by P. O. Dixon
Discussion of the weather being off-limits as a means of cutting through the uncomfortable silence, she looked around the library. Bingley was right when he said that it was sparse. Her father’s library was far more substantial. Perhaps, in time, Bingley will amend this lapse that has resulted in such a paltry state of his library—surely he has the means. Her thoughts went to her sister. Perhaps, when Jane is mistress, she will be the one to oversee such an endeavor. A baffling feeling washed over her. Yet again, I find myself thinking similarly to my mama. She arched her brow in silent amusement.
Heaven forbid I should adopt all of Mama’s habits. She then recalled her mother and Darcy’s verbal standoff. She felt compelled to intervene on the gentleman’s behalf before her mother said something that would be really embarrassing in front of them all and perhaps hamper Jane’s prospects. Elizabeth supposed that Mr. Darcy took such prodigious care of Mr. Bingley that one word from him would poison Bingley’s regard for all the Bennets, including Jane. That would never ever do.
She began to think of other things she might say to draw him out.
Perhaps I ought to remark on the size of the room or the number of fine books. Then I might ask him about his favorite books.
There were any number of things they might discuss were they of a mind to do it. She then began to consider that the fitting thing to do would be to return his cool incivility with incivility of her own. Why risk speaking to him and having him think that I actually like him?
Darcy welcomed the intelligence that the Longbourn party was soon to return to where they had come from. Elizabeth had been at Netherfield long enough. She attracted him more than he liked. Also, his unguarded attentions to her had caused Miss Bingley to be uncivil to her and to tease him more than usual.
He wisely resolved to be particularly careful that no sign of admiration should now escape him, nothing that could elevate her with the hope of influencing his felicity. If indeed such an idea had been suggested, his behavior during that particular day would surely be the means of confirming or crushing it.
Thoughts of how the two of them had engaged in heated debates over the past several days crept into his mind. It was all he could do to keep himself from smiling. She possessed a mixture of sweetness and archness in her manner making it difficult for her to affront anybody. Having at first scarcely allowed her to be pretty, he had looked at her without admiration at the Meryton assembly. When next they met, he looked at her only to criticize. However, no sooner had he made it clear to himself and his friends that she hardly had a good feature in her face than he began to find it was rendered uncommonly intelligent by the beautiful expression of her dark eyes. To this discovery succeeded some others equally mortifying. Though he had detected with a critical eye more than one failure of perfect symmetry in her form, he was forced to acknowledge her figure to be light and pleasing. And in spite of his asserting that her manners were not those of the fashionable world, he was caught by their easy playfulness.
I have never been so bewitched by any woman as I am by her.
Achingly aware of her, thoughts that no gentleman ought to entertain in the presence of a gentlewoman crept into his mind as he began to feel the danger of being in such proximity to Miss Elizabeth Bennet.
Darcy had but one purpose in being in Hertfordshire: to help his friend Charles Bingley in navigating the tricky waters of being the master of his own estate. The last thing he expected was to meet the woman whose nearness caused him to entertain ideas of what it would be like to know her as his wife.
At seven and twenty, Darcy had managed to avoid any entanglement that might give rise to an expectation of marriage. At first, it might be said that he took some comfort in the presumption that those who knew him best held that he would marry his cousin Miss Anne de Bourgh. However, when Anne herself began to entertain such notions, Darcy put an end to that by declaring to anyone who dared ask that such a union would never be. Anne took the information as well as could be expected; however the same could not be said of her mother, Lady Catherine de Bourgh. The older sister of his late mother, Lady Catherine insisted that it was the favorite wish of her sister that the two young people should be married.
Anne and Darcy were fashioned for each other at birth, she always pontificated. Even Darcy’s own words to the contrary were insufficient to douse her hopes that such a union would one day unfold. Oh, what a determined advocate Lady Catherine could be when she put her mind to it. Satisfied in the knowledge that his aunt’s wishes were not and would never be his own, Darcy simply pretended not to hear a word she spoke about his future marital prospects.
