Chapter III
Elizabeth was inclined to think herself particularly clever of late, her expectations having been confirmed once again.
When Mr. Darcy entered Longbourn on Mr. Bingley’s heels, she could not help but give the man a superior smile, for she had known Mr. Darcy would come to retrieve his friend.
Mr. Bingley appeared unconcerned, and that heartened her—whatever arguments Mr. Darcy used, she did not think his friend would submit.
“Mr. Darcy!” exclaimed Mrs. Bennet, proving that she was not so observant. “When did you arrive in Hertfordshire?”
The gentleman did not acknowledge Mrs. Bennet’s sudden exclamation, but the slight tightness around his mouth told Elizabeth he was not pleased by it. “I arrived yesterday morning, madam.”
No more exclamation was forthcoming—Mrs. Bennet recalled her disapproval of the man at that moment, for she sniffed.
“Well, I am certain you are welcome with Mr. Bingley, sir.”
Then Mrs. Bennet turned her attention to Mr. Bingley—who appeared almost knowing at the interplay—and ignored Mr. Darcy altogether. Mr. Darcy did not notice it, for he fixed his attention on Mr. Bingley, who had gone to Jane at once, and spoke to no one.
What he saw, Elizabeth did not know, as Mr. Darcy was as inscrutable as usual.
Given what she was seeing, Elizabeth wondered if a little amusement at his expense, abusing him for his failure to keep Mr. Bingley away, was not warranted.
Elizabeth decided against it; while she did not appreciate this man, he had already endured incivility at her mother’s hand.
The visit continued in this fashion for some time—Mr. Darcy remained silent, Mr. Bingley was as animated as ever with Jane, while the remaining Bennet sisters spoke in quiet tones, though Kitty and Lydia were much as they ever were.
Whether Mr. Darcy noticed their antics was an open question.
Mr. Darcy had always struck Elizabeth as observant, missing little, but he paid them no heed.
“Mr. Bingley,” said Mrs. Bennet, a sudden thought coming to her, “now that Mr. Darcy has joined you at Netherfield, can we expect your excellent sisters as well?”
Mr. Bingley’s expression turned cold, though he did not hesitate to smile at Mrs. Bennet. “No, they will not join me here, Mrs. Bennet. My sisters are quite settled in London with Hurst—I suspect they will remain there until the end of the season.”
Though Mrs. Bennet did not appear to understand why that would be, she said nothing further. After all, Mr. Bingley’s presence was of utmost importance; if his sisters chose not to join him in Hertfordshire, that meant nothing to Mrs. Bennet.
“There will, however, be an addition to our party, for Darcy’s sister is to join us.”
That caught Elizabeth by surprise. “Miss Darcy is to come to Netherfield?”
“Georgiana expressed a wish to be in the country,” replied Mr. Darcy, though Elizabeth could imagine some invisible hand pulling the words from his unwilling lips.
Elizabeth noticed what Mr. Darcy did not say, that Miss Darcy did not express the desire to be at Netherfield.
Though she could not be certain of what it meant, she recalled certain remarks Mr. Wickham had once made about Miss Darcy, about how she was a proud creature.
Elizabeth could well imagine a feminine version of Mr. Darcy’s towering conceit.
“Yes, I have heard before that you have a sister,” mused Mrs. Bennet, her attention now firmly fixed on Mr. Darcy. “Pray, your sister is much younger than you are, is she not?”
Though Mr. Darcy did not want to answer, the gentleman finally said: “Georgiana is but sixteen.”
Mrs. Bennet’s expression softened. “Then we shall be happy to make her acquaintance, Mr. Darcy. My girls will welcome a friend. Please bring her by at any time convenient when she arrives.”
The way Mr. Darcy grimaced, Elizabeth was certain the man was not only seeing images of his little sister being corrupted by the Bennets, but a family intent on using the sister to get to the brother.
It was the exact method Miss Bingley had tried to use that memorable night at Netherfield, so Elizabeth could not blame him for thinking it.
In this instance, however, Mr. Darcy was incorrect, and Elizabeth felt offended on her mother’s behalf.
Mrs. Bennet did not even like Mr. Darcy and had given him up as a potential suitor for one of her daughters the night of the assembly.
Not that Mr. Darcy would remember—he had likely forgotten about his slight the moment it left his lips.
“When Georgiana comes,” said Mr. Darcy, carefully noncommittal, “I will mention your invitation to her. My sister is a shy girl, Mrs. Bennet—it may take a little time before she is comfortable enough to allow an introduction.”
