“Indeed I do not dare.”
Elizabeth, having rather expected to affront him, was amazed at his gallantry. For a moment, her knowledge of him became mixed with her daydreams of him, and she had to remind herself of the stark difference in the two. He was not the gallant man she first pictured, but a prideful, stubborn gentleman. And the smile he bestowed upon her surely did not mean anything. It was merely a look, and his attention was because he had nothing better to attend to at the moment. She was there, convenient for the sake of his conversation, and that was all. Elizabeth did not flatter herself beyond those points.
Darcy's thoughts ran a completely different course than the object of his attention supposed. He had never been so bewitched by any woman as he was by her. There was a mixture of sweetness and archness in her manner which made it difficult for her to affront anybody. Many ladies, many men for that matter, did not dare to contradict him, and he found he enjoyed hearing her speak her mind. He really believed that, were it not for the inferiority of her connections, he should be in some danger.
He wanted to say more to her, but Miss Bingley stood from the instrument and implored Elizabeth to take her turn. Darcy withdrew, taking a seat some ways away from the pianoforte. Mrs. Hurst left her post, leaving Elizabeth to sing her song. She did not. Instead, she merely played, her eyes fixed upon the keys as if there were nothing else in the room.
Darcy watched her at his leisure, not really thinking of anything beyond the curve of her neck and shoulder in the light. Her lips moved, as if she sang softly to herself in an effort to keep a steady pace with her fingers. Resting his elbow on the arm of his chair, he lifted the back of his hand to rest against his mouth. He imagined her lips to move against his, a tender kiss that he dare not let his mind indulge before so many eyes. Seeing Miss Bingley studying him with suspicion, he dropped his hand and endeavored to appear indifferent.
Miss Bingley saw, or suspected enough to be jealous of her rival for Darcy's attentions, and her great anxiety for the recovery of her dear friend Jane received some assistance from her desire of getting rid of Elizabeth. She often tried to provoke Darcy into disliking her guest, by talking of their supposed marriage, and planning his happiness in such an alliance.
“I hope,” said she, as they were walking together in the shrubbery the next day, “you will give your mother-in-law a few hints, when this desirable event takes place, as to the advantage of holding her tongue. If you can manage it, do stop the younger girls from running after officers. There is something off about the way Lydia looks at them. And, if I may mention so delicate a subject, endeavor to check that little something, bordering on conceit, which your lady possesses.”
“Have you anything else to propose for my domestic felicity.”
“Oh, yes! Do let the portraits of your uncle and aunt Philips be placed in the gallery at Pemberley. Put them next to your great-uncle the judge. They are in the same profession, you know, only in different lines. As for Elizabeth's picture, you must not have it taken, for what painter could do justice to those beautiful eyes.”
“It would not be easy, indeed, to catch their expression, but their color and shape, and the eyelashes, so remarkably fine, might be copied.”
At that moment they were met from another walk by Mrs. Hurst and Elizabeth herself.
“I did not know that you intended to walk,” said Miss Bingley, in some confusion, lest they had been overheard.
“You used us abominably ill,” answered Mrs. Hurst, “running away without telling us that you were coming out.”
Then taking the disengaged arm of Mr. Darcy, she left Elizabeth to walk by herself. The path just admitted three. Mr. Darcy felt their rudeness, and immediately said, “This walk is not wide enough for our party. We had better go into the avenue.”
But Elizabeth, who had not the least inclination to remain with them, laughingly answered, “No, no, stay where you are. You are charmingly grouped. The picturesque would be spoiled by admitting a fourth.”
