Chapter Nine
Darcy occupied a wide armchair by the fire in one of Netherfield’s smaller parlors, it being cozier in the chill of December.
Miss Bingley sat in the seat that mirrored his, on the other side of the cheery blaze.
Aware that she looked up from her reading quite often, hoping to catch his gaze and smile in an obvious attempt to emphasize their quiet domesticity, Darcy kept his attention firmly on the book he held.
Miss Bingley, his ears noted, never turned a page.
Beyond her, around a small table, Bingley, Miss Bennet and the Hursts played cards, appearing for all the world as two married couples.
Seeing how seamlessly Miss Bennet fit into Bingley’s world, the extra joy she added to every activity, not only for Bingley but the room as a whole, made Darcy ashamed he’d ever thought to conspire against the union.
True, she had low roots and little by way of a dowry or connections, but Bingley had plenty of money.
The happiness Miss Bennet gave Bingley must be ascribed a value, and that value seemed higher than could be credited to the average heiress.
They occupied themselves as they awaited the Bennets, who were to call to discuss the wedding breakfast that would, by necessity, take place in Netherfield.
Cognizant that his current view of Miss Bennet came about in a dearth of interaction with her family, Darcy wondered how the arrival of her relations would affect his estimation of her suitability.
Could her near perfection weigh heavily enough to keep the scales tipped in her favor, with her mother and younger sisters loading the other side?
“The Bennets have arrived,” Netherfield’s butler announced.
Darcy looked up. Miss Bingley caught his gaze and grimaced.
Darcy closed his book and stood, turning to the doorway, his pulse suddenly quick.
Would Elizabeth be part of the party? Everyone else in the room put up their amusements as well, rising.
Darcy didn’t look at her as Miss Bingley moved to stand beside him.
Mr. Bennet and his wife entered first. She was dressed more soberly than usual, and Darcy recalled that they were in mourning, though an odd mourning it must be.
They’d met Mr. Collins less than a month ago and, insofar as Darcy could judge, hadn’t overly cared for him.
On top of that, he’d burned down their home the night he died.
Darcy’s musings over Mrs. Bennet’s wardrobe and state of mind fled as Elizabeth followed her into the room. His heart leapt from its normal position, seeming to lodge in his throat. How could she be more lovely each time he saw her?
Bingley and Miss Bennet hurried forward, offering greetings, which permitted Darcy to notice that Miss Mary had arrived as well. She clutched what appeared to be sheet music.
Miss Bennet, extra radiant, looked about. “Kitty and Lydia didn’t wish to join us?”
“I sent them to visit your Aunt Phillips,” Mrs. Bennet said. “I didn’t feel they’d have anything useful to add to the conversation.”
“Thank goodness,” Miss Bingley said sotto voce to Darcy.
“I don’t have anything useful to add, either,” Miss Mary said. She eagerly turned to Bingley. “But I’ve been attending lessons with the Lucas’s instructor, and I’ve learned so much I should like to practice, but we’ve no pianoforte. May I, please, employ yours?”
Beside Darcy, Miss Bingley let out a quiet, yet still dramatic, sigh and whispered, “And now we shall be musically tortured as well.”
“Yes, certainly,” Bingley said, all affability. “Let us head to the green parlor and Caroline can send for tea.”
Miss Bingley stepped forward, leaving Darcy’s side. “We’re so cozy here. Surely a servant can show Miss Mary to the green parlor and we can speak about the wedding breakfast here.”
Miss Mary dropped her gaze to study her shoes, which looked new. “I know the way.”
“I do not believe there is room here for everyone to sit,” Elizabeth said blandly. “I’d be happy to accompany Mary, but that still leaves us two chairs short.”
Mrs. Hurst cast Miss Bingley one of her intent looks, which Darcy had come to realize meant, ‘You’re appearing at a disadvantage before Mr. Darcy.
’ He wished the two wouldn’t bother. He’d never once considered Caroline Bingley as a viable option.
He didn’t require some vaunted love affair, but he did intend to wed a woman he at least respected and liked.
Unbidden, his gaze traced the sweep of Elizabeth’s neck.
“Yes, of course,” Miss Bingley said weakly. “Silly me. The green parlor it is.”
