Chapter 8
For three days after Lizzy and Jane returned to Longbourn, Jane continued to feel poorly. But on the fourth day, she breakfasted with the family, looking herself again. Lizzy was relieved to see her well.
The morning passed like a thousand others at Longbourn.
At nine, the family gathered in the breakfast room.
It bore none of the fashionable newness of Netherfield.
Rather, sunlight streamed through windows that overlooked the kitchen garden, illuminating a space designed for use rather than display.
The sturdy dark-oak table bore the faint scars and water rings of countless family meals and hasty cups of tea.
Surrounding it were a collection of high-backed chairs whose needlepoint seats, worked by the Bennet ladies themselves, were fading and slightly worn at the edges.
The cabbage rose wallpaper had mellowed with age.
Mr. Bennet looked over his brood with benign neglect whilst his wife gossiped exuberantly.
“And what do you think I said to Lady Lucas?” Mrs. Bennet said to her husband.
“I’m sure it will please you to tell me.”
“I said that Mrs. Long’s nieces were all amiable girls, but not the least pretty.
Nothing to compare to our daughters. Mrs. Long can’t expect Mr. Bingley to write daily asking about the health of her household.
I shan’t countenance anyone speaking of Jane as if she had no more to offer than Mrs. Long’s nieces. ”
Lizzy cringed. This was the woman who had proclaimed to all of Meryton that Mr. Darcy was too prideful to be endured.
The thought shamed her, now that she knew him better. The man didn’t boast. His only crimes were holding himself aloof and failing to ask Lizzy to dance in a ballroom filled with strangers.
“Well, Jane,” her mother continued, “Mr. Bingley would make a fine son-in-law. And I’m glad you like him. But if he doesn’t make you an offer, don’t be too disappointed. Another young man shall come along soon. You were not made so beautiful for nothing.”
Mrs. Bennet was almost laconic about finding husbands for her daughters. She refused to go to London or Bath, so happily was she installed as the grande dame of Meryton and its environs.
At the time of her come-out, she’d been the prettiest girl in town, and Mr. Bennet the wealthiest man. So of course, they’d married. Never mind that they were as unalike in disposition as they could be. The match was made, and they both apparently got what they wanted from it.
Lizzy was so accustomed to her mother’s prattle that she rarely noticed it. But now she was struck by the mindlessness of it, the provinciality. As if nothing existed outside their own little village. Her mother’s thoughts were entirely occupied by their neighbours’ comings and goings.
Would Lizzy’s concerns become equally limited if she remained in this town? She hadn’t thought much about it before now. Learning how to run the estate had been activity enough to keep her busy.
But the estate would be Jane’s, not hers. Lizzy had no desire to marry any of the young men of Meryton. Her ambitions extended beyond their little village.
As a girl, she’d dreamt of a London season. There, a man would sweep her off her feet and take her to see the world. She still had a vague idea of meeting such a man. But how, when her life was so circumscribed?
In truth, it wouldn’t happen unless she made it happen. Her aunt and uncle Gardiner could introduce her to men in London. But she wouldn’t be happy to live in Cheapside. She needed the fresh air and open spaces of the country.
How many times in her life would she meet a man like Darcy?—One who was as much at home in Mayfair as on his country estate. That was the life she wanted for herself.
In the days since she’d left Netherfield, he’d dominated her thoughts. His kiss had made her feel alive as nothing else before. The tedium of everyday existence seemed intolerable by comparison.
Had she been rash to run from his embrace? To question his intentions? The thought of his lips on hers, of his strong arms about her, sent tingles throughout her body.
It had been unkind to assume he would toy with her affections. She took his apology at face value, believing his intentions were honourable. But the idea of it—that he’d thought to win her with no more than a kiss and a word to her father…
Was it wrong to want him to court her properly?
Oh, her thoughts were such a jumble! She didn’t know him well enough to marry him. Nor would he value her if she were so easily won.
She ached to see him. Yet her stomach lurched when Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy arrived that afternoon. At the sight of them, Lizzy steeled herself against a swamp of emotions.
Mrs. Bennet motioned for them to sit. Bingley chose the opposite end of the couch where Jane sat, and Darcy, the chair closest to Lizzy.
Her body prickled with awareness. Why must he be so…masculine? Were not men of the ton supposed to be soft and pampered? Not Darcy. He was tall and broad, his chest a wall of muscle.
Her mind wandered to the way his hard body had pressed to hers when they kissed. The feelings that arose in her were proof that she was a woman and no longer a girl. She wanted more from him than tender, stolen kisses. But she must not allow herself to entertain such thoughts.
“Mr. Bingley,” Mrs. Bennet said, “we’re most pleased for you to call on us. I can’t thank you enough for the hospitality you showed my daughters whilst Jane was ill.”
Bingley smiled brightly. “I’m pleased to see that she’s well again, and the bloom has returned to her cheek.”
Jane blushed prettily.
“Why Mr. Bingley, you’re so kind and amiable,” Mrs. Bennet said. “Always full of compliments. Unlike some others, who consider themselves above all their company.” In case it wasn’t clear whom she meant by that remark, she sent a quick sideways glance in Darcy’s direction.
Lizzy went cold at her mother’s indecorous behaviour. “Mr. Bingley is indeed most genial. And it’s true, some others might not have his ease at conversation. Yet a man might seem proud, when in fact he’s naturally reserved, or wary of strangers.”
Her sister Mary nodded enthusiastically. “The good book tells us there is a time to be silent and a time to speak.”
