by Sophia Grey
“We will, Mama,” Elizabeth muttered. She looped her arm through Jane’s and together they walked down the road that would lead them to Netherfield Park.
“If it rains, they will ask us to stay,” Jane said.
“Mama always seems to get her way,” Elizabeth replied.
“She does, indeed.”
The walked together in silence, and Elizabeth tried her best not to think about what could happen at Netherfield Park, but though it was impossible to predict, she could not stop herself from rehearsing what she would say, and how she would answer the questions Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst would surely ask.
“What are you thinking, Lizzie?” Jane asked suddenly.
Elizabeth smiled at being caught lost in her thoughts. “I am wondering how long it will take Mr. Bingley to declare his affection for you,” she replied.
“You presume too much,” Jane laughed.
“Do I, indeed?” Elizabeth feigned shock and looked at her sister with wide eyes. “If I am not mistaken, Miss Jane Bennet, I know of no other young lady in Hertfordshire that has been invited to tea at Netherfield Park!”
Jane pressed her lips together, but Elizabeth could see the smile in her sister’s eyes. “Be that as it may,” she said primly, “it is just tea.”
“Of course it is. Just tea.”
It was difficult for Elizabeth to keep her composure as she and Jane trudged up the path that led to Netherfield Park. The estate was surrounded by a lush evergreen forest and the smell of pine filled their senses and reminded them that Christmas was just around the corner. How fine it would be to host Christmas parties in such a house.
“If I were Mrs. Bingley,” Elizabeth said suddenly. “I would plan the most glorious Christmas celebration, with candles and boughs in every room, even the ones we did not use except on special occasions.”
Jane laughed and tightened her grip on her sister’s arm. “If I were Mrs. Bingley I would invite all of Hertfordshire for Christmas, and there would be a magnificent tree and gifts and food for everyone.”
“Mulled wine?”
“And apple cider too.”
Elizabeth’s nose wrinkled. “Not too much cinnamon? Hill always puts too much cinnamon in her cider.”
“Certainly not.”
“Then I approve of this holiday plan,” Elizabeth announced.
Their laughter echoed over the hill, but it stopped suddenly as Netherfield Park came into view.
“My dear Jane,” Elizabeth breathed, “if you do not become Mrs. Bingley I shall be sorely disappointed in you. To think that he has merely taken a lease on this estate…”
“It is quite wonderful,” Jane agreed quietly and Elizabeth could only wonder what thoughts were spinning through her sister’s head. Netherfield Park had been a grant estate for as long as Elizabeth could remember, but though they lived very close, she had never visited. Their father spoke fondly of the gentleman who had inhabited prior to Mr. Bingley’s arrival, but Mr. Dale had been abroad on the continent for the better part of two years with no sign that he would be returning anytime soon.
The house itself was long rectangular and seemed to perch delicately upon the gently rolling hills. Longbourn was quite small by comparison, but that was not a difficult feat. With eleven guest bedrooms, two libraries, a ballroom, two dining rooms, and a parlor for the ladies of the house, Netherfield Park was an enviable seat.
“A pity he does not own it,” Elizabeth mused. “If I were Mrs. Bingley I should encourage him to purchase it.”
“I quite agree,” Jane said with a smile. “Although, if I were Mrs. Bingley would be hard pressed to relinquish my house in London in favor of a country retreat such as this.”
Elizabeth laughed and tugged Jane along. “Come now, if we are late for tea your future sisters would never forgive us. No doubt they are awaiting our arrival with breathless anticipation.”
“Lizzy, you are awful.” Jane did not miss the sarcasm in her sister’s voice as she hurried to keep up. Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst did not seem the type to pine at windows for the arrival of their guests. The clouds overhead were dark and threatening, and Elizabeth let out a shout of relieved laughter as a clap of thunder rolled above them and the rain began to fall.
“Mama will be so pleased,” Elizabeth gasped as they jumped beneath the protection of the covered archway that opened to the front door of Netherfield Park.
