by Jennifer Joy
Mr. Darcy smiled too. Had he been responsible for attempting to separate them, he would not grin so genuinely, would he? He was too honest to pretend what he did not feel.
His gaze tangled with hers, riveting Elizabeth in place and warming her through for the first time that day. Maybe a life with Mr. Darcy would not be so bad. So long as she had the hope of love, she could be happy. Maybe she could make him happy too.
Mr. Bingley said, “I am so happy Darcy suggested we leave Hertfordshire.”
Elizabeth’s laughter dried up and her smile faded.
For Mr. Bingley and Jane’s sake, Elizabeth kept a level tone, though her heart thrummed at her temples. “Why would Mr. Darcy suggest you leave Netherfield Park if he knew you loved my sister?”
Mr. Wickham had been right to warn them.
“Lizzy, you promised,” warned Jane.
Elizabeth gritted her teeth. Why had she ever agreed to hold her peace when two paces from her stood the most contentious man in England? Oh, how she despised him.
Mr. Bingley opened and closed his mouth several times without uttering a word. His inability to reply told Elizabeth all she needed to know.
Jane soothed Mr. Bingley with a smile. “It does not matter anymore. No damage has been done.”
Elizabeth bit her tongue. No damage done? Was she to be stuck with Mr. Darcy — the man who nearly ruined the happiness of her most beloved sister — and delight in it?
She would not marry him if he were the last man in the world. Elizabeth would rather face the disapproval of society and live the remainder of her days as a spinster with a ruined reputation than attach herself to Mr. Darcy.
Chapter 14
Miss Elizabeth looked like a pot about to boil over. Had Miss Bennet and Bingley not been in the room, Darcy had no doubt she would tell him exactly what she thought of him at that moment. And it would not be favorable.
Now that Bingley had untangled himself from Miss Bennet, Darcy clapped him on the shoulder. “Allow me to offer my sincerest congratulations.”
He felt Miss Elizabeth’s unrelenting glare. Her eyes, narrowed to slits, scrutinized him.
When she spoke, her voice carried a sharp edge. “I am curious. Why did you suggest a trip to London if you knew your friend’s feelings for my sister?”
“At the time, I felt it was in Bingley’s best interest,” he answered honestly. He was not ashamed of what he had done.
She clasped her hands together. “What do you mean?” she asked.
Darcy knew she would not appreciate his reply. “I had reasons to doubt Miss Bennet’s affection for him.”
Miss Elizabeth’s voice raised an octave. “Did Mr. Bingley share these doubts?”
Before Darcy could answer, she repeated the question to Bingley. “Did you doubt?”
Bingley answered truthfully, “I did not doubt.”
“But you did?” Miss Elizabeth returned her full attention to Darcy. “May I inquire why?”
Her skillful mastery over her obvious anger only added to Darcy’s discomfort. And it sparked his ire. He had only acted honestly and out of concern for Bingley’s happiness. Darcy had done exactly what he ought to have done as a gentleman and a friend. There was no shame in that, and he did not appreciate how Miss Elizabeth cast a villainous shadow over his motives when they had been pure.
Darcy crossed his arms. “I saw no encouragement from her. I watched them closely together and observed no particular affection from your sister toward Bingley. I meant to spare him a broken heart and an unfortunate attachment.”
For Miss Bennet’s benefit, he added, “I am pleased to witness differently. I now believe you shall make each other happy.”
Miss Elizabeth’s cheeks flamed in high color.
Miss Bennet put her hand on Miss Elizabeth’s shoulder much like Darcy did to calm his most aggressive hunter when he growled at a stranger.
“Come, Lizzy, we both know it is true. Did not Miss Lucas suggest I ought to encourage Mr. Bingley along? Knowing my nature, she tried to warn me. Mr. Darcy only proved she was wise in her counsel.”
Miss Elizabeth burst, “But you are shy! You rarely show your feelings to me!”
Her words struck Darcy. Too many times he had lamented his own sister’s shyness. So profound was Georgiana’s timidity, he had not known she had fallen in love with Wickham. He had not seen it. Nothing in her manners had suggested she had lost her heart to the fiend.
