Chapter Ten
Bingley was made much of over dinner. He was served first, and the menu was filled with softer foods, things he would not require a knife to eat.
Fortunately, there was still a fine goose for the rest of the party who had full use of both hands.
Darcy saw out of the corner of his eye that, just as before, a portion of the meat had been cut into pieces in the kitchen.
It was being served to Bingley now that everyone else was busy with their own food.
Discreetly handled. Mrs. Bennet was a better mistress than he would have supposed.
“How long must you wear that sling, Mr. Bingley?” Miss Lydia asked.
“Lydia,” Miss Bennet said warningly.
The girl blinked. “Yes?”
Bingley chuckled. “A few weeks, Miss Lydia, but I am already feeling a good deal better. I must admit, being able to leave my chamber has done me a world of good.” He shared a glance with Miss Bennet.
“I always feel the same whenever I am ill,” Miss Lydia declared with a nod.
“As do I,” Miss Kitty affirmed.
Miss Mary glared at her sisters and gave one disapproving shake of her head.
At the other end of the table, Mr. Collins sat in his seat near Mrs. Bennet, sullenly shoving his food into his mouth.
Mrs. Bennet, however, was not to be outdone by her daughters. “Mr. Bingley is welcome to remain here for his entire convalescence, I am sure, for he cannot return to Netherfield without a mistress to run the house for him.”
“Mother,” Miss Elizabeth said quietly, “I am sure Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy know they are both welcome, but we must allow them to make their own arrangements.”
“You ought not speak to your mother in so flippant a manner, Miss Elizabeth,” Mr. Collins replied haughtily, speaking at last. “You must honour your mother and father.”
Mary nodded.
“Yes, Miss Lizzy,” Mrs. Bennet said, making a face that reminded Darcy of a prune. “Your cousin is a clergyman. You ought to listen to him.”
“We have listened to him. All week long,” Miss Lydia said with a dramatic sigh.
Darcy might have to rethink his assessment of Miss Lydia after all. There was a certain pleasure in the company of someone who said what everyone else was thinking.
“We have been a burden on your housekeeping, Mrs. Bennet,” Bingley said, kindly but firmly taking the reins of the conversation and attempting to guide it back to safety. “When I am ready to sit in a carriage for the short trip back to Netherfield, Darcy and I will take our leave.”
“And I would thank you, Mr. Collins,” Mr. Bennet said mordantly, “not to take my daughters to task. As their father, I believe that is my responsibility, and just as in that matter we discussed a few days ago, I have not relinquished it.”
“Do you mean when Mr. Collins proposed to Lizzy, Papa?” Miss Kitty asked. She was not teasing, for both her words and tone were genuinely earnest, but her younger sister guffawed, and then they were both tittering.
“Kitty,” Miss Mary hissed. “We do not speak of such things before guests.”
The goose turned rancid in Darcy’s mouth.
It still bothered him enormously. To see Elizabeth married to another would be difficult enough.
To see her wed to a man so unworthy of her would be agony.
He swallowed and tried to regain his senses.
She had not accepted, for Mr. Collins was betrothed to Miss Lucas.
He had no reason to be bitter and indeed no right to be.
“It is fortunate for Mr. Bingley,” Miss Lydia said in the loudest whisper Darcy had ever heard. “Mr. Collins’s awful proposal is what sent Lizzy fleeing out of doors.”
“I can only be happy for the outcome, then,” Bingley said. Bless him, for Darcy still could not find his tongue. “Now that Mr. Collins has been accepted by Miss Lucas, all has turned out for the best.”
Miss Elizabeth made a little squeaking sound. Even in the candlelight, the fierceness of her blush was something to behold.
Mr. Collins, on the other hand, was highly offended. He opened his mouth, and Darcy dreaded what would come next.
“It has indeed, for my patroness, the esteemed Lady Catherine de Bourgh, would have been seriously displeased had I brought home a foolish bride.”
“Oh, Mr. Collins,” Mrs. Bennet said with a wave of a hand, “one thing you cannot say about Elizabeth is that she is foolish.”
Darcy lifted his eyebrows at that. Mrs. Bennet was defending her second daughter instead of disparaging her?
Miss Elizabeth was nearly as surprised, if her widened eyes and parted lips were any evidence. He had never seen her so flustered, and a strong wave of protectiveness for her and revulsion of her cousin prompted him to re-join the conversation.
“I believe Lady Catherine rather enjoys the conversation of intelligent, witty women,” Darcy said. “She would have been delighted with Miss Elizabeth. Whether Miss Elizabeth would have been as delighted with my aunt . . . Now, that I cannot say.”
