Chapter 20 #2
Elizabeth maintained her easy smile. “Not yet, Miss Bingley. We did not have much opportunity at the inn to experiment with different menus. Besides, I am not sure how well Mr Darcy would have got on with gammon, given that he could barely swallow a spoonful of water at the beginning of the week.”
Darcy was not getting on with it much better at present and was having to cut his food into infinitesimal pieces and smother it in gravy to keep from choking on every mouthful.
Hardly the most thoughtful of meals to serve up in the circumstances.
“I am fast going off it,” he mouthed, looking disdainfully at the slab of meat on his plate.
“Was it absolutely necessary for the cook to desiccate the pig before he cooked it?”
“Pardon?” Miss Bingley enquired.
Elizabeth dabbed her lips with a napkin, holding it to her mouth until her smile was gone before translating. “He said it is taking a while to get used to eating solid food again.”
“I should stick to liquids, Darcy,” Hurst suggested, raising his glass. “Far better for the constitution.”
“What did you eat, Lizzy?” Georgiana enquired.
“Mostly bread, cheese, and cured meats. There was a little fruit at the beginning, but that soon ran out. There was a veritable cornucopia of onions and potatoes in the cellar, though. If I never eat another of either, it will not be too soon.”
Darcy was diverted to note that she had, indeed, eschewed dishing any potatoes onto her plate and had picked all the onions out of the ragout.
“I thought you said you could not eat solids, Darcy,” Bingley said, frowning.
To which he, running short of patience, replied, “Georgiana asked what Elizabeth ate, not I. I dined on brandy, broth, and thin air for the most part.”
“Brandy and what?”
“Broth,” Elizabeth summarised. “Which, by the end of the week, I had perfected to a finely tuned balance of salty water and boiled onions. Your cook would be in awe, Miss Bingley.”
“You cooked his meals?” Bingley said admiringly.
When Elizabeth acknowledged this was true, Miss Bingley, less admiringly, enquired, “How on earth do you know how to cook, Miss Eliza?”
“Yes, Lizzy,” said her sister. “How do you know how to cook?”
“I am not sure Mr Darcy would agree that I can, but there was a soldier at the inn who had some knowledge of campfire cooking. From him, I learnt the general principle that boiling things in water will flavour it. That is as far as my abilities extend, I am afraid.”
“Boiling things in water also adds moisture,” Darcy mouthed. “I daresay you could teach Bingley’s cook a thing or two.”
“What was that, Darcy?”
Observably struggling to keep her countenance, Elizabeth sent him a look of half-laughing admonishment that begged him to desist. “At least I shall not be called upon to cook at Pemberley. I understand from Miss Darcy the cook there is wonderful.”
“He is,” Hurst agreed. “The very best.”
“I tried to poach him once,” Bingley said with a grin. “Do you remember, Darcy?”
Darcy nodded.
“Charles!” Jane exclaimed. “How ungallant!”
“Pish posh, Jane—you would have thanked me had I succeeded. He makes the best bread pudding this side of East Riding. And in any case, I never would have attempted it had Darcy not poached my footman the week before.”
Darcy regarded him incredulously. “You let him go because you forgot you had a lock fitted and thought he had barred you from your own house. I gave him work at your behest because you felt guilty.”
“What is he saying, Lizzy?” Bingley enquired. “You must not believe half of what he says, you know. He is a good deal too apt to be overly serious about these things.”
“I might have believed that a month ago,” Elizabeth replied, looking between them with delight. “But you will no longer convince me of any such thing.”
“I think it is time we ladies withdrew,” Miss Bingley announced curtly. “Cambridge, clear the table please.”
“What say we forego separating this evening, Caroline?” said Bingley. “There seems little point in subjecting Darcy to half an hour of being asked to repeat himself, for none of us can understand him without Lizzy to translate.”
“I am not at all sure we have understood him with Lizzy’s help,” Mr Gardiner said. “I do believe she has been making it up as she has gone along.”
“Uncle! How could you say such a thing?” Elizabeth replied with affected affront.
Nonetheless, it was decided that the gentlemen and the ladies would adjourn together.
As they left the room, Darcy caught hold of Elizabeth’s hand and pulled her away from the rest of the party.
There were no candles lit in the alcove to which he led her, and he was forced to whisper rather than mouth what he wished to say.
“I love you, Elizabeth.”
“Oh no, Darcy, stop!” she replied in a quiet but urgent voice. “You are not to use your voice.”
“Very well,” he croaked and kissed her, fleetingly but passionately, instead.
She gasped and whirled about looking for witnesses, of which he had been assured there were none before he acted. Satisfied of the same, she let out a breath and whispered, “You have the devil in you this evening, sir.”
“Are you displeased?”
There was a pause—then, “No.”
He was glad of the dark, for if his expression came anywhere close to matching his thoughts, it might make him appear more rakish than he would like. “You were right about Miss Bingley,” he said, his voice growing hoarser with every word.
“Actually,” Elizabeth replied, “I am inclined to think you were right. She made the odd sortie, I know, but it cannot have been easy to host us this evening, knowing everybody was aware of her hopes where you were concerned. I thought she was very dignified considering.”
Darcy felt for her shoulders, smoothed his hands down over her upper arms, and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. “It is your dignity and forbearance that allowed her to appear in such a good light.” He had said too much; his voice cracked, and he coughed painfully.
Elizabeth placed her hand upon his right cheek and kissed him on his left. “It is your forbearance that ever allowed me to know you well enough to make Miss Bingley jealous.” Then she proved the devil was every bit as much in her by kissing him full on the lips.
His having coughed so loudly beforehand proved to be a most convenient excuse for their delayed return to the drawing room, as well as the discomposure that returned him, for the remainder of the evening, to the sombre creature that had stalked the walls of Meryton’s ballrooms last autumn, attempting not to be overwhelmed by Elizabeth’s Bennet’s charms.