“Mr. Darcy, have you shared with Miss Eliza my triumph this afternoon in backgammon?” Caroline preened in her superior position at the table, closest to the head chair, with her knife and fork poised in her hand to cut another piece of meat pie.
“This afternoon I suffered a defeat at the hands of Miss Bingley.” Mr. Darcy addressed his confession in Elizabeth’s direction, the corners of his mouth twitching as he held back a smile.
“How utterly dreadful for you, sir. I do hope your joy from besting me in chess carried you through such a trial.” Elizabeth thoroughly enjoyed the double meaning to her conversation with Mr. Darcy. Miss Bingley was too stupid to realize the great man did not enjoy her company, far be it from Elizabeth to explain such social skills to her.
Caroline fumed. “Miss Bennet, are there any parlor games you enjoy?” Caroline batted her eyelashes at Jane Bennet sitting across from her, an attempt to stop any conversational tête-à-tête between Mr. Darcy and that upstart sister.
“I’m afraid I am not much for games though I do enjoy playing cards.”
“Cards are my favorite as well. After dinner, we shall play a game of loo.” Charles Bingley promised, furthering conversation with Jane to ask her what her favorite card games were.
The conversation continued with Caroline interjecting far too frequently into what might as well be a private conversation between Mr. Bingley and Jane. Elizabeth had settled once more in her reduced role at the table when Mr. Darcy took a momentary silence to strike up another conversation with her.
“Miss Elizabeth, are you a fan of cards?”
Elizabeth wrinkled up her nose and frowned. “I am afraid my taste for cards does not lie with the popular games of the day. I rather abhor gambling of any sort and I find that precludes my participation at most card tables when my Aunt Phillips hosts such events in Meryton.”
Darcy nodded firmly in understanding. “I have had the misfortune of watching too many men gamble away their entire livelihood at the gaming tables in London. I find your preferences to be both refreshing and a great deal safer than the ways in which many ladies live in town.”
“But how could you say such things? Why you have gone out with Charles on many occasions to Brooks and Boodles to play your luck as Charles puts it? I was under the impression you enjoyed games of skill and chance.” Caroline glanced from her brother to Mr. Darcy in confusion. Both men paled at such rude subject matter introduced at the dinner table. Mr. Darcy uncomfortably cleared his throat, and neither man appeared willing to address the issue.
Elizabeth took pity on Mr. Darcy’s discomfort and attracted Caroline’s barbs towards herself. “It is my understanding many a location of less than desirable repute is also the place of great business and negotiation. Or so my father says as it’s one of the few consequences he laments of not going to town unless he must.” Elizabeth felt the burn of embarrassment at having to once again educate her hostess in the realities of the world. Miss Bingley might have accomplished many skills at the school she lauded numerous times in Elizabeth’s short visit at Netherfield Park, but the woman lacked any life experience a family of generations of being a lady provided.
“I am confident my voice might prove to be worse than a cat’s howl, but perhaps after dinner we might enjoy music?” Jane asked a question loudly to redirect the conversation, but it was most applied to Mr. Bingley. For Jane’s benefit, Mr. Bingley was in no mind to deny Miss Bennet any of her whims or desires while under his roof.
“A fine idea! I believe Caroline has been working on a very intricate piece for the pianoforte, have you not sister?” Mr. Bingley emphasized the last word of his question.
Caroline Bingley blanched and scowled at her brother. If she had embarrassed him earlier, Charles, as the youngest of the Bingley clan, was not above revenge of the cruelest kind.
“It is not ready, Charles. You know I have only worked on the sheet music since we arrived.”
“If Miss Bennet is willing to sing so shortly after a sore throat, surely your nimble fingers can play the best that they may offer. Our guests have requested music.”
Elizabeth Bennet choked on her wine to observe Caroline Bingley finally being put into her place. With Jane downstairs, Elizabeth was no longer outnumbered and did not feel a need to rise to every provocation the Bingley sisters hurled. She did note Mr. Bingley was indeed of a fickle constitution in his decisions, having just wished to play cards and now fully in favor of music.
