Chapter 12 Darcy
Darcy
Darcy listened to Elizabeth’s account of her entire “discussion” with her father.
He was very proud of her, of course, but also a little bit frightened.
They were sitting in Longbourn’s garden, visible from the house, and nobody else was outside, so it was impossible for them to be overheard.
He still kept his voice down to a murmur as he admitted, “I am a bit nervous. If you are this capable of command at age eighteen, what will you be like at five and twenty?”
Her laughter soothed his jangled nerves. “You need have no worries, sir. I will never command you, nor would you command me. Needless to say, I have never before talked to my father this way, and I did not wish to do so today. But he should not endlessly torture us for no valid reason.”
Nodding, Darcy said, “You are astonishing.”
“And now we just have to wait.” She laughed again, a bright and happy sound, as if she was certain that things would turn out well.
“I am glad that I had my solicitor draw up the marriage articles and make the changes to my will. We will not have to wait for all that.”
Elizabeth nodded. “I love that you are always prepared. But…here is a question for you: do you think I should ask my mother to put pressure on my father? He gives in to her most of the time….”
“Hearing her harangue him will be unpleasant for all of us. Instead, how about this for a strategy: we could host you at Netherfield, as long as Mary and Jane accompany you. If we stop haunting his halls, he might either miss his visits with you and me, or he might just realize how quiet things can become if he says yes to his daughters’ suitors. ”
“I like the way you think, Mr Darcy.”
They decided to consult the other young people—particularly Mr Bingley, of course. Then they walked very properly back to the house, with Elizabeth’s gloved hand on Darcy’s sleeved arm.
Dinner was surprisingly tense.
Actually, Darcy had expected tension between Elizabeth and her father, with many glowering frowns sent his way, but her father never glared at either of them.
Instead, Mr Bennet appeared to be disapproving of Bingley!
Not only did Elizabeth’s father direct ferocious frowns at Bingley, he also frequently sent teasing insults towards the young man.
Miss Bennet’s customary placid smile became more and more strained, and Mrs Bennet chided her husband so often, she was beginning to shriek more than speak.
Elizabeth, too, reproached her father, saying, “Papa!” and “Papa, please….” The younger girls grew quieter as the meal progressed—with Georgiana absolutely silent, other than the occasional gasp—although they exchanged expressive looks.
At times, Bingley tried valiantly to shrug off the affronts; at other times he apologised.
The last tense interaction began when Bingley said, “This sole is utterly delicious! My compliments to the chef. Might I trouble you for another piece?”
“Of course, it is no trouble at all!” Mrs Bennet replied. “Kitty, pray pass the sole to Mr Bingley.”
At the same time Mr Bennet said, “By all means, have another piece. Have it all, son. I am quite resigned to it.”
Bingley thanked Mrs Bennet, turned to thank Kitty, and put another piece of fish onto his plate. He ignored Mr Bennet, and after eating another bite, he again complimented the freshness of the fish, its preparation, and the sauce.
A moment after that, Lydia offered him more pickled carrots. He said, “Yes, please,” helped himself to a generous spoonful, and immediately began to praise that dish.
“I have rarely enjoyed such a wonderful meal,” he said after he took his last bite.
Mr Bennet said, “Come now, son. You have equally praised the tea we served you today, the luncheon and tea we served you yesterday, and the dinner we served you just two days before that. This frequency of enjoyment, my son, is not to be labeled rare.”
“I apologise for being inexact with my words,” Bingley said. “I should have said, ‘Thank you for yet another splendid meal.’”
Darcy briefly closed his eyes, feeling quite vexed at Elizabeth’s father.
Mr Bennet was angry with him for taking liberties with his eighteen-year-old daughter.
Mr Bennet was angry at Elizabeth for lecturing him as if she was his parent and for giving him an ultimatum.
He should not be venting his spleen on Bingley!
He felt Elizabeth’s hand squeeze his thigh briefly, as if she were attempting to cause his arousal or, more likely, trying to comfort him. He opened his eyes just as she admonished, “Oh, father, you should not tease Mr Bingley so. He will begin to believe you!”
“And well he should,” the irascible patriarch said, but his voice was overwhelmed by the sound of Elizabeth’s laughter.
She leant towards Mr Bingley. “You must pay no mind to my father, sir, for he enjoys espousing ideas he does not actually believe and levelling judgements he does not entertain.”
Evidently feeling relief from tension, the other Bennet girls agreed with Elizabeth, and they joined their voices and especially their laughter with hers.
Miss Bennet did not laugh, however; nor did Georgiana.
His sister’s eyes were wide, and Darcy believed she was confused at the laughter.
Bingley, on the other hand, seemed glad to laugh heartily along with the ladies.
Mr. Bennet finally smiled, too. He said to Bingley, his voice still faintly sardonic, “You have more bottom than I expected, son,” and he actually chuckled as he left the dining room.
