Chapter 1
ONE
Fitzwilliam Darcy sat at the breakfast table at Netherfield Park, his discomfort growing with each passing minute.
It had begun when a visibly vexed Miss Bingley informed them that Miss Jane Bennet was ill and would certainly not return to Longbourn that morning.
The young lady had come to dine with Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst the day before while Bingley, Mr Hurst, and he had been out.
“Ill?” Bingley said, his eyes rounded in alarm.
Part of Darcy wanted to laugh at how easily his friend fell into and out of love with any pretty lady he met. Another part of Darcy shared his evident concern.
Miss Bingley waved a hand dismissively. “A trifling cold. The maid said she has a fever—slight, I believe—and her throat is sore.”
“I suppose she must remain. With luck, she will recover by this afternoon and will leave us to ourselves,” Mrs Hurst added. Her husband, seated beside her, gave a soft grunt.
In Darcy’s experience, a ‘trifling cold’ could easily become far more severe, if proper care was not taken.
Still, her illness had little to do with him, and he was content to attend to his repast while Bingley asked what was being done for Miss Bennet’s comfort and his sisters assured him the servants would see to her.
He was taking a sip of coffee when Miss Bingley looked at him and said, “I have made an extremely interesting discovery, one that should concern us all.” Her demeanour was nearly triumphant.
“Gossip, I presume?” Bingley said.
“Information,” his younger sister insisted. “We should know about the people we are associating with.”
“Very true,” Mrs Hurst was quick to agree. “I would not wish my good name to be tied to anyone who is…not as respectable as they should be.”
Speaking over her brother, Miss Bingley began her story. “Several days ago, I asked my maid to see what she could learn about the Bennets—one in particular, since she is such a favourite of yours, Mr Darcy. I always knew there was something not quite right about her.”
His brow furrowed. Whom did she mean? Then it struck him.
Elizabeth Bennet. Who else could it be? But why would Miss Bingley—?
Again, he soon answered his own question.
She is thinking of the compliment I paid Miss Elizabeth when we were lately at Lucas Lodge.
Over the years of their acquaintance, he had done everything he could think of to show the lady he thought of her as his friend’s sister and nothing more, including speaking to Bingley about it.
But because he had mentioned Miss Elizabeth’s remarkable eyes, Miss Bingley had sought a way to disparage her, to damage how well he thought of the other young woman.
As though those few words indicated I am developing a tendre for her!
Yet, he could not deny it; he found Miss Elizabeth more interesting than he did most other ladies—especially his hostess.
“I learnt that Eliza’s birth was…irregular,” Miss Bingley explained. “I asked Jane about it yesterday, and guileless as she is, she told Louisa and me the entire story.”
“Really, Caroline, that is enough!” Bingley interjected. “Surely, this is the Bennets’ business, not ours.”
“I disagree,” Mrs Hurst said. “They are our neighbours. We see them often.”
“Too often,” Miss Bingley said. “Eliza is not Mr and Mrs Bennet’s daughter. Her true mother was Mr Bennet’s sister. She died when Eliza was three. Her father, whoever he was—Jane does not know—was already dead. Probably from shame.”
Both ladies giggled. Bingley, his visage reddening, objected. Darcy felt his own cheeks heat at the women’s casual cruelty.
Miss Bingley resumed her tale. “Eliza came to live at Longbourn. There is no denying that there is a scandal attached to the whole affair. Jane does not recall ever meeting her aunt or even hearing her spoken of before Eliza appeared.”
“The only possible conclusion, given the secrecy of the situation, is that the aunt was not married,” Mrs Hurst said. “And we all know that you cannot escape your parents’ shame, no matter how many times you change your name or call other people your mother and father.”
“How can you be so cruel?” Bingley demanded.
“You do not, cannot understand the situation, and I find it perfectly reasonable that the Bennets do not talk about something that happened so long ago. They are good people and consider Miss Elizabeth their own daughter and sister. What more is there to say?”
Mrs Hurst and Miss Bingley laughed. The latter woman said, “A great deal, Charles, a very great deal.”
Mrs Hurst added, “Jane Bennet is a sweet girl, and I do not object to befriending her while we are here, but I shall not extend the courtesy to Eliza— I hardly know what to call her.”
“Bennet!” Bingley said firmly.
The brother and sisters bickered, and Darcy’s thoughts turned inwards.
If Miss Bingley had the right of it, the situation was unfortunate for Miss Elizabeth.
With Mr Bennet being a country gentleman and his modest estate entailed away from the female line, the daughters had little dowry to attract suitors.
She might not even be entitled to what little money had been set aside for the Miss Bennets.
With the added uncertainty regarding the circumstances of her birth, she was unlikely to make a good match—if she married at all.
And it confirms that I ought to stay away from her.
She might be pretty and have the most alluring eyes he had ever seen, and he might be drawn to her as he never had been to a lady before, but he would keep his distance, treating her with civility but nothing more.
At Lucas Lodge, he had listened to her conversation, watched as she performed at the pianoforte, even asked her to dance—granted, Sir William had given him little choice—but that was at an end.
When we are thrown together, I shall greet her and say farewell but no more.