Chapter 15
Altered Designs
The following morning at Netherfield began earlier than usual for Mr. Darcy. His valet had scarcely finished laying out the clothes for the day when Darcy entered his dressing room. “Fletcher,” he said, with unusual promptness, “I shall ride out this morning.”
“Yes, sir.”
Darcy paused before the wardrobe. His gaze moved over the coats with more deliberation than the occasion seemed to require. “This one will do,” he said at last, selecting a dark blue coat.
Fletcher accepted it without comment. Yet as he assisted his master in dressing, he could not help observing that Mr. Darcy displayed a degree of attention to the arrangement of his attire which exceeded his usual habits.
The cravat, in particular, received unusual consideration.
“That is not quite right,” Darcy said once.
Fletcher adjusted it.
A moment later, Darcy regarded the result in the mirror again.
“Perhaps a little tighter.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Now I cannot breathe.”
When the matter was finally settled, Fletcher stepped back with professional composure. “It will serve very well, sir.”
Darcy gave a short nod.
Fletcher permitted himself the smallest, most private smile when his master turned away. In his experience, gentlemen rarely examined their appearance with such seriousness unless a lady was somewhere in the day’s arrangements.
Darcy entered the breakfast room somewhat earlier than the rest of the household.
Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst arrived shortly afterwards.
Caroline greeted him with a mixture of civility and lingering resentment, which she had not yet entirely abandoned since their conversation of the previous day.
“Can we not persuade you to alter your mind, Mr. Darcy?”
Louisa added, “If you joined us, we might still prevail upon him. He listens to you.”
“You can make your point to him when he returns.” When no answer came, Caroline huffed. “Do you not care what becomes of Charles? He is in great danger of making the biggest mistake of his life. We have to do something.” Caroline exclaimed.
“Or it may prove the making of him.” He shrugged.
“Oh, this is too much.”
Mrs. Hurst looked at him almost pleadingly. “But her family and… she has no proper dowry. She is connected to trade.”
“She is a gentleman’s daughter. Money or not, she is above him. Marriage into the gentry would do nothing to injure his consequence. It may improve it.” Darcy replied.
Mr. Hurst joined them.
“Hurst, do you agree with your wife?”
“What is discussed?”
“Miss Bennet’s suitability if Bingley pursues her.”
“He has been doing the very thing, has he not? She is a quiet and graceful lady. Bingley thinks she is an angel. I would welcome her into the family.”
“Mr. Hurst!” Both sisters protested.
Darcy nodded. “Well, I am off to Longbourn.”
“Pardon?” Caroline let her utensils go. “What business do you have there?”
Darcy drank his coffee calmly. “Must I need a business to visit our neighbours?”
“Unless you are in search of a lady’s pretty eyes…”
“Hmm. Mr. Bingley’s sent a message. He is detained until Wednesday,” he said. “He asks that I deliver a message to Miss Bennet.”
Caroline’s hand stopped for the briefest instant.
Darcy continued without noticing it. “He regrets that circumstances detain him in London longer than he expected.”
“We could still go after him then. We could close the house.” Caroline said, but without much hope.
“Bingley does not wish to leave. It would be imprudent in any case.”
Caroline, on the other hand, was no longer listening. She felt a sudden and most unwelcome recollection stir in her mind.
The letter. She had written to Miss Bennet the previous day. That could be uncomfortable. For a moment, she considered speaking. Yet any attempt to intervene now would appear far too obvious.
Darcy rose from the table.
Caroline forced a smile. But the moment he left the room, the smile vanished. Though silenced, she was by no means persuaded.
***
Darcy’s ride to Longbourn was shorter than he remembered.
In truth, he had travelled the road only a handful of times, yet that morning every turn appeared strangely familiar to him.
He found himself observing the hedgerows, the fields, even the distant roofs of the village with a degree of attention which he could not have justified had anyone asked him the reason.
By the time the house came into view, his composure had fully returned.
Darcy was shown into the hall at Longbourn.
The house seemed unusually animated, or maybe it just appeared that way to him. Voices carried from the drawing room, and there was an air of bustle which suggested that some event had recently disturbed the quiet order of the household.
He had scarcely taken a few steps inside when Mrs. Bennet hurried out to receive him.
“Mr. Darcy!” Her surprise was very great, though it did not prevent her from instantly assuming the most eager civility. “What an unexpected pleasure! Pray, come in, sir.”
Darcy bowed. “I hope I do not intrude, madam.”
