Chapter 11
As they travelled towards Hertfordshire, they avoided speaking of their destination, preferring instead to admire the landscape and the beauty of the summer day.
They breakfasted at an inn along the road, made plans for future hunting excursions, and spoke of their friends in London, each endeavouring to maintain an appearance of calm confidence.
But when the gates of Netherfield appeared, excitement overwhelmed them both.
Eager to see the house and remember only the good things, they entered the parlour utterly unprepared for the company that awaited them.
For long, almost embarrassing minutes, they looked at one another, incapable of speaking.
The ladies were stunning, but each gentleman had eyes only for his Miss Bennet.
Equally shocked and eager to understand the circumstances that had brought them together, they did not know how to begin the conversation.
“Miss Bennet,” Darcy said at last, “we have interrupted your ride.”
“Yes, Mr Darcy, you could say that!”
Jane’s serene eyes, when speaking to him, made him realise that Elizabeth had not revealed his involvement in her misery and suffering.
He was grateful to her for this; the new beginning he wished for would have been impossible if old grudges had stood in their way.
He was certain that Charles had indeed buried the past and was contemplating only the future, whilst his beautiful future gazed happily at him.
Again, and perhaps for the last time, Darcy felt ashamed of his role.
Elizabeth’s attitude, however, was still far from what he wished it to be. Her shock, once tempered, gave way to an enigmatic smile. It was far from the look of a lady in love.
“What brings you to Netherfield?” Jane asked Bingley, and her question restored the peace.
“We came to meet the new owner,” Bingley answered, though his true reason for coming stood before him. He was blushing, and she was pale.
“The new owner?” Jane murmured, amused. “I am the new owner.”
Elizabeth smiled as her sister played with Mr Bingley.
“You?” the poor man asked, shocked again and suddenly frightened.
He remembered his sisters speaking of the Bennet sisters, insisting they had no dowry and sought only gentlemen of fortune.
It had been a horrible falsehood, but he also knew that Jane had not been rich the previous November.
Desperation distorted his face. Even Darcy took his eyes from Elizabeth and looked anxiously in his friend’s direction.
Seeing poor Bingley utterly distraught, Elizabeth took pity on him.
“Our father is the owner, in fact, Mr Bingley.”
The two sisters laughed at his relief.
“So you are living here?” Darcy asked.
“Yes and no; we are in the process of moving at the moment.”
The parlour seemed somehow changed. New paintings hung upon the walls, and many strange objects adorned the room: swords, masks, pottery, and other things he could not identify.
“They are my uncle’s,” Elizabeth answered his silent question. “He lives with us now, after spending his life in India and Africa.”
Darcy stood to observe the swords and rifles more closely, and Elizabeth moved towards him, hoping to allow Jane and Bingley to exchange a few words.
“Impressive panoply!” Darcy exclaimed with genuine admiration.
Elizabeth had the feeling that they were in a play, each repeating short lines in a plot they did not understand. A bad play and pitiful actors. The impression grew stronger when Mr Darcy asked, “How are you, Miss Elizabeth?”
“I am well, thank you.” She almost smiled at their polite and meaningless words, certain that he felt the same.
Darcy, however, was not in the same state of mind.
By taking time to view the objects, he was postponing the moment when his eyes would have to meet hers, though he wished to know more than anything in the world whether she still regarded him with the same anger.
He slowly turned towards Bingley, who was already close to Miss Bennet, then looked back at Elizabeth.
His gaze seemed to make a statement: those two lovers are together; do you forgive me?
For Elizabeth, matters were not so simple.
Her feelings remained unclear. She was somehow attracted to the man she had just met, but still doubted the one she remembered.
His haughtiness had vanished, yet she continued to remember him as too rigid in his opinions and behaviour.
Since knowing her uncle, she had begun to wish for a husband who craved adventure.
Perhaps not one who would leave for Africa, but one who delighted in open spaces, a good laugh, and the beauty of life revealed in the smallest and most apparently unimportant things.
She tried to imagine Darcy as master of Pemberley, but the image refused to form.
She found herself in a puzzling situation.