A surprised looking older gentleman opened the door to their persistent knocking, and after examining the letter that Jane produced he allowed them to step over the threshold and into the grand foyer. Elizabeth’s breath caught in her throat as she beheld a grand staircase and walls covered in portraits and paintings of the Hertfordshire countryside. “I do believe those are Mr. Miller’s cows,” she whispered loudly to Jane as she pointed out one particularly bucolic painting. Jane blushed and thanked the man, who could only have been Netherfield Park’s butler.
A sharply unfamiliar voice hailed them from the end of the hall. “Miss Jane Bennet. How good of you to come.”
Miss Caroline Bingley came into view, and at once Elizabeth felt entirely underdressed and shabby in the other woman’s presence. Mr. Bingley’s sister was dressed in a fine silk gown, no doubt of the latest fashion to come into London and a richly woven Kashmir shawl was draped over her slender arms. “Another Miss Bennet?” she said in surprise and then called over her shoulder. “Louisa, come and see, we have acquired two Miss Bennet’s for the effort of one invitation!”
Jane’s cheeks flushed slightly and Elizabeth bristled at the condescension in Miss Bingley’s tone.
“I thought it would be best if we came together,” Jane said. “If it is too much trouble—”
“No, no, indeed the only trouble is to have Mr. Duncan set another place for tea,” Mrs. Hurst said pointedly as she joined her sister in the hallway. The butler bowed shortly and strode down the hall, presumably to do as he was bidden. Jane smiled awkwardly and began to remove her bonnet.
“Thank you for the invitation, Miss Bingley,” she said. “We have never been inside Netherfield Park, but it is entirely as wonderful as we had imagined.”
“Please, it is Caroline when I am with my friends. And friends is what we are, nay?” Jane nodded in reply as Miss Bingley smiled and wound her arm through Jane’s. “I must tell you, as fine as it appears, these rooms are draughty and the curtains do nothing to keep out the chill wind. You are lucky you arrived just as the rain began.”
“We did not hear your carriage,” Mrs. Hurst said as they walked into the parlor.
“We came on foot,” Jane said.
Caroline Bingley’s eyes widened. “That would explain the pinkness in their cheeks and the brightness in their eyes,” said a jovial voice from the corner of the parlor. “You are most welcome Miss Bennet, Miss Elizabeth,” Mr. Bingley greeted them warmly.
“Next you will be suggesting that Luisa and I should take a turn about the grounds to better improve our complexions, Charles,” Miss Bingley scoffed. “Be gone, I am sure you have much more important things to do than sit with a group of ladies who desire nothing more than to gossip.”
“A turn walk through the gardens could do you no harm, Caroline,” he said with a good-natured smile. “But, I confess, I do have business elsewhere and shall not intrude upon your tea.” He bowed at the waist briefly before saying his goodbyes and leaving the room.
Jane had watched the whole exchange quietly, and Elizabeth could not guess what her sister was thinking, but for herself, she had decided that she was not entirely inclined to trust Miss Caroline Bingley.
“Come now, Miss Jane, Miss Eliza, do sit down. I have been eager to make your proper acquaintance since we met at the Meryton Assembly.” Caroline Bingley’s voice was syrupy sweet and Elizabeth did her best to smile graciously. Jane, who always wanted to see the best in people, seemed genuinely eager to talk to Miss Bingley and her sister and Elizabeth sighed inwardly. If Jane could not be suspicious of Mr. Bingley’s sist
ers, Elizabeth would have to do it for her.
4
It may have been due to her wariness, but it did not take long for Elizabeth’s temper to rise up during the teatime conversation that ensued.
“Tell me Jane, do you feel that you would have benefitted from a London education? It must be so incredibly depressing to be here in the country with almost no hope of bettering your own situation through anything but marriage…” Caroline Bingley had wasted no time in offering insult to everything Elizabeth cherished about her life in Hertfordshire, but she had to bear it all with a smile as Jane was doing. “Are there any bachelors in Hertfordshire who are not tied to the militia? Louisa, could you imagine being a soldier’s wife?” Caroline made a face and her sister sipped delicately at her tea.
