Chapter 7 #3
Mr. Darcy motioned to the servant. “This is Mr. Slipworth, my valet.”
Mr. Slipworth set the tray down on a little table near the settee.
“Thank you, Mr. Slipworth,” Elizabeth said, and he offered her a bow.
“Would you care to dine with me?” Mr. Darcy asked. He tugged at his cuffs and then once at his cravat. Elizabeth could not fathom what was making him so uncomfortable.
“Of course,” she replied pleasantly. “I would appreciate the company.” She was not used to being alone so much of the day. Longbourn could be rather loud and at times feel somewhat confined, but she longed for the chatter now that there was none to be had. “Where is the colonel?”
“He decided to have dinner at the club.”
“I see,” she replied.
Mr. Slipworth served the meal and then retreated to the far corner of the room.
It was odd to have him there, but Elizabeth supposed he was serving as a chaperone of sorts.
No stranger, she thought, than anything else that had occurred in the days since the Netherfield ball.
It would be a week tomorrow. A week away from her family, with no word on what was happening or whether she might ever see them again.
As though he could hear her thoughts, Mr. Darcy poured a glass of wine and passed it to her. “I am afraid Mrs. Spencer would be missed.”
She lifted her shoulders.
“My cousin and I intend to make a trip to Longbourn to speak with your father,” Mr. Darcy announced.
“When?” Elizabeth asked, trying not to sound envious.
“Tomorrow. Should you wish to send him a message, I will be certain to put it in his hands.”
“Will you not be recognized?”
Mr. Darcy pulled a face. “Fitz will disguise me, he says.”
Elizabeth watched him expectantly, but he only picked up his fork and began to eat.
She waited for a time, growing more indignant as he ignored her. “Sir,” she began, and he lifted his eyes to hers. “Will you not tell me what you hope to accomplish?”
The tip of his fork rested on his plate. “To speak to your father,” he said again. His brows pinched together. “Did I not say?”
She released a short, surprised laugh that had nothing to do with humor. “You did, Mr. Darcy, but what you did not say could fill all the volumes in your library.”
“I would not wish to concern you, Miss Elizabeth,” he told her seriously. “I only intended to inform you why you are unlikely to see me tomorrow.”
Apparently, Mrs. Spencer was not the only one who believed her incompetent.
It was as though Mr. Darcy had reached out to pat her on the head and offer her a sweet.
A half-hour ago, she would have said she would miss sitting down with this man for dinner on the morrow.
Now she believed a little distance might be for the best.
“Mr. Darcy,” she said, disappointment making her words a little sharp, “whether you wish it or not, I am very closely concerned with the events prompting your return to Hertfordshire. Having known me only a short time, perhaps you are unaware that I wish to be informed about anything which might”—here she leaned in for emphasis—“alter the course of my life.”
It was a little dark in the room despite the candles, but Elizabeth detected a faint blush on Mr. Darcy’s cheeks. “Quite so, madam,” he said stiffly, and set his fork down. “We wish to discover more specifically who arrived in the area from out of town before the ball.”
“And you believe my father will know this?“ she asked disbelievingly.
“He is the primary land-holder in the area and has been at Longbourn many years. He would at the least know where we ought to begin.” Mr. Darcy seemed to feel this a very reasonable course of action.
Elizabeth shook her head. “Papa does not pay attention to such visitors unless it is to laugh at them. He will send you to Sir William. You may as well begin there.”
Mr. Darcy coughed and lifted a napkin to his mouth. “I beg your pardon?”
“My apologies, Mr. Darcy,” she said, arching an eyebrow at him. “I did not understand you to be hard of hearing.”
“Surely you do not mean Sir William Lucas?” he asked dubiously.
Her irritation flared. “Why would I say it if I did not mean it?”
“But he is so . . . so . . .” Mr. Darcy glanced at her and swallowed.
“Amiable?” Elizabeth supplied, the tone of her voice a warning.
Mr. Darcy nodded, but it was clear from his expression that this was not the word he would have chosen.
“Do you think that because he began his life in trade that he is not astute? He was the mayor, Mr. Darcy. He addressed the king.”
Mr. Darcy did not appear impressed. “Yes, but . . .”
“Have you addressed the king, sir? In any manner at all?”
“No.” Mr. Darcy appeared as though he had swallowed something very sour.
She felt a small sense of vindication. “Have you been knighted, sir?”
“Of course not,” he replied, exasperation sneaking into his voice.
“Then perhaps you should not look down on him for an accident of birth. Do you think him unobservant?” She lifted her eyebrows.
“No,” Mr. Darcy protested. “Not precisely. I merely thought him . . .”
“Simple.” That was the heart of the matter. Mr. Darcy thought himself so very clever.
Mr. Darcy lifted a shoulder. “Well, yes.”
“This is why you ought to have sought my opinion from the start, Mr. Darcy,” she told him seriously.
“Having been at Netherfield for a few months, during which time you managed to offend nearly everyone you met, does not qualify you to judge the inhabitants of the area.” Truly, many of her friends had taken up against Mr. Darcy on her behalf so perhaps she bore some of the blame, but he had given them additional reasons for affront without any assistance from her.
He sighed and sat back. “Very well, madam. Tell me of Sir William Lucas.”
His unwilling resignation, as though he still could not trust that she had something of value to say, provoked her.
“Sir William perhaps ought not to have sold his business with so many children to settle, and possibly he enjoyed his time at St. James a bit too much. He tells the same stories many times over until we know them by rote. But we all have faults, sir. Despite them, Sir William is one of the most honorable men I know.”