She remembered the man she had refused in anger a few months before.
Still, his nearness disturbed her composure in a manner she had not anticipated.
One moment, she was still angry with him; the next, she wished to forget every argument against him and surrender herself to the newfound delight of his presence, enjoying the eagerness with which his eyes sought hers.
Feeling warm and chilled at the same time, she looked to her sister for help, but Jane, standing with Mr Bingley, was wholly lost to the world.
“Are you on your way to Pemberley, Mr Darcy?” she asked with effort.
“No, Miss Elizabeth. I had just arrived in London on urgent business when Charles asked me to accompany him to Netherfield for the day.”
He did not dare to read her face too closely, but for the moment, Elizabeth seemed to be enjoying his presence.
Perhaps his wish to believe in a change had deceived him, yet he could not prevent himself from admiring her beauty again, so different from her sister’s.
Miss Bennet was the perfect subject for a wonderful painting, whilst Elizabeth was alive.
He admired her in every circumstance, even when she was furious.
Jane and Bingley stepped out into the garden through the glass doors, leaving Elizabeth and Darcy in a silence that both found frustrating.
The situation was saved by voices and laughter in the hall, and Mr Bennet, accompanied by Thomas Bennet, entered the parlour.
Darcy stood at once, grateful that the strange situation was about to end, but facing the two men only deepened his perplexity. Seen together, the resemblance between the two gentlemen was remarkable.
“Mr Darcy, welcome to Netherfield!” Mr Bennet said.
Then, looking out into the garden, he smiled, forgetting Elizabeth and Darcy as he saw his eldest daughter with Mr Bingley.
It took him a few moments before he turned again to those in the room.
“Dear uncle, please allow me to present Mr Darcy, a family friend.”
Thomas, as unceremonious as ever, shook his hand. “I am sorry, Mr Darcy; over the last forty years, I have forgotten how to bow!”
He laughed, and Elizabeth observed with astonishment that Darcy relaxed in the presence of her father and uncle.
Even his posture seemed less rigid, and his smile became genuine and friendly.
It was possible that she herself made him uncomfortable, a discovery that made her want to laugh and cry at once.
“Congratulations, sir, on acquiring this excellent property!” Darcy said, and to Elizabeth’s surprise, her father thanked him with evident satisfaction.
He began to feel that he owned Netherfield.
That was a considerable wonder to his daughter, who remembered that only a few days earlier, he had still been unhappy to abandon his library and his daily habits.
She suspected that her father was taking some small revenge; not on his own behalf, since he cared little for such matters, but on behalf of his daughters, who had not always been graciously received in that house.
As absent as they often believed him to be, Elizabeth was inclined to think that her father knew most of what happened around him.
“Thank you, Mr Darcy!” he answered. “My uncle, Mr Thomas Bennet, is to blame. He came and turned our lives upside down.”
There was no torment in Mr Bennet’s look as he turned towards Thomas. On the contrary, his admiration and gratitude were plainly visible.
“Sometimes you need a stranger to change the rules in a family,” Thomas said with his usual informality.
The two Bennet gentlemen smiled, an identical expression upon both faces, like brothers rather than uncle and nephew.
Darcy could not help hoping that Thomas Bennet might also change the opinion of one member of the family.
The older gentleman seemed an unexpected ally.
If Elizabeth’s uncle approved of him, half the battle might already be won, for she was plainly enchanted by the remarkable man who had remoulded their lives.
By then, the two lovebirds had returned from the garden, and their lost gazes told the whole story; forgiveness had taken place, and clearly more besides.
Again, the introduction was made, but Bingley did not sit. His excitement was so apparent that Thomas, addressing his nephew, said, “Edward, I think the works in the library are finished. You may invite Mr Bingley there.”
Bingley looked at that providential uncle with such gratitude that those assembled, except Jane, hid a smile.
“Yes, please, Mr Bennet. I should like a short meeting with you.”
Jane blushed deeply, prompting Elizabeth to pour her a glass of water, but she was unable to speak or drink. She only watched her father and her future husband as they disappeared from the parlour.