“Your aunt . . .” Miss Elizabeth’s voice cracked, and she began again. “Is your aunt truly disposed to be officious, sir, or is this the complaint of a man who cannot best her in a debate?”
He smiled at her recovery. “I would not know, I am afraid. I have never been able to slide a word in edgewise.”
“Her condescension is a priceless treasure!” Mr. Collins announced.
Darcy pulled a face. “She does believe her advice is like treasure. Unfortunately, she does not believe in hoarding it.”
Mr. Bennet laughed. “Is she a dragon, sir, that you describe her in such a way?”
“Only when my cousins and I tracked mud into her drawing room, Mr. Bennet. Then the fire was very hot indeed.”
This elicited laughter from around the table, except from Miss Mary, who was confused, and Mr. Collins, who seemed uncertain how to respond.
“Mr. Darcy!” Mr. Collins said at last, scandalized. “How can you say such things about your own aunt?”
“My aunt needs no coddling from me, Mr. Collins. She would sneer at the very idea. Do not go so far as to suggest she requires it.”
“I would never,” the pastor said with a sniff.
“Good,” Darcy replied directly. He wished to be certain that even this most obtuse of men would take his meaning, so he spoke very slowly. “I would not like be compelled to write her to say that you had.”
“Mrs. Bennet,” Bingley said, clearly desperate to turn to less acrimonious topics, “this goose was done to a turn. Do you suppose your cook would be willing to send the receipt to mine?”
Bingley must truly be at his wits’ end to ask about the cooking.
Mrs. Bennet made a happy, humming little sound and sipped her wine. Miss Bennet smiled at Bingley, and his gaze for her was all but indecent.
Darcy chanced to glance at Miss Elizabeth, who was pressing her lips together very tightly. She met his eyes, and he sent his up to the ceiling much as he had earlier. Her shoulders lifted, and then she glared at him for nearly making her laugh again.
His heart swelled with hope.
These few extra days in her company had changed everything. Had Miss Bingley’s plan succeeded and they all remained in town this winter, he was not sure Bingley would ever have recovered. Miss Bennet, too, would have been wounded by the desertion. It would have been a disaster.
And now . . . Was it possible that he could successfully address himself to Miss Elizabeth? That she might see him in a different light than the man who had purposely kept himself aloof for the past two months?
If she did, it would be nearly on the order of a Christmas miracle.
Darcy blinked. That was the kind of wild, romantic exaggeration he would have expected from Georgiana. Thank goodness he had not said it aloud or in the company of his cousin Fitzwilliam, for the man would never have let him forget it. What was this woman doing to him?
Plan. He needed a plan. Rational, orderly, effective.
Just at the moment his mind was beginning to work out a strategy for winning Miss Elizabeth, she finally gave in and laughed at something her eldest sister said.
It was soft, gentle, loving. Her face was luminous in the candlelight, and her fine eyes were bright with happiness. All strategy abandoned him at once.
There had been something between them under the mistletoe today.
He had paused before the kiss, and rather than waiting, Miss Elizabeth had lifted her cheek to his lips.
He was not sure she realised she had done it, but she had.
Of course, then Mr. Collins had pushed her, and in the end, he had not kissed her cheek.
Her lips were as soft as rose petals.
Now that Bingley was mending and the idiot at the end of the table was departing for Kent on the morrow, Darcy would be able to spend more time in Miss Elizabeth’s company. He would try to show her who he really was when he was not trying to hide his feelings. That was plan enough for now.
Darcy ate and listened while Mrs. Bennet expounded about her baked apples.
Gads, Bingley was right. Everything Mrs. Bennet served was remarkable.
If he remained here much longer, he would add at least a stone to his frame.
Greyson would be put out were he required to let out all Darcy’s trousers, and Darcy had no wish to look like Hurst.
“Do you have apples on your estate, Mr. Darcy?” Miss Elizabeth inquired.
It was a polite question, meant to include him in the conversation her mother had started. But it made him smile, nonetheless.
Mrs. Bennet blinked at him, then at Mr. Collins, and then at Miss Elizabeth. She was figuring out what Miss Elizabeth had not, and the speed of that deduction was impressive.
He prepared himself to suffer her matchmaking calculations. But they never came. Instead, Mrs. Bennet tilted her head slightly to one side and evaluated him curiously.
Then, without moving her head, she shot a glance at Miss Elizabeth, who had simply been awaiting his response.