Chapter IX
It was perhaps thirty minutes before the appointed time when Mr. Darcy stopped the curricle before the inn in Lambton. The moment the horse stood still, Mr. Darcy descended; he strode to Elizabeth’s side and reached up to hand her down.
What Elizabeth felt as Mr. Darcy took hold of her hand, she could not quite understand, though the fluttering in her breast suggested her feelings were warmer than she had expected.
There was little she could do now to inspect her feelings, not faced with his earnestness as she was, but the sight of his care and attention to her wellbeing would have melted a heart far harder than hers.
“Thank you, Mr. Darcy,” said Elizabeth once she stood on the ground again. “Had I returned to Hertfordshire without seeing Pemberley’s grounds, I would have regretted the missed opportunity. You live on a beautiful estate.”
“High praise, indeed,” replied Mr. Darcy. “Earning your approval is as precious as it is perilous.”
“Perilous?” echoed Elizabeth with a raised eyebrow. “I was not aware that others might see me as dangerous, Mr. Darcy.”
“Danger, Miss Bennet,” said Mr. Darcy, leaning in a little closer, “depends entirely on what one has to lose. And perhaps upon whether one can inflict a wound.”
“And you believe me capable of such cruelty?”
“Cruelty? No. Quite the opposite. That is what makes it dangerous.”
“Contrary to your belief,” replied Elizabeth, “I suspect the danger is all on your side, Mr. Darcy.”
The gentleman did not pursue the subject. Instead, he grasped her hand and bowed over it. “I know your relations will return soon—you must wish to refresh yourself before they do, so I will wish you a good day. Unless I am mistaken, tomorrow is to be your last day in Lambton.”
Never had Elizabeth known such regret as this. “It is, Mr. Darcy. Uncle must see to his business in London, and I must return to Longbourn. We shall not go directly home, for there are some few more sights we mean to see, but our holiday must soon end.”
“Georgiana will join me in expressing regret at your going,” replied Mr. Darcy. “Do you know if the Gardiners have any plans?”
“I do not,” replied Elizabeth, “though I do not think they do.”
“Then I hope you will forgive me if I express the hope that you will spend at least part of the day at Pemberley. Perhaps dinner?”
Elizabeth nodded. “I shall convey your invitation, Mr. Darcy.”
“Then I shall stop by the inn tomorrow morning.”
With another bow, the gentleman said his last farewell and then departed, Elizabeth watching until the curricle disappeared around the bend in the road.
Though she was of a mind to stay there and ponder Mr. Darcy, she sighed and turned to the inn.
That was when she discovered a most unpleasant surprise waiting for her.
“Miss Bingley,” said Elizabeth upon catching sight of the woman when she entered. “What a . . . surprise it is to see you.”
She had been sitting on a chair close to the entrance, appearing annoyed, contemptuous, and uncomfortable all at once. When Elizabeth entered the inn, she rose and addressed her in a voice devoid of emotion.
“It is time that we spoke, Miss Eliza. Perhaps you would convey me to the suite you are occupying so we may have a little privacy.”
Elizabeth had little interest in a conversation that would devolve into an argument, or outright insults.
Yet she did not wish to decline altogether, as she suspected Miss Bingley was more than capable of abusing her there near the entrance of the inn where they were staying.
Even now, she noted the innkeeper, a portly man with ruddy cheeks, eyeing them as if he would not tolerate a disturbance in his establishment. Elizabeth could not blame him.
“Though I cannot imagine we have much to say to each other,” replied Elizabeth, “we may speak in private if you wish. Our chambers are this way.”
Elizabeth did not miss the slight nod of the innkeeper as she led Miss Bingley to the stairs, but she did not try to acknowledge him.
The room was on the upper floor near the back of the inn—Elizabeth directed Miss Bingley there, her pace unhurried, her back straight.
When they reached the door, she opened it and gestured for Miss Bingley to precede her, which the woman did, sweeping into the room in a swirl of skirts as if she were the virgin queen herself.
Inside, she cast a contemptuous glance at the room, then turned to Elizabeth as if to size her up.
“Whatever you wish to say,” said Elizabeth when Miss Bingley did not speak at once, “I suggest you do it now. Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner will return soon, and we will depart for our evening engagement soon after.”
“My brother forbade me from calling you out at Pemberley,” said Miss Bingley, raking her eyes over Elizabeth in contempt, “but here you have no protection.”
