Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
O ver the next few weeks, Mr Bingley danced or spoke exclusively with Jane at every available opportunity, an expression of love-struck awe written across his face. What a happy pair they make , Elizabeth thought, privately watching them converse at Sir William Lucas’s house where a large party had assembled. Almost all of the respectable families were there. Mr Bull was absent, which was a relief on the whole. Mr Darcy was in attendance, and she noted that he kept very quiet, and was continually pulling on his fob to check his pocket watch. No doubt counting down the minutes until he can leave. He looked in her direction occasionally, but she supposed him to still be unhappy from the events of the assembly. In their recent meetings, he had spoken a little with her, but their conversations had been more of a formality than a source of pleasure. Tonight, however, she perceived an underlying curiosity about her conversations. Sometimes, when she spoke, he stood with his ear towards her. If she did not know better, then the natural conclusion would be that he was listening to her conversation, but she quickly dismissed the idea as ludicrous. The evening passed without incident save for the mortifying spectacle her younger sisters made of themselves by dancing raucously with some of the recently arrived officers.
She overheard a snippet of conversation between Sir William and Mr Darcy.
“There is nothing like dancing after all. I consider it as one of the first refinements of polished societies.”
“Certainly, sir—and it has the advantage also of being in vogue amongst the less polished societies of the world.”
Evidently, we are the less polished society to whom he refers, she thought. Vexed by his arrogance, she could not help defending her beloved neighbours and friends.
“An interesting idea, Mr Darcy,” she said. “Do you not think it would be more generous if we all took the trouble to reflect upon the commonalities amongst us rather than the differences? We might discover that we are more alike than we suppose.”
He stared at her in surprise. “A revolutionary view, Miss Elizabeth.”
“Treating one another with kindness and mutual respect is hardly a new idea.” She gave him an arch smile.
Mr Darcy laughed unexpectedly.
“Have I said something amiss?” she asked, annoyed at his response.
“I have an aunt who takes the diametrically opposite view to yours. The thought of you two meeting is highly diverting.”
“An unlikely event, I am sure, sir,” countered Elizabeth icily.
He smiled at her remark, dimples forming handsomely in his cheeks, and inclined his head in agreement.
“But where are my manners!” exclaimed Sir William. “Should you care to dance, sir? Permit me to present you with a lovely partner.” He took Elizabeth’s hand and moved it towards Mr Darcy.
Elizabeth hastily pulled back. “Forgive me, sir. I have not the least intention of dancing.” Her previous courage fading, she realised how forward she must have seemed in forcing herself into their conversation. What must Mr Darcy be thinking?
“You must please allow me the honour of your hand,” said Mr Darcy. She could detect nothing in his manner that suggested he was pleased by Sir William’s suggestion.
“Thank you, but, truly, I am not inclined to dance tonight.” She walked away, certain that she could feel Mr Darcy’s gaze burning into her back.
“What I cannot understand is how Mr Bingley can be friends with a man as unpleasant as Mr Darcy.” Elizabeth was walking alongside her sister into town, discussing the events from a few nights before.
“Mr Bingley says he is very amiable amongst his close acquaintance.” Jane smiled at the mention of her favourite’s name. “He cannot understand why Mr Darcy behaves so differently when with strangers.”
“He finds us all insufferable and beneath his notice.”
A man on the road ahead caught both women’s attention. He pushed himself from the fence he had been leaning on, raising his hand in greeting.
Jane craned her neck. “I believe it is Mr Bull!” She gave Elizabeth a curious look. “Do you think he knew we would be coming this way, that he was waiting for you?”
Unexpectedly embarrassed by Jane’s question, Elizabeth answered with a shrug. “I am sure it is a coincidence.”
Although he had not been at Lucas Lodge, they had met many times of late, and Mr Bull had been paying her a marked amount of attention. It had not gone unnoticed by her family. While she found him interesting, she could not hold him in any true regard. His character was so unpredictable that she could never truly be at ease with him.
“Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth!” He flashed his gleaming smile. “I am sorry to have missed Lady Lucas’s party. It sounds as if it was quite eventful. I hear there was a thief in the midst,” he said to Jane. Then, laughing at her evident confusion, he added, “By all accounts, Mr Bingley’s heart has been stolen.”
Jane was unable to form a reply, and so Elizabeth came to her defence. “Neither of us have any insight into the workings of Mr Bingley’s heart.”
Mr Bull playfully wagged his cane at her. “Very well. Although a little bird told me that Mr Darcy condescended to ask you to dance. Brava, Miss Elizabeth! Did you accept?”
“I did not.” Elizabeth could not like Mr Bull’s persistent questioning.
“Did you refuse him?” Mr Bull’s voice sounded full of admiration. “You must tell me all. I want a full account.”
“I simply said I had no intention of dancing with anyone.” Elizabeth replied coolly. “I am sure it was as much of a favour for him as it was for me.”
Behind them came a clattering of hooves, and a dark stallion, powerful and sleek, was trotting up the path. Mr Darcy. He cannot have heard me, she assured herself. The sound of the horse’s shoes against the stones is too loud . Indeed, he hardly seemed to notice them— his expression was absent as he clipped past, a low bow of his head as the sole acknowledgement of their presence.