“Do not worry,” Louisa leaned forward to talk around Mr. Darcy. “We shall play a duet.”
“Lud! Do I hear a challenge coming on? Miss Elizabeth, do you play the pianoforte as well? Will you be accompanying Miss Bennet?” Charles Bingley, ever a man of competition, goaded the younger Bennet sister in attendance.
Elizabeth looked at Mr. Darcy’s face and gone was the sadness in his eyes from the afternoon. She wanted to play with Jane and show off what little accomplishment she had managed at her own instruction at Longbourn. Sitting ever so slightly higher in her chair, Elizabeth leaned forward to display her gumption for Mr. Bingley to see.
“It would be my pleasure, Mr. Bingley, to join my sister in song.”
Mr. Hurst grumbled something about eating slowly for the sake of one’s constitution, but with the gauntlet thrown in a duel of the duets, the rest of the table sparsely spent more time than necessary on each remaining course. The men briefly separated before joining the women in the music room after dinner.
Four
November 18, 1811
Elizabeth woke in a bed quickly becoming too familiar. Full of half hope and half agony that a dry morning would greet her, she rolled off the bed on a clear mission to the drapes. The sky remained a stubborn gray and light rain fell; only observable from the small ripples each drop made in the puddles on the path below. Two days of heavy soaking followed by the current day’s refusal of dryness meant, at least, another full day at Mr. Bingley’s estate.
Remembering the previous evening’s musical concerts brought a smile to her face as she stretched and yawned. The gentlemen had applauded both sets of sisters as they had taken to the instrument three times, but it was Mr. Darcy’s admiration she had sought more than any other. And in this cause, Elizabeth felt light in her heart that she was finally making an impression on the man to his improvement.
Apparently no longer worth a maid’s assistance, Elizabeth did not tarry in her toilette, removing her hair from a braid and washing her face. At least the water in her basin was fresh, even if cold, so someone had come into her room in the early morning hours.
Elizabeth sighed at her paltry selection of gowns. Thankfully, her mother had sent a trunk for both her and Jane on their second day at the grand estate, but it was clear to Elizabeth her mother took greater care with her elder sister’s trunk than with her own. Two of the gowns were ready to be passed along to their maid at home as the hems were two inches too short and Elizabeth could not possibly wear them in polite company. Her only remaining frock for the day was a drab, brown calico that Elizabeth did not even possess a ribbon to enhance. Laughing at her own vanity, she pulled the disappointing gown from her trunk and smoothed the wrinkles as best as she could. Attired to the fullest extent of her abilities for the day, Elizabeth exited her lavishly decorated guest room to find how Jane fared on their sixth day away from home.
Two raps upon her door went unanswered. Elizabeth cautiously peeked inside to see if Jane were indisposed. Spying only an empty room, Elizabeth’s curiosity caused her to open the door wider and step inside.
“Jane?”
The pristinely made bed left little doubt Jane had left her bed. Elizabeth opened the small adjoining dressing room only to be met with more emptiness. Jane must be feeling remarkably well to have already dressed and joined the larger party downstairs.
Just as Elizabeth was turning to leave, she spied the books she had been reading to Jane sitting on a nightstand. With Jane feeling well, there would be no need for Elizabeth to
read to her and trips to the library appeared to always hold such grand adventure. Elizabeth lifted the stack of books and revealed a folded letter underneath them. Not recognizing the piece of parchment as her own, she picked up the missive and flipped it open with a twitch of her fingers.
Dearest Jane,
I am sorry your stay in my home has only extended through suffering the most vicious cold, but your continued presence provides a balm to my aching soul. I pepper your sister with constant inquiries as to your health, for it is your bright smile I see over again in my mind. I patiently await your recovery and return to our happy talks…
Elizabeth’s eyes flicked to the bottom of the letter to find it signed by none other than Mr. Bingley! Gasping, Elizabeth refolded the letter, placed it back on the table, and tried to stack the books in the same manner in which they were when she first entered the room. The little green book on top fell, and she bent to pick it up, bumping her head against the table.