Mrs. Bennet’s expression softened. “She has no mother to guide her. I am certain your aunts assist and perform as excellent examples, but it cannot be the same as the love of a mother.”
This time, Mr. Darcy appeared startled. When he responded, he almost seemed diffident.
“It has been hard for my sister, Mrs. Bennet. I am her guardian, a responsibility I share with a close cousin, but we are no substitute. My aunt takes a hand, but I know Georgiana sometimes feels the dearth of a maternal influence keenly.”
“Then you may bring her around whenever she is ready, Mr. Darcy,” replied Mrs. Bennet. “No need to tax her strength unless she wishes it. We are not going anywhere.”
“Thank you,” said Mr. Darcy, seeming quite confused.
For some time thereafter, Mr. Darcy stayed silent, his attention inward. It seemed the gentleman had expected nothing but intrigue from the Bennets—Elizabeth hoped rather than expected the man would learn something from the exchange.
DARCY DID NOT KNOW what to make of the Bennet matron’s understanding.
No one could blame him for suspecting her of being a grasping, artful shrew, not given her performance since he had known her, and in particular the night of Bingley’s ball.
Mrs. Bennet had never seemed precisely maternal from what Darcy had seen, yet she had understood Georgiana’s trials at once and had not insisted he bring her around at the first opportunity.
Perhaps, at least in this small matter, Darcy had misjudged her.
After a time of reflection, Darcy fixed his attention on Bingley and Miss Bennet again; this was what he had come for, after all. Darcy did not at all like what he saw.
As usual, Miss Bennet was quiet, and while engaged with Bingley, she was not animated, did not display the sort of affectionate interest he had always thought a courtship should contain.
When Bingley made some point, she laughed, though her reaction was always soft, and when she spoke, she did so calmly, provoking him to listen.
Darcy did not misunderstand her character—she was much like he was, reticent and cautious.
If anything, she was even more discreet than Darcy was himself.
Her character did not convict her in his eyes.
It was the lack of any discernible affection for Bingley that even the most restrained young woman must display for the object of her desire.
In time, Darcy began to wonder how he could make Bingley understand the truth of her feelings for him.
“Miss Bennet,” said Bingley after a time, “I wonder if you would consent to walk out with me.”
Bingley offered her his typical grin. “The season is late, but it is a fine day out of doors. My friend and your sister could accompany us.”
It was a transparent attempt to gain a little time with at least a modicum of privacy for them, and Miss Bennet did not hesitate. Her mother was enthusiastic in her approval of the idea, bringing back to Darcy’s mind the woman he had always thought she was.
“Thank you,” said Mary, when Mr. Bingley asked if she would accompany them, more out of politeness than any wish for her company, “but I think I shall remain indoors today. Lizzy and Jane are the walkers of the family.”
Even better, the youngest girls also begged off, but they had been speaking in whispers since Darcy and Bingley arrived.
From the few words he had overheard, words such as “officers” and “handsome,” he knew they were amused as they were.
Not for the first time, Darcy wondered why Mr. Bennet did not insist on decorum—the girls had far too much interest in militia officers for their age.
Outside, the air was calm and crisp, a blessing as any wind would have made it uncomfortable.
The trees were bare of their summer bounty, the grass shriveled and brown, and the sun was a bright orb that gave little warmth.
The solstice would be on them before they knew it, bringing with it the long, dreary months of winter.
When they walked out, Bingley and Miss Bennet led the way on a path which appeared well-traveled and familiar to the Bennet ladies, while Darcy followed with Miss Elizabeth.
Darcy did not offer his arm, and Miss Elizabeth did not appear to require support.
As such, Darcy walked behind the pair in front of them, keeping his attention on his friend and his ill-advised courtship, while paying only minimal attention to Miss Elizabeth.
Darcy preferred it that way—the almost overwhelming interest from which he had fled in November had not quite dissipated as it ought.
In time, Miss Bennet led them to a break in the trees that overlooked farmland to the east, and Darcy realized it was Netherfield’s lands spread out below them.
They stopped for a time there, enjoying the view, and though Darcy considered Derbyshire superior, he could not but own that Hertfordshire had its own form of beauty.
“Well, Miss Elizabeth,” said Bingley, turning to Darcy’s nominal companion, “Miss Bennet tells me that this is one of your favorite views.”
“It is,” agreed Miss Elizabeth.