by Sophia King
From Admiration to Love
Sophia King
Copyright © 2017 by Sophia King
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Cover Art from www.EKDuncan.com
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 1
Alone at last.
Elizabeth Bennet looked back over her shoulder at Netherfield Park, her home for the past few days. She shuddered. Apart from caring for her sister Jane, and the pleasant companionship of Mr Bingley, there was little she could find to please her there. Mr Bingley’s sisters, Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst made it clear that the two Bennet sisters were unwelcome intrusions on their household. They had little regard for Jane when she was not immediately before them, despite fawning over her when they deigned to visit her sick room. Mr Hurst scarcely acknowledged Elizabeth’s existence once she made it clear she did not enjoy gambling.
And as for Mr Darcy…
Elizabeth turned back to her walk and shook her head. He was the oddest creature. She was glad to have an opportunity to escape his aloof demeanour and disapproving manner.
Elizabeth ran down the path, delighting in the freedom of movement. The previous days had offered nothing but relentless rain and prevented her from venturing outside. When that day dawned with a promising pink sky, she had leaped out of bed while the rest of the household kept to their fashionable London hours. She would have all the grounds and parkland to herself.
Humming, she strolled down the path towards the rose garden. A few hardy blooms still clung to their stems. It was a shame none of the Bennets were better gardeners. Even Elizabeth herself, for all her love of fine blossoms, never had the patience to sustain their garden for very long. And looking at Netherfield’s fine lawns and climbing flowers, Elizabeth felt how very remiss she’d been.
She settled down on a bench behind a large stone statue of Apollo and pulled her book from her pocket, along with an apple she had taken from the kitchens. The Netherfield library was not nearly as furnished as it should have been; a matter Mr Bingley had been most apologetic about. Elizabeth grinned to herself. Like her own dear sister, Jane, Bingley always felt there were so many other things to do besides read. She could not agree with them there, but how well matched they were. She felt sure Mr Bingley was just the man who would be good enough even for her most beloved sister. For the first time she hoped along with her mother, that they would have a wedding by Christmas.
Taking a bite out of her apple, she caught the juices as they rolled down her chin. She tucked her legs underneath her and began to read. It was a popular romance novel, the type Mary would have abhorred. But Mary was not there to pass remarks about Elizabeth’s tastes, and there were times when all Elizabeth wanted was to enjoy the uncomplicated story of a romance, where love prevailed and happiness by the end of the novel was all but guaranteed. She would have been quite embarrassed to be discovered with such material, especially by Mr Darcy who had developed a preoccupation with her reading habits, him being a great reader himself. But Mr Darcy was no doubt in his room, either fast asleep, or trying to escape the arts and allurements of Miss Bingley, who made it plain she was determined to have him for a husband. And so, Elizabeth could enjoy her romance in peace, without interruption.
The sun rose higher as Elizabeth lost herself in the twisting and turnings of the pair of lovers who found and lost one another due to misunderstandings and the machinations of others. She was gripped by the tale, and scarcely heard the breakfast bell when it echoed across the garden. She turned the page and continued on, her attention completely focused as she longed for the couple to put their differences aside and see how perfect they were for one another.
Her attention was not called from the book until she heard voices floating towards her. Boots crunched across gravel. Elizabeth scowled. Her peaceful reading time was at an end. She placed the book on her lap.
“Perhaps you could hang his painting next to your uncle, the judge?” suggested a high-pitched voice. Elizabeth frowned. It was Miss Bingley. And if she spoke in that high, breathy tone, it could only mean she addressed one other person.
“I do not know what you mean,” said a deep, terse voice.
Elizabeth sighed impatiently. It was Mr Darcy. She would not have expected him to be out in the gardens so early. He usually shut himself away in Mr Bingley’s study after breakfast to write letters and attend matters concerning his estate at Pemberley as his steward sent them to him. He had tried to work on them in the drawing room when all were gathered there, but Elizabeth suspected Miss Bingley’s raptures at his cool business acumen and constant offers to mend his pens had chased him to a room where he could have the pleasure of working in peace.
Miss Bingley responded with a tinkling laugh. “Can you imagine the Bennets at Pemberley? How well they should behave. Lydia Bennet would flirt outrageously with anything in breeches. A proud addition to Derbyshire society, no doubt. I am sure Mrs Bennet would be a frequent visitor, and I am sure her visits would be of long duration.”
Elizabeth shrank back against the bench. She had intended to stand up and alert them to her presence, but her heart raced as she realised the subject of their conversation. What on earth could Miss Bingley mean by saying the Bennets would visit Pemberley? Why should they? They had no purpose for being in that part of the country. She was not prone to eavesdropping, but curiosity as to Mr Darcy’s response made her stay where she was. She held her breath, afraid they would see the little puffs on the frosty air.
