Chapter 7 #2
“I believe so,” Charlotte answered. “Lord Grantchester told me earlier that he expects all of them, including Mr Darcy.”
“Him,” Elizabeth commented, narrowing her eyes and folding her arms as the memory of that tall, saturnine figure intruded itself again in her head. “Well, I hope Mr Darcy keeps a civil tongue in his head. He was so very rude to Jane at the Meryton assembly.”
“And to you,” Charlotte reminded her, a twinkle in her eye. “I heard that part myself. Do Mr Darcy’s words still sting, Lizzy?”
“Yes, he was rude to me too,” admitted Elizabeth, sighing. “Am I only so angry at him because he was so dismissive of me and injured my pride?”
“It might be part of the cause, do not you think?”
The two young women laughed together, for neither of them was given to taking themselves too seriously, and turned around toward the main party again.
“I am too easily piqued at times,” Elizabeth conceded. “I know it, and so do you.”
“Mr Darcy is a man of great consequence in the world, and many think highly of him,” Charlotte informed her, almost in tones of warning. “I should wait before judging him if I were you.”
“Oh, very well. Let us see how he behaves himself today, shall we?” suggested Elizabeth. “I shall watch Mr Darcy for signs of civility and good manners. You shall watch Lord Grantchester and Jane for signs of love, and we shall then compare our notes and see who is right.”
“A perfect plan!” Charlotte agreed.
∞∞∞
The Netherfield guests were among the last to arrive, and the garden party was in full swing.
All the local families of note were in attendance, and Lord Grantchester’s hospitality was much noted and praised.
Hearty congratulations were accorded to their host and Miss Jane Bennet from every side, with toasts made to the couple’s future in champagne, wine, and sherry, as the afternoon progressed.
To Elizabeth’s relief, Mr Darcy kept his distance from all the Bennets and most of the local families.
Beyond the slightest of greetings, he confined himself largely to speaking with Charles Bingley, Lord Grantchester, and Lord Keeble.
Occasionally, he fetched refreshments for Mr Bingley’s sisters, although with more appearance of duty than any affection for either lady.
Occasionally, Elizabeth sensed Mr Darcy’s deep blue gaze falling upon her, but as either she or he looked away instantly each time there was any danger of their eyes meeting, she could never quite be sure.
Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst were almost as limited in their circulation as Mr Darcy, although they did exchange a few brief pleasantries with both Mrs Bennet and Lady Lucas.
They might not be particularly amiable or kind, but they played by the social rules and could never be accused of outright rudeness.
Their brother was another story. Affable, good-tempered and jolly by nature, Charles Bingley circulated around the gardens with every impression of enjoying the company of all Lord Grantchester’s guests.
Sir William and Lady Lucas took a particular shine to him, and Elizabeth smiled to overhear Netherfield Park’s new tenant being pressed into a family supper at Lucas Lodge as soon as should be convenient.
“Did you hear that, Lizzy?” hissed Mrs Bennet, popping up at Elizabeth’s shoulder. “Those Lucases are sly. I know that Lady Lucas has her eye on Mr Bingley for Charlotte, although she is nothing to look at compared to my girls.”
“Mother,” Elizabeth reproved her. “Charlotte is my friend, and you must not say such things aloud.”
“She is your plain friend, and yet you may lose Mr Bingley to her if you do not stir yourself,” Mrs Bennet retorted.
“Hush, Mother, Lady Lucas will hear you,” Elizabeth warned her, this time taking Mrs Bennet’s arm and steering her out of earshot. “No one can lose what they do not have.”
“I do not care if Lady Lucas does hear me, for it is true that all my girls are handsomer than hers. Mr Bingley could be yours if you wanted him, Lizzy, and yet you will not even crook your finger.”
“Mr Bingley is no more interested in me than I am in him,” said Elizabeth as reasonably as she could. “You might as well declare him to have a passion for Charlotte. He has looked at her at least as often as at me, and at others far more besides.”
“God forbid,” replied Mrs Bennet emphatically, now thankfully distanced enough from everyone else for her indiscretions not to matter. “Well, at least Lady Lucas has not got her claws into Lord Keeble. Lydia and Kitty have him playing pall mall, even if Maria Lucas would insist on joining in.”
As her mother returned to her critique of Lady Lucas’s slyness, Elizabeth let her eyes drift back to Mr Bingley and her mind to her own thoughts.
He had indeed spent far more time that afternoon looking at other persons.
