9. 13 November 1811
DARCY
Darcy arrived in the drawing room a quarter hour before dinner would be served. He discovered that he was the last to appear…unless Miss Elizabeth were to join them.
Miss Bingley glided up to him and attempted to clutch his arm, but he stepped aside as if he meant to look out of the window. “Netherfield Park is most impressive, Bingley,” Darcy said. “There is a pleasing prospect from nearly every window.”
“I am thrilled to have found such a well-maintained estate, and I am already contemplating purchasing it, if the owner will sell.”
“Oh, Charles, you cannot mean it!” Miss Bingley cried. “It is…the society is…it is so very rustic!”
Darcy responded, although she had not addressed him: “A country estate does tend to be in the country, Miss Bingley.” He need not remind her that the goal their father clearly stated the day he passed was that his son should purchase a country estate—not a house in Town.
Darcy’s words caused an immediate reversal; Miss Bingley said, “You are correct, sir. I suppose that, when we are hosting people who actually matter, at house parties and shooting parties—well, Netherfield will feel quite different!”
“People who actually matter?”
The voice was, Darcy knew, Miss Elizabeth’s. As he spun to see her enter the room, he contemplated her voice for the first time. She spoke more firmly than most ladies, and her voice was quite low in pitch, bell-like rather than squeaky. At the moment, she sounded offended.
All those thoughts about her voice occurred to him in a flash as he turned quickly towards her, and he felt as if his focus locked onto her person, as if he would never be able to look away.
Her hair seemed neater, although the curls around her face were still abundant. She was wearing a fresh, clean dress, so apparently the carriage had returned with clothing for the sisters.
“Miss Elizabeth!” Bingley was saying. “How does your sister feel?”
“She is coughing a good deal,” she responded. “But she has no fever, and her cough is not deep.”
“That sounds like a very good report,” Darcy said.
“Yes, I am glad to hear that she is not fevered,” Bingley said.
“Getting back to these people who matter….” Miss Elizabeth turned to Miss Bingley. “I suppose you are aware that people who do not matter to you still, somehow, matter to themselves, their friends, and their loved ones?”
While she confronted Miss Bingley’s slight, Miss Elizabeth gave her a faint but steady smile. Her chin was lifted up the tiniest bit, and one eyebrow was arched as if she was aware of the irony of her polite demeanour yet resolute words. Darcy caught his breath at the sight.
“Well, I…I just meant….” Miss Bingley spluttered.
“I am certain my sister meant no insult, Miss Elizabeth,” Bingley said. “I believe she is missing her friends.”
Darcy could not help his eyes rolling a bit at his friend’s attempt to gloss over his sister’s incivility.
At that moment, Mr Evans entered and announced, “Dinner is served.”
Darcy wished he could usher Miss Elizabeth in, but he knew it would be an insult; the correct procession order would be him escorting Miss Bingley. He sent a smile to Miss Elizabeth but offered his arm to Miss Bingley.
“We should sit informally,” Bingley said as he entered the room with Miss Elizabeth. Darcy was still seating Miss Caroline, and Bingley deliberately walked Miss Elizabeth to the seat at his own right, so that Darcy would be able to sit next to her. Darcy shot him a nod of thanks.
“How far away is your father’s estate, Miss Elizabeth?” Darcy asked as soup was brought in.
“Longbourn is four miles away by road, but whenever I walk here, I cut across our shared forest and one fallow field. It is only about three miles that way.”
Darcy was surprised. “Do you walk here often?”
“Two of my sisters and I try to look in on the tenants when the estate is not let. The closest cottage is but two miles from Longbourn, but the farthest is five miles.”
Darcy gaped, saw his friend’s astonished expression, as well, and swiftly covered his own with a more neutral mien. “That you take the trouble to do this is surprising, but estimable. I take it that you also visit Longbourn’s tenants?”
“Of course.”
Darcy told her about the Marshalls’ smoking fireplace and their neighbours, the Garretts, taking in the family while the chimney was cleaned and inspected. “We will be working with these tenants again tomorrow, to make certain the Marshalls’ home is safe and to check in with the Garretts’ needs.”
Miss Elizabeth nodded. “Before I was born, a neglectful Longbourn tenant put off cleaning his chimney and lost everything. Cottage, possessions, family, his own life. We always mention the sad fate of the Cooper family as we remind tenants to clean their chimneys twice a year.”
Darcy could not help cringing.
“Forgive me for relating such a horrible story at dinner,” Miss Elizabeth murmured.