Lydia, the youngest of the sisters, rolled her eyes.
“Mama, who do you think I saw in Meryton this morning? None other than Mr. Denny! He says my aunt Phillips has invited the officers for cards this evening, and we’re to come as well.
And he introduced us to his friend—a jolly fellow handsomer than any of the other officers. His name is Mr. Wickham.”
Darcy started, and Lizzy cringed. She’d warned her father about Mr. Wickham. She was about to speak when Mr. Bennet made her intervention unnecessary.
“Lydia, I’ve forbidden you to associate with Mr. Wickham. I must have a word with Phillips to ensure he doesn’t let the man into his home.”
“Oh, but Papa!” Lydia cried. “Mr. Wickham is so kind and friendly, I can’t believe he’s truly bad.”
“I assure you, Miss Lydia, he is.” Darcy’s words had an ominous ring to them. “I’ve known him since we were boys. You and your sisters are not safe with him.”
“There, you see?” her father reiterated.
“I hate to think,” Jane inserted, “that anyone could be that bad. But of course we must take Mr. Darcy’s word for it. He knows the man better than we do.”
“Oh, but Papa,” Kitty complained, “you won’t stop us from visiting my aunt Phillips tonight, will you?”
“No, my dear, I will advise your uncle of the danger. Nothing untoward will happen under his watch.”
With Lizzy’s help, the topic of conversation turned from the officers to books. Darcy said a private word to Mr. Bennet. The two excused themselves and left the parlour. Lizzy wondered what they could be speaking about.
Bingley expressed an interest in a book Jane had described to him. She offered to retrieve it, but Lizzy quickly rose. “Let me, Jane. You’re still recovering.”
In truth, Lizzy also had another reason. She didn’t wish to deny Jane and Bingley a moment of the time in each other’s company.
As Lizzy walked by her father’s study, voices reached her ear. Thanks to a faulty latch, the door was slightly ajar. Despite her curiosity, Lizzy picked up her pace. Nonetheless, Darcy’s words reached her ear.
“What I’ve told you about Wickham is not hearsay,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone. “He wronged my own sister.”
Lizzy froze. She hadn’t dreamt that Darcy’s knowledge of Wickham’s corruption was so intimate. Poor Miss Darcy!
“Last summer,” Darcy continued, “Wickham convinced Georgiana to elope with him. She was but fifteen. Her hired companion was complicit in the scheme. Thankfully, I learnt of it in time to stop it.”
“Good heavens,” Mr. Bennet replied. “To prey on a girl so young—despicable indeed. I thank you for the warning.”
“You’re the only one outside my family who knows. I trust in your discretion.”
“Of course.”
Lizzy stood rooted to the spot. At Netherfield, Darcy had spoken often of Georgiana. He was devoted to her.
Her stomach tightened. She ought not to have listened to words not meant for her ears. If Darcy discovered her, he would be disappointed.
She stole towards the library. It took some minutes to clear her mind and find the book in question. She’d just spotted it and picked it up when the door behind her thumped closed. She whirled to discover Darcy looking at her. His jaw was set hard in a determined expression.
She gulped. Had he caught her eavesdropping? Her belly clenched at the thought.
“Miss Bennet,” he said in an even tone. “I owe you an apology.”
An apology? But she was the one who had wronged him. Except…perhaps he had not seen her outside the study. Her face heated when she remembered their last conversation.
“I’ve had little practise at courtship,” he continued. “My attempts where you’re concerned have been abysmal. I’ve treated you as a problem to solve, rather than as a vibrant woman to be wooed. Please forgive me.”
Lizzy’s heart beat rapidly, and her blood surged. She couldn’t think with him close like this. She wanted to fall into his arms again, to luxuriate in his kiss. But that wouldn’t do.
“Mr. Darcy, have a care.” She headed to open the door. “If we’re caught alone like this, my father might insist that you marry me.”
“Is that an argument for or against?”
She turned back to find him wearing a boyish grin. It flustered her. “Surely you can’t wish to be forced into marriage.”
“With you? I can think of worse fates.”
She could make no sense of that. Was he in earnest, or merely flirting? “We hardly know each other—”
“Then it’s time to rectify that.” His dark eyes bored into her.
Her legs turned to liquid. She wanted to fall into his arms, but she couldn’t indulge that impulse. Darcy could aspire to nearly any woman in the kingdom. She couldn’t count on him until she had a signed marriage contract in her hand.
Nor was she certain she wanted to marry him. At best, she disliked him less than before. Despite the lifestyle he offered, that was no reason to bind herself to him.
Frustration prickling under her skin, she went and opened the door. Looking in both directions down the hall, she could see no maid or footman.
“Mr. Darcy, we must not stay here alone together.” She held the book to her body like a shield.
“Not until I have your answer. I’m asking permission to court you.”
Her shoulders drooped. She tilted her head to one side and looked at him in confusion. “You claim your intentions are honourable, yet you continue in this scandalous manner.”
He approached and lifted her ungloved hand to his lips. His eyes remained fixed on hers as he did so. “You’re right. I promise I shan’t give you reason to rebuke me again.”
For a moment, she couldn’t move. Her heart thundered in her chest, and her blood throbbed in her veins.
She wanted this man—had never wanted anything so much. He seemed to feel the same.
Yet she didn’t know him. This was lust, not love. She couldn’t give in to the overwhelming desire to rest her head on his chest, to let his arms encircle her…
She pulled away. “See that you don’t.” She turned on her heel and hurried back to the parlour, book in hand, her heart full to bursting.