Chapter Seven
When they all returned to the house, Mr. Darcy excused himself to go upstairs to his friend. Lydia and Kitty discussed plans to torment Mary by hanging mistletoe in the music room, and Elizabeth moved into the drawing room to find Jane.
Her eldest sister was sitting on the settee with an odd expression on her face.
“Jane,” Elizabeth inquired, “are you well?”
“I cannot say,” Jane replied. “I have only just now received a note from Netherfield. Caroline Bingley sent it. Lizzy, she is trying to convince me that Mr. Bingley means to marry Miss Darcy.”
“What?” Elizabeth exclaimed. Jane held out an elegant, little hot-pressed paper, and Elizabeth took it.
She read quickly through Miss Bingley’s hopes that “your Christmas in Hertfordshire may abound in the gaieties which that season usually brings . . .” Her eye skipped ahead.
Miss Bingley mentioned Mr. Bingley’s admiration of Georgiana Darcy.
Nice trick, that, using Miss Darcy’s Christian name to indicate her intimacy with Mr. Darcy’s sister.
Miss Bingley had yet more to say. Evidently Miss Darcy’s family “all wish the connection as much as his own; and a sister’s partiality is not misleading me, I think, when I call Charles most capable of engaging any woman’s heart.”
Pleasant words, each one of them a knife hurled at Jane’s tender heart. How much worse would it have wounded Jane had Mr. Bingley made it safely to London, leaving Jane to wonder?
“She is correct, of course, about Mr. Bingley being so charming,” Jane said softly. “Many women must have hopes that he had no idea of exciting.”
“Jane,” Elizabeth said, cursing Miss Bingley with her whole heart, “you cannot think that Mr. Bingley is playing with your feelings.”“Of course not,” Jane replied. “It is simply that my feelings for him may be stronger than his for me.”
Elizabeth knew better than to try to talk Jane out of such a thing.
Jane was firm when she believed herself to be right, and there would be no way to resolve this until and unless Mr. Bingley spoke.
She had an idea, though. As Mr. Darcy was in such a talkative mood, she would simply relay to him that Miss Bingley had written and that if Mr. Bingley wished to know Jane’s feelings, he should have to ask her outright.
Would he believe her, though?
It was a shame, in one sense, that people could not simply say what they felt, but she supposed it might be taken too far. Elizabeth would never wish Lydia to speak with even less constraint than she did now.
She sighed.
“I would beg you, Jane, not to act any differently around Mr. Bingley. Nothing has changed. He has not spoken, it is true, but if you suddenly fall silent around him, he will think you do not care for him at all, and he never will.”
“Lizzy,” Jane said quietly, “could I be happy with a man whose family and friends so clearly wish him to marry elsewhere?”
“Why not?” Elizabeth asked, all the frustration of the past days making her words a bit too sharp. “Forgive me, Jane, but everything is topsy-turvy just now. Mr. Collins has proposed to me, and Mr. Bingley has not yet proposed to you. In what world is that the correct order of things?”
Jane smiled a little at that, but Elizabeth could sense her sister’s hesitation. As she opened her mouth to speak, there was a commotion out in the hall.
“I have news!” a male voice called imperiously.
Both women froze before Elizabeth simply hung her head.
Mr. Collins had returned to Longbourn.
Darcy returned downstairs after some hours with Bingley and was met by the giggling of Miss Lydia and Miss Kitty.
A heap of the mistletoe they had collected was piled on a small table in the corner of the sitting room.
Miss Bennet was sewing and did not look up at him when he entered.
Miss Mary was reading a book, and Miss Elizabeth was nowhere to be seen.
He considered his options before taking a chair near Miss Bennet. “Is everything quite all right, Miss Bennet?” he asked.
She glanced up at him and just as quickly glanced away. “Of course, Mr. Darcy.”
“Bingley believes he shall be able to hazard the stairs tomorrow,” he offered. That should bring her some pleasure.
“That is good to hear, sir,” she said flatly.
Darcy blinked. He had only been upstairs a few hours, and yet he had descended into an entirely new set of circumstances. One had to remain vigilant to keep pace at Longbourn.
The giggles grew louder.
“Do you mind, sisters?” Miss Mary asked peevishly. “I am attempting to read.”
“You just want Mr. Collins to notice you, Mary,” Miss Lydia crowed, “but it will not matter, for I know something you do not.”
“What is that?” Miss Mary asked with a sigh.
