Chapter Nine
Darcy did not immediately join the ladies’ conversation after Miss Bennet’s escape.
For a moment, he stood where he was, his gaze fixed upon the door through which she had passed.
The air in the small parlor felt altered, as though something essential had shifted and left behind a sharper edge in its absence.
Miss Bingley was the first to speak. “Well,” she said, her tone breaking the silence with practiced lightness, “I cannot imagine a more ill-bred display.” She waved her hand in a dismissive fashion, a pinched, sour look on her face.
Darcy turned slowly, irritation already beginning to rise in his chest. “I beg your pardon?”
Miss Bingley lifted her brows. “Listening at doors, Mr. Darcy. It is hardly the behavior of a lady.” She shook her head slowly and made a tsk-tsk sound with her lips. “Such an ill-mannered young woman. Perhaps whatever accident took her sight also addled her mind.”
Mrs. Hurst gave a small, amused sound. “At least she will be under no illusions. One cannot accuse us of false civility now.” She smirked and fiddled with the bracelets on her wrist. It was a nervous habit, Darcy had noted, and one could often hear the bangles tinkling together when they were all gathered in the same room
Darcy regarded them both. He had long been acquainted with Bingley’s sisters’ tendencies toward judgment.
Their sharp tongues were well known and disdained among the ton.
Over the years, he had seen them indulge in small criticisms, in passing remarks that reflected more upon their own preferences than upon the character of others.
They had, in private settings, methodically torn down any woman of substance, any lady who might reveal them to be the small-minded harpies they were.
It had never greatly concerned him beyond frustration at their lack of compassion and his aversion to negative talk.
Such habits were common enough among his set and rarely extended beyond trivial matters.
This was not trivial.
Bingley spoke before Darcy could answer. “I must say,” he began, his tone no longer light, “that I find your remarks very improper.” He scowled. It was a strange look to appear on his normally amiable countenance.
Miss Bingley turned toward him with a faint smile.
“My dear brother, you cannot expect me to approve of such conduct.” Her lips twisted.
“Miss Eliza Bennet has proven herself to be the worst sort of woman. No doubt she listened at the door in hopes of hearing whether you wished to further your acquaintance with her widowed sister. No, you cannot expect me to countenance such a person.”
“I expect you,” Bingley returned, “to show basic civility to a lady who has done nothing to deserve your censure.” He laced his fingers together. “Miss Bennet is a sweet girl, and clearly a dedicated sister.”
Mrs. Hurst leaned back in her chair. “Come, Charles, you are overly sensitive. Miss Bennet placed herself in that position.”
Darcy felt his patience thin. “She retrieved her sister’s shawl,” he said. “It was not her fault the ladies of the house were so intemperate with their words.
Miss Bingley’s expression shifted, though only slightly. “And waited to knock long enough to overhear what was not intended for her ears. She might have announced herself immediately instead of lurking just outside the room.”
Darcy’s gaze held steady. “Then perhaps,” he said, “the fault lies not in her presence, but in what was said.” He was firm in his position. Miss Bingley sought to place blame for her conduct on an innocent party. It was reprehensible.
There was a brief pause. Miss Bingley laughed, though there was little amusement in it. “You are very ready to defend her.” The displeasure on her face was obvious, and he feared he may have made things worse for Miss Elizabeth without meaning to.
Darcy did not answer.
Bingley exhaled, running a hand through his hair with evident frustration. “This is nonsense,” he said. “Miss Bennet came for her sister. That is all. There was nothing improper in it. In fact, I think it shows a rather remarkable sisterly bond.”
Mrs. Hurst shrugged. “If you say so.”
Miss Bingley’s attention had already begun to wander. “Well,” she said, with concerted indifference, “the matter is concluded. She has gone, and I do not expect we shall be troubled by her again.” She looked around the room as if seeking confirmation for her ridiculous statement.
Darcy inclined his head slightly. “On the contrary,” he said, “I believe we shall.” If I have anything to say about it. Yes, Darcy very much wished to see Miss Bennet again.
Miss Bingley’s eyes sharpened.
Darcy did not elaborate. Instead, he turned to Bingley. “If you will excuse me,” he said, his tone controlled, “I should like a word with my sister.”
Bingley nodded at once. “Of course.”
Darcy inclined his head briefly and both he and Georgiana left the room.
