Chapter 8
EIGHT
Elizabeth Bennet took her seat at the breakfast table and buttered a piece of toast as she listened to her family chatter about the previous evening at the local assembly.
After her mother had finished her critique of Susannah Goulding’s ‘hideously ill-advised’ puce gown, Mr Bennet turned to his favourite observer of Meryton’s social scene.
“And you, Lizzy? Have you any thoughts to share on our neighbours’ laces and buckles, or perhaps a quip on some ill-timed dance steps?”
The amused gleam in her father’s eye prompted Elizabeth to mention the evening’s most anticipated—and yet terribly disappointing—character. After swallowing a bite of toast, she said gravely, “The renowned Mr Darcy was certainly not as I expected.”
“He was taller than even Mr Robinson,” said Lydia.
“And the knot in his neckcloth was more elaborate than anything Mr Goulding has ever displayed,” supplied Kitty.
“Ah, perhaps it was tied too tightly, and thus was responsible for his strangled expression of disgust,” Elizabeth said innocently. To say nothing of his staring.
“Lizzy!” Jane shook her head in surprise. “Mr Darcy had no such expression. He was perhaps a little reticent, but he is Mr Bingley’s particular friend.”
Elizabeth smirked at her elder sister. “Yes, he is an impressive specimen of a wealthy London gentleman and master of Pupperly—”
“His estate is called Pemberley, as you well know,” Jane scolded her.
“Ah yes, Pemberley, the grandest estate in all of England. Where he knows all about everything and wears the finest coats and drives the finest carriages, and his house has a hundred chimneys and fields which grow magnificent turnips and hens which lay golden eggs.”
Much as Jane appeared exasperated at the jests about Mr Bingley’s friend, Elizabeth could tell she wished to join in with the family’s laughter.
So many plaudits had been laid at Mr Darcy’s feet and so many laurels tossed at his head by his hosts at Netherfield, she had been prepared for half the ladies at the assembly to faint at the sight of him.
He was tall, wealthy, generous, brilliant, incapable of mistakes—and even more incapable of smiles or politeness.
Glancing at Mary, who appeared slightly horrified by such unkind teasing, Elizabeth tried to maintain a solemn expression as she continued her commentary on the gentleman who, unbeknownst to anyone but her friend Charlotte Lucas, had declared her merely ‘tolerable’.
“Of course, everything I say to you must be credited to the all-knowing Miss Bingley,” she added. “All that I truly witnessed last evening was a tall, well-dressed gentleman, squinting and scowling and standing about while young ladies were in need of dance partners.”
A murmur of disapproval was heard round the table. Elizabeth saw Jane watching her curiously.
“It was extremely discourteous,” Mrs Bennet agreed. “He walked here, and he walked there, fancying himself so very great. Mr Darcy may be accustomed to the fine ladies of the ton, but in displaying such ill manners to our society, he has proved himself unworthy of our company.”
“Yet wise enough to keep his bespoke slippers safe from the booted feet of local farmers.” Mr Bennet folded the newspaper he had ignored since Elizabeth’s arrival at the table.
“Every savage thinks he can dance, while others pay a price for their vanity. How many of you girls have lost one of your beloved shoe roses at an assembly due to an errant step from a clumsy partner?”
“Maria and I had ours ruined by Samuel Long’s clumsy feet,” offered Kitty.
Mr Bennet tipped his head towards Elizabeth. “Of course, this ‘impressive specimen’ of perfection would recognise the risks to his own fine slippers amid such an unruly gathering, eh, Lizzy?”
Somewhat abashed by her father’s joking rebuke, Elizabeth moved her attention to her breakfast plate.
After scolding Mary for neglecting to butter her toast before dousing it with jam, Mrs Bennet announced, “Mrs Long told me last night that Mr Darcy sat close to her for half an hour without once opening his lips.”
Lydia giggled. “Perhaps Mr Darcy has awful teeth or horrid breath and was being considerate of Mrs Long.”
Kitty joined in her laughter, prompting Jane to interject quickly, and with clear doubt in her voice. “Are you quite sure of this? I certainly saw Mr Darcy speaking to Mrs Long.”
Mrs Bennet huffed in disgust. “That is because unlike Mr Darcy, she cannot remain still or silent for more than a moment. Her patience for his reticence ran out, and she asked him how he liked Netherfield, and he could not help but answer her. She said although he seemed quite angry at being spoken to, he finally told her it was ‘well situated’.”
Her husband chuckled. “Never say Mr Darcy cannot make an intelligent observation, for it is indeed well situated on the ground rather than floating on the pond or hovering in the trees.”
