Chapter Three #3
Darcy’s head snapped up, his eyes flashing with indignation beneath his dark brows. “I participated in no such thing!”
“Indeed, you did, sir. When Bingley defended the Bennet sisters, citing Sir William’s praise of Miss Elizabeth’s beauty, you retorted, and I quote, ‘She a beauty? I would as soon call her mother a wit.’ A barb which you, Caroline, and, sadly, my Louisa savoured like fine wine for days afterward. How do you account for that?”
Darcy’s jaw tightened, a muscle working visibly beneath his skin.
“Miss Elizabeth perhaps overheard my initial slight, but she cannot lay claim to the second.”
“Perhaps not,” Hurst replied, “but, mark my words, when opportunity presents itself, Caroline will ensure Miss Elizabeth learns of it.”
“What provokes such animosity towards Miss Elizabeth?”
“Listen carefully, for this is crucial. Caroline fancies herself as the future mistress of Pemberley.” Once again, Hurst held up his hand to prevent Darcy from interrupting.
“Your casual remark about admiring Miss Elizabeth’s fine eyes sent her into a fury.
Most unwise, Darcy, nothing is more foolish than taunting an already enraged bull. ”
“Until this past week, I never suspected Miss Bingley harboured such illusions. She shall never be my wife.”
“You perceived nothing? Not a single indication?”
“None whatsoever.” Darcy’s voice was hollow as he stared into the dancing flames. “My relatives brought it to my attention over Christmas. Until then, I remained entirely unaware of her ambitions.”
“Let me refresh your memory and remind you of her awkward courtship. You write uncommonly fast, Mr. Darcy,” Hurst began in a thin falsetto.
“Let me mend your pen, sir. I mend pens remarkably well, or, pray tell your sister that I long to see her; however, my favourite bit of drivel was her declaration, When I am married, I shall be miserable without an excellent library. As if my sister ever picks up a book that lacks illustrations. Do I continue?”
“Merciful heavens, I never noticed. I scarcely paid her any heed,” Darcy protested.
“Surely you recall how vicious she was to Miss Elizabeth?” Hurst’s tone sharpened at Darcy’s blank stare. “She disparaged everything from her coiffure to the hems of her skirts. Nothing escaped her scrutiny.”
“I vaguely recall something about muddied skirts and hems. Why does Bingley not rein her in?”
“Alas, my brother has grown deaf to her venomous tongue, and I realised too late I should have intervened.” Hurst took a sip of his brandy and gazed at the gently falling snow outside the window, his expression pensive.
“If I am ever in the company of Miss Elizabeth again, I intend to offer my sincere apologies.”
“Whatever for?”
“Because, Darcy, we are gentlemen, and a gentleman always endeavours to put his companions at ease. Tell me, was Miss Elizabeth comfortable as she cared for her sister at Netherfield? Was Caroline a gracious hostess at our dinners? Certainly not. We all allowed her ill manners to pass unchecked. We are as much at fault, if not more, than she.”
“What of your wife? The two of them are a matched pair, although Mrs. Hurst is charming on her own.”
“With her sister at a distance, Louisa is indeed a delightful companion. That is why we left Bingley’s household and reopened my family’s town house.
Caroline’s presence became intolerable, and separation has made my marriage far more contented.
” Hurst fixed on Darcy an expression of true remorse.
“We have been friends for a long time. I regret not speaking up while we remained in Hertfordshire. Those two young ladies did not deserve Bingley’s reckless love-making, my slovenly conduct, nor your disdain.
We did not behave as gentlemen. Not at all. ”
That evening, Darcy returned home, weighed down by sober reflection.
Hurst’s account revealed a side of his own conduct he had not considered.
He replayed every encounter with Elizabeth in his mind, and their first meeting filled him with mortification.
His haughty remark, calling her “tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me to dance,” was indefensible. How could he have fallen so low?
His misery deepened when he recalled how readily he had echoed Miss Bingley’s scathing remarks about the Bennets and their acquaintances.
Sinking into his chair, he tilted his head back and fixed his gaze on the ceiling’s ornate patterns.
Pride warred with necessity; his reserved nature resisted what honour demanded. Yet the apology must be made.
Rising with resolve, he retreated to his study and took up his pen.
As the letter neared its end, he hesitated, then added caution regarding Mr. Wickham, recently commissioned in the militia quartered at Meryton.
With measured words, Darcy revealed their shared past and the falsehoods his former companion had likely imparted to Miss Elizabeth — falsehoods that had sparked their contentious exchange during their dance at Bingley’s ball.