“You rush ahead, Miss Bingley,” said Mr Darcy. His tone was as abrupt as ever. “There is no reason for you to suppose I would have any occasion to invite the Bennets to Pemberley. It is not just the foolish behaviour of the youngest daughter. You know what their connections are. The eldest Miss Bennets are pleasant ladies, but I fear their circumstances will not allow them to make advantageous marriages.”
“You heard of course that they have an uncle who works in trade and lives in Cheapside?” said Miss Bingley in a low voice.
Elizabeth pinched the book cover, her nails digging into the soft leather. This was outrageous. Of course she knew Miss Bingley and Mr Darcy looked down on their low connections, but it was another matter entirely to hear them speak of it so brazenly. Elizabeth’s cheeks burned with humiliation. She was fiercely proud of her uncle, a man who with his own wit and intelligence had built a successful import business. Miss Bingley’s own source of wealth was in trade, a circumstance she seemed keen to forget. And as to Mr Darcy…
Elizabeth pursed h
er lips. He had wealth and connections and everything that was desirable. But it had all been handed to him by another. He had done nothing to earn it. She could admit that he worked hard, but would he have ever achieved anything if he’d had to conjure it from his intelligence and by the sweat of his brow alone?
“Yes, I had heard of that,” said Darcy. His tone was doubtful. “I am sure they are very fine people, but it is not the sort of connection a man of sense would like to make. I hope with all my heart they will marry fine men, but I do not think their prospects are so very great. That is the world we live in.” His usual firm, decisive voice sounded less certain than it usually did, but Elizabeth was too angry to notice.
“I wish that Charles would see it as you do,” said Caroline. They had paused near the little pond.
Elizabeth had enough. She closed her book with a deliberate snap. The couple looked around, startled by the sound. She was pleased to see their faces pale.
“Miss Eliza,” exclaimed Miss Bingley. “I did not see you there. I thought you were still abed, or with your sister when I did not see you at breakfast…” her voice trailed off awkwardly and in her confusion, she looked at Darcy for aid.
He looked deeply uncomfortable as he gave her a short bow. “Miss Bennet,” he said. “I trust you are not too cold? It is a frosty morning, and you wear only a shawl.”
“It is a thick shawl,” said Elizabeth in a tone only slightly less frosty than the morning. “And I have been fortunate that the sun shines directly on this spot, so I have not been too cold.”
That was a lie. It was only when her attention had been pulled from her book that she realised how chilly she was. She would have left to find a cup of hot chocolate to warm her hands if she had not been held up by their curious conversation.
“Miss Bennet, I…” Mr Darcy cleared his throat. She was pleased to see how ashamed he looked. “Will you allow me to escort you to the house? I would not wish you to catch a chill.”
Elizabeth brushed her skirts and stood up, clutching the book against her as a shield from the hurt she felt at their words. “That will not be necessary,” she said. “You need not fear that I will fall ill and overstay my welcome.”
“No, that is not what I meant…” Darcy protested, taking a step towards her.
Elizabeth ignored him. “Besides, I would not keep you from your walk. How charmingly matched you are.” She dropped a brief curtsey and walked away.
Her mind was in turmoil as she returned to the house. How could they be so ill-mannered? To make sport of her relatives. Caroline said she wished her brother could see how unsuited they were. Elizabeth was no fool. She knew the lady considered Jane beneath her brother, even though as a gentleman’s daughter - even an impoverished gentleman of small means - Jane outranked him. But would Miss Bingley convince Charles of the folly of his attachment? A young man in love should not allow anyone to come between him and the lady of his choosing. But she also knew Charles had an easy, obliging sort of temper that could be easily swayed by a stronger character.
A character such as Mr Darcy’s. And as his conversation revealed, he firmly believed no man of sense would wish to marry a Bennet sister. Their mother’s family was not grand enough to allow them to move in higher circles. And Mr Darcy seemed to take prodigious care of Bingley. Bingley had spoke good-naturedly of how much he relied on his friend’s opinion. It was the reason Darcy was here in the first place, to help his inexperienced friend with the running of a large estate.
But men had married against their friend’s wishes before, and would do so again. Her own father had done so when he married a beautiful woman of lower standing. And Jane had far more to offer a sensible man than Fanny Gardiner.
Elizabeth intended to spend the morning with Jane. A servant directed her to the drawing room but as Elizabeth approached, she noticed the door was ajar. That could only mean one thing. Jane and Mr Bingley were in there alone together, and had left the door open to protect Jane’s reputation. Elizabeth peeked in quickly just to be sure, and smiled when she saw Jane tucked up in an armchair beside the fire, a blanket around her as Mr Bingley sat at her side and read to her. They both had been in solid agreement that they needed to improve themselves by reading more, and it seemed they had decided to do so together. Seeing them thus, Elizabeth did not think much of Miss Bingley and Mr Darcy’s chances of separating them, if that was their intention. Mr Bingley looked up from his book into Jane’s eyes and his face glowed as he gazed on her. He was a man deeply in love. Elizabeth pressed her book against her chest in glee. Perhaps her mother was right. There would be a wedding at Netherfield by Christmas after all.
