Chapter Fifteen #2
“Have you any support for such a notion, Miss Elizabeth?” Mr. Darcy asked. When Elizabeth turned to him, his expression was sympathetic but grave.
“Absolutely, Mr. Darcy,” she said, her voice lilting with the pleasure of having the perfect quote at hand.
She lifted Meditations from her lap. “From none other than Marcus Aurelius.” She paused for a moment to recall the exact words.
“‘Waste no more time discussing what makes a good man, be one.’“ She met his intensifying gaze.
“Why should that not be true for women as well?”
Mr. Darcy smiled widely this time, and Elizabeth’s heart nearly stopped. It was an open, friendly smile, completely unreserved, and directed at her. When he smiled like that, his eyes smiled, too. “I concede the point, Miss Elizabeth,” he said.
“A rather radical notion,” Miss Bingley said in a shrill tone. “I wonder at it.”
“It can hardly be termed radical, Miss Bingley,” Mr. Darcy replied, turning his head in her direction and slightly emphasizing the words hardly. “It was, after all, written in the time of the ancient Roman empire.”
She meant it was radical for women. He purposely misunderstood her.
As one who often used this method when a conversation turned awkward, Elizabeth strongly approved.
Mr. Darcy had not been laughing at her. He was defending her.
She willed her beating heart to remain inside her chest. She was certain any moment it would burst through.
There was a stirring near the doorway, and Molly appeared. Her eyes widened at all the company, but she approached Elizabeth, her arms full. Elizabeth panicked a bit at the sight of her entire portfolio being carried by the maid but tamped it down before it could show.
“I was not sure what to bring, Miss Elizabeth,” Molly said, bobbing a curtsey, “so I brought it all. I hope that is all right.”
“Of course, Molly,” Elizabeth told her, accepting the items. She tucked the portfolio out of sight and set her board, paper, and pencils beside her. “Thank you for bringing it all down.”
“Of course, miss.” Molly waited nervously.
“You may go,” Elizabeth said, sympathetic to the girl’s unease. Molly bent her head to hide a smile, turned, and left the room.
“You draw, Miss Bennet?” Mr. Bingley asked. His smile, though more often given than his quiet friend’s, was very welcome.
“I do,” she replied, meeting Mr. Darcy’s solemn gaze. “My aunt taught me how.” She forced herself to smile at Miss Bingley. Mr. Darcy had defended her. Perhaps she could return the favor.
“Miss Bingley?” she asked, careful to be perfectly polite. “Would you care to sit for me?”
As Miss Bingley rose to join her, Elizabeth glanced at Mr. Darcy. The warmth of his gaze sent a pleasant shock through her--all the way down to her toes.
Darcy filled his glass, grimly considering the dark liquid before sipping it. Richard watched him quizzically. “Are you not dipping rather deep, Darcy?”
“Are you counting my drinks now?” Darcy shot back. “How many have you had, Richard?”
“That is neither here nor there,” his cousin replied. “I have a far greater tolerance for drink than you have, you great ox, and well you know it.” He took the glass from Darcy’s hand. “Are you disappointed that Miss Bennet is not what society would deem an appropriate match for you?”
“I have long known she was not an heiress, Richard,” Darcy snapped, retrieving his glass and swallowing the rest of the brandy in one gulp.
Bingley entered the study and took a chair by the fire.
“Where is Hurst?” Darcy asked, his words only slightly slurred.
“To bed,” Bingley said, noticing the glass in Darcy’s hand and frowning. “He ate enough at dinner to kill a lesser man.”
“Bingley, can you help me here?” Richard asked, only half in jest. “Darcy is attempting to drown his attraction to Miss Elizabeth in a sea of your best brandy, and I fear he has not the head for it.”
Bingley waved one hand dismissively. “Darcy is lost in love and cannot see his way out. Yet he stubbornly persists in the attempt. If he must suffer tomorrow for his foolishness, so be it.”
“A most unforgiving speech!” Darcy proclaimed, standing abruptly.
The light-headedness that followed caused him to hesitate and steady himself by placing a hand on the arm of the chair.
He was offended. Or, maybe he was not. His brain seemed to be processing things rather slowly.
That was good. It was dangerous to make decisions too quickly.
