Chapter 12
Twelve
The moment Mr Bingley and his sister entered the Gardiner residence on Friday, Mrs Bennet cried an effusive greeting, rose from her chair, and crossed the room to kiss her future son-in-law on both cheeks. “Mr Bingley! How well you look this evening. I daresay you grow handsomer by the day.”
Mr Bingley submitted to Mrs Bennet’s effusions with admirable fortitude, even laughing jovially at the boisterous welcome. “It is wonderful to see you again, ma’am.”
“How many times must I tell you to call me ‘Mother’, dear boy? We are to be family soon enough.”
“Ahem, yes, well…”
Miss Bingley quickly disengaged herself from her brother’s arm so as to avoid similar attention, but Mrs Bennet was not to be denied her quarry.
She accosted Miss Bingley in the same fashion, causing the lady to visibly flinch over her shoulder.
“And dear Miss Bingley! You must call me ‘Mother’ as well, for you will be as precious to me as any of my girls.” Elizabeth felt a pang of sympathy for the detestable woman, experiencing her discomfort second hand.
Elizabeth sent Jane a glance and found her sister’s cheeks aflame with embarrassment.
Beyond her, Kitty and Lydia were giggling to one another over the scene, utterly disregarding the waspish glare from their aunt.
Her pity for Jane was stronger than that for Miss Bingley; she knew very well how much her elder sister suffered at the hands of Mrs Bennet’s uncouth behaviour.
Fortunately, Mrs Gardiner quickly came to her guests’ rescue and invited them to make themselves comfortable.
Mrs Bennet desisted, retaking her seat and leaving the Bingleys to select theirs.
Mr Bingley deposited his sister beside their hostess while he took up the second half of Jane’s sofa and offered her a placatory smile.
While Mrs Bennet interrogated Miss Bingley on the whereabouts of the Hursts—beholden to another invitation, apparently—Elizabeth surreptitiously watched the doorway for any sign of Darcy.
He had sent round a note yesterday announcing his safe arrival in town following his short jaunt to Kent as well as confirming his unwavering resolution to join their dinner party.
Same said note had informed her that he intended to travel in his own carriage, citing Miss Bingley’s cloying attendance in her brother’s as the reason, and he was fastidiously punctual so he ought to appear at any moment.
He was not late by any means, but Elizabeth was all anticipation to see him, and every minute seemed to stretch into five as she awaited his entrance.
When he did arrive, Darcy was shown immediately into the parlour where the rest of them were gathered.
His eyes roved the room until he spotted her, then they stilled, his mouth curling up at either end in a gentle smile.
Within her breast, Elizabeth’s heart fluttered as if it had sprouted butterfly wings.
Although she selfishly wished he would come directly to her, Elizabeth acknowledged the correctness of Darcy presenting himself to his hosts first. The Gardiners were familiar and friendly, Jane as sweet as ever, and Mr Bingley jovial.
Miss Bingley made sheep’s eyes at him and bid him to sit near her, causing Elizabeth to grind her teeth together.
Kitty and Lydia each offered him a half-hearted greeting before resuming their squabble, which Elizabeth meant to scold them for later, but at least he took their rudeness with admirable composure.
When Darcy approached her mother, however, Elizabeth’s mortification expanded tenfold. As he stood there, awkwardly straightening his lapels as he waited for Mrs Bennet to finish extolling Mr Bingley’s virtues to the entire room, she appeared in no rush to acknowledge him.
He cleared his throat once, twice, and seemed on the verge of thrice when she turned to him, enthusiasm dimming as she took him in with an icy gaze. “Well, Mr Darcy, here you are at last. I had almost expected you to cry off when you did not appear with your friends.”
Elizabeth quashed a gasp as Darcy’s ears burned brightly red, a beacon to the entire room of his discomfiture.
The rest of the company appeared similarly flabbergasted at Mrs Bennet’s barb, with expressions ranging from outraged to shocked amusement, while Darcy himself could only stare at the offending matron.
“Mama,” Elizabeth cried into the ensuing painful silence, “Mr Darcy arrived precisely on time. Why would you say such a thing?”
Darcy’s countenance softened as he looked to her with gratitude, while Mrs Bennet waved her hand dismissively. “I was only joking, Lizzy. Mr Darcy knows that—do you not, sir?”
