Chapter Four #3
En garde, Elizabeth Bennet. The thought briefly slid across his mind. His eyes met hers, locking in a secret desire. Maintaining his gaze, he heard Miss Bingley’s stunned response, “Oh, shocking! I never heard anything so abominable. How shall we punish him for such a speech?”
Darcy waited in anticipation for Elizabeth’s response. “Tease him—laugh at him. Intimate as your families are, you must know how it is to be done.” He had never expected she would dare to laugh at him.
As much as he hoped to maintain her gaze, Darcy experienced a momentary glint of uncertainty and dropped his eyes, breaking the bond.
Naturally, Miss Bingley would never speak ill of him; she had desired his good opinion for too long to defy him on any subject.
Elizabeth, on the other hand, allowed her mirth to carry away her good sense; she did not allow her love of nonsense to wane.
She taunted unmercifully, “Mr. Darcy does nothing which might amuse his friends? I would not require many such friends, for I most dearly love to laugh.”
Not able to abandon the serious armor, which had served him well in the past, Darcy assumed an air of superiority.
“Miss Bingley has given me credit for more than can be. The wisest and best of men—nay the wisest and best of their actions—may be rendered ridiculous by a person whose first object in life is a joke.”
Amused by her own cleverness, Elizabeth replied, “Without a doubt, there are such people, but I hope I am not one; I hope I never ridicule what is wise or good. Follies and nonsense, whims and inconsistencies, do divert me, I own, and I laugh at them whenever I can. But these, I suppose, are precisely what you are without.”
Having spent his life despising any form of personal failings, Darcy’s former affectionate gaze took on a steeled impalement; nearly biting the words, he said, “Perhaps that is not possible for anyone. But it has been the study of my life to avoid such weaknesses which often expose a strong understanding to ridicule.”
“What sort of weaknesses, Mr. Darcy? Would, say, vanity or possibly pride be such a weakness?” she retorted.
Swallowing hard, Darcy steadied himself before giving a response. “Yes, vanity is a weakness. But pride—where there is a real superiority of mind—pride will be always under good regulation.”
Miss Elizabeth’s suppression of a smile surprised Darcy. He found nothing amusing in what he had said. He meant his response to be a diplomatic answer. She had gone too far. Amusing repartee was one thing, but he would not be her target, no matter what attraction he felt for her.
Miss Bingley immediately regretted beginning this folly, “Please, let this be an end to such discourse.”
Elizabeth, meanwhile, feigned innocence and coquettishly deflected her affront. “I agree, Miss Bingley, Mr. Darcy has no faults; perfection is within his reach.”
“No,” Darcy snapped before he could school his tone.
“I have made no such pretense,” he declared obstinately.
Miss Elizabeth obviously knew nothing of superior society.
“I have faults enough,” he continued, “but they are not, I hope, of understanding. My temper I dare not vouch for. It is, I believe, too little yielding; certainly too little for the convenience of the world. I cannot forget the follies and vices of others so soon as I ought, nor their offenses against myself. My feelings are not puffed about with every attempt to move them. My temper would perhaps be called resentful. My good opinion once lost is lost forever!”
Earlier Miss Elizabeth had defended Bingley’s appearing humble, but she had attacked him! Darcy came to the speedy conclusion that she cared not to recognize his worth. He had misjudged her excellence!
She insisted, “Your faults, as you define them, Mr. Darcy, are not open to scorn; possibly they are a bit too dark in nature, but they are not failings. I will not laugh at you, Mr. Darcy; you have nothing to fear from me.”
She gave him a slight curtsy and started to turn away.
Wait, this is not finished! Before Elizabeth could take a step, he froze her in place by coldly saying, “There is, I believe, in every disposition a tendency to some particular evil, a natural defect, which not even the best education can overcome.”
She turned roughly to him. Her eyes flashed with anger. “Your defect, Mr. Darcy, is a propensity to hate everybody.”
“And yours, Miss Elizabeth,” he replied with a smile, “is willfully to misunderstand them.” For a moment they held each other’s application; then, Darcy nodded his head to permit Elizabeth to return to her sister.
His emotional turmoil became difficult to conceal.