He took his responsibilities as a landlord, a master of hundreds, and an older brother and co-guardian of his younger sister, Miss Georgiana Darcy, quite seriously. Among those responsibilities was choosing the next mistress of Pemberley wisely.
The next thing he knew, the thought of how Miss Elizabeth Bennet would be received in London crossed his mind. Darcy could hardly fathom why he would be picturing Miss Elizabeth traveling in his sphere in town. Then again, there were places in town where tradesmen of means cavorted with the ton: the park, the shops, and the theater. He then began to wonder if, indeed, they had frequented some of the same places. Her only connection in London that he was aware of was the uncle who resided in Cheapside. Surely if there were other, more consequential, connections, she or her mother would have said something.
Speaking of her mother, there was a woman whom he barely tolerated. His intercourse with Mrs. Bennet had been marred by contentiousness. When he rightly pointed out how the company in town was far more varied than in such a small place as Meryton, she took umbrage, insisting that they regularly dined with four and twenty families. As insignificant a number as that was compared to the Society he was referring to, he did not see how it could even be that high. Arguing with the woman was hardly something he wanted to do. I have done quite enough of that with her beguiling daughter since her arrival.
He had gone out of his way to converse with her—which was quite uncharacteristic for a man like him. Even Miss Bingley had discerned his unguarded attention to Miss Elizabeth. He was sure that was the catalyst for her barbs and snide remarks. As flattering as it might seem, having women compete over him was not something he particularly cared for. Of course, in this case, he needed not worry at all. If Miss Elizabeth were never to show a preference for him, Miss Bingley’s estimation in his eyes would not increase one jot. She had neither the wit nor the charm of Miss Elizabeth, whose beauty Darcy was failing miserably to withstand, especially at night when her light and pleasing figure crept into his dreams.
Indeed, remaining a silent companion is the best thing to do.
Elizabeth, for her part, could not deny that the silence had its advantages, for it gave her the chance to reflect upon her time at Netherfield—more precisely, the actual reason for her being there. It is my mother’s duty to make matches for my sisters and me. I begin to suspect that any man would do—even one as proud as Mr. Darcy.
Until this day, she expresses her grief over her inability to make a match for Jane when she had been so close. A fine young gentleman from town who wrote Jane some lovely poetry sprang to mind. That was some time ago. Several years had passed and Mrs. Bennet continued to lament the loss of such a delightful young man as a future son-in-law. Elizabeth surmised that Mrs. Bennet would stop at nothing to see Jane become the mistress of all this. Looking about the room, she thought to herself, Certainly no one is more deserving than Jane to be mistress of Netherfield.
As for her own prospects, Elizabeth rarely thought of such things, although she supposed she ought to make a start. With three younger sisters and all of them out, she, too, felt the burden of finding a husband. Their prospects were few and, despite Jane being reported as the most beautiful and Elizabeth being known as the jewel of the country, Elizabeth owed their diminished chances to their lack of fortune. Mr. Darcy’s harsh words resonated in her ears.
—it must ve
ry materially lessen their chance of marrying men of any consideration in the world.
Had he known she was standing just outside the door that day, poised to enter the room, he likely would have kept his opinion on the matter to himself. As harsh as his dire prognostication for her marital prospects were, she could not find it in herself to be angry with him. For what would have been the point in being angry with someone who merely spoke the truth?
Another thought came to mind. That is all the more reason that all of my family should be rejoicing in Mr. Bingley’s preference towards Jane. He is kind and handsome and amiable—or, in Jane’s own words, everything a gentleman ought to be. The fact that he is rich is more of a bonus. Such thoughts as these increased Elizabeth’s desire to be once again by Jane’s side.
Between Darcy and Elizabeth, there was a greater sense of relief from the latter as she closed her book, laid it aside, stood and quit the room. Neither of them could have known that their time alone in Netherfield’s library had not gone unnoticed.