Elizabeth stepped aside to permit Bingley and Miss Bennet to lead the way, followed by her parents. Miss Bingley hurried after, Miss Mary beside her, steps eager for what Darcy felt was a different reason. The Hursts trailed at a more sedate rate.
Darcy stared across the empty parlor at Elizabeth, who now stood alone beside the door.
“Are you joining us, Mr. Darcy?”
He nodded, a strange constriction about his heart. She had such amazing eyes.
“You realize that in order to join us, you must first cross the parlor?”
Rather than nod again, well aware of the amusement underlying her voice, he crossed to her.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d call you reluctant to walk with me,” Elizabeth said.
“Never.” He half bowed, gesturing that they should follow the others.
They fell into step, Darcy marveling that such a petit form could so easily match his stride.
He felt overlarge in her presence, knowing the strange sensations that gripped him when she stood near made him clumsy and awkward, as he hadn’t been since he was a boy.
Darcy grimaced. It was no wonder she preferred an elegant, charming form like Wickham’s.
“I hope you don’t mind my sister playing on the pianoforte,” Elizabeth said, apparently oblivious to Darcy’s inner turmoil. “She has her lessons at the Lucas’s, but she misses our instrument.”
“Not at all.”
In fact, as he intended not to join the wedding breakfast conversation and instead to monopolize Elizabeth, Darcy was glad the music would cover their conversation.
When they’d spoken in the past and Miss Bingley was present, she’d intervened in ways to cast a bad light on Elizabeth.
It hadn’t worked, but Miss Bingley’s constant interference had made interactions with Elizabeth difficult.
And brought out Elizabeth’s cleverness, which made her more appealing. Undoubtedly the opposite effect Miss Bingley intended.
Down the hall, the others began to turn into the green parlor.
Darcy and Elizabeth followed, reaching the parlor to the sight of Miss Bennet, Bingley, his two sisters and Mrs. Bennet settling in around a low table, which would undoubtedly soon hold tea.
Mr. Hurst and Mr. Bennet, likely equally eager not to join in a conversation that would pit Miss Bingley’s hosting against Mrs. Bennet’s wishes for Miss Bennet’s wedding day, set a rapid pace for the other side of the room and the massive fireplace there.
Miss Mary already sat at the pianoforte, looking eager.
Elizabeth, in unwitting accordance with Darcy’s wishes, headed for a cluster of chairs near the pianoforte as Miss Mary began to play a surprisingly pleasant tune.
Darcy followed, wondering if Elizabeth wished to speak with him as much as he did with her.
He didn’t dare believe so. Always in the past, she’d seemed slightly adversarial.
They reached the chairs, but Elizabeth made no move to sit, turning to face him instead. “There is something I wanted to discuss without being overheard.”
A thrill went through him to find her thoughts truly did mirror his. “What?”
She drew in a breath, as if bracing for displeasure. “Mr. Wickham told me a story about his relationship with you. I believed him at first, but I’m beginning to doubt. I would like to hear your side of the story.”
Darcy’s least favorite topic and far from the lively discussions he’d hoped to have, concerning anything from literature to carpentry to Napoleon, as he wished to explore Elizabeth’s opinions on any and every subject.
He wondered what Wickham had said this time.
Darcy prayed it wasn’t about his sister, Georgiana. “Certainly.”
“Mr. Wickham said he was willed the right to a living by your father but you withheld it.”
“I did.” And now the living had become vacant again. Darcy hoped Wickham speaking of the living didn’t mean he would demand to have it yet again.
Dismay sculpted Elizabeth’s features. “You did? You withheld the living from him, even though your father had willed it to him?”
Darcy held up a hand. “I did, at his request. He asked for three thousand pounds in exchange for a living to which we both agreed he wasn’t suited.
Despite that, when the living became vacant, he demanded I honor my father’s wishes.
He’d squandered the money I paid him for the living and wanted it anyway.
I refused.” And Wickham had tried to elope with Darcy’s fifteen-year-old sister in retaliation.
Elizabeth studied his face. “I believe you.”
Surprised any young lady, especially one who’d seemed to be falling under Wickham’s sway, would believe him over the ever-charming Wickham, Darcy blurted, “Why?”
And then wondered at his own perversity.
