“Thank you,” said Elizabeth.
Another long silence.
“I say,” said Mrs. Hurst brightly. “The weather we’ve been having, is it quite typical for this part of the country?”
“Indeed,” said Elizabeth, who thought that the weather of Hertfordshire could not differ overmuch from the weather of London. But it was rather more pleasant to speak of trifles than to be silent, so she launched into a detailed discourse on the weather patterns of November, which Mrs. Hurst attended to with grave solemnity, asking questions here and there as if in an attempt to be sure she understood it perfectly.
And thus, the dinner passed.
CHAPTER THREE
Jane was being kept on her own wing in an attempt to minimize contagion, if there was any, so Elizabeth was obliged to walk back through the house on her own after she said goodnight to her sister.
She took a wrong turn at the end of the wing and somehow ended up on the wrong side of the house. Scolding herself, she found her way back to the main entranceway and was thus able to set herself right. Her father was always gently teasing her about her lack of direction. “Spending too much time thinking, Lizzy, and not enough paying attention to your surroundings,” he would say.
It was true, of course. She did have a tendency to get lost in thought.
Currently, she was thinking of Jane, and whether or not she should hope for a match between her sister and Mr. Bingley. It was quiet obvious by now that Mr. Bingley was devoted to Jane, but marrying Mr. Bingley meant becoming attached to his relations as well. And the more gracious of the two sisters, Mrs. Hurst, was married and less likely to be about all the time. Instead, Jane would be forced to share meals and leisure time with Miss Bingley, who was not exactly enjoyable company.
Of course, Elizabeth thought, Miss Bingley would eventually get married, and then she would not be present as much. In truth, it was the man who mattered more than his family. Yes, she supposed it would be prudent for Jane to marry. And besides, if necessary, she could spend time with Jane and Bingley after their marriage and draw the ire of Miss Bingley, who did seem to dislike Elizabeth more than she looked down upon Jane.
Elizabeth found the stairs and began to ascend.
But, looking up, she found that someone else was descending the steps. He looked up at her, and it was Mr. Darcy.
She had to school herself to keep from wincing at the sight of his face. It looked so painful. He had been dreadfully injured in that fall indeed.
“Miss Bennet,” said Mr. Darcy, the unscarred half of his mouth quirking upward, a half smile. “Wandering alone in the house at night, I see?”
“I’m afraid that after I said goodnight to my sister, I made a wrong turn and got a bit lost,” she said. “But I am on the right track now. Good evening, sir.” She started to ascend again.
His hand shot out and caught her by the arm, stopping her movement.
She gasped, startled. Had he touched her?
He wasn’t touching her now. He looked startled, too, as if he had moved against his own volition. “I apologize, madam,” he said in a low voice. “I did not mean to cause you any distress.”
She gathered herself up. “I am quite all right, I assure you, only tired.” She could not help but think of what Louisa had said at dinner, that a man had been in the carriage with them and that his body had never been found, that people said he had murdered the man. Regarding Mr. Darcy, she found it wasn’t difficult to imagine him doing such a thing.
“Are you quite a reader of Shakespeare, then?” said Darcy’s voice.
She licked her lips. “I beg your pardon?”
“When we met, you recognized Much Ado About Nothing straightaway. Do you read much of Shakespeare?”
“I have read his work,” said Elizabeth. “Sometimes, the language is a bit difficult to decipher, but it is worth it if one uses one’s mind to puzzle it out. And you, sir? Do you also enjoy Shakespeare?”
“I admit that I am more partial to the tragedies than the comedies,” said Darcy.
“Yes, of course.” She nodded. The comedies, with their boisterousness and happy endings, dual couples at the altar smiling and living happily ever after, she could see how he might not favor them what with the state of his life. “I, too, enjoy the tragedies. How could one not?”
“What is your favorite?”
“I couldn’t say,” she said. “I was once quite partial to Macbeth, but I find Othello quite affecting. Iago is chilling.”