~*~
When at last the day of their long sought departure from Netherfield arrived, the liveliness of spirits she had expected to enjoy was replaced with great astonishment. Hastening her steps down the spiraling staircase, Elizabeth nearly stumbled and fell. She caught herself, but not soon enough for Mr. Bingley to remain unaffected.
“You must be careful, Miss Elizabeth, or you shall find yourself a guest at Netherfield even longer. Not that I would mind, for you and your sister are perfectly welcome to stay here as long as you like.” He must have realized how untoward he sounded. He swallowed hard and turned to his friend. “What say you, Darcy?”
His rich baritone voice determined, Darcy replied, “I am sure the ladies are eager to return to their own home, Bingley.” His words had been directed to his friend, but his eyes had been fixed on Elizabeth’s.
“Of course you are correct, my friend.” Bingley looked at Jane and smiled. “Miss Bennet.” Next, he looked at Elizabeth. “Miss Elizabeth. I can honestly say I have enjoyed having you ladies here as much as your family missed having you at Longbourn. I shall look forward to both of you returning for the ball.”
Ah! The much-anticipated ball. Elizabeth could not believe her youngest sister, Lydia, had instigated such a thing by taxing Mr. Bingley with having promised on his first coming into the country to give a ball at Netherfield. Bingley’s eager agreement was even more of a testament to his increasing regard for Jane. Elizabeth was certain of it.
As was to be expected, Bingley extended his arm to Jane and commenced walking with her outside to the awaiting carriage. Elizabeth’s astonishment was great when Mr. Darcy approached her side and extended his arm.
Does he mean to escort me? Apparently he did. Although startled, she did what any well-bred woman would do in such circumstances; she accepted his proffered arm, and along with the gentleman, fell in step behind Jane and Mr. Bingley.
When Elizabeth and Jane were settled next to each other in the carriage, it slowly pulled away. The gentlemen who had so graciously escorted them to the carriage remained standing there still—likely waiting for it to pass beyond their sight, each with decidedly different emotions.
Jane was no doubt pleased to be escorted by a man she held in such high esteem. Elizabeth, on the other hand, did not know what to make of her former companion. She awoke that morning with the distinct impression that he barely tolerated her, as evidenced by his taciturn behavior in the library the day before. Had he awakened with the notion of somehow admiring her, or was he in such a rush to have her banished from his company and thus went out of his way to see that she was gone?
Turning her face upward to welcome the sun’s warm caress, Elizabeth released a sigh. Perplexing man!
Chapter 3 – Her Neighbors
The evening of the Netherfield ball was upon them. Elizabeth prepared for the event with more than the usual care. Having spent the past several days confined indoors owing to an abundance of rain, she was eager for a change. She had been so unfortunate as to have missed attending a recent dinner party at the home of her aunt Mrs. Philips, who resided in Meryton. Her younger sisters described the occasion as one of the happiest days of their lives, for they had been ever so fortunate as to have made the acquaintance of a Mr. George Wickham.
By her sisters’ eager accounts, Elizabeth surmised the gentleman’s appearance was greatly in his favor. The girls eagerly proclaimed that he had all the best parts of beauty, a fine countenance, a good figure, and a very pleasing address. What young woman would not be excited by the prospect of meeting such a gentleman?
This idea of making the acquaintance of the newest addition to their society is what gave her the strength to endure what would be a rather tiresome evening should her ridiculous cousin Mr. Collins, whom she had recently met, make good on his promise to stay close by her side. Indeed, Elizabeth persuaded herself that Mr. William Collins was not a sensible man. Wanting to clear himself from the guilt of inheriting Longbourn upon her father’s death as soon as he may wish to, he had come to Meryton desirous of choosing a wife from among the Bennet daughters. To her dismay, the odious man apparently had singled her out as the object of his fondest regard.
Elizabeth was not formed for ill humor. She certainly did not intend for her cousin to destroy her prospects for the evening, despite being obliged to stand across from him for the first two dances. What ecstasy she suffered when she was released from him and thus at liberty to dance with more agreeable partners, the first being an officer.