“And you suppose I need protection?” asked Elizabeth when Miss Bingley attempted to speak further.
“I suppose you are a scheming woman who will go to any lengths to obtain what she desires.”
The audacity of this woman was so absurd that Elizabeth nearly released a sardonic burst of laughter. “You consider me a scheming female? That is most curious, Miss Bingley, for I have seen a woman flatter a young girl to secure her brother’s good opinion and insert herself into that man’s notice.”
“And this is the extent of your understanding?” sneered Miss Bingley, her eyes raking over Elizabeth. “One such as you can have no comprehension of the motives that infuse those of my level of society.”
“You question my understanding,” retorted Elizabeth, “but your own appears deficient, Miss Bingley. In saying this, I must assume you are attempting to put yourself on Mr. Darcy’s level, which is laughable considering the relative disparity in your birth.”
“I am a member of society—”
“Through Mr. Darcy’s influence and nothing more,” interrupted Elizabeth. “Mr. Darcy is the grandson of an earl, nephew to another. What are you? The daughter of a tradesman.”
“How dare you!”
“I dare because it is the truth.”
It seemed she had silenced the virago, as Miss Bingley had no ready response. Or she was shocked that Elizabeth would bring up her parentage and was nigh apoplectic with rage and offense.
“Let us speak plainly, Miss Bingley, for I have no interest in continuing this discussion. I neither look down on you nor your brother for your birth—I am much more interested in character than origin. But for you to look down on me for that selfsame reason is absurdity of the highest order. Either you do not understand the mores of society, or you have convinced yourself that your dowry somehow invalidates your birth.”
Though Miss Bingley’s eyes blazed with affront, she did not try to deny what Elizabeth said, which showed that she at least understood the truth.
“I shall not listen to this,” said she. “Your desperation to raise yourself from squalor has led you to throw yourself at Mr. Darcy and his sister. I require you to stop.”
“And I shall repeat myself. For you, of all people, to suggest such a thing is the pot calling the kettle black. I would not throw a shade if I were you, Miss Bingley, as you will not appear spotless by comparison.”
“Listen to me, little Miss Eliza—”
“No, Caroline, I believe the time for Miss Elizabeth to listen to you is over.”
Miss Bingley recoiled at the sound of her brother’s voice, but Elizabeth, though she had not paid any attention to it, had heard the approaching tread of feet in the hallway.
Though her back was to the door, she did nothing more than turn aside, which allowed Mr. Bingley to step into the room past her and confront his sister.
Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner followed him into the room, her uncle watching the pair, anger set into his jaw, while her aunt stepped beside Elizabeth and put a hand on her arm.
Elizabeth gave her a grim nod to show that she was unaffected, and turned back to the scene before them.
“Fortunately, one of the servants knew your destination,” said Mr. Bingley, “as it relieves Mr. Gardiner of the task of throwing you from the inn.”
“Charles—”
“Not another word, Caroline.” Mr. Bingley’s voice, which had ever been genial, now cracked like winter ice on a thawing lake. “You have said quite enough already.”
Mr. Bingley turned, and stepped to Elizabeth, grasping her hand, showing her something of a crooked grin. “Miss Bennet, please allow me to apologize for my sister’s poor behavior. I have not done enough to curb her baser instincts.”
“Charles!” repeated Miss Bingley, not so much chastened as furious.
“Her behavior is atrocious, and I am ashamed of her,” continued Mr. Bingley as if he had not heard her speak.
“There is no need to apologize, Mr. Bingley,” said Elizabeth, still eyeing the fuming Miss Bingley. “The breach of good behavior is not yours, so neither is the remedy.”
“Perhaps you are correct,” replied Mr. Bingley, a measure of his good humor restored. “But you know as well as I do that my sister will never offer her regrets, so I must offer them in her stead.”
It was all Elizabeth could do not to laugh at the woman’s flaming face. “Thank you, Mr. Bingley. In whatever measure absolution is necessary, I grant it without reservation.”
“Thank you,” said he.
Mr. Bingley turned to his sister and assumed his stern expression.
“Caroline, I shall not have you importuning these good people any longer. You will return to the carriage and instruct the driver to return to Pemberley at once. When I return, we shall chat about the proper way of behaving to those who are your superior in society.”
By now, Miss Bingley’s offense was so violent that Elizabeth thought she might pass out from the experience. “I might think that you would support your own sister. Instead, you support the scheming of this . . . this . . .”