“Yes, indeed,” said Darcy. “Quite an unsettling play, is it not?”
“I find it hard to believe that anyone could be so evil,” said Elizabeth. “Surely, it is only a construction of such plays, a stock character, not found in real life. After all, in Much Ado About Nothing, we have Don John, who is much the same.”
“Ah, yes, the machiavel,” said Darcy. “An invention of fiction, you think?”
“It must be. No one is evil for the sake of evil,” said Elizabeth. “No one enjoys such things.”
“But isn’t the broad path that leads to destruction broad precisely because so many walk upon it? If evil were not pleasurable, it would not be tempting, would it?”
“Yes, but that is different,” said Elizabeth. “The pleasures of the flesh are tempting, but the way that Iago ruins Othello, delights in violence and death, that is something else entirely.” And then she realized she had just said ‘pleasures of the flesh’ aloud in the presence of a man. It was a phrase spoken from the pulpit, to be sure, but it wasn’t the sort of thing that a young lady spoke of so casually in polite society. She flushed. Why, Mr. Darcy would be thinking his earlier assessment of her was true, that she was improper, that her reputation was suspect.
Mr. Darcy was gazing at her, his dark eyes glittering. “Is it different, though? Perhaps Othello gives in too easily. Perhaps he tips over that edge because there is something that rises in him at the thought of climbing into his wife’s bed and wrapping his hands tight around her creamy, bare neck.”
Elizabeth shivered, strange sensations going through her. Mr. Darcy’s voice was deep and rich, and it seemed to reach inside her and curl around her insides, making her feel off-kilter. What he was speaking off was horrid, though, and a tendril of fear crawled up her spine at the same time. She wanted to get away from him. She spoke, and her voice had gotten dreadfully thin. “I… I must be getting to bed, sir. I find I am quite tired.”
“Of course,” said Mr. Darcy, inclining his head. “I apologize for keeping you. I wish I shared your good opinion of humanity, in truth. I would like to believe there are not evil people among us. Would like to believe it very much.”
She swallowed. “I don’t suppose that is what I mean, not exactly. Surely, people do evil things, it is only that I don’t think they delight in it.”
He raised his eyebrows.
Suddenly, it was important that she got her idea across, even though she still felt unsettled by this man. “Look, for example, at dueling. When men go and shoot each other, it is not because they delight in spilling blood, because something rises in them at the thought of it. It is done out of anger and pride and a misplaced sense of honor. Some thought that there is some mystical sense of justice that will guide the bullet to kill the right man, but such things are preposterous.”
“Well, there we agree,” said Darcy. “Duels are not about justice. There is no justice in the world.”
She licked her lips. “Perhaps not in the natural world. Perhaps that world is brutish and indifferent, but amongst the world of man, there is at least a chance for justice. Everything is not as bad as you seem to think it is, Mr. Darcy.”
He laughed, surprised. “Oh, is that so?”
“Yes.”
“And what is it that I should find favorable in my lot now, Miss Bennet?”
She cleared her throat. “Well… I am not saying you have not been through terrible loss, sir, and I don’t mean to belittle that, I am sorry. But you are alive, are you not, and you
are a man of some means, and you have a future ahead of you. Ruminating on the worst things in life will only serve to do yourself further injury.”
“I see.” He nodded, his half-smile wider but colder. “I shall simply put a happy face on it all, pretend that nothing is wrong.”
“That is not what I meant,” said Elizabeth.
“Of course not.”
“That is, I do not know what it is like for you, and I can only imagine, which I may do poorly, but I think that misery is always there, if one wants to find it. It takes strength to rise above it, to see the good in the world, and I… well, if there is anything I can tell about you, sir, it is that you are strong.”
He gazed at her, the smile sliding away from his face. He swallowed, and his Adam’s apple bobbed, and there was suddenly something so… physical and male about him. She was aware that they were standing close to each other—too close—and she had a funny thought about reaching out and tracing the rope of the scar tissue on his face, gently sliding her forefinger over it.