“Oh, we expected a visit,” she said quickly. “I knew you would not leave without saying your farewell. Have the others not come with you? Oh, well, I am sure they are occupied with their arrangements.”
“Farewell?” Darcy said, slightly puzzled. “I am not going anywhere, at least not at present. I shall leave before Christmas to join my sister, though. Why do you…”
“You are not leaving?” Mrs. Bennet exclaimed.
“No, madam.”
“And Mr. Bingley is coming back?”
“Yes.”
Mrs. Bennet clasped her hands with immediate delight.
“Well, then, all is well. All is very well indeed. Then you must hear our news. I have the most excellent news to tell you. Oh! I am so happy.” She lowered her voice only slightly, though her triumph remained entirely unconcealed.
“A daughter of mine is to be married. Can you imagine? A daughter engaged to Mr. Collins.”
At that instant, a light step sounded upon the staircase.
Darcy turned involuntarily. He looked up and was arrested by a most beguiling sight. He heard no more. The world seemed to narrow suddenly to that single figure upon the staircase.
Elizabeth. The name formed silently in his mind.
Then Mrs. Bennet’s words returned to him with terrible clarity.
A daughter of mine is to be married.
A daughter engaged to Mr. Collins.
The thought struck him like a physical blow.
Engaged.
His mind seized upon the conclusion with ruthless certainty.
Elizabeth.
The colour drained from his face before he could prevent it.
For one dreadful instant, a sensation passed through him so sharp that it was almost pain – a tightening in his chest, as though the breath had been suddenly forced from him.
He had not known – not fully – how much he wished to see her until that moment. Nor how intolerable the thought of losing her could be. He had known about Mr. Collins’ intentions but had treated them only as an inconvenience.
How could she accept such an offer?
For one wild instant, he blamed her. The thought sprang up before reason could restrain it.
Elizabeth – Elizabeth Bennet – engaged to that man.
But the injustice of the impulse struck him almost immediately.
How could she refuse?
What had he ever done to claim her regard? What encouragement had he offered? What declaration had he made that might have warned her that she was valued – that she was desired?
She did not know. She could not know. The realisation fell upon him with humiliating clarity.
She does not know she is wanted.
Darcy drew a slow breath, though the effort cost him more composure than he cared to acknowledge.
And still she stood upon the staircase.
In that instant, every hesitation he had indulged, every careful reserve he had maintained, appeared to him in its true light – not prudence, but cowardice.
He wanted her.
Not merely to see her, not merely to admire her wit or spirit – but to claim her regard openly and without disguise.
And the thought that he might already have lost that chance struck him with a force he had never before experienced.
Elizabeth had reached the final step by now and paused upon the stair, still looking at him with some curiosity. Mr. Darcy’s expression was so unlike his usual composure that it immediately caught her attention.
“Mr. Darcy,” she said, “you appear quite alarmed.”
Darcy started slightly, as though recalled to himself.
“Miss Elizabeth…” He hesitated, then spoke again, almost involuntarily. “You’re engaged?”
Elizabeth looked momentarily surprised. “I beg your pardon?”
Darcy seemed to gather himself, though not entirely successfully. “To Mr. Collins.”
Elizabeth stared at him for the briefest instant before understanding dawned.
Then she laughed. “Good heavens, no.”
Mrs. Bennet, who had been listening with growing impatience, interposed immediately. “Lizzy, what are you talking about, child? Mr. Collins never proposed to you!”
Elizabeth descended the last step calmly. “I am aware of that, Mama.”
She turned back to Darcy, still amused. “If he had asked me, however, I should certainly have refused him.”
Mrs. Bennet threw up her hands in horror. “Refused him! Why ever would you refuse such an offer?”
Elizabeth answered with perfect composure. “Because I could not make him happy, Mama.” She paused a moment. “And he would most certainly not make me happy.”
Mrs. Bennet looked quite scandalised. “My dear Lizzy! You might have been mistress of this house one day.”
Elizabeth smiled faintly. “I believe that distinction will suit Mary far better.”
During this exchange, Darcy had remained perfectly still. The words had reached him clearly enough, yet for several seconds he scarcely trusted them.
Not Elizabeth.
Mary.
“So,” he said at last, still struggling to collect himself, “you are not engaged.”
“No, indeed,” Elizabeth replied lightly.
“No, it is not Lizzy, which is just as well. It is my middle daughter, Mary,” Mrs. Bennet explained, sending a disapproving look to her daughter.