“I could not imagine it at all,” she replied.
Caroline Bingley smiled, but the sentiment did not reach her eyes. “Well, we cannot all be married to barristers, is that not true Eliza?”
Elizabeth bristled at the use of a nickname she despised, but instead of snapping her response, she took a shallow breath and set down her tea cup. Jane glanced at her sister warningly but Elizabeth ignored her. “No, indeed,” she said brightly. “But there are a good many eligible bachelors in Hertfordshire. Many of them are studying abroad or in London, but they will return to their family homes come Christmas.”
Mrs. Hurst smiled, but somehow it seemed strained, as though she had not expected Elizabeth to answer at all. “How very nice to hear,” Caroline simpered. “I would imagine, though, that these gentlemen would seek out brides who are more well-traveled than those who spend their lives in the country learning simple dances and to play the pianoforte at family gatherings.”
It was clear to Elizabeth that Caroline Bingley was comfortable being cruel, and that she demanded the deferrance of her peers. But Elizabeth would not be cowed by the honeyed poison of her words.
“And how should you suggest one pass the time?” she asked smartly. “The diversion of a country dance and the ability to play the pianoforte has brought out family through many a dull winter. Can you say the same?”
Caroline Bingley blinked in surprise and Elizabeth felt a small surge of victory.
“Young ladies in London are not so concerned with the entertainment of their families,” Mrs. Hurst said sharply. “But I suppose it is safe to assume that you have never seen a play or been to the opera? London is filled with entertainments that do not include rustic piano or… country dancing.”
Elizabeth pressed her lips together as Caroline Bingley’s smile returned.
“To be sure, there is no theatre, nor an opera here in Hertfordshire,” Jane said mildly. “But our aunt and uncle have been kind enough to take us to see several plays when we have visited them.”
“And where in London do they live,” Caroline Bingley asked.
“Gracechurch Street,” Jane replied brightly. “In Cheapside.”
“Indeed,” Caroline purred. “How wonderful to have family in London to rely upon for some society. Do they visit often?”
“Not often enough,” Jane said with a smile.
“I daresay.” Caroline Bingley’s eyes were full of mischievous mirth and Elizabeth did not want to guess what she was thinking. No doubt her mind was tumbling with judgement, just as Elizabeth’s was conjuring images of how satisfying it would be to upend the tea pot into Caroline Bingley’s lap.
“It must be very exciting for your family to have the militia in town,” Caroline continued afresh. “It will be quite a blow when they leave for their winter camp.”
“Lydia and Kitty are very excited—,” Jane began, but Elizabeth interrupted her by standing from her seat.
“Eliza Bennet, whatever is the matter?” Caroline asked in surprise.
Elizabeth’s hands clenched into fists at her sides as she tried to regain control of her emotions. Caroline Bingley was being deliberately infuriating, but she would not give her the satisfaction of an argument.
“It has become quite stuffy,” Elizabeth said shortly. “I believe I shall take a brisk walk in the garden to clear my head.”
“But Lizzy, it is still raining,” Jane protested gently.
Elizabeth peered out the window and then smiled thinly at her sister. “It looks as though it was a small storm. I shall not be more than a moment. A quick breath of fresh air will do me very well.”
Before anyone else could protest, Elizabeth swept her bonnet and shawl from a nearby chair, walked quickly from the room, and stalked down the hall toward the front doors of Netherfield Park.
She pulled her shawl furiously around her shoulders and pushed open the door. The rain was more of a light mist, and Elizabeth frowned as she looped the ribbon of her bonnet over her wrist. It would do her no good to wear it, rain like this would find its way through to her hair regardless. A mop of damp curls was better than spending one more minute in that parlor with a spider such as Caroline Bingley.
Elizabeth took a deep breath and closed her eyes as the mist kissed at her cheeks and eyelids, cool against her flushed skin. If she had stayed in that room any longer she would have said something she would have regretted, and Jane did not deserve that.