Elizabeth hid her amusement, still too annoyed by the man’s insult to grant him any grace. Jane, of course, felt the opposite.
“Miss Bingley says Mr Darcy never speaks much unless he is among those of his intimate acquaintance. With them he is remarkably agreeable.”
Elizabeth doubted he could be ‘remarkably agreeable’ with Miss Bingley, but chose to enjoy her apple compote. A few moments later, she rose from the table, donned her bonnet and boots, and slipped out the front door.
“Lizzy!”
She turned as Jane caught up with her, hatless and clearly not prepared for walking. Taking Elizabeth’s hand, Jane pulled her towards the garden. Her sister’s distress was obvious, prompting a surge of guilt in Elizabeth.
“Tell me you do not despise Mr Bingley’s sisters and his friend,” begged Jane. “My parents and Mrs Long can be uncharitable in their judgments, but there was a troubling harshness to your teasing.”
Elizabeth squeezed her sister’s hand. “Not to worry, it is merely my own mumpishness. Charlotte had stood about for three dances and was not partnered for Mr Beveridge’s Maggot, and Mr Darcy strolled by looking affectedly haughty and—”
“You were not partnered either. Perhaps that is the true injury—you wished to be noticed.”
“He did notice me, Jane. He strolled past, his nose in the air, looking at no one, but only after he told Mr Bingley that I was ‘tolerable’ but not handsome enough to tempt him.”
“Perhaps he merely could not see you clearly without his quizzing glass.”
Hearing the concern in Jane’s voice, Elizabeth quickly regretted implying Mr Bingley had any role in the situation.
After all, Mr Darcy had squinted and looked pained much of the evening, most especially when looking at her.
“That is possible. Mr Bingley seemed put out by Mr Darcy’s comment and walked directly back to you, my wondrous sister.
He wanted no part of his friend’s ill-tempered conduct, nor should you worry about mine. ”
“Is it so wrong he is prideful? A handsome, wealthy young man with everything in his favour should think highly of himself. If I may so express it, Lizzy, Mr Darcy has every reason to be proud.”
Proud of what accomplishment? Refusing to stand with young ladies at a country assembly? Elizabeth thought a housemaid could be proud of the gleam she brought to a tarnished tea set but only nodded. “Yes, Mr Darcy has much to be proud of.”
Jane appeared assuaged, particularly when Elizabeth added, “Your Mr Bingley is the very ideal of a young man. His friendship with Mr Darcy, a gentleman he openly venerates, speaks well of him.” She smiled impishly.
“I am your sister, and you must endure all of my ill humour and silliness, but the esteemed Mr Bingley willingly abides the unpleasantness of his friend.” And Miss Bingley, she refrained from adding.
Jane smiled and, shivering, went back into the house.
Elizabeth continued on her walk, determining she must try harder not to wound her sister by mocking the Netherfield party—however well-deserved it might be.
She could not excuse the rude arrogance of Miss Bingley or Mrs Hurst, but she could ascribe some of it to protectiveness of their brother.
Feeling even more benevolent as she rambled along breathing in the crisp autumn air, Elizabeth considered Mr Darcy.
He stared, he appeared displeased with everything and everyone, and he was coolly incurious in his discourse with others.
More charitable thoughts intruded, leading her to determine that at best, he was tired or suffered from a headache or from the company of Miss Bingley; at worst, he disliked everyone but Mr Bingley. Especially herself.
Why did he stare at me with such an expression of shock? It was unlike any look I have ever received—or ever thought to receive.
Suddenly she laughed. Mr Darcy had glanced at her, turned away, then eyed her again, directing at her a piercing, almost horrified stare before quickly looking away and practically running into the crowd.
Am I Medusa? My hair is often wild, but not even Mama has said I have snakes coming from my head.
No, likely she bore resemblance to someone he knew, or he was suddenly ill.
Indeed, that strange expression, and the actions he took while bestowing it upon her—patting his pocket, gripping a chair—assured her that Mr Darcy had in fact been made sick.
Not, she hoped, by the sight of her, intolerable though she may have been to him, but truly overcome by something.
Perhaps she had been uncharitable not to ensure he was well, but being eager to find Jane and a more agreeable location, she had slipped into the crowd.
No one else in Meryton has ever looked at me in such a way. We may be dull country folk, Mr Darcy, but most of us have manners.
By the end of her walk, one which she would be ashamed to admit was consumed less by appreciation for her surroundings than by thoughts of Mr Darcy, Elizabeth concluded he was an interesting specimen of study for however long he remained at Netherfield.
Happily for them both, it was unlikely they would be much in company.