Chapter Fourteen #3
Neither of them noticed Nancy finally slipping from the room.
The men were awaiting the women in the parlor.
Dinner was set to begin in a few minutes, and Darcy hoped against hope it would not have to be delayed.
He was certain that after another disaster at breakfast, allowing the evening meal to grow cold in the kitchen while the ladies primped upstairs might just have the cook ready to poison them all.
He glanced around. Bingley seemed oblivious to the time, but Richard, who was always hungry, was pacing.
Hurst had already twice suggested that they simply begin dinner on time and allow the ladies to eat when they would.
The door opened, and Miss Elizabeth nearly tiptoed in, all apologies.
“Oh,” she said regretfully, “I do beg your pardon. I believed we were gathering in the drawing room, and foolishly stood about longer than I ought to have done before seeking assistance. I hope I have not detained you.” She glanced around.
“Where are Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley?” She frowned.
“I do hope they have not gone in search of me.”
“Not at all, Miss Elizabeth,” Bingley said cheerfully, moving to meet her. He gave her a short bow. “My sisters have yet to make an appearance. I have sent a servant, but if one of them is unwell, the other will likely remain with her.”
“Bingley,” Richard prompted.
Bingley glanced over his shoulder at Darcy before he said, “Oh, of course, Fitzwilliam. Miss Elizabeth, if I may?”
Elizabeth nodded uneasily. “Of course, Mr. Bingley.”
Darcy heard Bingley making the introductions, even heard his cousin’s charming pleasantries, but all he could see was Elizabeth in a stunning, pale yellow gown that reflected the candlelight and shone like the moon, tiny pearls in her hair twinkling like stars atop her dark curls.
Elizabeth Bennet was luminous. Elegant. He swallowed as her rosy lips parted to return the introduction to his cousin.
Bingley offered his arm to Miss Elizabeth.
After a brief hesitation, she accepted, and they led the way to dinner.
Hurst pushed past him to follow Bingley.
Richard fell back to walk beside him and began to speak, but suddenly stopped. Darcy turned his head slightly to see that his cousin was staring intently at him, his jaw slack and his eyes wide. Richard’s eyes shot to Miss Elizabeth as she was exiting the room, then back to him.
“Good God,” he whispered. “Darcy.”
Darcy swallowed. “What?” he asked roughly.
Richard took a step back, his eyes still on Darcy’s face, before he laughed silently in what appeared to be amazement. Fortunately, the others had already made their way into the dining room. “You damned rogue,” he leaned in to say. “You are besotted with the enchanting Miss Elizabeth.”
Darcy frowned. “Do not be an idiot, Richard.”
“You have a tendre for her, Darcy,” Richard hissed, poking Darcy in the shoulder with a finger.
“Do not you dare deny it.” He slapped his cousin on the back.
“Damn my eyes man, it does me good to see it.” He nudged Darcy.
“Here I was, wondering if she might not do for me. She may be a bit on the young side, but she seems right bobbish. I could get Mother off my back in no time with such a bride.”
“Richard,” Darcy growled, “Mind your speech. She is a gentlewoman.”
“Not to worry, Darce,” Richard said, suddenly serious. “You were there before me, and I shall not crowd you. I suppose she has a hefty dowry and excellent connections? Trust you to find such a woman so far from London’s ballrooms.” He slapped Darcy on the back.
“Try to behave like a gentleman, Richard,” Darcy said, irritated. Richard had spent too long in the army. Without a wife and with a disdain for much of society, he spent most of his days working with men. His veneer of civilized behavior was wearing thin.
Darcy pushed past his cousin, walking quickly to the dining room to find Bingley, Hurst, and Miss Elizabeth already seated and the food being served.
“We were beginning to wonder if the two of you were lost as I was,” Miss Elizabeth said with a smile.
Bingley glanced at the door and summoned a footman. “Would you please let Mrs. Nicholls know that my sisters will need trays sent to their rooms? One of them must be unwell.”
Keep saying that, Bingley, Darcy thought, perhaps you can make it true.
“I do hope neither has caught Jane’s cold,” Miss Elizabeth said.
Darcy watched her lips twist downward and noted that a small furrow appeared on the bridge of her nose.
Darcy tried not to look, but he could not help it.
His eyes always moved to Elizabeth of their own accord.
Miss Elizabeth, he corrected himself. Her frown disappeared, but her posture remained stiff.
She was clearly not willing to appear intimidated by being the only lady at table but was not at ease with it, despite the two maids who sat in the corner of the room.
He hoped, for her sake, that Bingley’s sisters would decide to appear after all.
He wrested his gaze away and focused on the partridge soup.
He heard Richard grunting in satisfaction from the chair to his right.
“This is quite possibly the best soup I have ever tasted,” Richard nearly moaned. “Bingley,” he said, “who is the divine goddess you have in your kitchen?”
Bingley was bemused. “You know, I do not think…”
“Mrs. Thistlewaite,” Miss Elizabeth said firmly, the soothing soprano a stark contrast to the voices surrounding her. “The cook’s name is Mrs. Thistlewaite, and her food is a marvel, Mr. Fitzwilliam.”
Richard nodded solemnly. “I thank you, Miss Elizabeth.” When she looked away, Darcy felt an elbow in his ribs and heard a low voice in his ear.
“I wager you five pounds Miss Bingley cannot name her cook.”
“That is a fool’s bet, and I will not take it,” Darcy replied.
He took a spoonful of the soup and nearly echoed his cousin’s wordless expressions of appreciation.
The broth was rich with beef and wine, the partridge roasted and yet tender, the whole infused with sweet herbs he did not recognize.
The breakfasts had almost uniformly been served cold, but now he wondered how they might have tasted had they been served on time.
He felt a twinge of disloyalty to his own two cooks, but talented as they were, their food did not compare.
The first remove was being cleared when there was a short, penetrating yowl from out in the hall. Darcy saw Miss Elizabeth blanch and he felt his own blood freeze.
“What in the bloody hell…” Richard muttered.
“That,” Darcy managed to say, “will be Miss Bingley.”
The door was opened by an agitated young footman, and two simpering women strode gracefully into the room.
“Charles,” Miss Bingley said in a voice that managed to be both brittle and strident. “Why did you not wait for us all to arrive?”
The men stood.
Bingley said calmly, “I assumed one of you was unwell, Caroline. There could be no other reason for the two of you to be so late.” He smiled warmly.
“Fisk,” he called, waving the young footman over, “Please tell Mrs. Nicholls that the trays will not be necessary after all. My sisters have joined the main party.”
Fisk nodded and left the room.
Miss Bingley’s dark eyes made their way around the table, falling on Miss Elizabeth and lingering. Darcy did not like the calculated expression that appeared on Miss Bingley’s face.
Mrs. Hurst, for once, did not speak. She only stared at her husband, who had stood to pull out her chair.
“Would you like to sit, Mrs. Hurst?” he asked, his tone matter-of-fact. “The soup was excellent. It is a shame you were not in time to sample it.”
Darcy through briefly about crawling under the table. He glanced across the table at Miss Elizabeth. Her color was high, and he did not envy her. It was uncomfortable enough that the ladies were being taught a lesson before him and Richard. Miss Elizabeth must be mortified. Yet what could she do?
“Miss Elizabeth,” Miss Bingley asked, her voice grating. “How does your sister?”