Chapter Two
Elizabeth shut the door against her mother’s lamentations.
Perhaps it had not been a mercy to Mr. Bingley to bring him to Longbourn first. She was grateful that he was being seen to by Papa and his valet while they awaited Mr. Jones, but it had been a harrowing morning, and she was exhausted.
Jane was beside herself in a calm, rational sort of way, but as Mrs. Bennet could not see Elizabeth without bursting into tears and tirades, Jane was now forced to take care of their mother.
Mrs. Bennet was sure that Mr. Bingley was about to die.
Apparently, her mother’s nerves were Elizabeth’s fault, for if only she had accepted Mr. Collins . . .
Elizabeth sighed and tried to warm her hands by the fire.
The men from the blacksmith shop had arrived in great haste, but they had not brought more than the one blanket they had used to lift Mr. Bingley into the cart, and under him it remained.
She had perched herself on the seat of the cart without her cloak and was quite frozen through on her return.
Before Elizabeth could repair downstairs for some warm food and drink, however, she intended to send a note to Netherfield. For that, she required solitude.
She was grateful that other than Mamma, she was able to find it, for Mr. Collins had not been here to greet them when they returned with Mr. Bingley. Charlotte Lucas had come to see her and, according to Mamma, stolen the heir to Longbourn away with an invitation to spend the day at Lucas Lodge.
She mended the pen that Lydia had left out and settled in to write.
The day was already wearing on, and though the weather was not warming, Mr. Bingley’s sisters would certainly wish to venture the three miles to offer him whatever succour they were able.
She supposed his guest would feel obliged to attend him as well.
Elizabeth sighed and blew on her hands. Having Mr. Darcy in the house would be a trial for her, but she would withstand his presence for Jane and Mr. Bingley’s sakes.
One day, it might be amusing to tell the story.
Jane had fallen ill at Netherfield and now Mr. Bingley was injured and here at Longbourn.
Well, perhaps it was a story that would entertain their children.
For though she did not believe Mr. Bingley’s injuries to be severe, had he remained out in the elements an hour or two longer, he might have been in some danger.
It was one of those tales that would become more romantic the farther one was removed from the events.
Still, Elizabeth mused, there had been a divine hand in Mr. Collins’s proposal after all.
Had it not been so entirely dreadful in every particular and had Elizabeth not been so furious at his unwillingness to accept her polite and repeated refusals, she would not have fled out of doors on such a day—or at least, she would not have walked so far.
And had she not been so very angry, she would not have left so unprepared, and Jane would not have been required to join her so that she might have her cloak.
They had both been required to come to Mr. Bingley’s relief.
Elizabeth had spotted him and spurred Jane to action; Jane had amended Elizabeth’s plan and made it better.
If Mr. Bingley’s declaration that Jane was an angel was anything to go by, she would lose her nearest sister and best friend sometime soon.
It was not something she wished to contemplate, though she had known long before Mr. Bingley’s arrival in the neighbourhood that the parting was inevitable.
If it were not Mr. Bingley, it would be another man who saw Jane for the splendid woman that she was and marry her as soon as he could gain her consent.
When Elizabeth had finished the short missive and written Miss Bingley’s name across the front in her best hand, she sealed it and called for Hannah to take it to Mr. Whaling, the blacksmith who had assisted them with the wagon.
He and his men were currently in the kitchens, being offered hot coffee and something to eat.
He could take the note as far as Meryton, and one of his sons would carry it on to Netherfield.
With the missive completed, Elizabeth carefully stepped out of the room and down the steps in search of Mrs. Hill and tea. After a day such as this one, she was certain she deserved it.
Although it was growing quite late, Fitzwilliam Darcy was almost afraid to step out of his bedchamber.
Bingley had already departed for London—he had never understood how his younger friend functioned so well on only a few hours of sleep.
Darcy was generally up early, even when in town, but he did require a full night’s rest to perform at his best. However, he was glad of one thing.
If Bingley was able to begin his business today, he would be returning to Netherfield that much sooner, meaning that Darcy should not be required to spend much time with Miss Bingley hanging on his every word.
