Chapter 12
Altered Opinions
The Bennet family were among the very last to remain at Netherfield that evening.
Owing to a small but determined arrangement of Mrs. Bennet’s, their carriage was not yet at the door, and they found themselves lingering some minutes after the other guests had already departed – a circumstance which did little to improve the spirits of those obliged to remain with them.
Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley scarcely opened their mouths except to lament their fatigue, and repulsed, with polite but chilling brevity, every attempt of Mrs. Bennet to engage them in conversation.
Their patience was clearly exhausted, and a languor settled upon the little party which even the most determined good humour could scarcely dispel.
Mr. Bennet, seated somewhat apart, observed the whole with the quiet composure of a gentleman long accustomed to finding entertainment in the peculiar felicities of his own family.
Mr. Bingley and Jane were standing together at a little distance from the others, engaged in a conversation so low and earnest that it seemed meant for no ears but their own.
Darcy’s glance fell upon them more than once.
What struck him most was not Miss Bennet’s beauty – though that was undeniable – but the ease with which she received Bingley’s attention.
She neither sought it nor appeared conscious of it, a circumstance which, in his experience, was by no means common.
Bingley glanced once toward the door, as though to assure himself that their carriage had not yet arrived and then turned back to her with renewed satisfaction.
“I must be in London for a few days,” said he, with evident reluctance. “Business of a very dull nature, I assure you. But I shall return as soon as it is concluded. And when I do, may I hope to pay my respects at Longbourn? To call on you?”
Jane coloured slightly, though she met the question with her usual gentle composure.
“You will always be welcome there, sir.”
“That is a very kind answer, but – it is not quite the one I hoped for. I know I am welcome at Longbourn. Your mother and family are hospitality itself. My question concerns whether you would welcome me.”
“I had hoped you would know the answer to that, Mr. Bingley. But if you require me to say it plainly, yes, I would be very happy if you called on me.”
“Then I shall depend upon it,” he replied warmly. “Indeed, I should think myself most unfortunate if such a visit were unwelcome.”
Jane’s smile, though modest, was unmistakably pleased, and their conversation continued in the same quiet spirit, each seeming perfectly satisfied with the society of the other.
Meanwhile, Mr. Collins, who had been waiting with visible impatience for a suitable pause in the general silence, at last drew himself up with an air of preparation.
“Permit me, dear madam,” he began, addressing Mrs. Bennet with solemn gravity, “to express, in the most respectful and heartfelt terms, my admiration of the elegance and liberality displayed this evening by our distinguished hosts…”
“Mr. Collins,” said Elizabeth quietly, though with unmistakable firmness, “I believe Mr. Bingley and his sisters are already well aware of your sentiments.”
Mr. Collins stopped short.
Darcy, who had been watching the exchange, shook his head almost imperceptibly, a small smile touching his lips. Miss Elizabeth Bennet, it seemed, had at last lost patience. He could hardly blame her.
The interruption was received with a degree of composure that would have done credit to a far less self-important gentleman. Yet, the stiffness with which he bowed betrayed a mortification he was unwilling to confess.
“Your modesty does you honour, Cousin Elizabeth,” he replied. “Still, expressions of gratitude are never misplaced.”
Elizabeth made no answer, and he found himself obliged to abandon his oration.
With marked deliberation, he then crossed the room and stationed himself beside Mary Bennet, who received the attention with a shy but gratified smile.
Elizabeth could not doubt that the movement was intended as a silent reproach.
Mrs. Bennet, unwilling to surrender the field entirely to silence, renewed her efforts at conversation.
“I am sure, Miss Bingley, it has been a most elegant ball,” she declared. “The supper alone would have done credit to the finest house in town. I protest I have rarely seen such a variety of dishes – though perhaps London has accustomed you to these things.”
Miss Bingley inclined her head but did not speak.
Mrs. Bennet continued, perfectly undeterred. “And the music! My daughter Lizzy was quite delighted with it. Were the musicians from Meryton? Or perhaps from London?”
Again, Miss Bingley remained silent.
It was Mr. Darcy who answered.
“They were engaged from London, madam,” said he politely. “Mr. Bingley was determined that nothing should be wanting to the comfort of his guests.”
Mrs. Bennet turned to him at once, gratified by the attention.
