Chapter 3 Hubris and Nemesis
“Outrageous!” Mrs Bennet cried. “It must be a mistake. Miss Bingley has simply forgotten to include Elizabeth’s name in her invitation. In fact, she should have invited all your sisters.”
“It would be abominably rude for those who are not invited to impose,” Jane protested. “I would rather send my regrets…”
“Out of the question!”
Jane had received an invitation to dine with Mr Bingley’s sisters whilst the gentlemen were engaged with the militia.
“Have you had word from Grandmother?” Elizabeth enquired in an effort to redirect her mother’s thoughts before she forced all the Bennet sisters upon Miss Bingley.
“No. It has been four weeks since she left, and one must presume something sinister has happened. I warned her against travelling so far at her age, but she never listens to me. The autumn storms are the worst, and she has most likely perished at sea if her advanced years have not already claimed her.”
Even Mr Bennet looked up from his newspaper with a furrowed brow. “My mother is in excellent health despite her age. She is probably too occupied with tending to her ailing brother to write.”
“I wonder whether they have reconciled?” Elizabeth wanted to know because it had been with great apprehension that her grandmother had decided to comply with the summons from her pig-headed brother, whom she had not seen these last five decades.
It was strange that after all this time, he suddenly wanted to mend the breach.
“Why else would she travel so far?” Mr Bennet replied before ducking behind his newspaper.
“You should all go and make Miss Bingley’s dinner a merry party.” Mrs Bennet had not forgotten the missive from Netherfield.
“I do not mind staying at home, Mama.” Elizabeth tried to mollify her mother. An evening of gossip and thinly veiled insults did not tempt her. “Besides, the gentlemen are dining out.”
“You are correct, Lizzy. Mayhap not all hope is lost,” Mrs Bennet ruminated with a dangerous glint in her eyes.
“Papa, may I have the carriage?”
Mr Bennet did not manage to reply to Jane’s request before his wife answered for him.
“Absolutely not. You will take Nellie.” Mrs Bennet looked out of the window and brightened at the dark, threatening clouds. “The mare is so old she might perish on the way. If not, I am certain it will rain, and then you must spend the night.”
As if heeding Mrs Bennet’s wishes, the rain began pelting down not five minutes after Jane left the stables.
It continued, relentlessly, throughout the evening, effectively prohibiting her from returning to Longbourn.
Come morning, Elizabeth received a note from Netherfield wherein her sister admitted to some discomfort, a sore throat, and a fever.
She immediately set out for the estate, following a path that shortened her walk by a mile compared to the road, but it came at a cost; the heavy rain had left it muddy and treacherously slippery.
By the time Elizabeth reached Netherfield, she was covered in mud from head to toe after sliding down a slight slope, but grateful that by divine intervention, nothing but her pride was injured.
Elizabeth would have recognised his tall figure amongst a hundred gentlemen, but never had she been less inclined to encounter Mr Darcy as now—with grime running down her face.
He not only cut a dashing figure, but there was also the matter of his perpetually immaculate attire, from the perfectly fitted coat and silk cravat—which, by the looks of it had actually gone a bit limp in the wind, but silk, nevertheless—to his polished Hessian boots.
The shine alone would entice the eyes to study them closely and follow them up to the memorable face with its strong jaw, masculine cheekbones, and dazzling blue eyes.
The gentleman raised his gaze from the ground and laughed heartily. Should she be miffed? It was impossible, as his laughter was utterly contagious, and she joined his merriment.
“Pray, pardon my mirth,” he chuckled. “For a moment I wondered whether one of Netherfield’s statues had come alive and was about to approach me.” Then his smile vanished and deep crevices formed between his brows. “I hope you are uninjured.”
“Yes. It is only my pride that is suffering. I do not recommend the path to Longbourn before the rain has dried up.”
“Excellent advice. What brings you to Netherfield?”
“I have come to see my sister. How is she faring?”
“I do not know, but allow me to find someone who does. I would offer you my arm, but my valet would never forgive me.”
“Certainly not. It speaks well of you to show such consideration for your servant.”
“You are like no other lady I have ever met, Miss Elizabeth.”
“I do hope you are not too appalled.”
“Absolutely not. Far from it,” Mr Darcy replied quickly.