Darcy watched her run happily down the path, away from them, and was sorry to see her go. He imagined she was excited at the hope of being at home again in a day or two. Her sister was already much recovered and intended to leave her room for a couple of hours that evening. Feeling a tug on his arm, he was forced to continue on with Bingley's sisters. He said nothing and they contented themselves with comments on the newly favored subject of Elizabeth and her family.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
WHEN THE LADIES REMOVED AFTER DINNER, Elizabeth hurried to her sister, and seeing her well guarded from cold, attended her into the drawing room where she was welcomed by her two friends. Elizabeth had never seen them so agreeable as they were during the hour which passed before the gentlemen appeared. Their powers of conversation were considerable. They could describe an entertainment with accuracy, relate an anecdote with humor, and laugh at their acquaintance with spirit.
But when the gentlemen entered, Jane was no longer the first object. Miss Bingley's eyes were instantly turned toward Darcy, and she had something to say to him before he had advanced many steps. He addressed himself to Miss Bennet, with a polite congratulation. Mr. Hurst also made her a slight bow, and said he was “very glad.” However, diffuseness and warmth remained for Bingley's salutation. He was full of joy and attention. The first half-hour was spent in piling up the fire, lest she should suffer from the change of room, and she removed at his desire to the other side of the fireplace, that she might be further from the door. He then sat down by her, and talked scarcely to anyone else. Elizabeth, at work in the opposite corner, saw it all with great delight.
When tea was over, Mr. Hurst reminded his sister-in-law of the card table, but in vain. She had obtained private intelligence that Mr. Darcy did not wish for cards. Mr. Hurst soon found even his open petition rejected. She assured him that no one intended to play, and the silence of the whole party on the subject seemed to justify her. Mr. Hurst had therefore nothing to do, but to stretch himself on one of the sofas and go to sleep. Darcy took up a book and Miss Bingley soon after did the same. Mrs. Hurst, principally occupied in playing with her bracelets and rings, joined now and then in her brother's conversation with Miss Bennet.
Miss Bingley's attention was as much engaged in watching Mr. Darcy's progress through his book as in reading her own, and she was perpetually making some inquiry or looking at his page. She could not win him, however, to any conversation. He merely answered her question, and read on. At length, exhausted by the attempt to be amused with her own book, which she had only chosen because it was the second volume of his, she gave a great yawn and said, “How pleasant it is to spend an evening in this way. I declare there is no enjoyment like reading. How much sooner one tires of anything other than a book. When I have a house of my own, I shall be miserable if I do not have an excellent library.”
No one made any reply. She yawned again, threw aside her book, and cast her eyes round the room in quest for some amusement. Hearing her brother mention a ball to Miss Bennet, she turned suddenly towards him and said, “By the bye, Charles, are you really serious in meditating a dance at Netherfield? I would advise you, before you determine on it, to consult the wishes of the present party. I am much mistaken if there are not some among us to whom a ball would be rather a punishment than a pleasure.”
“If you mean Darcy,” said her brother, “he may go to bed, if he chooses, before it begins, for the ball is quite a settled thing.”
“I should like balls infinitely better,” she replied with a glance toward Darcy to make sure he heard her, “if they were carried on in a different manner. There is something insufferably tedious in the usual process of such a meeting. It would surely be much more rational if conversation instead of dancing were made the order of the day.”
“Much more rational,” Bingley answered, his attention still not fully on his sister's interruptions, “but it would not be near so much like a ball.”
Miss Bingley made no answer. She smiled at Darcy
with no true conception of his completely ignoring her. Her comment had, after all, been solely to impress him with the intelligent pursuits of her mind. Soon afterwards she got up and walked about the room. Her figure was elegant, and she walked well, but Darcy, at whom it was all aimed, was still inflexibly studious. In the desperation of her feelings, she resolved on one effort more, and, turning to Elizabeth, said, “Miss Eliza Bennet, let me persuade you to take a turn about the room. I assure you it is very refreshing after sitting so long in one attitude.”
Elizabeth was surprised, but agreed. Miss Bingley succeeded no less in the real object of her civility, for Mr. Darcy looked up. He was as much awake to the novelty of attention in that quarter as Elizabeth herself could be, and unconsciously closed his book. He was directly invited to join their party, but he declined it, observing, “There can be but two motives for your choosing to walk up and down the room together, either of which my joining you would interfere.”