“Indeed, sir! I declare it was exceedingly well judged.”
Darcy inclined his head with quiet civility.
Across the room, Elizabeth caught his eye. She glanced toward him and gave the smallest inclination of her head, her look conveying a quiet thanks that words could scarcely have improved.
Darcy understood her perfectly. It was not the first time he had observed her intervene where others hesitated. She possessed, he thought, a firmness of judgement that appeared the more striking for being exercised with such quiet composure.
Mr. Bennet, who had observed the whole with quiet amusement, was at that moment so thoroughly entertained by the various discomforts of the assembly that he would willingly have prolonged their wait another quarter of an hour.
At last, he rose and ushered his family toward the door, leaving their hosts at liberty to reclaim their house.
Lydia followed her father on unsteady legs. All that the others heard was, “Lord, how tired I am!”
Mrs. Bennet, however, was most pressingly civil in her leave-taking and addressed herself particularly to Mr. Bingley, assuring him how happy he would make them by dining at Longbourn at any time, without the ceremony of a formal invitation.
She quit Netherfield in the happiest spirits, already indulging the delightful persuasion that Jane would soon be settled there. Elizabeth, on the contrary, felt nothing so strongly as relief at being at last on their way home.
Mr. Bennet and Mr. Collins had already taken their places in the open chaise when the ladies were settled in the carriage behind them.
Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy had followed them outside and now stood upon the gravel before Netherfield House as the servants completed the final arrangements.
Mr. Bennet, gathering the reins, glanced briefly toward the two gentlemen.
Bingley’s presence occasioned him no surprise; the young man’s attentions to his eldest had been evident throughout the evening. That Mr. Darcy should stand beside him, however, and remain there with such deliberate civility was rather less expected.
Bingley’s warmth of temper made such attentiveness entirely natural. Mr. Darcy, by contrast, was not a gentleman who appeared inclined to exercise it without reason.
Jane leaned slightly toward the window as the horses began to move and lifted her hand in a small farewell.
Elizabeth, noticing the direction of her sister’s gaze, followed it – and saw Mr. Darcy standing a little behind his friend. For a moment, she hesitated. Then she raised her hand also, though with less certainty.
Darcy inclined his head in acknowledgement.
The carriage rolled slowly down the drive, leaving the two gentlemen standing together before the house. Darcy watched it a moment longer than was strictly necessary. Bingley, however, continued to gaze after it with undisguised satisfaction until it disappeared beyond the bend of the road.
“You are lost,” said Darcy at length, a hint of amusement in his voice. “Come, Charles. Netherfield has not yet removed itself to Longbourn.”
Bingley laughed. “I cannot help it, Darcy. I have had a most delightful evening.”
“That fact has not escaped my notice.”
Bingley turned toward the house with a brightness that no attempt at composure could entirely conceal.
“You must allow me my satisfaction. I believe I have never been in better spirits.”
Darcy shook his head slightly, though a faint smile accompanied the gesture as they walked back toward the house.
Bingley fell into step beside him. “And you, Darcy? Did the evening prove such a trial? I could have sworn I saw you dancing more than once.”
Darcy gave him a look of mild resignation. “I am occasionally capable of enduring society, Bingley.”
Bingley laughed with unabated satisfaction and began speaking again of the evening’s pleasures as they entered the house, but Darcy soon excused himself and made his way upstairs.
As he ascended, his thoughts returned to Miss Elizabeth Bennet.
He had already acknowledged to himself that she was a woman he found striking. Not merely handsome, though her countenance was certainly pleasing, but animated by an expression which seemed perpetually alive with intelligence and feeling.
The recollection of his dance with Miss Lucas returned to him then.
He was aware of the difficulties ladies faced.
If one did not get a proposal of marriage, society could be harsh.
He sensed her resignation. She must be years older than Miss Elizabeth.
While she openly smiled and laughed, Miss Lucas’ comments were sharp and tired.
Now another image rose before him with far greater clarity: Miss Elizabeth standing in the library doorway that very evening, her colour heightened and her fine eyes flashing as she confronted Wickham without the least hesitation.
Her stance had surprised him then; the sensation that followed it surprised him still more. For a moment – quite against his expectations – her spirited indignation had seemed less shocking than invigorating.