Chapter 7
“I confess to being startled at what transpired at Lucas Lodge this evening,” Bingley mused, handing a glass of brandy to his friend. His two sisters and Mr. Hurst had already retired for the night, but Darcy seemed restless so Bingley had invited him to play a game of billiards.
Darcy carefully lined up his cue and shot before responding, “Was it a surprise? I asked Miss Catherine to dance with me and she was unavailable. Such things have been known to happen.”
Bingley scoffed aloud and took a sip of brandy, “Nonsense, Darcy. It was a snub, and a very elegant one. Miss Mary was playing the pianoforte very happily, and the duet was clearly a mere excuse. I gathered from Miss Bennet’s conversation that Miss Elizabeth is something of a firebrand. Clearly, she did not appreciate your rude speech about Miss Kitty at the assembly and sought to put you in your place.”
Darcy stared at his friend incredulously and shook his head, “Surely not. No country girl, no matter how high spirited, would be foolish enough to deliberately spurn me, Darcy of Pemberley.”
Bingley shook his head, took another careful shot with the cue, and straightened to his full height, “My dear fellow, you will not listen to me, will you? Yes, you are wealthy and well connected, but why should that matter to the inhabitants of Meryton and its environs? The Bennets are the principal family in these parts, and the young ladies are respected and well liked. It is not surprising that Miss Elizabeth would rebuff you, nor has your haughty demeanor ingratiated you with the other inhabitants of this place. Even your request for a dance was made coldly, and I could see that Miss Kitty was distressed at the very thought of standing up with you.”
Darcy looked at his friend in amazement before setting aside his cue and wandering over to stare out into the moonlit garden behind the house.
“Am I truly so bad, Bingley?” he asked unhappily.
“Darcy, you have been a loyal and faithful friend to me these many years, and I count you a dear companion. I merely am concerned that your demeanor is such that new acquaintances find you unpleasant, even rude, when you are in actuality a very fine fellow.”
Perplexed, Darcy turned around to face his friend, “I confess to bemusement over this entire affair. In London, filled as it is with the cream of society, I am welcomed with open arms. Here, in a rural neighborhood, I am spurned. It is a peculiar experience.”
Bingley shrugged, “Would you prefer that people venerate you for your wealth and connections when your outward character is so forbidding?”
The taller gentleman smiled reluctantly, “It would be far easier, would it not?”
“Life is not always easy, Darcy. I, as the son of a tradesman, have learned to be friendly and obliging whereas you have been accepted because of your pedigree. Idaresay this will be a good experience for you.”
/
Elizabeth looked up from her nuncheon with interest as the servant handed Miss Bennet a note.
“It is a letter from Miss Bingley!” Jane exclaimed happily, accepting the letter and opening it.
“From Miss Bingley!” Mrs. Bennet cried out in delight. “Do read it aloud, my love!”
Jane lifted her voice obediently.
My dear Friend,
If you are not so compassionate as to dine today with Louisa and me, we shall be in danger of hating each other for the rest of our lives, for a whole day’s tete-a-tete between two women can never end without a quarrel. Come as soon as you can on the receipt of this. My brother and the gentlemen are to dine with the officers.
Yours ever,
Caroline Bingley
“How unlucky that the gentlemen will be away,” Mrs. Bennet pouted. “I daresay you will not see Mr. Bingley at all, Jane. Nonetheless, you must go. You and Mr. Bingley’s sisters are becoming very good friends, which is a marvelous step toward marrying the man himself.”
“May I take the carriage, Elizabeth?” Jane inquired eagerly.
Elizabeth nodded slowly, “I believe so. I will have to send a servant to fetch the horses from the farm but yes, by all means.”
“She should go on horseback,” Mrs. Bennet suggested. “That way the workhorses can do all the work on the farm which you deem so important, Lizzy. Did you not say just yesterday that they are very busy at the moment?”
Jane looked concerned, “Perhaps Mama is right. I can ride Buttercup to Netherfield. Do not send for the horses on my account.”
Elizabeth walked up to a window and peered outside for a long minute before turning around decisively, “No, I had best call for the horses and the coach. It looks like it is going to rain.”
Mrs. Bennet, who had been attempting to speak in a casual tone, now sprang to her feet, “Yes, it is going to rain and thus Jane must ride! Just think, if it rains she will not be able to return home tonight and thus will see Mr. Bingley after he returns from his dinner with the officers!”
Elizabeth suppressed a frustrated groan, “Mother, there will be plenty of opportunities for Jane to spend time with Mr. Bingley. There is no need to expose her to the dangers of a storm.”
“I insist, Lizzy, absolutely insist that you not send for the carriage! One of you girls must win a wealthy husband before your father is dead! None of you have any compassion for my nerves!”
Elizabeth took a deep breath, quietly exited the room, and sent a servant for the horses and carriage.
/
“It is an absolute quagmire out there, Lizzy,” Mary commented, causing her sister to look up from her sewing in surprise. Elizabeth had seen Jane off in the carriage, dealt with estate business, played a game of chess with her only slightly inebriated father, and was now sewing a patch on a petticoat while considering the purchase of the neighboring field. In the midst of what was a typically busy day, she had not noticed how hard and long the rain had fallen.