One other person, to be exact, and that one was Jane Bennet.
Wherever she went, Charles Bingley’s eyes would follow, almost unwillingly.
Sometimes he followed physically too, as if dragged bodily by the vision before him, lingering in the background, talking to Lord Grantchester and stealing little glances at Jane. There was no doubt in Elizabeth’s mind now as to his partiality, and it seemed to be growing rather than diminishing.
In another man, this behaviour might have offended Elizabeth on Jane’s behalf, but with Mr Bingley, she felt compassion instead.
While his gaze was heartfelt and full of longing, it was also shy and respectful, and he neither said nor did anything inappropriate.
It was as though Jane was the sun, and he only needed to be somewhere in her orbit to warm himself. It was rather sad.
Lord Grantchester seemed not to have noticed Jane’s discreet admirer, thankfully.
He was too occupied with his friends and other guests, laughing, joking, and being an excellent host and attentive fiancé.
Elizabeth doubted that Jane herself had realised Mr Bingley’s feelings either, although her sister’s somewhat flat mood did make her wonder at times.
No, more likely than being disturbed by Mr Bingley, Jane was rather overwhelmed by the general attention, she decided.
Was Elizabeth really the only person who noticed the sad tableau that Mr Bingley made each time he came within range of the betrothed couple at the centre of the garden party? Maybe there was one other…
At last, after hours of semi-deliberate avoidance, Elizabeth’s eyes finally locked with those of Mr Darcy.
If she were not much mistaken, he had also witnessed Mr Bingley’s plight, although his chief preoccupation seemed to be elsewhere.
A strange, restless energy rose in Elizabeth’s blood, prompting her to march across the garden towards where Mr Darcy presently stood alone under a large elm.
While Elizabeth had been trying to observe good in the man, as advised by Charlotte, the afternoon had shown her too many echoes of his intolerably ill-mannered performance at the Meryton assembly rooms. Each time Mr Darcy looked to Jane and Lord Grantchester, his expression seemed to become one of self-important disapproval.
Worse than that, Elizabeth had several times noticed Mr Darcy purposefully trying to draw Lord Grantchester away from Jane’s side.
Once, she had heard him make a distinctly dismissive sound as Lord Grantchester was talking to the Netherfield Park party about some uncontroversial aspect of the wedding plans.
Mr Bingley’s unhappy look to Mr Darcy told Elizabeth that she had not imagined this new slight.
What right did Mr Darcy imagine he had to blight the happiness of his friend and Jane? It did not bother Lord Grantchester that Jane had no claim to great fortune, title, or social connections. Why must Mr Darcy take it upon himself to find fault where Lord Grantchester did not?
“Do you detest marriage in general, Mr Darcy? Or only the match between your friend and my sister?”
Although her tone was civil and her small bow perfectly proper, Elizabeth went straight on the offensive with her words and saw Mr Darcy’s face flush with surprise and perhaps irritation.
Good, let him be annoyed, and let him also learn that he could not slight her mild and sweet-tempered sister with impunity.
“Every marriage must be judged on the compatibility and suitability of the parties involved, Miss Elizabeth,” Mr Darcy pronounced, his tone so serious that it bordered on the pompous.
“This is true, but with adults of full age and sound mind, only the parties involved have a right to make that judgement,” Elizabeth insisted, her own irritation rising in response to Mr Darcy’s statements.
And perhaps, though Elizabeth hated to admit it, also in reaction to his close proximity and the infuriating certainty of expression on his handsome but unsmiling face.
“There are cases where others have a duty to make their views known,” he countered, entirely unbending in the face of her attack. “I doubt you are someone to overrule your conscience any more than I, Miss Elizabeth.”
“You believe this to be such a case?” Elizabeth challenged.
“You are mistaken, Mr Darcy. What can it be to you if your friend has fallen in love with a woman who does not meet your personal standards in rank or fortune? My sister is of gentle birth and virtuous character. I see no reason she should not prove a most loving and supportive wife to Lord Grantchester.”
“With all due respect, Miss Elizabeth, you cannot know what you are talking about,” Mr Darcy retorted. Such a flat statement of dismissal spurred her ire to even greater heights.
“You believe I know nothing of love, and you may be correct, Mr Darcy,” Elizabeth conceded angrily. “But are you any more an expert in matters of the heart? I have seen nothing that leads me to believe you could ever understand —”
“Mr Darcy, Miss Elizabeth…”