He looked at Miss Bennet again, and his chest ached when he saw his own sister.
Miss Elizabeth continued, “Were you to act contrary to your sweet nature when Mr. Bingley clearly loves you how you are? Are all ladies expected to change to suit the whims of gentlemen?”
Bingley took Miss Bennet’s hand, holding it close and looking into her eyes. He said, “I would not have you change for the world. I love you as you are. My sole purpose in going to London was to ensure that time and distance would do nothing to change your affection for me, for I was convinced it would not change mine. I had every intention of returning to you … if you wanted me.”
Miss Bennet smiled at him. “I knew there had to be a reasonable explanation for your sudden departure.”
Bingley returned her smile, and they lost themselves in each other, chattering contentedly before the fire. They chose wisely. Why waste their time on fruitless altercations when they could enjoy their time together?
If only Miss Elizabeth thought the same. Her arms were stiff, her hands clutched at her sides. She paced back and forth in the small enclosure, like a prowling cat ready to pounce at the slightest provocation. Her claws would be sharp.
There was nowhere to go to avoid each other, and Darcy would rather have her think well of him than despise him over a misunderstanding — despise him like he did Wickham. Softly, Darcy said, “Come, Miss Elizabeth, they are content. Let us not spoil their joy. It is not in your nature to diminish your sister’s happiness for the sake of your own gratification.” He rubbed his chest, missing Georgiana so much it hurt. He and Miss Elizabeth were similar that way. If only he could make her understand….
Miss Elizabeth gestured upward, then let her hands drop to her sides. “How can you assume to define my nature when you so completely misread my sister’s character?”
Darcy did not have a satisfying answer. She would resent a comparison to him when he was in her disfavor.
He said, “I do not pretend to understand more than what you have revealed openly. You are not shy.” That was an understatement.
She glared at him, and it was all Darcy could do not to smile at her.
Miss Elizabeth lifted her chin. “I am deaf to your insults, Mr. Darcy. You do not intimidate me.”
“You insist on misjudging me. When did I insult you?”
Her eyes narrowed into disapproving slits again, and she shook her head as if he were the slowest child in the schoolroom.
When she did not have a ready answer, Darcy continued, “I might have discerned some of your character, Miss Elizabeth, but I cannot read your mind. In our brief acquaintance, I have never known you to back down from a debate. Pray tell me what disturbs you and let us discuss it openly. As friends.”
She glanced at Bingley and her sister. They were too enraptured with each other to give them any notice.
Miss Elizabeth spoke quickly. “While I am relieved for Jane’s sake that Mr. Bingley’s actions were not so directly influenced by you, it troubles me that you separated them.”
Was that all? “I only meant to protect a friend, just as I suspect you would have done. Am I wrong to assume your anger at me is largely due to your loyalty to your sister?”
“I would do anything to see her happy.”
“You wish to protect her just as I wished to protect Bingley. I applaud you for it.”
She did not react to his praise as he had suspected she would. Arching her brow saucily, she said, “My good opinion, once lost, is lost forever. I could never forgive anyone who would interfere with my s
ister’s happiness.”
How clever Miss Elizabeth must think herself to use his own words against him. Darcy would have pointed out her resentful nature had it not reflected so poorly on himself. She? Resent him? He retorted, “I am not asking for forgiveness. I did what was right, and as you have observed, they have cast all our doubts aside—”
“Your doubts,” she interrupted, crossing her arms.
Insufferable female. “They are happy now. What more do you want?”
She stepped closer to him. “If you take credit for their current happiness, then you must also accept the despair you caused them before tonight. My sister grieved the loss of the man she loved when we learned he planned to leave Hertfordshire. You obviously believe yourself justified in your actions, but what is right is not always kind. You were wrong to interfere.”
This was his reward for trying to make peace?
Darcy was not a man given to anger. Not even Richard in all of his insolent glory could provoke him as this slip of a girl did. Nay, not a girl. There was nothing girlish about Miss Elizabeth. Neither was she the sort of lady society extolled. She was judgmental, impulsive, and intent on believing the absolute worst of him. And insensible! She blamed him for their current situation when they all knew the only one who would be happy about it was her own mother (who, had she half the intellect required, would have arranged the entire affair!)