Hurst had sworn he would not drink himself into oblivion for the short time Bingley was required to be away—but the windows were painted with frost, and he suspected there would be no easy way to escape the company of the ladies.
He wondered how cold it was in Derbyshire, and how his younger sister Georgiana was faring in London with Mrs. Annesley.
When he entered the breakfast room, the food was still hot, and Miss Bingley was tossing something in the fire. It appeared to be a note, but he did not bother to ask why she was burning it. It was her own correspondence. If she wished to burn it, she might.
“What do you think, Mr. Darcy?” she asked when she saw him enter, her lips pressed together and drawn thin. “A note from Miss Elizabeth the very morning after the ball. What must we do for the Bennets now?” She and Mrs. Hurst wore matching expressions of offense.
“I cannot imagine Miss Elizabeth Bennet would make any demands upon you.” Her mother would. The youngest sister already had. But neither Miss Bennet nor Miss Elizabeth was cut from the same cloth as the rest of their family.
“I suppose not,” Miss Bingley said, though she could not entirely mask her displeasure at his sentiment.
“Did you not read it?” he inquired, genuinely curious.
Miss Bingley looked away, and he knew she had not.
Miss Elizabeth would never have done such a thing had Miss Bingley written to her; of that, Darcy was quite certain.
Until this moment, he had been in sympathy with Miss Bingley about her brother’s attentions to Miss Bennet, but as he watched the paper curl and blacken in the fire, evidence of Miss Bingley’s utter contempt for a woman he admired, he found that he could no longer support her.
“Hmm,” was all he said.
Mrs. Nicholls came into the room to confer with Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst while he loaded his plate. When he returned to the table, the housekeeper had removed herself, and the two ladies leaned forward across the table.
“Mr. Darcy,” Mrs. Hurst began, just as he placed a forkful of eggs in his mouth, “I am sure it has not escaped your notice that Charles is enamoured of the eldest Miss Bennet.”
He just chewed as quietly as possible and stared at her.
“Yes, well,” Miss Bingley said with a glance at her sister. “The entire town seems to have expectations on dear Jane’s behalf.”
Dear Jane. He would have laughed at that if he could do so without offending his hostess.
The two women sitting across the table had never been friends to the eldest Miss Bennet, something that had been clear when she had been taken ill at Netherfield.
They had shown only a modest interest in their ailing guest and were actively hostile to Miss Elizabeth, who did the work of tending to her sister that a hostess ought to have seen to.
Miss Elizabeth had only come downstairs for dinner or to join them afterward.
Even so, he had spent too much time in her company.
Still, he had heard Sir William Lucas speak as though an understanding between his friend and the eldest Bennet daughter was imminent. Miss Elizabeth had heard it too, for she had blushed and looked away. Darcy was both sympathetic to her plight and charmed by her appearance.
Miss Elizabeth. That was an infatuation he had so far successfully withstood, and he intended to continue to do so.
Darcy swallowed and touched his napkin to the corner of his mouth.
“I did hear something of that nature.” He had thought it a very good thing that Bingley had travelled to London for a few days.
A little distance might be just the thing to cool his friend’s ardour.
“We are certain that Charles did not mean to raise the poor girl’s expectations,” Mrs. Hurst said. “You know that he is often in and out of love without meaning anything by it. If he returns from London, however, he may find himself under some pressure to make her an offer.”
He placed his fork on his plate to consider the matter.
It was true that Bingley seemed to like Miss Bennet, but until last night Darcy had not thought it very serious.
Sir William’s gleeful pronouncement had forced him to observe Miss Bennet’s mien whilst with Bingley.
He had not noticed any particular signs of regard on her side.
Bingley’s choices were his own, of course, but if the lady did not return his affection, it would be foolish to wed her, for she would bring nothing material to the match.
“What do you propose?” he inquired warily.
They had a plan. Of course they did. They had only been awaiting their brother’s absence to put it into action.
Though the events of the past summer proved Darcy’s sister still young and rather foolish in matters of the heart, Georgiana loved him and was loyal to him.
Bingley had not been so blessed in his sisters.
“We have just this moment given orders to Mrs. Nicholls to close up the house,” Miss Bingley said.