“Yeow!” she exclaimed, then covered her mouth and stood absolutely still lest anyone hear she was in her sister’s room alone. When no one came, Elizabeth moved carefully to right the book stack and rubbed her head until the sting of clumsiness subsided. The evidence of her chaste sister, Jane, flouting propriety by accepting a letter from Mr. Bingley confused her. Had Jane found private time with Mr. Bingley in a similar manner as Elizabeth had with Mr. Darcy? Were the two gentlemen working in concert to woo and seduce a pair of sisters so circumstantially within their clutches?
Elizabeth frowned. She wished she could call for their father, but sending such a message to Longbourn would be an acknowledgment of inappropriate behavior. And sadly, Elizabeth was not entirely confident her father would see the problem.
Mr. Bingley’s affection for her sister had appeared genuine when they first met at the assembly. Yet girlhood warnings regarding the nature of gentlemen and the responsibilities of young ladies involuntarily echoed in her mind. Elizabeth Bennet worried for not only her safety but now also that of her sister. It was of vital importance that as soon as the weather let up, they remove themselves at once and any continued courting occur within the expected constraints of society.
As Elizabeth stepped out of Jane’s room to find her sister elsewhere in the house, she now thanked her good fortune to have such a dull gown to diminish attention to her person. Let Miss Bingley’s flashy silk gowns of London and Paris attract Mr. Darcy’s eye.
Afternoon tea at Longbourn carried on in a dull, gray manner as the poor weather outdoors heavily affected the moods of the inhabitants indoors. Unable to escape for an errand or some other business, the only convenient time in which Mr. Bennet performed as an interested party in an estate he could not bequeath to his heirs, the entire Bennet family, save the eldest two daughters, engaged in a rare gathering. Kitty Bennet, the second to youngest daughter, enjoyed a childish game of subtly poking her young sister, Lydia, with the points of their sharp elbows. Despite the absence of Jane and Elizabeth, the Bennets sat at their prescribed chairs with no interest in upsetting tradition for such a silly reason as altered circumstances.
The middle daughter, Mary, sighed as she slowly watched the swirls of milk dissipate in her teacup.
“Must you sigh so loudly, Mary? My nerves can handle no more this day.” Mrs. Bennet worried incessantly about her own comforts above those around her.
“And whatever vexes you today, my dear? Has the unscheduled rain ruined your most careful social plans? I rather thought you were cheerful and encouraging that the rain go on for a week or more if it means your daughter be stuck at Netherfield.” Mr. Bennet’s acidic tone derived as a direct result of the continued loss of his favorite. To be holed up in a house with four women as the torrential storms beat down upon the structure was nigh on impossible under most circumstances but absolutely impossible without even so much as the comfort of his favorite daughter to play chess and hold lively discussions in his study.
Where his wife favored the sweet and docile Jane, Thomas Bennet cajoled and catered to the wild fiery nature of his Elizabeth. The proud papa found absolute delight in her contrary nature and had, on more than one occasion, fostered her disagreements with her mother for sport.
“I am not vexed by the continued rain, but by the impolite manners of your kin. Your cousin is now two days late. All my plans for dinners have had to be rearranged and reconsidered and it is a gross insult to this household.”
“But Mama, surely if Lizzie and Jane cannot come home, our cousin, Mr. Collins, must be delayed in his travels as well. We must pray for safer weather.”
“I still do not understand why his delay should be my inconvenience. He might send a note, a messenger, that we were to expect him on one day and that he will not be fulfilling such an arrival and further direction as to when we might expect him.” Mrs. Bennet continued her unreasonable expectations for a poor vicar to have the means of private messengers or funds to send an express. Her stubby middle finger and thumb pecked indifferently at the crumbs remaining on her plate from the piece of shortbread she had devoured.
“Perhaps he is gravely ill, come down with a fever from an attempt to valiantly traverse the dangerous London roads in this weather.” Lydia’s fanciful imagination offered a scenario best fit for a novelization.