He would have to marry a woman who hated him.
Darcy’s stomach twisted as understanding gripped him with a firm hold. It was not until that moment — when Miss Elizabeth made her opinion of him clear, when she denied him her friendship — that Darcy realized he wanted her approval. For some inexplicable reason, her opinion mattered to him.
And he had thought Bingley a fool. Who was the fool now?
Chapter 15
Mr. Darcy proved himself to be every bit as haughty as Elizabeth had believed him to be. His insistence on being right, the way he justified his actions when he ought to apologize, did nothing to raise him in her estimation. Mr. Wickham may have been wrong about Mr. Bingley, but he had been right about Mr. Darcy.
She and Jane squeezed onto the straw pallet. It was so narrow, Elizabeth could not flinch without disturbing Jane, but at least they were warmer than the men sleeping on the floor. The tablecloth separated them from the dirt, but it would provide no warmth. Elizabeth’s concern was strictly for Mr. Bingley, whose sneeze had turned into a cough before bedtime. Mr. Darcy, on the other hand, stood to benefit from a night sleeping in the dirt. The worm would feel right at home.
Accompanied by her disapproving thoughts, Elizabeth fell asleep only to wake when Jane crawled off of the pallet.
Through eyes blurred with sleep, Elizabeth saw Mr. Darcy holding a cup of water up to Mr. Bingley’s mouth.
Jane pressed her hand against Mr. Bingley’s forehead. “He is burning with fever.”
Her words were like a douse of cold water over Elizabeth. She scrambled off of the pallet, dragging it closer to Mr. Bingley. “Perhaps you will be more comfortable on the straw.”
Mr. Darcy helped Mr. Bingley over to the pallet, lowering him gently. At one point, Mr. Darcy pressed his eyes shut, his mouth pinched closed. He was slow to stand after Mr. Bingley loosened his hold around him, and the way Mr. Darcy held his side and breathed shallowly made Elizabeth wish she could take away some of his pain. Not that she wished to help him. It was only that she did not wish for anyone to suffer like that. Not even Mr. Darcy.
Once Mr. Bingley was calmed and settled, Mr. Darcy tended the fire and then returned to his spot by the window.
Elizabeth knew what he would see. She had already looked. An endless sea of white and snow falling so thickly, it was difficult to separate the ground from the sky.
It was going to be a long day.
Having no other occupation with which to busy herself, Elizabeth moved the chair behind where Jane sat beside Mr. Bingley. While Jane bathed his face with linen soaked in melted snow, Elizabeth extracted the tangled pins holding Jane’s elaborate coiffure.
Elizabeth smiled as she remembered how their mother had risen hours before her normal time to prepare their hamper for travel and ensure Betsey had enough time to style her and Jane’s hair in the latest fashion. Elizabeth had argued that their bonnets would cover their hair for the duration of the trip, but what did she know? Elizabeth would think twice before doubting her mother again.
With Mr. Bingley sleeping restlessly and Mr. Darcy peering out of the window, Elizabeth could almost pretend she was at home in Longbourn. It was the day of the Netherfield Ball, and she was brushing Jane’s hair.
Using her fingers, Elizabeth separated the strands and let Jane’s beautiful hair spill down past her waist. Jane had beautiful hair — like liquid gold, soft and silky, gleaming in the firelight.
Elizabeth fussed a little more over her hair than she needed to. There were few things more delicious than having your hair brushed. She braided it, twisting and pinning Jane’s tresses into a simple bun. Their mother would be appalled, but it was the best Elizabeth could do.
Jane was so beautiful, she could wear thistles in her hair and still look elegant.
Elizabeth traded places with Jane, who soon had her purring like a kitten under her gentle touch.
“I do not know how you do it, Jane. My hair must be an absolute disaster full of snarls and knots, but you never tug or pull,” Elizabeth cooed. She did not have the advantage of Jane’s straight hair. Her hair curled rebelliously. It was the bane of Betsey’s existence, or so the maid said every time she tried to twist it into submission.
Elizabeth closed her eyes, her muscles melting. She could sit there all day.
She might have groaned in delight. She did not care what noises she made when she was completely at peace and relaxed.