Elizabeth congratulated herself once again for sending Jane to Netherfield in the carriage over her mother’s protests – her poor sister would have been dreadfully wet otherwise! It was late afternoon now, and the carriage would have already departed to bring Jane home.
“Miss Elizabeth,” a young maid said tentatively from the door.
“Yes, Emily?”
“I apologize for disturbing you, Miss, but the coachman needs to speak to you at the rear door.”
Elizabeth frowned and, setting her work aside, quickly walked to the back of Longbourn where the coachman, Jack, a middle aged retainer of the family, was waiting with an expression even more lugubrious than usual.
“I am sorry, Miss Elizabeth,” the man said with a hint of accusation in his eye, “but a few minutes ago, the right coach wheel sank in that pool of mud near the front entrance and it broke when we tried to get it out.”
Elizabeth moaned softly. Jack had warned her only a week ago that the entrance to Longbourn needed more gravel,but she had foolishly decided to wait to purchase the necessary rocks to solidify the lane. She had thought that with winter coming, mud would not be a concern until spring. She had been wrong.
“I apologize, Jack,” she said contritely. “I ought to have authorized funds for that load of gravel as you suggested.”
“I can send one of the boys to Netherfield on horseback leading Buttercup,” Jack proposed, his expression lightening with Elizabeth’s admission of failure. “That way Miss Bennet can return tonight on horseback.”
Elizabeth cast a concerned look at the sky. It was more misting than raining now, but it might well rain hard again.
“No, Jack, I fear she might get a thorough wetting. Better to wait until tomorrow when either the coach will be fixed or the weather will have cleared so she can come home safely on horseback. I will write notes to Miss Bingley and Jane to explain the situation, and will have Emily pack some clothes for Jane so that she is comfortable tonight. I hope one of your intrepid boys will not mind a rather wet ride.”
“Of course not, Miss Elizabeth.”
/
Fitzwilliam Darcy opened the gate into the nearby field and then halted to kick his boots against a convenient fencepost. The sun was low in the eastern sky and a hint of dawn painted the horizon pink. The previous day’s rainstorm had left the paths around Netherfield a muddy disaster, and his boots were caked with heavy, wet soil. Nonetheless, he relished this opportunity to stretch his legs, to breathe in the crisp morning air, to think.
Ever since he had been refused a dance with Miss Kitty at Lucas Lodge, his mind kept returning to Miss Elizabeth Bennet. That in itself was bewildering. Miss Jane Bennet was the beauty of the family and was blessed with a charming personality as well. Miss Catherine Bennet was the lady whom he had insulted in public, and thus he was morally required to atone for his unkindness. But Miss Elizabeth was neither the beauty nor the injured party, so why would he care about her?
The truth was that he found Miss Elizabeth Bennet quite a conundrum. That was not a particular surprise – Darcy found many people confusing – but it rarely bothered him. This time, however, he felt a strange distress in his soul. The young lady had snubbed and glared at him, and instead of feeling angry or insulted, he felt unsettled and ashamed.
Why was that? The girl was not especially beautiful, though her fine eyes, brown with tints of gold,were remarkable, and her manners were clearly not those of fashionable society. She was a nobody, the second daughter of a country gentleman of apparently ill health, since Darcy had never met the man in company.
Yet, Darcy found himself thinking of her often, and even pricking up his ears when her name was mentioned in company. He found himself wanting to know more of her, which was completely absurd.
Even if he did throw away the caution of a decade and approach the girl, he might be rejected, which was a bizarre and incredible thought. According to Bingley, Darcy had been both proud and unpleasant since he arrived here at Netherfield, or at least to those outside the Netherfield party.Darcy had considerable pride in his own acumen and intelligence, but he freely admitted that Bingley was far more adept with social niceties than he was himself.
In London, he was well received by nobles and gentry alike. But was that because he was an exemplary person, or because everyone knew of his wealth and status?
“What do you think?” Darcy inquired aloud of his companion. “Am I truly obnoxious and overly proud to those outside my circle?”
Maxwell, the red spaniel, had been trotting around happily, nosing this, nudging that, kicking his heels with sheer delight at being on a walk with a fine human male on a misty morning in November. At these words, however, the beast sat down and lifted a soulful gaze to the man, his eyes glistening with adoration as he proceeded to pant slowly, his feathery tail wagging slowly back and forth along the ground and accruing a new muddy brown coating.
“You think not?” Darcy inquired, dropping his hand to rub the dog’s ears. “Well, that is a relief, young fellow. I feel certain that your analysis of human behavior is equal to my friend Bingley’s, or perhaps even more reliable.”
Maxwell barked agreeably and wagged his now very dirty tail, slobbering with ardent enthusiasm.
Darcy laughed and rose to his feet, “Well, I am glad that I have made a friend in you, at any rate. But come, I think we could both use a little more exercise, do you not think?”
Maxwell leaped forward happily at these words and man and dog wandered farther down the trail, growing increasingly wet from the still dripping fronds.