Particularly important decisions. Wait. “How did you…”
Bingley pinched the bridge of his nose and tilted his head up to the ceiling.
“How did I know that the woman you insulted at the assembly was the same woman you now desire? You are generally a clever man, Darcy, but when it comes to romance, you are hopeless.” He took another look at Darcy and shook his head.
“Extensive reading? This is how you flirt with a woman?”
“I am not flirting,” Darcy growled.
Richard laughed, then asked, “You insulted Miss Elizabeth? How did you dig yourself out of that hole?”
“As far as I know, he has yet to do so,” Bingley replied, his gaze unwavering.
“She did not hear me,” Darcy protested. No, no. “She was laughing. She could not have heard.”
Bingley tipped his head to one side. When he spoke, a note of incredulity tempered the tone.
“She would have to be stone deaf not to have heard you, Darcy. Not to mention she was looking right at me when you said it and she was not pleased.” He ran a tired hand through his hair.
“How did you not hear the gossip circling the room shortly after?”
“Your sister,” grunted Darcy. “In my ear.”
“Oh, Darcy,” Richard groaned. “You have put your foot in it.“ He turned to Bingley. “What did my oafish cousin say?”
Bingley frowned. “Something about her not being handsome enough to dance with.”
Richard raised the palm of his hand to his forehead and let out a strangled breath.
“Mind you,” Bingley added, “this was after he refused to be introduced to anyone in the room. Anyone!”
“They were all talking about Pemberley,” Darcy mumbled. He raised his voice. “And my income, which was wrong, by the way.”
“Of course it was wrong,“ Bingley said, exasperated. He tossed up his hands. “It is gossip, Darcy. They never get it right. Would you truly wish them too?” He stood and approached his friend.
Darcy blinked. Even that seemed to take a long time.
How much had he drunk? Not too much. A few glasses of wine to get through a very tense dinner, another in the drawing room, a few brandies here.
It cascaded gently over his addled thoughts that, as he rarely had more than one drink in an evening, he might indeed be intoxicated.
Perhaps I ought to retire. He wondered if he could manage the stairs.
By the time he concluded he should not make the attempt just yet, Bingley was standing very close to him. “Only rarely is gossip entirely true, Darcy,” Bingley said, poking him in the chest with a finger. “For heaven’s sake, you taught me that.”
Darcy stared down at Bingley’s hand. Why is everyone poking me tonight? Though it took a moment to refocus his thoughts, Darcy understood his friend was not talking about the assembly. But what, then?
Bingley eyed him before saying firmly, “Decide what you will, but stop playing with Miss Elizabeth’s affections. One minute you are affable, the next silent and grim. It is confusing her. Any idiot can see it.”
Darcy felt two hands pressing on his shoulders and then a chair beneath him. He leaned back and closed his eyes.
“Make a decision, Darcy, one way or the other, and stick to it,” he heard Bingley say flatly. “I plan to be that girl’s brother one day soon, and I take the role seriously.”
“More than you do for your own sisters,” Richard said. Darcy felt his glass being removed from his hand, and this time he let it go. “I am sorry to say it, Bingley, but they are in danger of becoming harpies.”
Darcy cracked one eye open in time to see Bingley shrug.
“I should take offense to that, Fitzwilliam, but I cannot.” He sat heavily and leaned back.
“I have not lived in the same house with them for more than a fortnight since I was a boy. I was quite biddable then, and they seem to believe I am biddable still. The experience is becoming wearisome.” A small smile played upon his lips.
“Once my wife comes to Netherfield, Caroline and Louisa will return to London with Hurst.”
“Miss Bingley may wish to remain,” Darcy warned.
“She will not,” Bingley said with a snort, “because she will no longer be acting as hostess.” He stared first at Darcy, then turned the same look on Richard, daring them to gainsay his choice. Richard held up both hands, palms out.
“I will retire now,” Bingley told them. “Think about what I have said, Darcy.” He pushed up from his chair and stopped to pick up the decanter. “I will see you in the morning, if you are at all able to rise. Gentlemen.”
As soon as Bingley was gone, Richard punched Darcy in the arm. Strangely, he did not feel it.
“Do you see what you did?” Richard asked, annoyed. “He took the brandy with him!”