Elizabeth spent the rest of the day reading in Mr Bingley’s sparse library. With Jane on the mend, it was probable that they would leave Netherfield within the next day or two and although she was sorry that Jane and Mr Bingley would be separated, she could not say she would regret leaving the house behind. She even missed her own family. She never thought she’d long to hear Lydia and Kitty shrieking over a crushed bonnet.
A movement from the window caught her eye. Mr Darcy walked by, striking his cane against the grass. Miss Bingley was nowhere to be seen. Mr Darcy appeared deep in thought. Not for the first time, Elizabeth noticed how very handsome he was. It was a shame he was such an unpleasant man. That morning had been the second time she had heard him slight her when he did not realise she could hear him. The first time had been at the assembly where they had first met. Mr Darcy had refused to dance, and seemed to prefer striding about the room, standing apart from the crowd. When Bingley tried to persuade him to ask Elizabeth to dance, he had scarcely glanced at her before declaring her not handsome enough to tempt him.
He clearly thought as little of her as she did of him. It was curious that he seems to look at her so often and try to engage her conversation, and she could only suppose it was a sort of cruel game where he was amusing himself at her expense. Perhaps he hoped she might say or do something that would provide him with more fodder for ridicule.
As if he could sense her staring, Mr Darcy looked towards the window. Elizabeth gasped, furious at being caught watching him. She turned back to her book. She pursed her lips in irritation. Why should she look away? She cared nothing for what he thought of her. She glanced at him again. He still looked at her. He hesitated, then gave her a brief nod and walked on. Elizabeth shook her head and returned to her book. She should not spend so much time trying to figure him out. She cared for him too little to wish to understand his character.
She consoled herself with the thought that Papa would certainly send the carriage for them before the end of the week. Never again would she have to spend a night under the same roof of such an odious man.
Chapter 2
“I have received a letter, my dear,” said Mr Bennet. The Longbourn family looked up from their dinner as the Bennet patriarch dismissively waved a sheet of paper for them all to see.
Mrs Bennet gasped and put her glass down to collect herself. “Oh, Mr Bennet. Is it from Mr Bingley? He wishes to have a private audience with you, perhaps?”
“Mr Bingley? No, I am afraid you shall have to restrain your matrimonial ambitions a while longer. No, no. This letter is from a man I have never met in all my life.” He beamed around at them. As he expected, at the mention of a mysterious man, his wife and three younger daughters clamoured to know who it was.
“Is he handsome, Father?” demanded Lydia.
“Is he an officer?” said Kitty with a giggle. The two youngest Bennets collapsed into laughter.
“I should not care if he is an officer,” said Mary with a sniff of disdain. “I should much prefer he be a sensible man, who can hold a conversation about the French philosophers.”
“Is he unwed?” asked Mrs Bennet, coming at once to the one point that had interested her since Jane’s fifteenth birthday.
Mr Bennet amused himself with their avid curiosity. He missed the sensible conversation of his two eldest girls but while they we
re at Netherfield, he had to take his amusement where he could, and his three silly youngest daughters and his nervous, frivolous wife both entertained and irritated him in equal measure.
“I can only satisfy three out of the four curiosities you lay before me,” he responded finally. “He is not an officer. He is a clergyman.”
Lydia and Kitty snorted and returned to their plates. They had already lost interest in the man. If he did not wear a scarlet coat, they had no use for him. And a clergyman was as dull an occupation as any man could have.
“He is unwed,” Mr Bennet continued with a nod towards his wife. Her face lit up, and she clutched her hands together as if in silent prayer. “I have no idea if he is a sensible man, Mary but I knew his father, and between that and his letter, I should say not. As to whether he is handsome, well I cannot satisfy on that score. I have no idea what he looks like.”
“And what does he want, my dear?” asked Mrs Bennet breathlessly. “Does it have something to do with the girls?”
Mr Bennet shrugged and scanned the letter again. “As to that, I cannot say,” he said. “But I do have some suspicions as to his intentions. It is my cousin, Mr Collins. You know him as the evil villain who will turn you out to starve in the hedgerows the very second my last breath leaves my body.”
Mrs Bennet turned back to her plate in disgust. “I wish you would not speak of him,” she said. “He is a repulsive man. How he can sleep at night, knowing he will take home and hearth from six women is beyond me. I think it very harsh that the girls should have none of the estate after your death, Mr Bennet.”