After slogging another half mile or so, Darcy was pleased to come upon the road which ran along the northern edge of Netherfield. He was pleasantly exhausted and wished to return to his room for a bath and a change of clothes.
He smiled to himself and took a few eager strides down the road. There was a sudden rustle across the lane and before Darcy could react, Maxwell lunged in front of him in search of a fragrant bird which had fluttered into smelling distance.
Darcy tripped over the dog, falling hard, and yelped in pain.
/
Elizabeth Bennet, dressed in a warm pelisse and woolen gown, was enjoying the chill of a sunny November morning when she heard the barking ahead of her on the road. With a frown, she peered down the road intently, where a fluffy red dot was leaping up and down in the distance.
She spurred Daisy on gently, causing her mare to begin trotting. A second later, the rope in her hand, the one guiding Buttercup, jerked backward slightly. Of course Buttercup, being old and lazy, had no desire to move quickly.
“Come, Buttercup,” Elizabeth commanded, and to the mare’s credit, Buttercup shifted into a sullen jog.
Two minuteslater, the red leaping dot had grown into a long legged puppy who was circling around a gentleman who was sitting up cautiously on the side of the road, a man who was …
“Mr. Darcy?!”
Fitzwilliam Darcy looked up, his brow furrowed, his face slightly pale.
“Miss Elizabeth,” he replied tautly.
Elizabeth gazed down at the man with a mixture of bewilderment and embarrassment. The last time she had met Mr. Darcy, she had given him a set down and while she was not ashamed of her words, she felt a little awkward at meeting him in this way, especially since he was apparently not well.
“Are you injured, sir?”
Darcy shifted a little and winced in pain, “I fear so, yes. Maxwell dashed in front of me in pursuit of a bird, and regrettably I tripped over him.”
“Maxwell?” Elizabeth inquired, and then nodded as she carefully swung herself down to the ground. “Oh, the puppy. I am so sorry.”
“At least Maxwell seems all right,” Darcy commented, running a careful hand down the animal’s furry body. “I was afraid I might have lamed him in my fall, as I am a big man to fall on a smallish dog.”
Elizabeth’s eyebrows rose at this remarkable statement. Given Mr. Darcy’s lofty behavior, she would not have expected him to be concerned about the beast responsible, however innocently, for injuring him.
“Is anything broken, Mr. Darcy?” she inquired worriedly, glancing around in search of anyone who might be able to help. Not surprisingly, no one was in sight. It was still early in the morning, and the only reason Elizabeth was on the road was because she desired to whisk Jane away from Netherfield as soon as possible. She would not have it said that Miss Bennet of Longbourn overstayed her welcome!
“I hope it is merely a sprain,” Darcy said, trying to rise to his feet before sinking back with soft moan of pain. “It may be broken, however.”
“I can ride to Netherfield and send help or, if you like, you can attempt to mount Buttercup. She is a placid horse, but I do not know if you are able to climb onto her with your injured leg.”
Darcy looked up at Elizabeth eagerly, “I would like to try, Miss Elizabeth. The ground is uncomfortable, and I confess to being wet and increasingly cold.”
Elizabeth, noting the gentleman’s pallor and surreptitious shivering, quickly drew Buttercup close to Darcy. Whatever she might feel about the man’s manners, he was injured and in trouble. She must try to get him to safety and warmth as quickly as possible.
“Here, let me assist you to a standing position and then perhaps you can support yourself on Buttercup while you swing your bad leg up?”
Darcy looked worried, “Miss Bennet, I appreciate your offer, but I am a rather heavy man. I would not wish to injure you.”
“Nonsense, sir! I am no porcelain doll; indeed, I am quite strong for my size. You will not be able to rise without my help.”
Reluctantly, Darcy accepted the gloved hand of the lady and, with her assistance, rolled painfully to one foot, keeping his injured leg up. A moment later, he froze in dismay as a new thought occurred to him.
“As I was distracted by my injury, I did not realize until this moment that naturally Miss Bennet rides sidesaddle.”
Elizabeth looked startled at this, “Oh dear, yes. I am sorry, Mr. Darcy. As I said before, I can ride to Netherfield for help if you wish. Though it is possible that riding side saddle, while unusual, would actually be gentler on your damaged leg.”
Darcy blew out a slow breath. It was true enough that it would be easier if he did not need to swing one leg over the horse. His pride shrank from making such an exhibition of himself, but no one seemed to be out so early and he was chilled to the bone.
“Thank you, Miss Elizabeth,” he said finally, struggling to sound dignified. “I would like to attempt to mount Buttercup.”
“One moment, sir,” Elizabeth urged, pushed Buttercup closer to the wounded man. Darcy leaned on the mare’s fat flank and grasped the horse’s saddle. After a considerable struggle, which caused a surge of pain in his injured leg, he found himself sitting sidesaddle on the horse. It was a bizarre, uncomfortable, and peculiar position, but at least he was off the frozen ground. Maxwell seemed to approve, as he ran up and barked cheerfully as if celebrating Darcy’s great triumph.
Miss Elizabeth too seemed pleased. “That is much better,” she exclaimed, swinging back up to Daisy. “Come, Mr. Darcy, and Maxwell, on to Netherfield!”