Chapter 13 #3
As she listened with one ear, Elizabeth’s rapid mind ran ahead of her.
What a scheming woman Miss Bingley was! Not wishing to see her brother marry into the Bennet family, regardless of her own professed affection for Jane, Caroline Bingley had deliberately written in such a way that made Jane believe herself abandoned.
Nor was Miss Bingley the only scheming woman in the world, Elizabeth reflected, glancing across the room at Lady Catherine de Bourgh.
Mr Darcy’s aunt was presently watching Mr Darcy and her daughter with an expression of superior cunning and satisfaction, which neither of the two younger people seemed to share.
Equally reserved in their own way, Elizabeth supposed that both Mr Darcy and Miss de Bourgh would really prefer to have sat alone and talked to no one.
But then, why had he attempted to sit next to Elizabeth?
Perhaps it was only to be with Mr Bingley, who reminded her ever more of a faithful hound with his master.
Yes, that description was apt enough. Wherever Mr Darcy went, Mr Bingley followed, sometimes guided by Mr Darcy and sometimes guarding him, but always at his side.
What on earth would Mr Darcy do when Mr Bingley eventually married?
She supposed he must either marry too or find himself a new friend as faithful and obedient as Mr Bingley seemed to be.
“Miss Bennet,” sounded Lady Catherine’s voice, now claiming her attention back from Mr Bingley. “Am I right in understanding from Mr and Mrs Collins that all of your sisters are out, even the youngest?”
“Yes, Ma’am,” Elizabeth confirmed. “My youngest sister Lydia is not yet sixteen and has been out for more than a year.”
“Out at fourteen, and before any of the elder sisters were married? What can your mother have been thinking?”
“I could not say,” Elizabeth murmured, not approving herself of Lydia being brought forward so young, but unwilling to condemn her parents too baldly before this audience.
Though Elizabeth supposed that Lady Catherine was all too well aware of Lydia and Kitty’s exploits via Mr Collins, who would have taken great pleasure in expounding the defects of their behaviour and comportment for the satisfaction of his patroness.
“Well, I should never have brought Anne out so young, if her health had allowed her to take her rightful place in society,” Lady Catherine stated.
“Young girls ought to be carefully and correctly brought up at home until they reach an age where they can be trusted to conduct themselves in public with due decorum.”
“I do see that,” Elizabeth said mildly, with an understanding nod. Her response seemed to draw approval from Mr Collins, who nodded more vigorously, hanging on Lady Catherine’s every word like a fawning courtier before a powerful queen.
“Indeed, I have brought Anne up to be the perfect wife for a man who values breeding, fortune, and character. A man of sound character and judgement could do no better in the marriage mart. Do you not agree, Fitzwilliam?”
Elizabeth continued to nod sympathetically, sensing that nothing more was required or wanted at this point beyond general assent.
At the same time, her smile was one of genuine amusement, being sure now that she detected something more than promotion of cousinly affection in Lady Catherine’s deliberate commendation of her daughter Anne to Mr Darcy.
“Anne has a fine character and impeccable lineage, to be sure,” Mr Darcy answered his aunt shortly.
His obvious discomfort was apparently shared by Miss de Bourgh herself, who seemed equally unhappy with her mother’s personal remarks, and had buried her face in a handkerchief under cover of a real or pretended coughing fit.
Elizabeth now understood Lady Catherine’s game — marrying her sickly and unappealing daughter off to Mr Darcy.
With a touch of vengefulness on behalf of Jane, Elizabeth thought such a marriage would serve him right.
It would also be fitting natural justice for Mr Darcy’s behaviour towards George Wickham.
Yes, she could wish this fate on him even while condemning the widespread besmirching of his name and parentage.
“As you say, Lady Catherine, Miss de Bourgh is the perfect wife,” Elizabeth spoke up, making brief eye contact with Darcy before fixing on his aunt, “Other young ladies can only commend Miss de Bourgh’s good fortune and follow her example.”
This comment too seemed to satisfy Lady Catherine, and she turned her attention to Mr Bingley, evidently done with Elizabeth for now.
“You have no family estate, I understand, Mr Bingley…” began their hostess, trampling on any sensitivities Charles Bingley might have about his family’s origins and prompting Elizabeth to ready herself for his defence if necessary.
Although colouring a little, Mr Bingley managed to answer with his customary frank cheerfulness, and Elizabeth’s concerns for him were soon allayed.