His manner was gentlemanly and his conversation was delightful, especially given that it afforded her a chance to learn more about the elusive Mr. Wickham. Hearing that he was universally liked by all increased her desire to meet him, and she hoped he would soon arrive so that she might enjoy such a pleasure.
Later, while she was standing with her intimate friend, Miss Charlotte Lucas, from a neighboring estate, Elizabeth was taken by surprise when Mr. Darcy approached her. He asked if she would grant him the honor of the next dance. Having received a favorable reply, he walked away as suddenly as he arrived, leaving Elizabeth confounded. She had only seen the perplexing man once since the day he escorted her to the carriage at Netherfield. That had been during a chance encounter in town when he barely acknowledged her. She quickly surmised that the absence of a certain Bingley sister meant he had no reason to make a pretense of admiring her on that particular day.
Remembering the pleasing, albeit puzzling, sensations that accompanied his touch, she secretly wished that was not the case. Even his pretensions were preferable to the attentions of her ridiculous cousin. Recalling herself to the present, she smiled. No doubt, he will do a fine job pretending to admire me when the dancing recommences … solely for Miss Bingley’s sake, of course, she reminded herself.
What was the point in denying his attraction to Miss Elizabeth any longer? The memory of the touch of his hand upon hers, when he assisted her into the carriage that day, lingered still, stirring his passion and finding him wishing for something more. He would soon be gone away from Hertfordshire. He had admired her too much not to carry the memory of having danced with her at least once. Thus resolved, Darcy had made his way to the part of the room where Elizabeth stood with her friend, Miss Charlotte Lucas, and applied for the next set. Now standing opposite her, Darcy was at a complete loss for what to say. The idea of performing to strangers was one he abhorred, yet he was not unaware of her neighbors and their manner of looking at him standing opposite her, their hushed whispers which no doubt spoke to their amazement that he had singled her out from among all the other young ladies in attendance.
He heard her make some remark on the dance, to which he replied, but then he was again silent.
Having satisfied herself with the knowledge that she had done her part to converse with the taciturn man, she was content to go through the rest of the dance in silence. Her mind was now elsewhere. Elizabeth was looking for evidence that the dashing Mr. Wickham, who h
ad garnered so much approbation from all around, had arrived. Regrettably, she did not detect a single gentleman in the gathering whose acquaintance she had not already made.
“Are you looking for someone, Miss Elizabeth?”
“No,” she replied rather hastily. She half smiled. “I was rather admiring the size of the room and the number of couples.”
Darcy returned the cordial gesture, heightening his handsome features, but said nothing.
As a means of making amends for her inattentiveness, she said, “My sister tells me that Mr. Bingley shall return to London on matters of business in the morning, sir. I wonder whether you will be taking your leave as well?”
“I hope that is not your way of saying that I have overstayed my welcome here in Hertfordshire.”
“That is not for me to say, sir.”
Biting his lower lip as a means of holding his tongue, Darcy’s curiosity won out. “That gentleman who was standing with you earlier shows a decidedly devoted interest in you.” Here they were parted by the dance and when they were reunited, he continued, “I am aware that he is the heir to your father’s estate.”
“Mr. Darcy, forgive me, but discussing Mr. Collins is the last thing I wish to do.”
“What do you think of books?” said he, obliging her obvious desire to change the subject.
“How interesting that you wish to discuss such matters now, Mr. Darcy. The topic of books might easily have been discussed when we were in the library.”
Thoughts of that day leaped into his mind. Indeed, they were surrounded by books. However, the last thing on his mind were thoughts that did not center on her light and pleasing figure, the faint scent of her perfume, and the manner in which she twisted locks of her dark hair around her fingers when she was reading. What’s more, there were the thoughts that were no more appropriate now as they were then. How thoroughly he had gotten to know every inch of her body over the past weeks—even if only in his dreams. Intoxicating, passion-filled dreams that he ought not to have about a gentleman’s daughter; dreams that started long before the two of them found themselves sleeping under the same roof, quiet footsteps apart.
