Chapter Eleven
By the morning after her unexpected dunking, Elizabeth was wild to be out of her room.
She was embarrassed that Mr. Darcy had seen her in such dishabille, but it was as much his fault as hers—more, really.
First, he ought to have attended the dinner at Netherfield where she had appeared at her best, and second, he ought not have cried out her name and frightened her when she thought she was alone.
But what was done was done, and she was determined not to dwell on it.
She had done enough of that these past few months.
Mr. Darcy was still here, and she did not much care why.
Somehow, she would gain a private moment with him and confess what she had hoped for last summer.
If he did not wish to renew his offers, it would hurt—it would hurt badly—but at least she would know.
And then, one way or another, she could go on with her life.
Elizabeth sighed. She hoped she could go on with her life.
“Lizzy, what are you doing up?” Jane asked.
Elizabeth had not even heard her sister walk in. “I am well, Jane. A warm fire, a good meal, and a full night’s sleep have done their work.”
“I would prefer you remain in bed today, just to be safe. If you are still feeling well this evening, you can come down to dinner.”
“Will Mr. Darcy be there?”
Jane worried her bottom lip, but Elizabeth could see that she was trying not to smile.
“What is it?” Elizabeth inquired, ready to be entertained.
“You need not worry about the meal being awkward for you, Lizzy. Caroline does not know that Mr. Darcy is here, and upon his request, she will not learn of his presence until just before dinner. I suspect she will demand his attentions tonight.” Jane shook her head.
“The poor man had hoped to slip out of the house without her knowing, but between the trouble with his horses, a servant taking ill with an influenza . . .”
Elizabeth did not wish for Miss Bingley to command Mr. Darcy’s attentions. Not tonight and not any other night, either. “You did not tell me anyone was ill.”
“Another reason why you should remain upstairs today. We are trying to contain it.”
Elizabeth narrowed her eyes. She had not detected any of the usual signs of a house with illness inside. Even if the sickness was downstairs, there would have been a few maids missing as they would be needed to nurse the invalid. “Jane, has anyone else been taken ill?”
“No, not yet, but Charles says . . .”
Elizabeth arched one eyebrow. Charles said? “And how long has it been?”
“Only a few days.”
“Janie . . .”
“Lizzy.” Jane returned Elizabeth’s disbelieving stare with an expression of pure innocence. Elizabeth did not wish to insinuate that her new brother was prevaricating. And really, what purpose would there be to telling such a story?
“I would prefer you remain to rest, but if you insist, you may come downstairs. I must sit with Caroline.” Jane said, moving smoothly past Elizabeth’s pointed gaze.
“Where are the men?”
“Riding. Charles is taking Mr. Darcy out to look at a particular field that floods in the winter.”
Any desire to show herself downstairs vanished. “Hmph. Very well, if you will bring me something to read or sew or do, I will remain here. But I will absolutely be at dinner. I must witness Miss Bingley’s first look at Mr. Darcy.”
“Do not be too hard on him, Lizzy.”
Elizabeth smiled. “I notice you have not asked any clemency for Miss Bingley.”
“Miss Bingley’s heart is not my concern. I fear that if you are unkind to Mr. Darcy, you will only hurt yourself.”
“I promise to be kind, Jane.” She was learning that she did not wish to be anything else—not to him.
Darcy was grateful to be away from the house this morning.
Though it had been cold when they left the manor house and the temperature did not seem to be rising, it gave him time away from Miss Bingley and distance to consider what he would say to Elizabeth.
In the meantime, Bingley was quizzing him about what could be done for the low-lying field that appeared to flood each winter if he decided to purchase Netherfield.
Here he was on familiar ground. “You could always plant river birch trees. It would take time, but the wood could eventually bring a nice profit.”
“You would not advise draining the field?”
Darcy scanned the landscape. “You could. But it is not so large a plot that you need worry about lost crops. If you build drainage, it is one more thing to maintain and repair. And the trees would not take much tending once they were well started.” His horse pawed at the ground, tired of standing still.
“It is always easier to work with nature than against it,” he said, and then led his mount into a trot in the other direction.
Bingley rubbed the back of his hand against his mouth, clearly trying not to smile.
“Bingley, what is the matter with you?”
“Nothing. Why do you ask?”
“You cannot hold a conversation without smirking at me.”
“I am doing no such thing. Smirking, indeed.”
Darcy frowned. “You are up to something. Please tell me it does not have to do with your sister. Miss Bingley, that is, not the sister you have more recently acquired.”