“No need for forgiveness. At my estate, about a year ago, one of my families incurred the sort of loss that cannot be replaced,” he said as quietly.
“Everyone insisted that it was in no way my fault, but I had not thought to remind people to tend to their chimneys, so I insisted on taking responsibility.”
She put her spoon down and turned to him.
“You may take responsibility just enough to be a reminder to you of something you and your steward can do better in the future. But you may not take so much responsibility that it robs you of your sleep, that it erodes your self-confidence, that it eats away at your soul.”
Darcy found himself staring at her with so many emotions swirling through his mind—but he remembered what Bingley had advised, and he attempted to gaze rather than stare. “Thank you,” he whispered. At a more normal volume, he asked, “How are you so wise at such a young age?”
She laughed. “Do you know my age?”
“I do not. But given my experience with my sister’s friends and my cousin, I would guess you are between nineteen and one and twenty.”
“Well done, sir. I am the age exactly between the two.”
He smiled. “And the source of your wisdom?”
“I believe I am only as wise as Socrates—because I am acutely aware of how little I know. So many people claim to know much.”
He contemplated her words and then said, “I see. You are both wise and…paradoxical.”
They both laughed softly.
Miss Bingley had apparently caught at least some of the words in their discussion.
She said to Miss Elizabeth, “My dear, you must not worry too greatly about your lack of knowledge. One can hardly expect the refinement and polish of the Metropolis to be easily acquired by those confined to such a countrified neighbourhood.”
“You see, Mr Darcy?” Miss Elizabeth’s smile became quite arch. “Miss Bingley makes my point for me.”
“I do see.” He bowed his head to her and said, “Wise, indeed.”
Miss Bingley looked confused for a moment—but her puzzled expression was almost immediately replaced by affront and then a large, false smile.
“In fact, Miss Eliza,” she said, “if you moved to Town, you could become quite the bluestocking.”
“I enjoy studying people’s behaviour too much to be a true bluestocking, Miss Bingley.
And I enjoy walking in nature too much to spend months in London.
I do, however, dearly love to visit Town, when I can.
Short visits—and then I tend to dash home where I can once more be immersed in meadows and forests and fields. ”
Miss Bingley opened her mouth, presumably to say more rude things to Miss Elizabeth; Darcy hurried to say something first: “Have you been able to travel to the Peak District, Miss Elizabeth?”
“No, sir. I have had no opportunities to travel anywhere other than the Metropolis. You see, my father hates to travel, but I have an uncle and aunt who live in Town, and I am able to visit them whenever I wish. Is your estate in the Peak?”
“It is. I have seen quite a few places in the United Kingdom, and although nothing could be more sublime than the Isle of Skye, in the north, the Cornish coast, in the south, and the Giant’s Causeway, to the west, I do believe the Peak is among the most beautiful places in the kingdom.”
“You are very lucky to have travelled to so many spots, Mr Darcy.”
“I am indeed. I hope you will be able to travel more in your near future.”
“Darcy is doubly lucky, Miss Elizabeth,” Bingley said.
“When it was time for him to take his Grand Tour, he had to skip some nations, but he was able to travel through the Netherlands, Prussia, Austria, Switzerland, and Italy. When I came of age, many of those nations were blocked from travel, thanks to Little Boney, and I never left the British Isles.”
Darcy saw that Miss Elizabeth looked quite thrilled. “Mr Darcy, will you tell me tales of your travels someday?”
“I would love to.” Darcy thought, I owe Bingley thanks.
Miss Bingley said, “Like anyone else, I should love to see Paris, one day, once our brave forces end Bonaparte’s grand ambitions.
In the meantime, I enjoy the occasional flit to Bath, or Bristol, or Ramsgate.
I dearly love Ramsgate. Mr Darcy, I remember that you and Georgiana went there this past summer—it is ever so delightful, is it not? ”
Darcy felt as if he had frozen the moment Miss Bingley said Ramsgate. He felt as if he had been plunged into despair once more as he remembered Georgiana’s heartbreak, his own feelings of betrayal, and even his conflicted feelings about Wickham’s death.
He realised he had not answered Miss Bingley’s question for a few seconds, and that, indeed, his fork was hovering halfway to his mouth. Across the table from him, Hurst had looked up in surprise at the long pause, and Mrs Hurst was narrowing her eyes at him.
He willed himself into composure, but both Bingley and Miss Elizabeth attempted to save him, although neither could have had the slightest idea what Ramsgate meant to him.
“I am relatively certain that Darcy does not love a place so packed with people,” Bingley said.