“And to think he is considered one of the most eligible men in England,” Mr Bull said. “His vast wealth must have something to do with it”—he leant towards Elizabeth conspiratorially—“for he has no conversation.”
She agreed, and the three of them walked to Meryton, Mr Bull recounting the tale of a tyrannical maharajah that he had once assisted at a river crossing in Calcutta who reminded him of Mr Darcy.
Once in his chambers at Netherfield, Darcy paced the room, his brow furrowed. On his writing desk was a letter, the cause of the deep, foreboding anger in his chest. He strode to the desk, caught up the missive, and dropped into a chair to reread it. It was from his cousin Cecilia, Lady Fulford, and contained an alarming report pertaining to him . It had been published in the gossip column of the Morning Gazette , a distasteful, scurrilous London paper.
Mr FD of Derbyshire has been paying a great deal of attention to a certain Miss B. After disappearing to the country, has one of England’s wealthiest bachelors finally been ensnared?
Other liaisons were detailed in the column, salacious titbits spread, no doubt, from disloyal servants or disgruntled lovers wishing to seek revenge or easy money. The author of the gossip column was given as Anthony N.O. Newman. Darcy snorted in derision. Anon . Only a coward would hide behind a nom de plume.
Drawing himself closer to the writing desk, Darcy took up his pen and began a letter to the newspaper’s editor but was halted by the realisation that to send a complaint meant he believed himself to be the man in question. Surely it would be better to do nothing .
Darcy’s eyes flickered over the words again. ‘ A certain Miss B’ , he thought . He rubbed his fingers across his chin. Miss Bingley immediately came to mind. A servant has noticed her incessant flattery and has drawn the wrong conclusion. If it were true, then he would have to discuss the situation with Bingley. Darcy set his jaw. Am I always to be plagued by heartbreak and gossip?
“Pain is better left in the past,” he said quietly to the empty room. Closing his eyes, he shook away the memory of the last time he had heard those words —when he presented Cecilia with Dominic’s battered and dog-eared sketchbook. A woman’s face darted through his mind’s eye. It was Miss Elizabeth Bennet, her dark eyes sparkling provocatively as she had challenged him at Lucas Lodge. He did not question why it was her visage that came to tease him during his moments of sorrow; instead, he spent a few moments silently appreciating her pretty face. And so he thought no more of the newspaper, nor of gossip and scandal.
Until another note came a few days later. It contained a single word, laden with menace: Georgiana .
Mrs Bennet’s determination for Jane to be comfortably married was not to be underestimated. When Jane was invited to spend the afternoon and take dinner with Mrs Hurst and Miss Bingley on a day that threatened rain, Mrs Bennet insisted Jane ride a horse to Netherfield wearing naught but a light habit to protect her from the cold, damp weather. Word soon came of Jane’s illness; Elizabeth’s chagrin towards her mother turned to horror upon witnessing Mrs Bennet’s jubilation at the news. Apparently, her mother considered Jane, feverish and abed, an alluring prospect for Mr Bingley. In the meantime, Elizabeth’s poor sister was left to fend for herself, with only Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst’s dubious good nature to rely upon. That was the thought foremost in Elizabeth’s mind when she presented herself, petticoat drenched in mud, at Mr Bingley’s door.
“There was no need to come, Miss Eliza.” Miss Bingley’s smile did not match the cold derision in her eyes.
“There was every need,” Elizabeth replied. “My sister will require a nurse, and that task should not be yours when her family is nearby.”
“There can be no better person to care for her than you,” Mr Bingley said, wearing an anxious expression.
And so it was agreed that Elizabeth would remain with Jane. There was little comfort for Elizabeth at Netherfield Park. Aside from Mr Bingley, the manners of her hosts left much to be desired. At least the party was missing one source of vexation. Mr Darcy had returned to London a few days ago on urgent business.
Elizabeth stayed with Jane for most of the next morning. Her mother and sisters called in the afternoon, and Mrs Bennet’s transparent attempts to encourage Mr Bingley’s sympathy at Jane’s illness embarrassed Elizabeth beyond words. Much relieved at her family’s departure, she retreated to her sister’s chamber until dinner. Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst’s mode of conversation was tiresome; they were forever talking of people and places she did not know. Mr Hurst was little better, and scarcely spoke to Elizabeth throughout the meal. Mr Bingley did his best to include her in the discussion, despite his sisters’ frequent interruptions; his kindness won her heart, and she hoped he would become her brother-in-law.
Cards followed food, but Elizabeth declined to play and contented herself with a book provided to her by Mr Bingley. The fire crackled against the sound of rain pattering against the windows. A pleasant languidness wound its way up Elizabeth’s back, and her eyelids felt heavy. She was on the point of excusing herself for the night when a servant announced Mr Darcy’s arrival. He stood in the doorway, evidently just arrived from town; his hair was wet, as were his clothes, despite the cloak he must have worn. His eyes fell upon her, a look of shock crossing his face.
“Darcy, we were not expecting you!!” Mr Bingley jumped up from his chair and gestured for his friend to stand before the fire.