She had to chuckle at such assurance. “It does not lower you in my esteem that you are so difficult to frighten and discourage.”
Mr Darcy returned her mirth, opened the door, and held it at arm’s length to avoid her sullying his attire.
“Mrs Nicholls,” he called as soon as the door had closed behind them.
Footfalls echoed down the stairs, but it was not the housekeeper who answered his summons.
It was Miss Bingley, who halted abruptly at the bottom of the staircase and stared at Elizabeth before fainting with affected elegance.
Mr Darcy’s shoulders heaved before he blew out a slow, deliberate breath.
“Please do not suppose my indifference in this instance implies that I am unfeeling in other matters, Miss Elizabeth, but I am so weary of Miss Bingley’s scheming antics.”
“Has she been…difficult?”
Elizabeth may have misjudged Miss Bingley as a harmless flirt, but observing to what lengths she was willing to stoop made her rethink her prior judgment.
The housekeeper arrived with Mrs Hurst. The latter cared for her sister, whilst a bath was readied for Elizabeth in the kitchen because she needed more than a basin to clean off the dirt.
Once she was refreshed and dressed in a gown Mrs Hurst had been so kind as to lend her, Elizabeth was shown to Jane’s room.
Her sister was not at all well, and the rest of the morning was spent caring for the patient.
When the time came to depart, Jane begged her most fervently to stay, leaving Mr Bingley’s sisters with little choice but to extend an invitation.
Elizabeth kept Jane company until she fell asleep in the afternoon.
A note had been sent to Longbourn about their prolonged stay, and a trunk of clothes arrived before she was required to dress for dinner.
The days that followed were filled with banter that for the most part went over Miss Bingley’s head.
That lady was becoming increasingly irksome as she intercepted any conversation or morning stroll Elizabeth and Mr Darcy attempted to embark upon.
Everything from placing them at opposite ends at the dinner table to interrupting every dialogue, usually with thinly veiled insults directed at Elizabeth, was trying her patience.
In a fit of pique, after one of Miss Bingley’s ridiculous rants about supposedly necessary accomplishments, including all the modern languages, Elizabeth had amused herself by answering the lady in German.
The perplexed expression Miss Bingley had sported allowed a vengeful chuckle to escape its confines.
There was no doubt that Mr Darcy preferred her company above everyone else’s, a sentiment she heartily appreciated.
It was therefore with startled glee that she entered Netherfield’s library and encountered the gentleman, quite alone.
A single globed lamp illuminated very little but succeeded admirably in casting eerie shadows across the room.
His face cracked into a joyful smile upon espying her.
The expression made his handsome countenance even more striking, and she could not help but meet him in the middle of the room with undue haste that left a mere inch between their yearning bodies.
For a moment, they simply stared into each other’s eyes, whilst her stomach turned somersaults.
Mr Darcy’s gaze dropped to her lips. Her heart gave one violent thump and then accelerated considerably before he finally lowered his head for a kiss.
Their lips met, the angels chorused, and a flock of cupids attacked her heart with a dozen prickly arrows.
The blood loss made her dizzy, and had it not been for Mr Darcy’s quick thinking and sturdy hands, she would surely have collapsed to the floor like a sack of potatoes.
Instead, her feet left the ground, the kiss deepened, and her heart raced, fixing her fate firmly to that of the gentleman clutching her in his arms. His large hands were warm on her back, spanning her waist, but she was impatient to feel them on her skin.
A dangerous thought indeed! Risking her future when all she had to offer was a pretty face, a touch of charm, and her virtue.
She was dazed when he put her down and bereft when the arms that had enveloped her released their hold.
For two seconds he rested his chin on the top of her head, then moved away and put a chair between them.
For a brief moment, he tipped his face heavenwards and squeezed his eyes shut.
After that, the only proof of his agitation was his fingers gripping the back of the chair.
“You undo me,” Mr Darcy whispered, his voice soft, husky, and hesitant.
He did not fidget, tap a foot, or hum. Whatever storm was brewing within, it was only expressed when they kissed.
It was not a dreadful trait, not really, to wield such power over a man as to leave him defenceless against her charm. No, it was rather stimulating.
“Then I suppose I must beg your pardon, although I am not repentant at all,” Elizabeth quipped.