“Mr. Collins is not to marry you or Lizzy, for he has asked Charlotte Lucas, and what do you think? She has accepted him!”
Miss Elizabeth’s absence from the room suddenly took on a more sinister meaning. He hoped she was not locked in a room somewhere with her mother.
Miss Mary’s shoulders slumped. “How do you know?” she asked.
He could not help feel a bit of sympathy for her.
“Maria Lucas told Captain Carter, and he told us,” Miss Kitty said proudly.
“Kitty!” Miss Lydia complained. “I wanted to tell her!”
Not that marrying Mr. Collins was a point in Miss Lucas’s favour, but as Miss Elizabeth had mentioned, Mr. Collins could at least afford a wife.
Despite Sir William’s elevation, there was likely not money enough to support all the Lucas children, for there were many, and Miss Lucas was a good deal older than Miss Elizabeth.
It was a prudent match, then, and a clear escape for Miss Elizabeth.
All in all, the business was neatly concluded.
Except that now none of the Bennet women would be the next mistress of Longbourn. That could not sit well with the current mistress.
Poor Miss Elizabeth. She was living through several very trying days.
Darcy wished he had the right to offer her some comfort, but he had been within hours of departing Hertfordshire forever less than two days ago and had allowed no sign of his preference to escape in her presence.
Miss Bingley’s teasing about the matter had grown increasingly irritating to him; she had seen his attraction even if Miss Elizabeth did not.
Could not. It had made him act with more reticence than was normal, even for him.
He was still not certain how he would explain his choice to Miss Elizabeth, let alone his family.
Bingley’s accident had given him an opportunity to spend more time with her, to allow her to see his admiration, and he was a lost man.
There was nothing to do now but give in, and he believed that now he had apologised for insulting her and cleared the air about Wickham, she was not entirely set against him.
Georgiana would not mind his choice in the least, of course; she would love Miss Elizabeth. His cousin Richard would find her charming, if he ever returned from the peninsula. It was the rest of the family that had him worried.
He had always expected to marry a wife who was a member of the ton.
He had hardened himself to the necessity of escorting her to endless balls and at-homes, soirees, dozens of plays where everyone spoke over the actors.
It exhausted him to even think of it. Yet if it was Miss Elizabeth who wished his escort, he would not hesitate.
He could not say with complete honesty that he would enjoy such events, even with her company, but he would detest them less.
And he would love being with her. He swallowed.
He loved her.
Darcy sat up straight and squared his shoulders. He would not be Mr. Bennet, hiding behind his newspaper. He loved Miss Elizabeth Bennet. She ought to know.
How could he tell her without frightening her away?
He stood and walked towards the door. First, he must take care of Wickham.
He could not bring Georgiana here with that man lurking about.
Then, he would arrange for Elizabeth to meet Georgiana, for his sister would make Miss Elizabeth think better of him.
His younger sister was a marvellous person; she and Miss Elizabeth would get along splendidly.
Just as he was exiting the room, he was struck in the chest forcibly enough that he took a step back.
“Oof,” he heard a woman say. Instinctively, he shifted forward and reached out to grab her arms.
It was Miss Elizabeth.
Once they were both steady on their feet, he released her.
“I am not certain whether to thank you or blame you, Mr. Darcy,” she said, looking up at him and rubbing her nose.
It was not the most auspicious way to begin a courtship.
“Lizzy!” Kitty cried and pointed, “Look!” She and Miss Lydia devolved into the loudest giggles he believed he had ever heard them issue. The noise was not inconsiderable.
Miss Elizabeth looked up, and her eyes grew round. He followed her gaze.
A small cluster of white berries in a nest of green leaves was attached to the top of the doorway. Mistletoe.
He could not have asked for a better beginning from a more unlikely source. He reached up to pluck one of the berries.
Miss Elizabeth, however, had other ideas. Just as he offered the berry to her and was about to bend down to offer a kiss, she slipped past him and into the room. He straightened quickly and slipped the berry into his coat pocket.
“Do not force Mr. Darcy to do something for which he has no desire,” she said, scolding her younger sisters. “He is not used to your nonsense.”
It had been rather presumptuous of them, and it was certainly nowhere near Christmas. But she was wrong about his desire. He groaned inwardly at the thought.
This, he told himself as he nodded at the room and escaped to the stairs, was precisely why he needed a plan.
Elizabeth was furious. How dare Lydia and Kitty embarrass Mr. Darcy in such a way? Just when they had been making such progress towards becoming friends, he would be driven away by their vulgar behaviour!