Elizabeth believed him. Why question such good fortune?
He’d no evidence with him, or even Richard, who knew the truth of all of Darcy’s and Georgiana’s dealings with Wickham, to back him up.
Not that Elizabeth would automatically believe the word of Darcy’s cousin.
As if amused that Darcy would question his good fortune, Elizabeth smiled slightly.
“Partly in view of some of Mr. Wickham’s words, which seem to contradict one another, but mainly because of the Murphys’ reaction when I asked them about him.
” She looked down, at her clasped hands.
“Also because of what I have observed about you.”
It should not please him so much that she added the last part.
Unsure what else to say, Darcy noted, “The Murphys do exceptional work.”
“We’ve yet to see anything completed, but they seem very competent and friendly. It was good of you to loan them to us.”
“It’s not exactly a loan. Your father is paying for their food and lodgings as well as the supplies for the work they are doing.”
She lifted her gaze to study his face once more. “But they are employed by you, which is exceedingly kind of you. You must count Mr. Bingley a very dear friend, to care so well for the relations of his betrothed.”
Darcy had even less to say to that observation, and so kept talk on the Murphys. “It helps me as well. I required work to occupy them.”
“Oh?”
He nodded. “They have family ties in and near Pemberley, but their skills are almost too great for the estate. I’m torn between wanting to help them and wanting to keep them.
I plan to let them stay here a time and use Goldfinch Cottage as advertising.
They can charge what they want for whatever other jobs they do here, which might allow them to stay or even to move on to another town, but I hope they elect to return.
They work particularly well as a team. They get the work done so quickly, there is less disruption than that kind of work usually causes. ”
Elizabeth grew thoughtful. “They may be easier to keep than you believe, depending on your needs.”
“How so?” How did she always have something interesting to add to any topic?
“The middle son, Gavin, the one who draws up the designs?”
Darcy nodded to show he knew of which Murphy she spoke.
“He likes carpentry perfectly well, but his true aspiration is to design and build fine furniture. He’s asked to do a table for my father.”
She’d learned that after knowing the man a few days? Darcy had known Gavin Murphy most of his life. “Did Mr. Bennet agree?”
“He said he would think on it, but he will agree. It would add a great deal of function to the room, and Gavin offered to build it for little more than the cost of the materials. Mr. Murphy said that as Goldfinch Cottage is so small, and each room not very large, they can spare Gavin to try his hand at building the table.” Elizabeth’s eyes sparkled with amusement.
“I don’t believe he was even being kind.
Four hammering, nailing and sawing Murphys do not fit in that kitchen. ”
Darcy couldn’t help but answer her smile.
“So, you see, that’s one Murphy you could keep in Pemberley, if he proves any good at building furnishings. Or do you already have someone who makes furniture?”
Darcy shook his head, surprised to have a partial solution to an issue that had been troubling him for years. “No, we do not, nor much need of new furnishings.”
“Yes, but furniture can be moved, and a few fine pieces in your home would be a strong recommendation to others.”
He nodded. “True enough. When the table is ready, I’d very much like to see it.”
“Certainly. You’re always welcome at Goldfinch Cottage, Mr. Darcy.”
Warmth sped through him.
“Besides, we would be very ill behaved, indeed, were we not to invite you to tour once the work is complete. The work is thanks to you, and your carpenters. You should see the product of your assistance.”
“I should like that.”
“There they are,” Miss Bingley said loudly.
Darcy looked to see a veritable army of Netherfield’s maids entering, laden with a tea service.
“Tea is served,” Miss Bingley said brightly. Her gaze swept the room at the announcement but settled on Darcy.
Obeying that summons, Darcy and Elizabeth joined the others at the low table.
Somehow, Darcy ended up seated beside Miss Bingley.
He had to admit, especially working in conjunction with Mrs. Hurst, Miss Bingley showed considerable skill in monopolizing him.
He supposed it to be flattering, and even to recommend her as a competent hostess and organizer, but none of that swayed him.
He endeavored to be polite for the duration of the tea, and to converse with Miss Bingley appropriately, but more often than not, his gaze strayed to Elizabeth.
Having Elizabeth near so enthralled him, he hardly even noticed the vindictive, speculating looks Miss Bingley cast Elizabeth’s way.