“What could he mean?” Miss Bingley asked Elizabeth, clearly dying to know. “Can you understand him.”
“Not at all, but depend upon it, he means to be severe on us, and our surest way of disappointing him will be to ask nothing about it.”
Miss Bingley, however, was incapable of disappointing Mr. Darcy in anything, and persevered therefore in requiring an explanation of his two motives.
“I have not the smallest objection to explaining them,” said he, as soon as she allowed him to speak. “You either choose this method of passing the evening because you are in each other's confidence and have secret affairs to discuss, or because you are conscious that your figures appear to the greatest advantage in walking. If the first, I would be completely in your way, and if the second, I can admire you much better as I sit by the fire.”
“Shocking!” cried Miss Bingley. “I never heard anything so abominable. How shall we punish him for such a speech.”
“Nothing so easy, if you have the inclination,” said Elizabeth. “Tease him and laugh at him. Intimate as you are, you must know how it is to be done.”
Elizabeth had never been so conscious of her figure as she was at the moment. His speech hinted that he watched them in a way much more than in passing. A heat built within her stomach and she dared not look at him for fear she would see exactly where his eyes wandered. What did he think when he looked at her? Did he find pleasure in what he saw? Did he look at her often in such a bold manner? If so, his expressions never gave away his thoughts.
“But upon my honor, I do not,” Miss Bingley said, drawing Elizabeth's thoughts back to her walking companion. “I do assure you that my intimacy has not yet taught me that. I cannot tease calmness of manner and presence of mind. Should we laugh, we will expose ourselves as foolish for attempting to laugh without cause.”
When she glanced at him, she found he studied them and listened to everything Miss Bingley said, for the woman was speaking loud enough for anyone who cared to hear. Elizabeth did not answer so vociferously, though she did not hide her thoughts in a whisper. “I fear then that Mr. Darcy is not to be laughed at.”
“Miss Bingley has given me too much credit,” said Darcy. “The wisest and the best of men — nay, the wisest and best of their actions — may be rendered ridiculous by a person whose first object in life is a joke.”
“Certainly,” replied Elizabeth. “There are such people, but I hope I am not one of them. I hope I never ridicule what is wise and good. Follies and nonsense, whims and inconsistencies, do divert me, I own, and I laugh at them whenever I can. But I suppose these are precisely what you are without.”
“Perhaps that is not possible for anyone,” said he. “But it has been the study of my life to avoid those weaknesses which often expose a strong understanding to ridicule.”
“Such as vanity and pride.” Elizabeth studied him as she tried to fully determine his mysterious character.
“Yes, vanity is a weakness indeed,” he agreed. There was something to his tone that caused a small shiver to course over her body and she delicately pulled from Miss Bingley's arm so the woman would not detect it. Darcy continued, “But pride; where there is a real superiority of mind, pride will be always under good regulation.”
Elizabeth turned away to hide a smile.
“Your examination of Mr. Darcy is over, I presume,” said Miss Bingley, moving to take up Elizabeth's arm once more. She held tighter to it than before and turned in their stroll so they walked away from the object of their musings. “Pray what is the result.”
“I am perfectly convinced by it that Mr. Darcy has no defect.” As they moved, she tried not to be self-conscious. “He owns it himself without disguise.”
“No,” said Darcy, “I have made no such pretension. I have faults enough, but I hope they are not of understanding. My temper I dare not vouch for. It is too little yielding — certainly too little for the convenience of the world. I cannot easily forgive the follies and vices of others, nor their offenses against me. My temper would perhaps be called resentful, and my good opinion once lost is lost forever.”
