzy laughed, her good humour belying the word. She ran her finger along the spines of a shelf filled with books, selecting one at random, and sank into the chair opposite her father’s: the one she always thought of as being there for her own personal purposes.
“You look very pretty this evening,” Mr Bennet observed, affecting to return his attention to his work, after passing an approving glance over his second-eldest daughter. “I am aware that is the general opinion a father ought to bestow upon his daughters when they are dressed in their finery for an evening of society.” He looked up at her again and winked. “How did I do?”
“Quite believable,” Lizzy retorted, flipping her book open at random and glancing at the page as if looking for an answer to a question she had not asked aloud. “Although I could have done without the explanation. It somewhat detracts from the compliment.” She sighed, closing the book and leaning forward to drop it on an empty corner of her father’s desk.
Mr Bennet’s eyebrows lifted.
“Well, you may look ready for an evening of merriment and fine dining - remind me to enquire of Mr Bingley how he manages to maintain the services of so excellent a cook, won’t you my dear? - but you certainly do not seem excited at such a prospect. Is something the matter?” His grey eyebrows knit in genuine concern. “You are not sickening, I hope?”
“Me?” Lizzy smiled. “I have the constitution of a horse, Papa, you know that.”
Mr Bennet harrumphed, choosing not to mention at this moment that constitution was not the only thing Lizzy shared with her nemesis-creature, for she would persist in running even now when, as a fully grown lady, such practice caused her mother almost to have a fit whenever she came to hear of it.
“Then what ails you, Lizzy, dear. You may tell you dear Papa and trust that it shall not pass my lips. Nor indeed remain too long in my addled brain, I fear.” He set his papers aside and devoted his whole attention to his daughter. “I do not remember things as well as I used to, but for your sake, I shall strive to make an exception.”
Lizzy smiled, but the expression was not a convincing one and Mr Bennet waited patiently in hopes that silence would encourage his daughter to speak more effectively than inquiry would draw the answer from her. He was proved correct in his assessment, for after a long moment, Lizzy began to speak.
“Papa.” She traced a pattern with the toe of her slipper, keeping her eyes fi
xed on her task so that she might not be forced to look at her father as she spoke. She hoped that this would lend an air of whimsy and indifference to her manner, but her father was too astute for such deception. Still, he said nothing and Lizzy continued, hoping that he would not see through her entirely. “How did you know that you cared for Mama?”
“She reminds me of it every day,” he remarked, drily. “Surely you have heard her constant instructions that if I truly cared for her as any husband ought I would do this or that without her having to ask me a dozen times...” He shook his head. “Ah, but forgive me, Lizzy. You mean, I fancy, when did I first think that I cared for her? When did I decide I would make her my wife and thus begin the sparkling love story you see played out before you from dawn until dusk each day under this very roof?” His eyes glinted with fun, and Lizzy nodded, eagerly, too serious to laugh as she ordinarily would at her father’s droll response.
“Well, it was at a dinner. Not unlike this evening’s, I suppose. Oh, we had met once or twice before, of course. Danced together at an assembly, if you can believe that your decrepit father was once capable of dancing, and dancing well, I might add. No, on one particular evening we were invited to dine with some mutual friends - or rather, I was invited to dine, as was your mother and her family. I had some inkling that she might be there, or perhaps I merely hoped that she would be, for I had determined that the next opportunity I got I would speak plainly to her and see if I could deduce for myself where her heart lay. She was difficult to read, your mother, for whilst she twittered and teased me and complimented me so that my head swelled to ten times its normal size, I could not be sure she did not act in so dizzying a manner with every gentleman she met. This evening I was permitted the chance to witness her interacting with our host, a very genial fellow but a few years older than I and also, on that occasion, without a wife. Oh, she was polite, yes, but her eyes did not sparkle the way they did when she looked at me. Her jokes were rather simpler, and not at all funny, I might add, despite the way our host roared with unnecessary laughter. When, at last, we were permitted to talk, I knew there was no need to ask her anything, for our eyes met in the midst of it all and it was as if we just knew we were meant to be together. We were married not a month later, and the rest, my dear Lizzy, is a beautiful history of which you have contributed a chapter.”