She drew in a shuddering breath.
Mr. Darcy looked away. His voice was even deeper now, almost unsteady. “I have kept you far too long, madam. You have said you are tired. You must go to bed now.”
“Yes,” she said. “I am sure that I must.”
“Good night.”
“Good night.” She fairly ran up the rest of the stairs. When she got back to her room, she undressed without calling for the maid that Mr. Bingley had designated for her use, because she could not bear being in the presence of another person.
She was not sure what she felt about Mr. Darcy.
Fear, she told herself firmly. He is a most unpleasant man.
That statement about Othello, for instance, that was disturbing.
Yes, she allowed, it had been disturbing. And yet…
No, she would not allow herself to finish that thought. It was preposterous to even entertain it.
* * *
Darcy pushed open the door and found Bingley standing by the fire, a glass of brandy in one hand. He looked up when the door opened, eyes raised.
“Yes, I am sorry I am late,” said Darcy, going straightaway to pour himself a glass of brandy as well. “I met Miss Bennet in the hallway—that is Miss Elizabeth Bennet—and we had a conversation that got away from us.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know, it just went on too long.” Darcy settled down in a chair in front of the fire, sipping at his drink. “What is it you wanted to say to me?”
Bingley sat down in a chair next to him. “Well, I don’t know where to start.”
“Perhaps I can say it for you,” said Darcy, gazing into the flames. “You find my lack of manners unacceptable. Your sister Caroline is in some distress, and it is my doing. You are not at all pleased by the way that I conduct myself, and you want me to pack up and go in the morning, leave you all in peace.”
“Oh, Darcy, I’m not sending you away.”
“You should,” said Darcy, slumping down in the chair. “I am only going to behave worse else.”
Bingley shot him an annoyed glance. “You are doing it on purpose, because you want me to send you away.”
Darcy sipped his drink and neither confirmed nor denied this.
“If you want to leave, leave.” Bingley gestured vaguely in the direction of the road.
“If I leave on my own, you will pester me with more letters,” said Darcy. “You will likely beg me to come with you to London for the Season. You will—”
“Darcy would I have rented this house in the country if I intended to be in London for the winter?”
“Perhaps,” said Darcy.
“Listen, I am worried about you, that is all. It’s not good for you to be alone. It wasn’t good for you to have spent your entire period of mourning by yourself, drunk all the time.”
“I was in pain. The drink helps a bit.” He took a gulp of brandy. It burned its way into his belly.
“That does not mean it was good for you.”
“You and Miss Elizabeth are the same,” said Mr. Darcy. “You both wish me to leave my misery behind and try to find something to be happy about.”
“She said that to you?” said Bingley.
“She’s a very sharp-tongued sort of girl,” said Mr. Darcy, running his finger around the rim of his glass. “She has very particular ideas, and she’s not afraid of making sure you know what she means. She has no qualms about being openly disagreeable.”
“I say, are we talking about the same girl? She is as sweet as her elder sister. Every time I have interacted with her, she has been nothing but decorum personified.”
Darcy smirked.
“You provoke her,” said Bingley.
“Yes,” Darcy said softly. He took another gulp of brandy. “I suppose I do. I think I enjoy provoking her more than I have enjoyed anything since…” And he could not bring himself to utter the words ‘Georgiana’s death’ aloud.
“Hmm,” said Bingley, looking him over. “Well, that’s interesting. I thought you might have objections to the family.”
Darcy squinted at him. “The family? What are you talking about?”
“The Bennet family.”
“Oh, indeed. I suppose they must have a family. Everyone does, after all.” Then he laughed hollowly. “Oh, wait, in fact, I do not have a family.”
“Darcy…” Bingley sighed.
“What does the father do?”
“He is a gentleman,” said Bingley. “He has an estate, rather smaller than Netherfield. Quite a bit smaller than Pemberley.”
Darcy drank more brandy.