Bingley laughed aloud at that. “I am only amused that you, of all men, are suggesting I allow nature to take its course.”
His friend found it humorous, but Darcy was deeply chagrined. “Bingley, I . . .”
“You have already apologised, Darcy, and I have accepted. But do not make the mistake of believing I have forfeited the enjoyment of teasing you about it from time to time.”
“When I need it, I presume,” Darcy grumbled.
“Indeed. Now, if you wish to know, I was also considering the look on Caroline’s face when you suddenly appear before her.”
Darcy blanched.
The laughter that erupted from Bingley was not soon dampened, but at last he shook his head. “Do not concern yourself, my friend. I will inform my sister that you are here. Caroline, that is, not Lizzy, who is already aware.”
“Too many sisters, Bingley.”
“Just wait until we have to add the other two still at Longbourn, or when Louisa comes to call. Even your sharp mind will have trouble keeping up.”
Darcy grunted and led his horse away from the soft, wet ground. “None of them will likely give me as much trouble as you.”
“Me?” Bingley exclaimed, “I am the easiest fellow you shall ever meet.”
When they arrived back at Netherfield, Darcy went directly upstairs for a bath and to write some letters.
His steward had been expecting him back days ago, but he doubted now that he would return to Pemberley at all before the season began.
He would cut his stay in London short and return to Pemberley before planting.
He explained the change in his plans and answered a number of outstanding questions.
Dinner was served early in the country, and as soon as his letters were done, Darcy prepared himself for it. He would see Miss Bingley, but he might also see Elizabeth.
“How is Miss Bennet faring?” Darcy asked Scripps as the valet arranged his hair.
“I could not say, sir, but there has been no rushing about for more than some hot soup and tea from the kitchen.” He pressed his lips together. “Kerr had a gown to press, so I suppose that means Miss Bennet will be down for dinner.”
Darcy smiled to himself. Just as he had predicted. “Good, good.”
“Miss Bennet is well thought of by everyone at Netherfield, Mr. Darcy.”
“Not everyone,” Darcy remarked drolly, and felt a painful tug on his hair. “Ow,” he said, complaining. “Do you mind? The hair is attached to my head at present, and I should prefer to keep it there.”
“My apologies, Mr. Darcy,” Scripps replied curtly.
“Scripps,” Darcy said slowly, recalling his misunderstanding with Bingley, “do you think I am the one who does not think well of Miss Bennet? If so, you quite mistake the matter.”
“Indeed, sir?”
“I was speaking of Miss Bingley. She has never thought well of Miss Bennet.”
“Ah,” Scripps said politely. His ministrations eased.
“I think quite highly of Mrs. Bingley’s sister,” Darcy assured Scripps.
“Very good, sir.”
Darcy almost repeated himself in the hopes that Scripps would believe him, but he stopped himself in time. It did not matter whether Scripps believed him or not. It only mattered that Elizabeth did—and what her response to his admission would be.
“Thank you, Scripps,” he said when the man was done, and Scripps hurried away to assist his master.
Miss Bingley was waiting for Mr. Darcy—lying in wait like the carnivorous plant from America that the botanist Mr. Ellis had written of so exactly. Only Mr. Darcy was not an insect, and he was unlikely to be caught no matter how long Miss Bingley waited.
Elizabeth had believed she would enjoy seeing Miss Bingley’s face when she first encountered Mr. Darcy and learned he had been hiding himself away in the guest wing of the house, but this game had grown tiresome.
Charles had already informed Miss Bingley of Mr. Darcy’s presence in any case, and Elizabeth had refused to eavesdrop near the study door to hear what the woman’s reaction might be.
She did not wish to act like a child, no matter how sorely she was tempted.
She did not wish to tease Mr. Darcy either, not really. She wished to speak to him like the rational creature she knew herself to be.
She could tease him afterward.
His expression, when he did arrive, was stoic and perfectly composed. “Miss Bingley,” he said flatly, and then turned to Elizabeth. “Miss Bennet. I trust you have not suffered any lasting harm from your accident yesterday?”
“As you see, sir,” she replied with a little smile.
He returned it, though his smile was fleeting.
“Accident?” Miss Bingley asked slyly, as though she now had intelligence that might be of use to her. “You really must take care, Eliza. I had not thought you so clumsy, but I suppose traipsing through the woods as you do, a certain number of mishaps are inevitable.”