Eyes wary, Darcy replied, “Of course, madam.”
“There, you see? We are all friends here, are we not?” Mrs Bennet’s gaze narrowed at Darcy as she emphasised the word ‘friends’, and Elizabeth watched him stiffen even as he mumbled an inarticulate agreement.
At that, Mrs Bennet turned abruptly away from Darcy and focused all her attention on a flustered Mr Bingley, who fidgeted uncomfortably under her praise. Darcy stood there, awkward and forgotten, for several thundering seconds before turning away and stalking towards Elizabeth.
He sat beside her on the sofa that mirrored Jane and Mr Bingley’s, spine rigid and mouth bracketed by deep lines.
Elizabeth bit her own lip, dismayed to see him made so uncomfortable by her resentful mother but knowing not the best way to relieve his agitation.
All she could think to do was offer him a bit of silent commiseration, however inadequate that was.
To that end, Elizabeth kept her gaze trained on his face, devoid of any discernible emotion, as she slowly and discreetly reached for the hand resting on his knee.
She brushed his clenched knuckles with her fingertips, eliciting a jolt from him that caused her to withdraw.
When his eyes slid to her, observing her quizzically from his periphery, she steeled herself and touched him again.
To her great relief, his fist released its hold, and his fingers relaxed at this second exploratory incursion, the tightness of his expression likewise receding in favour of a softer visage.
His hand turned over and tangled with hers, a private affection they kept hidden between them in the volume of her skirts.
This sign of his unwavering devotion filled her with such relief that she was nearly inclined to sob, though she swallowed hard to prevent it.
After such a horrid display, Elizabeth had rather hoped more than believed that the evening would proceed in a less contentious fashion from there.
Alas, it did not.
Elizabeth could only watch, her anxious nausea rising, as each word or glance between her mother and her beau grew steadily more strained.
When Darcy made a stilted attempt at conversation over the soup by asking after the health of Mr Bennet and Mary, his tentative olive branch was brusquely rebuffed by Mrs Bennet’s monosyllabic answer.
A similar enquiry as to the general well-being of the Lucases was met with a similar response, as were his assurances that Charlotte and Mr Collins were happily settled at Hunsford and sent their respects to their Bennet cousins.
She would never initiate conversation with Darcy other than to issue a poorly-veiled insult, then titter along with her youngest daughters and proclaim it merely a jest when either Elizabeth or one of the Gardiners called her to account for it.
In sharp contrast to how she behaved towards Darcy, Mrs Bennet was ever ready to lavish Mr Bingley with the most outrageous praise Elizabeth had ever heard.
She would never dispute the merit of her sister’s betrothed, but really, her mother’s panegyrics were too much.
One would assume Mr Bingley an angel to Darcy’s devil were they to take Mrs Bennet’s word on the subject.
In all, her dismissal of one gentleman and elevation of the other made for a deeply uncomfortable meal.
Darcy submitted to Mrs Bennet’s abuse silently, withdrawing more deeply into his haughty veneer as the evening wore on.
By the time the sexes were ready to separate after dinner—a necessity given the circumstances, even if a practice rarely indulged in at the Gardiners’ amongst family and close friends—he had retreated entirely behind his mask of aloofness, returning to that same cold gentleman she had once despised.
Even if Elizabeth could not blame him for it, uneasiness roiled in her stomach at seeing him behave so.
Would it always be thus around her mother and younger sisters?
Would Darcy only ever be affable when he was comfortable?
It was concerning behaviour, for no matter her anger with them at the present moment, she loved her family and would not wish to suffer the discord brought about by a husband who could not abide them—assuming Darcy ever came to the point.
After tonight, perhaps he would reconsider his marital aspirations where she was concerned.
This horrible notion intensified her building nausea.
When they returned to the parlour, Elizabeth left it to her aunt to have a private word with Mrs Bennet in the hall while she retook her seat on the sofa, hoping that Darcy would accept the silent invitation of the empty cushion next to her when he re-entered with the gentlemen.
To her shock and chagrin, Miss Bingley followed her thither and took up the spot intended for Darcy, a false show of pity puckering her features. “Poor Eliza. All your efforts wasted.”
Locking as pleasant a smile as she could muster onto her face, Elizabeth replied, “I am sure I do not know what you mean, Caro.”