And thus, Darcy’s delightful, wonderful Lizzy had somehow accomplished the impossible—she had made the tense dinner bearable, and she had even managed to entice her father into smiling again!
When Elizabeth and Miss Bennet walked the Darcys and Bingley out to their carriage, at the end of the evening, Bingley reminded them jovially that they should count on coming to Netherfield the next day at a quarter past one.
Darcy whispered, “Should we meet in the morning?”
He was inclined not to, in part because Mr Bennet would almost certainly scrutinise Elizabeth carefully when she returned home.
But of course…of course she said, “Yes, please.”
He took her hand and kissed it lingeringly, his eyes holding hers as he attempted to express all his ardor.
When he finally let go, and took his sister’s arm to escort her to the carriage, he saw Bingley draw away sharply from Miss Bennet.
His friend was frowning, which was so unusual as to make him pause, and then Darcy had to help steady Georgiana, who naturally had taken the step he had missed.
“Are you feeling well, Bingley?” he whispered as they settled into the carriage.
“I am well, thank you,” Bingley said. But he sounded quite discontented.
Darcy reached across to his friend’s shoulder, gripping it in support as he said, “Try not to worry about Mr Bennet. I believe he was angry with me, not you, and I am extremely sorry that he decided to confuse the matter as he did.”
“Angry at you? What on earth for?” Bingley snapped to his usual expression immediately, smiling widely and rubbing his hands in glee. “What could the honourable Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy have done to irk the paterfamilias?”
Georgiana giggled, and Darcy looked at Bingley with an expression that he hoped conveyed, “Not in front of the child.”
Darcy answered with just part of the truth: “Mr Bennet just does not want to lose his favourite daughter at an early age, and to an estate that is so far away.”
“Ah.” Bingely nodded and said, “Well, you owe me a round or two of billiards, Darce.”
The moment they entered Netherfield, Georgiana said, “I will say good night.” She curtseyed to Bingley, gave Darcy a peck on the cheek, and went upstairs with Mrs Green.
Once they were in the billiards room, Bingley surprised Darcy by wheeling around and asking, “What really was the problem between you and Mr Bennet?”
Darcy blushed, and Bingley chortled. “Oh, ho! It must have been good!”
“I already told you the truth, Bingley.”
“But not the entire truth,” his friend suggested. “As a matter of fact, your reddened cheeks give you away. You took some liberties, I gather.”
Rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands, Darcy tried to stall and willed his blush to dissipate. Still Bingley grinned and nodded his head saying, “Well done, Darce. Well done.”
“I value privacy, Bingley; you know this about me. Of course I treat Elizabeth in a way that is entirely proper, given the length and serious nature of our relationship, and no matter what that entails, I would not divulge details to you, or Mr Bennet, or anyone. Pray, do not speak of this, or attempt to prise answers from me.”
Bingley said, “You are quite correct, Darcy; I do know that you are a very private man. You are the Monk, for goodness sake; naturally, there has been nothing improper. I promise not to ask about what you have or have not done; still, I should love the answer to one question, if I may?”
They had barely begun the billiards game, since that was merely a pretext for being in a space where Georgiana would not follow.
Still, Darcy utilised this pretext, now, to gain control over his complexion and his expression; he lined up a shot, took it, and sank his ball.
He took the next shot as well. Succeeding a second time, he turned towards Bingley and said, “Certainly. What is your question?”
Bingley smiled his affable smile and said, “I am struggling to know how my Miss Bennet feels about me. I believe she is as taken with me as I am with her, but any time I make the tiniest gesture of affection, she becomes very tense and maybe even upset. When I try to speak to her about it, she blushes like a cochineal and does not say anything at all.”
Darcy felt uncomfortable and asked, “And your question is….?”
“Well, I noticed you do not have such a problem with your Bennet sister. How did you convince her to accept…gestures of affection?”
Darcy blushed again and put down his cue. “For God’s sake, Bingley! That is exactly what I just said I will not discuss with you.” He left the room.
Bingley apologised eight and a half times, following Darcy’s rapid retreat to the stairs and up to his guest chamber.
Darcy ignored the first eight apologies, but he began to wonder if his strong need for privacy meant that he really was a prig.
He considered Bingley’s question to be basically the same as his earlier badgering teases, and surely it was his right to limit such a transgression on his privacy. Still…would others agree?
At his chamber’s door, Darcy interrupted Bingley’s ninth apology and said, “I accept that you are sorry and hope you fulfil your promise of not revisiting the subject. Good night.”
Bingley’s smile was tentative, and Darcy felt no compunction to return it. Instead, he arranged his face in a neutral expression and nodded as he closed the door.
That night, it was hard for Darcy to achieve sleep, and once he managed to do so, his dreams were diametrically opposite of priggishness. He woke up several times sweating and bothered.
It was quite an uncomfortable night but, Darcy thought as he attempted to get back to sleep, not without its gratifications.