“Oh, come, man,” said Bingley. “You are not yourself at all. Why, when I was entranced by that girl in Derbyshire, you had a list of reasons as long as your arm that I should leave off her. You are always putting your nose into my business like a… like your aunt, Lady Catherine.”
“Oh, that was cruel.” Darcy grimaced, but he didn’t actually sound very upset. “Take that back.”
“For heaven’s sake, what do you think of Miss Bennet?”
“I thought I had just explained that she was disagreeable, but that I found the sight of her countenance rose-colored from a walk in the open air rather… stirring.”
“Oh, Darcy, no, the eldest Miss Bennet.”
“I think nothing of her,” said Darcy, finishing his drink. “I have never conversed with her, I don’t think. She is pretty, I suppose, but quiet.”
“I am in love with her.”
“Truly?” Darcy squinted at Bingley.
“Truly,” said Bingley. “You have no objections to the match?”
“Match? You’re going to marry her?”
“I think so, yes.”
“Well, if that’s what you want.” Darcy shrugged. “I suppose if you get married, you’ll be distracted, and you’ll stop treating me as your project.”
“Perhaps you should get married,” said Bingley.
“To whom?” Darcy chuckled.
“Darcy, your body may be damaged, but your fortune is not, and neither is your ability to get heirs. There is nothing wrong with you, and there are great many women who would not care—”
“Who would close their eyes against the sight of my face moving over them?” said Darcy. “No, thank you.”
“I imagine what you’re speaking of is often done in the dark,” said Bingley. “But you needn’t be vulgar. There is quite a bit more to marriage, you know.”
“Well, I suppose you and Miss Bennet will be discovering that shortly.” Darcy looked down at his glass. “I seem to have drunk all my drink, so I’ll need to refill it if you want to have a congratulatory toast.”
“Honestly, Darcy, you can’t be so vain—”
“It’s not vanity,” Darcy snapped.
Bingley raised his eyebrows.
Darcy sighed, sitting up straight in his chair. “Bingley, there was a time in my life when I could manage it. I could go to the balls and dance with wo
men and have ridiculous mindless conversations about nothing. But now, I don’t care about any of it. I don’t care at all. And they are so… so silly and pretty and delicate. I would… putting my hands on them, it would soil them. I am not for those sorts of women anymore.”
“Oh?” said Bingley in a knowing tone. “And perhaps a disagreeable woman, one who can’t seem to stop speaking her mind, that is who you are for?”
Darcy let out a funny noise. He looked into the fire, and he was overcome for a moment. “I couldn’t do that to her. Miss Elizabeth is… she’s quite stunning in her way. No, no. She must have someone better than me. I am bitter and broken.”
“You’re going to have to marry someone.”
“Why?”
“To carry on the line, of course. You can’t simply let the Darcy name die out.”
“Well, it’s not as if I don’t have cousins.” Darcy tried to get up, and pain shot up his leg. He grunted. “I say, Bingley, would you be so good as to fill my glass again?”
“You shouldn’t drink so much,” said Bingley.
“Fill my glass or consent for me to leave,” said Darcy, glaring at his friend. “I won’t have you scolding me. You are an old woman.”
“I will scold as much as I please.” But Bingley snatched the glass away and got to his feet.
CHAPTER FOUR
The following day, Mrs. Bennet came to call at Netherfield with the other three Bennet sisters in tow. Lydia and Kitty babbled quite a lot at the beginning, commenting upon everything they saw, from the size of the drawing room to the chandeliers to the biscuits served with tea.
Elizabeth found herself trying in vain to shush them. She did not mind that they were obviously annoying Miss Bingley. Elizabeth did not care about her opinion. However, she wanted to remain in Mr. Bingley’s good graces. Indeed, if her sisters and her mother did not stop with their rather embarrassing displays, Mr. Bingley might be frightened away from the family and would not continue his pursuit of Jane.
Try as Elizabeth might, she could not manage to direct the conversation elsewhere or to convince her sisters to keep their mouths shut. It did not help that Mrs. Bennet encouraged them, agreeing with nearly everything they said.
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