Mr. Darcy’s face expressed his surprise, but he was wise enough not to speak.
“Did it never occur to you that Sir William is affable for a purpose?” Elizabeth asked.
“That as the former mayor he is protective of all of us in and around Meryton? That particularly with a militia quartered nearby, he wishes to know every visitor or new resident who appears in our area? How is that object best served? Does haughtiness invite confidences?”
Mr. Darcy appeared quite abashed. Good. He should be. The heat of her temper abated.
“Who was Mr. Bingley’s first caller at Netherfield, Mr. Darcy?
” she asked with more gentleness. “Who attempted to save your reputation among the local families by arranging that you dance with me at Lucas Lodge?” She removed her napkin from the table and shook it out with one snap of her wrist. “I refused because I did not wish for your reputation to be salvaged.
Sir William was rather disappointed in me, I am afraid.
“ She sniffed. “For some reason, he seems to like you.”
“Your refusal did you no injury with me, Miss Elizabeth,” Mr. Darcy said contritely. “I admit, I was intrigued. I do not believe I have ever been refused before.”
“Did you ever think that it is because you never ask?” She prodded at the roasted beef on her plate.
The scent of rosemary drifted up to her nose, but the beef was not so well cooked that it obligingly fell apart.
She would have to cut it. She glanced quickly at her injured arm.
How was it to be accomplished? She would not ask Mr. Darcy to cut it for her. She was upset with him.
Mr. Darcy reached for her plate, and she idly fingered her knife. He withdrew, perhaps recalling how recently she had wielded a fork. “I have asked,“ he objected. “I asked you. I also danced with Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst.”
Elizabeth glared at him. “Were you not required to ask them? I am rather surprised that they did not ask you.“ She set her fork and knife down on her plate and sighed, deflated. “Truly, Mrs. Hurst and I have not exchanged more than ten words between us. That was unkind.”
Mr. Darcy chuckled, and the tension between them ebbed away. “But rather accurate.” He gestured to her plate. “May I?”
Elizabeth frowned, but had to admit that he had asked politely.
She hated to have someone cut her food as if she were still in the nursery but reminded herself that she required the assistance, and she was hungry.
Elizabeth took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
By making the request aloud, Mr. Darcy had offered her a small concession.
She would do the same. “Yes, thank you. Mr. Darcy,” she continued calmly as he picked up her plate, “who pointed out that Mr. Bingley was expected to offer for my sister Jane?”
Mr. Darcy managed to cut her meat while still appearing deep in thought. “I did not believe it was knowingly done. To my shame, I intended to advise Bingley against a hasty alliance.”
Elizabeth shook her head at him. “I might have been furious with you before . . . well, before,” she admitted. “Now I can only hope Papa has not allowed Mr. Bingley to call at Longbourn.”
Mr. Darcy sat back to stare at her. “Would he not? I thought . . .”
She shook her head. “When I spoke with Papa before we retired that morning, I won his agreement to keep both Mr. Bingley and Mr. Wickham from calling. He asked whether he ought to speak with Sir William, and I told him he should.”
Mr. Darcy tipped his head slightly to one side. “You have lost me again, Miss Elizabeth.”
His puzzlement offered her a glimpse into what he might have been like as a boy.
It was rather endearing, and she laughed softly.
“Mr. Darcy, you thought Sir William was inadvertently alerting you to a potential problem. Knowing Sir William as I do, I rather suspect that he was purposefully warning me.”
A crease appeared at the bridge of Mr. Darcy’s nose. “About what?” He resumed the task of cutting the meat on her plate into small, precise pieces.
Elizabeth shook her head. “I do not know, precisely. I presume now that he was concerned Jane might find herself engaged to Mr. Bingley without meaning to. She was enamored of him, but not yet ready to accept an offer. Jane is steady and methodical, but she is also in possession of a very soft heart. She might not feel comfortable deflecting Mr. Bingley’s pointed attentions.
” She frowned. “Sir William rarely says anything without intent. Unfortunately, I was too angry with you at the time to inquire.”
Mr. Darcy set Elizabeth’s plate before her, and she nodded her thanks.
The beef smelled wonderful, but the potatoes also drew her attention.
They had been formed into small balls and then fried; a white sauce was drizzled prettily over the whole.
She ate one and took a moment to savor it.
Next, she tasted the roasted beef. It was simple, perfectly cooked and seasoned, and she nearly groaned with the pleasure of it.
Instead, she delicately touched her napkin to her mouth and said, “Meet with Sir William first, Mr. Darcy.” She gazed up at him through her lashes.
“And yes, I would be pleased to have you deliver a letter to my family. I will write it tonight.”
He was watching her closely. Elizabeth felt a thrill at the warmth in his gaze.
She even believed she detected admiration in his dark eyes but dismissed the idea almost immediately.
She chided herself for the thought. With his fortune and connections, he had never been for her.
It would be foolish to entertain any such thoughts as that.
“We shall seek Sir William out first, Miss Elizabeth,” Mr. Darcy promised.
He had heard her out and was taking her advice. Elizabeth smiled. “I think you will find there was no cause to be stubborn, Mr. Darcy.” She placed a piece of the meat in her mouth and savored the taste.
He grinned on the word stubborn. “How is the beef, Miss Elizabeth?”
Oh, dear, Elizabeth thought. Despite his wealth and connections, Mr. Darcy and she were rather well matched. She swallowed and impishly replied, “Excellent, Mr. Darcy.”