Too quickly, Jane pushed the last pin into Elizabeth’s hair, securing her plaited bun in place.
Elizabeth did not want to open her eyes, and when she finally did, the sight of Mr. Darcy staring at her coiled her into knots again. He probably thought it was the height of impropriety for Jane and her to loose their hair in his presence. What was Elizabeth supposed to do? Let her hair snarl into a knot resembling a bird’s nest?
She could have pointed out to him that there was nothing proper about their current circumstances, but he spared her from defending her behavior when he jerked open the latch and stepped outside, slamming the door behind him.
Jane exclaimed, “He does not have his coat on! He will freeze to death.”
Mr. Bingley snored, and Elizabeth imagined Mr. Darcy falling ill with a cold. Undesirous of caring for two ailing gentlemen, she charged over to the woodpile and grabbed Mr. Darcy’s greatcoat. It was mostly dry thanks to its proximity to the fire.
“I will take this to him,” she said with all the enthusiasm of a martyr. If Mr. Darcy thought she would attend to him as tenderly as Jane cared for Mr. Bingley in his illness, he was in for a surprise. She would sooner slap him in the face with a cold rag than gently bathe his brow.
Donning her pelisse, her dislike for Mr. Darcy growing more severe as the damp fabric chilled her skin, Elizabeth pulled the collar up and braced herself. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door and secured it behind her in one fluid motion.
Her entire body shivered, and her chin shook.
Propriety be hanged! She wrapped Mr. Darcy’s greatcoat around her like a cloak. Snuggling into the thick wool, Elizabeth breathed in smoky oak and earth — odors that would forever remind her of Mr. Darcy. She sniffed the fresh air, trying to rid herself of it.
Mr. Darcy stood at the edge of visibility, his dark hair whipping around his face in the wind and his coattails flapping against his breeches.
Did he want to catch a cold? Kicking the snow away to save her skirts, Elizabeth joined him, shoving the coat in front of him.
He pushed it back to her.
She had little patience for a man who would stand in the frigid wind without his coat. �
�What are you doing? Have you gone mad?”
Mr. Darcy threw his arms up in the air. “I must be,” he exclaimed with more energy than Elizabeth could ever recall him speaking.
She did not understand what had brought on this episode, but it did not change the fact that he needed his coat. She shoved it toward him again. “Then be so kind as to put your coat on. If you are to lose your mind, you might as well be warm.”
He cackled harshly, taking the coat and putting it on.
She looked at him from the corner of her eyes. What had come over him?
He made no effort to return to the house, and she stood with him for as long as she could, rubbing her arms and bouncing up and down to keep from freezing in place. When her teeth began to chatter, she said, “Mr. Darcy, I cannot stay in the cold much longer, and yet I do not trust you alone out here. You are not well.”
He folded his arms over his chest and peered down at her. She must have been a pitiful sight. He slid his coat off and wrapped it around her shoulders quicker than she could protest. “What do you care? You despise me,” he said, pulling his coat around her snugly.
Mr. Darcy looked at her as if her answer was important.
Unable to think of something clever when he had been nice to her and when she was certain her brain had iced over, she said, “You crossed the line when you interfered with my sister’s happiness, but the truth is, I do not know what to think of you. Yes, there are times I despise you, but then you will do something so honorable and sincere, I doubt my reasons for disliking you.” Lest he use her words to minimize his betrayal, she added, “How would you feel if someone, no matter how well-intentioned, ruined the prospects of your sister?”
She wanted Mr. Darcy to feel her sister’s pain, to understand what he had made Jane suffer.
He stepped toward her, leaning forward, so he filled Elizabeth’s vision. The look in his eyes was fierce as he said, “I would hate him forever. He would be dead to me.”
Overwhelmed by his intensity, Elizabeth stood firmly rooted in place, the wind whipping her skirts around her legs and pulling her hair loose to whirl around her head. She was aware of her surroundings, but they had no impact on her. Not when Mr. Darcy allowed her to see him fully in his vulnerability. What she saw moved her. Elizabeth felt his pain at her very core. He understood her, and he hated himself so much Elizabeth could no longer hate him too.