No one could be either angry or worried for Charles Bingley for very long.
Like Jane, his native good humour and human kindness seemed to shield him from much of the world’s harshness.
Fitzwilliam Darcy, however, was another kind of man entirely, and Elizabeth’s contrary feelings for him were not so easily set aside. Seeing Mr Darcy rise and go to the window, Elizabeth too left her seat and joined him there.
“How long do you plan to keep Mr Bingley away from Netherfield Park, Mr Darcy?” she asked him directly. Both her approach and the question itself seemed to startle him.
“Bingley is his own master, Miss Bennet. It is not for me to determine his residence.”
“Still, it does seem that your friendship plays more of a role than you allow it. Mr Bingley is much missed in Hertfordshire, and he assures me today that this compliment is returned. Why then would he stay away so long?”
“You believe this is my doing, I take it, Miss Bennet?” he asked her. “I assure you it is not. I make no demands on Charles Bingley.”
“You need not make explicit demands with so loyal a friend, perhaps. But think, Mr Darcy, whether the loyalty of your friends might not sometimes be to the detriment of their own best interests and happiness.”
“I see,” he said, and nothing more. The flat disinterest of the response provoked Elizabeth to go on and say, perhaps, more than she ought.
“Have you really so great a need for Charles Bingley that he must be always at your side? Have you no other recourse to support you? I urge you to think on this, Mr Darcy, and advise your friend accordingly with his own future in mind.”
Elizabeth knew her words were bold, and half expected anger or indignation at her presumption. Neither of these were evident in Mr Darcy’s reaction, however. He seemed to listen thoughtfully to her words with unexpected gravity.
“As always, I will give all that you say due consideration, Miss Bennet,” he assured her with a small bow and then walked away towards the fireplace, leaving Elizabeth vexed by her lack of understanding of his temperament.
Would Mr Darcy allow Mr Bingley to return to Netherfield Park and Jane, or not? Had Elizabeth’s advice been acknowledged or dismissed? It was impossible to tell.
∞∞∞
Elizabeth was in the act of writing to Jane the following morning, rather struggling to condense meaning from all she had learned at Rosings Park the previous day, when the doorbell sounded.
Putting down her pen, she listened idly as a maid answered the door, expecting any visitor to be sent away.
Mr and Mrs Collins had taken Sir William and Maria out to visit St Luke’s church, over which Mr Collins presided, promising to show them many interesting brasses, plaques and other antiques of interest. Elizabeth had pleaded her correspondence to remain at the parsonage.
From the parlour where she sat, Elizabeth heard the low rumble of a man’s voice and the respectful tones of the maid in a longer exchange than she had expected.
Perhaps the man was leaving a message for Mr Collins, but there was nothing of urgency in what Elizabeth heard, and she made no move to enquire about the person’s identity or purpose.
She had already picked up her pen once more and written another sentence when she heard footsteps approaching from the hallway. Then came the greatest surprise of all, as the maid opened the door and showed Fitzwilliam Darcy into the room.
“Mr Darcy to see you, Miss,” announced the maid briefly before closing the door and vanishing back towards the kitchen.
Elizabeth stood quickly and exchanged bows with Mr Darcy. He was alone, with no sign of either his aunt or Mr Bingley.
It was odd indeed that his unexplained presence should make her heart beat faster, for there was no reason for it.
Elizabeth told herself that she was being absurd.
Surely Mr Darcy was nothing to her, however cold and disapproving he might be, and however much sympathy she might nonetheless have for his difficult situation.
“Mr and Mrs Collins have gone out,” she told him, presuming that the maid had mis-spoken. Surely Mr Darcy could have nothing to say to her.
“So I was told, but it was your company I hoped to find. I trust I am not disturbing you?”
Smothering a sigh, Elizabeth shook her head. Jane’s letter would have to wait.
“My correspondence has no urgency. Do sit down, Mr Darcy. Shall I send for tea?”
He answered in the negative and took his seat with some reluctance, as though he would have preferred to remain standing.
Yes, there was something very alert and purposeful about Mr Darcy today.
Elizabeth saw it in the intensity of his deep blue eyes, the tension of his jaw, and the suppressed energy of his limbs. What could he possibly want from her?
“Miss Elizabeth Bennet,” he began, taking a deep breath. “You must have realised by now the extent of my regard for you.”
Elizabeth stared at him with incredulity. What on earth was he talking about? Had he taken leave of his senses?