“That is a failing indeed,” agreed Elizabeth. They turned to face him, strolling back to where he sat. “Implacable resentment is a shade in a character. But you have chosen your fault well. I really cannot laugh at it. You are safe from me. Though it is an uncommon advantage, it would be a great loss to me to have many such acquaintances for I dearly love a laugh.”
“There is in every disposition a tendency to some particular evil — a natural defect, which not even the best education can overcome,” he said.
“And your defect is to hate everybody.”
“And yours,” he replied with a surprisingly bright smile, “is willfully to misunderstand them.”
Elizabeth opened her mouth to answer, completely unaware of how the eyes of the room had focused on their discussion. At some point she had wandered away from Miss Bingley and now stood close to him; not so close as to be improper, but close enough to turn away others from their conversation.
“Do let us have a little music,” cried Miss Bingley, tired of a conversation in which she had no share.
Elizabeth jolted in surprise, blinking rapidly as she broke eye contact with Darcy. She took quick steps away from him toward the safety of Jane's presence. Her sister, though weak from the illness looked perfectly content to be the source of Mr. Bingley's unwavering attention. The firelight gave her a becoming glow, which probably hid the feminine blush that budding affection often brought on.
“Louisa, you will not mind my waking Mr. Hurst?” Miss Bingley asked. Her sister had not the smallest objection, and the pianoforte was opened.
Darcy watched Elizabeth move nearer her sister, sorry that their discussion was at an end. He found himself taken with the directness of her attention and the playfulness of her manner. She spoke of not being able to tease him, and yet her words had done just that. He could not be hurt by such attention from her, for there was no spite in her manner or words. When she looked at him, he felt as if they might someday be intimate friends. However, the spell he felt under her attention was successfully broken by the sound of music, and after a few moments' recollection he was not sorry for it. Intimate friends? The idea was laughable. Whatever intimacies he wanted to develop between them was not exclusive to friendship. It was best if he did not pursue such impulses. He began to feel the danger of paying Elizabeth too much open attention.
CHAPTER TWELVE
IN CONSEQUENCE OF AN AGREEMENT between the sisters, Elizabeth wrote the next morning to their mother, to beg that the carriage might be sent for them in the course of the day. But Mrs. Bennet, who had calculated on her daughters remaining at Netherfield till the following Tuesday, which would exactly finish Jane's week, could not bring herself to receive them with pleasure before that time. In her letter she added her denial that, if Mr. Bingley and his sister pressed them to stay longer, she could spare them very well. Fearful of it being considered that they intruded needlessly long, Elizabeth urged Jane
to borrow Mr. Bingley's carriage immediately. At length it was settled that their original design of leaving Netherfield that morning should be mentioned, and the request made.
The communication excited many professions of concern. Enough was said of wishing them to stay at least till the following day to work on Jane, and their going was deferred till the morrow. Miss Bingley was then sorry that she had proposed the delay, for her jealousy and dislike of one sister much exceeded her affection for the other.
The master of the house heard with real sorrow that they were to go so soon, and repeatedly tried to persuade Miss Bennet that it would not be safe for her, that she was not recovered enough, but Jane was firm where she felt herself to be right.
To Mr. Darcy it was welcome intelligence for he felt Elizabeth had been at Netherfield long enough. She attracted him more than he liked. Miss Bingley was uncivil to her, and more teasing than usual to himself. He resolved to be particularly careful that no sign of admiration should now escape him, nothing that could elevate Elizabeth with the hope of influencing his felicity; sensible that if such an idea had been suggested his behavior during the last day must have material weight in confirming or crushing it. This was the only way to successfully banish her from him, for any outcome of the further developing of their friendship could only complicate his feelings and devastate hers. Steady to his purpose, he scarcely spoke ten words to her through the whole of Saturday, and though they were at one time left by themselves for half-an-hour, he adhered most conscientiously to his book, and would not even look at her. This effort it took cost him his place, and he read the same paragraph nearly twenty times without retaining a word of it.
Pride and Prejudice: The Wild and Wanton Edition Page 8