He had discovered paying so much attention to Miss Elizabeth Bennet was a dangerous endeavor.
After their near altercation in Bingley’s drawing room, with renewed resolve, Darcy was determined to banish his blossoming feelings for Miss Elizabeth.
She had been at Netherfield for only a few days, and he nearly displayed his obsession with her.
Miss Elizabeth appeared in his thoughts throughout the day and danced in his dreams at night.
Today he decided to take no notice of her.
He would not allow her hopes to develop, especially if his previous actions suggested his regard for her.
What he executed in her last days at Netherfield would give weight in confirming or crushing those expectations.
To that resolution, Darcy applied himself towards indifference as he entered the morning room.
There he found Bingley attempting to persuade Miss Bennet that she was not well enough to return to Longbourn so soon.
Fully realizing that while Miss Jane Bennet remained at Netherfield so would her sister Elizabeth, without much enthusiasm, Caroline Bingley made the obligatory civilities encouraged by her brother.
Hiding his intense interest, Darcy watched the scene between Bingley and Miss Jane Bennet with a detached air.
He hoped Miss Elizabeth would leave before long, and he could return to a more sensible existence.
“Then it is settled; you may not consider leaving before tomorrow,” Bingley insisted weakly.
Miss Bennet nodded her agreement before abandoning the seat by the fire and returning to her room.
Finally, an end to his upheaval was in sight.
A little more than a day would put distance between him and his preoccupation with Miss Elizabeth.
He would avoid contact with the woman and not engage in any unnecessary conversation.
If he could confine himself to places of solitude, the hours would pass more quickly.
The lady frustrated him beyond words. He had never met a woman who befuddled him so easily.
How many times over the past few weeks had he thought upon her?
Almost from the moment he rejected the opportunity to escort her onto the assembly hall dance floor, her “fine eyes” mesmerized him.
Her connections, however, would make him a mockery among his society.
He could not allow that to happen to Georgiana, to his family name, or to the expectations for Pemberley.
He knew his duty to the Darcy name; his fascination with Miss Elizabeth Bennet had to end today!
He found it relatively easy to escape close association with Miss Elizabeth by taking a long, physically demanding ride on Cerberus.
By the time he returned and properly presented himself to the rest of his party, Mr. Bingley and Mr. Hurst applied to him to join them for some shooting, but Darcy kindly begged off.
The ladies had taken the carriage into Meryton to return social calls.
Miss Elizabeth attended her sister, which meant Darcy could eschew all the trappings society would demand if everyone were together.
He found a book in the Netherfield library in which he could at least pretend to hold an interest if someone found him there.
Settling into the chair’s cushions, he easily drifted into a light sleep; his mind, despite his determination to avoid thoughts of Miss Elizabeth, clearly pictured her in this dream state.
Her smile was there, and it was a smile directed towards him; the illusion was so real he could not help but utter her name aloud, “Elizabeth.”
“Yes, Mr. Darcy.” The word echoed through his whole body.
With eyes fluttering and a mind grappling with the reality of what just occurred, Darcy sprang to his feet, a rush of embarrassment at being found dreaming of the woman who now stood before him and who looked very quizzical about what transpired.
“I … I apologize, Miss Elizabeth,” Darcy stammered, permitting his breeding to take over his actions. “May I assist you in finding what you seek in the library?”
“You are most kind, Mr. Darcy.” She appeared amused by his response.
“I thought you were asleep; I desperately wanted not to disturb you. I reached for a book of poetry on the upper shelf, but I fear my clumsiness brought you from your deliberation, and I foolishly interrupted your privacy. It is I who should apologize.”
“Not at all,” he quipped, making a quick bow.
He stepped over to the shelf by which she stood.
Reaching to retrieve the book she desired, Darcy placed it into her hands.
When she looked up to thank him, Darcy found himself swimming in the scent of lavender.
Elizabeth smiled briefly at him as she took a seat across from his chair.
He considered excusing himself, but he feared in doing so her curiosity over his response would be compounded.
Instead, he hoped by returning to his chair and his book, Elizabeth would think his blunder simply a lack of propriety in calling her by her first name rather than a realization he dreamed of her.