Georgiana had not gone far. He found her in the small parlor situated between their chambers, a space she favored for its separation from the larger rooms of the house. She stood near the window, her hands clasped together, her posture composed though her thoughts were clearly engaged elsewhere.
She turned at once when he entered. “Brother.”
Darcy closed the door behind him. “Georgiana,” he said, his tone softening. “I wished to speak with you.” He wished to ascertain his sister’s state of mind. Georgie was not used to such conflict, and the cruelty of the Bingley sisters had likely made her uncomfortable.
She nodded, her expression attentive.
He crossed the room, pausing a short distance from her. “What did you make of the situation just now?”
Georgiana hesitated. “I did not like it,” she said at last. She fiddled with the drawing pad that lay in her lap.
Darcy’s gaze rested upon her. “In what respect?” He hated to press her, but he needed to know, needed to understand the depth of how the confrontation had affected her.
Georgiana drew a breath. “Miss Bingley’s manner,” she said. “It was unkind.” She frowned.
Darcy inclined his head slightly. “Yes.” Unkind was not strong enough, in his opinion.
Georgiana continued, more slowly now, as though weighing each word. “Miss Bennet did not appear to deserve it. She seemed…composed. And kind. Like her sister.”
Darcy felt a sense of agreement. “And Mrs. Collins?” he prompted.
Georgiana’s expression softened. “I liked her very much,” she said. “She was gentle. And she spoke to me as though she wished me to be at ease.”
Darcy considered this. Such praise was not undue nor out of place. It aligned with his own impression.
Georgiana shifted slightly. “I should like to meet the rest of their family,” she added.
Darcy’s lips curved faintly. “I believe that may be arranged.” He had already considered the good it might do Georgiana to spend time with the Bennet ladies.
Georgiana looked up at him. “Truly?”
“If they are willing to receive us,” he said. And they would, he had little doubt. “Miss Bennet and Mrs. Collins have three younger sisters. You will have as much feminine company as you like.”
Her expression brightened, though she restrained it quickly. “I should like that.”
Darcy inclined his head. “Then we shall consider calling as soon as we can.”
Georgiana seemed satisfied with this. After a moment, she said, “I ought to return to my lessons. Mrs. Annesley will be waiting.”
“Of course.”
She moved toward the door, then paused. “Brother?”
“Yes?”
“I am glad Miss Bennet heard.”
Darcy regarded her. “Are you?”
Georgiana nodded. “It is better to know what people truly think.”
Darcy did not directly reply. Then he said, “Perhaps it is.”
Georgiana inclined her head and left the room.
Darcy remained where he was. The parlor was still, the quiet of it offering space for thought. He moved toward the window, though his gaze did not linger long upon the grounds beyond. His attention had already turned inward.
Miss Elizabeth Bennet.
He considered her as he had first seen her that morning—standing in the doorway of the small parlor, her walking stick in hand, her posture composed despite the journey she had undertaken. There had been no hesitation in her manner, no sign that she questioned her purpose.
She had come for her sister. Nothing more. Nothing less.
He knew the distance between Longbourn and Netherfield. Three miles, if not a little more by the path she must have taken across fields softened by rain.
Alone.
Darcy drew a slow breath. There was something in that which he could not easily dismiss. He had observed courage before, in many forms. Some louder than others. Some displayed with intention. Some born of necessity.
Miss Bennet’s did not seek notice. It existed because it must.
His thoughts shifted to the evening before. Mrs. Collins, standing near the hearth, her composure maintained though her circumstances were far from ideal. He had seen the moment her restraint faltered—when she spoke of her son, when the reality of her situation pressed more strongly upon her.
He had heard her later, speaking with Georgiana. “I have only slippers,” she had said, her tone steady despite the admission. “I should not attempt the fields without proper boots.”
There had been no complaint in it. Only acceptance. Darcy turned slightly from the window.
Miss Elizabeth Bennet had answered that difficulty without hesitation. She had brought the boots. She had made the journey herself. There was a practicality in it, a directness of purpose that he found…admirable.
He considered, then, the conversation at breakfast before their guest had joined them.
Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst had spoken of Mrs. Collins’s family connections with a degree of amusement they had not troubled to conceal.
“An uncle in Cheapside,” Miss Bingley had said, her tone carrying a faint note of disdain.
Mrs. Hurst had smiled. They had exchanged a glance.