“I hoped to outride the weather,” he replied. He continued to glance at Elizabeth, and gave her a modest bow, but said nothing. His expression was one she could not fathom.
“Miss Elizabeth is here to look after her sister, who took ill with a cold while visiting my sisters,” explained Mr Bingley.
“Very admirable,” Mr Darcy said with a curt nod. “If you excuse me, I ought to retire for the evening. I am in no state for polite company.”
“You simply must eat.” Miss Bingley’s tone was soothing, like one talking to an invalid. “I shall have a plate made up for you. It will take just a few minutes. You may have it here, where the fire has been lit for hours.”
“Thank you for your concern, but I fear my boots are far too muddy. If I may have some food sent to my room, that would be most agreeable.” His eyes flickered in Elizabeth’s direction.
He wishes to avoid me, she thought. A feeling sparked inside her, but she did not know if it was anger or embarrassment. Let us be grateful that I feel the same about him, she thought, suppressing her irritation at his rudeness.
“You may take my seat, Mr Darcy,” she said, standing. “It is lovely and warm, and I have not felt a single draught. I wish to return to my sister.”
“Thank you,” he replied, before returning his attention to Mr Bingley. “I am afraid I have letters to write. I cannot pass the evening in the pleasure of your company.” He stood aside to allow her to pass, subtly drawing himself to his full height, almost as though he wished to avoid her completely, and Elizabeth wondered what she had done to provoke this response.
Wishing Mr Bingley and his sisters a goodnight, she returned to her Jane’s bedside. It was only after much deliberation over Mr Darcy’s strange behaviour that Elizabeth finally found her sleep.
Although a good deal better, Jane slept ill that night and remained weary and listless the next day. Elizabeth had fared only a little better; the sound of rain pelting against the window had disturbed her throughout the night.
After they ate breakfast together, Jane said, “You must not spend the day watching over me. I feel so terrible, putting everyone to this inconvenience.”
Elizabeth gently tucked a strand of Jane’s hair behind her ear. “It is our mother who should feel remorseful for making you ride in that abominable weather.”
Jane attempted a laugh, but then winced as a shiver passed through her body. Standing quietly, Elizabeth pulled the coverlet over her sister.
“Please rest, dearest.” She gave Jane a comforting smile. “I shall find a way to amuse myself.”
Closing her eyes, Jane gave a slight nod and, on seeing that her sister was on the point of sleep, Elizabeth quietly left the room, determined to keep herself out of everyone’s way. She decided to find the library to seek another book to borrow.
Stopping by a window along the way, she saw the stables and imagined the horses in their stalls. Patches of sunlight broke through the autumnal clouds that swirled in the sky, and with them, the realisation that this might be her only opportunity to get some fresh air today. Perhaps the horses will welcome my company, she thought wryly. No one else does, save Mr Bingley!
She found a door opening to the gravelled pathway leading to the stables. Mindful of her dress and shoes, she followed it to a low stone wall. Elizabeth leant against it and watched, unobserved, as the grooms went about their work. Over the breeze, their cheerful banter amused her.
A commotion broke forth from the far corner of the stables. An enormous grey dog, muscular and snarling, had escaped from one of the stalls and was running towards a groom who was brushing a horse she recognised as Mr Darcy’s. The awful sound of hooves and horseflesh banging against the stable walls filled the air. After much shouting, the dog was ejected, and, barking viciously, it charged straight towards the gate.
It will come right by me! Panic-stricken, Elizabeth flattened herself against the wall, hoping it would run past her. For a moment, it seemed as though her plan might succeed, but the dog must have caught her scent. It turned and lunged in her direction, spittle dripping from its mouth. It snapped and growled. Just as she opened her mouth to scream, a small white terrier flew straight towards the larger dog and flung itself at its opponent.
“Come quickly to this side, miss.” One of the stable boys was beckoning her to climb to safety, but she could not move for fear of attracting the dogs’ notice. Another groom, armed with a spade, was waving the heavy object in an attempt to break the dogs apart. His plan worked, and the larger dog, panting with exhaustion, backed away, its paws clicking on the stones as it sped off towards the kitchen garden.
“Quick, take this rope and follow the brute,” one man called to another. “But watch your fingers, it has a devil of a jaw.”
On the wet ground just in front of Elizabeth was a pitiful heap. It was the terrier, immobile and panting. Shaken, she rushed to the creature. Her rescuer’s bravery had come at a price; the small dog’s hind leg was bleeding.
“Please, does anyone have a blanket?” she called out.
“An injured dog is sure to bite, miss,” the young stable boy said, eyeing the dog with caution.
“We cannot leave him to suffer in the mud,” she insisted. “Think what might have happened if he had not chased the other dog away.”
An older groom approached Elizabeth, a bundle of clean rags in his hands. “Let me assist you, miss.” He tentatively scooped the creature into his arms. The dog gave a yelp and rested its head in the crook of his arm.
Ignoring the groom’s protest, Elizabeth carefully extracted the dog from his grip. Cradling the terrier, she took hurried strides towards the nearest empty stall.