“Or perhaps he was absconded by bandits. Those Highwaymen and gypsies that the papers talk about. I bet the next note we receive will be a demand for ransom!” Kitty met her younger sister’s imagination with a trumping of her own.
“I find these suppositions to be entirely without reason. And it is an abuse of our spirits to even utter such nonsense for fear the Almighty may confuse it for prayers,” Mary scolded.
“But he could be kidnapped by bandits, it is possible. I do not wish ill to befall the man.” Kitty chafed at the small taste of Mary sermonizing.
“I’m afraid you are assigning a great deal of interest and intrigue to my cousin who is most likely dull and boring if his letters are any indication as to his nature. He has come into a living of sorts at the behest of a great lady, but I should hardly think his purse heavy enough to entice the notice of gypsies and bandits.” Mr. Bennet settled the brewing disagreement between his daughters to head off any squabbling before it began. A father of five, preemption was worth more than a hundred pounds of cure.
“Illness or bandits, he is still very rude to not send word in his absence.” Mrs. Bennet reminded the table the entire conversation began with her complaint.
“And I am certain when Mr. Collins does arrive, by grace of the clouds, he shall effuse an abundance of charm that will more than compensate for his tardiness. Now if you ladies will excuse me, I have some business to attend to.” Mr. Bennet lifted his teacup and left for his study. As he expected, continued discussion about Mr. Collins reignited the disagreement between Mary and her younger sisters and no sooner had Thomas Bennet stepped out of the dining room and into his study than a great squawking of female voices filled the air. Leaving the girls to their mother, Mr. Bennet picked up the volume of Chaucer he had been reading before and continued where he left off.
The familiar drawing room of Netherfield Park appeared starkly different upon first entrance. The creams and greens of the furniture were banished mostly to the far wall and a number of tables were aligned with extravagant candelabras offering a romantic glow. Elizabeth furrowed her brows as she spotted Mr. Bingley and her sister Jane engaged in a private conversation by the fireplace when Miss Bingley linked her arm inside Elizabeth’s, startling her as the woman began to pull Elizabeth in the opposite direction.
“Miss Eliza, you are just in time. I have convinced Mr. Darcy to sit as our subject and wondered if you would join me for an afternoon of sketching.”
Caroline Bingley led Elizabeth to an elaborate display of two canvases with an array of charcoal pencils and watercolors situated between them. Mr. Darcy indeed lounged in the armchair just beyond with a copy of Don Quixote in his hands. Elizabeth smirked at the gentleman
’s cheeky movement to blink twice at her before turning a page of the thick tome.
“I am afraid drawing has never been one of my favorite hobbies and my efforts at capturing Mr. Darcy’s likeness will be laughable in the extreme.”
Caroline laughed and patted Elizabeth’s arm in a patronizing fashion. “We are all friends here. You need not worry about the quality of your creation. Think of it as an afternoon folly at the impolite request of your hostess.”
“Miss Bingley, I do not offer false humility when I say I cannot draw well. It is a skill I have little aptitude for.”
Caroline sighed with a slightly spitting end of full exasperation. “There are no professional portraitists present. My skills are of a rudimentary sort only honed by my time at school. I assure you, it has been many a year since I have thought to capture a landscape or still life in my free time. But as nature has limited our opportunities for diversion, I implore you to indulge me in this little activity of ours.”
“And what say you, Mr. Darcy?”
“Hmm?” Darcy continued to appear quite focused on his book.
Elizabeth pinned her free hand to her hip as she just knew the man was toying with them both. “Are you not the least bit nervous for two ladies to sketch your likeness for an afternoon, to sit in one attitude should be frightfully boring.” Elizabeth attempted to enlist Mr. Darcy as an ally in removing her obligation to humor Ms. Bingley.
“Not at all. I should have enjoyed the afternoon reading this novel and see very little intrusion on my plans by offering you and Miss Bingley my stoic posture for your own amusement.”
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