She marched down the stairs with a determined gait and strode through the wet grass toward Netherfield Park’s gardens. Much of the flowering season had passed and the only spots of color in the garden were a stand of delicate pink poinsettias that had just begun to bloom. They would stand out beautifully against the winter snows that would soon blanket the countryside. But Elizabeth did not care about beauty at that moment.
Jane was in the parlor doing her very best to be civil and all Elizabeth could do was kick at a hummock of grass in an attempt to calm her rage. “Most unladylike,” she muttered bitterly. “If I were Mrs. Bingley I would be sure that my dear sisters would be always away in London and never here.” Elizabeth marched around the poinsettia bush, but her temper was not as willing to fade as she had hoped.
She stomped out of the garden and leaned against the low stone wall to look down the gentle slope that led down toward Meryton. Elizabeth closed her eyes and stepped forward—into a solid wall. A wall that smelled of horses and wet wool, a yielding wall. She cried out in surprise and tried to step away, but instead of stepping back onto solid ground, she stepped into empty space.
Elizabeth’s eyes flew open and she cried out in surprise as she fell through the air. Her shoes slipped on the wet grass and she tumbled down the slope.
“Lizzy, Lizzy wake up… please, wake up!”
Elizabeth opened her eyes slowly to see Jane’s anxious face looming over hers. “Jane—” she tried to sit up, but Jane pressed her shoulder gently and eased her back against the pillows beneath her. Her foot was elevated and wrapped in lengths of linen.
“Hush now,” Jane said. “You fell in the garden… your ankle. It twisted in the fall.”
“How did I—how did I get here?” she asked weakly. Confusion flooded her senses and she gasped at the sharp pain in her ankle as she tried to move her leg.
“Mr. Darcy brought you,” Jane said quietly.
“Mr. Darcy!” Elizabeth exclaimed.
“Shhhh,” Jane tried to quiet her sister. “It was all quite dramatic, Lizzy. He did not explain, but simply carried you into the parlor and demanded that a room be made up for you.” Jane smiled briefly. “I daresay you would have enjoyed the look on Miss Bingley’s face to see you in Mr. Darcy’s arms.”
“He carried me?” Elizabeth squeaked.
“You were injured and quite unwell,” Jane said. “I was so very worried. I did not want to send word to Longbourn until you were awake.”
Elizabeth winced and sat up in the bed. Her mud-spattered and grass stained dress was draped over a nearby chair and Elizabeth felt a hot blush rise to her cheeks. “Do not look so upset, Lizzy,” Jane soothed. “Mrs. Hurst has lent you one of her nightgowns, and I am sure that Hill will be able to bring your dress back from its current state.” E
lizabeth tried to smile as Jane misinterpreted her distress.
“I am sure,” she replied and patted her sister’s hand.
Elizabeth could hear the sound of low voices outside the chamber door and Jane leaned close. “Mr. Darcy was very gallant to bring you inside,” she whispered.
Elizabeth laughed shortly and gestured to her ankle. “If not for him, I would still be standing.”
Jane looked confused. “What do you mean?”
“I was out in the garden, trying to decide whether or not I could face Caroline Bingley’s vicious countenance once more when I was knocked off my feet and sent tumbling into the mud by none other than the gallant Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth scoffed.
“Lizzy, lower your voice!” Jane said frantically.
“If it were not for the fact that it were so near the house I do believe he might have left me there,” Elizabeth said hotly. “I am surprised that he would sully his fine coat with mud. What a pretty picture we must have made. Such a proud gentleman. Jane, what a fine joke, that a gentleman of Mr. Darcy’s character should be forced to assist a women who is not handsome enough to tempt him.”
“Oh, Lizzy,” Jane chuckled softly.
She shook her head ruefully. “How his pride must have been wounded to know that he was the cause of this,” Elizabeth said as she gestured at her injury. “Alas, I do not expect that I shall hear any apology from him. There will be no requests for my forgiveness, Jane.”
Jane shook her head and took Elizabeth’s hand. “You must be more generous to Mr. Darcy,” she admonished. “He has brought you back safe, and I am grateful for it, even if you cannot be.”
