Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Darcy rose early the next morning, firmly resolved that any and all particular attention paid to Miss Elizabeth Bennet would cease.
He would show no partiality or any action, no matter how innocuous, that would reveal his feelings for her.
With that in mind, he departed his chambers for the stable, visions of a long, mind-clearing ride through the countryside directing his steps.
Several hours later, he returned: muddied, tired, and possessed of a mind still filled with thoughts of Elizabeth Bennet.
As he came around the corner of the stable, he thought he heard her voice.
Looking around, he saw her in the side yard, away from the eyes of the stable boys or anyone else passing that way.
He did not recognise the man she was with, but by his dress, he was a servant.
Nevertheless, it could not be denied that he was a fine figure of a man.
He had a handsome countenance and appeared a bit older, likely near thirty.
He was large, nearly as tall as Darcy was but far more heavily muscled, his shoulders and arms straining against his coat.
He stood close to her and handed her a letter before whispering something in her ear. She smiled up at him.
Darcy reeled back in disgust even as a lightning bolt of jealous rage shot through him.
Such shocking behaviour! In plain sight no less…
well, not exactly plain sight, but surely she must know she might be seen.
How foolish to risk not only her own respectability but that of her sisters as well. Stupid, stupid girl!
He had his gloves in one hand and smacked them smartly against the palm of the other as he strode towards the house, full of self-righteous indignation.
Should I inform Bingley? I cannot abide the thought of her taking advantage of his easy nature to conduct an affair under his roof.
Bingley must return her to her father’s home straightaway.
Jealousy and disappointment burned and roiled in his stomach. He longed to confront her and hear her explanation for such wanton behaviour. Perhaps knowing her true character would release him from her enchantments.
He nodded firmly, resolved to speak to her of the matter directly on her return.
Against her better judgment, Elizabeth had sent Jervis, her footman/protector, to Longbourn to retrieve her letters from Henry. She had scarcely slept the night before, struggling with her longing to see them again, and had finally given in to her wishes.
Jervis had naturally accompanied her to Netherfield, and Elizabeth had asked Bingley’s housekeeper, Mrs Nicholls, to find a place for him.
Being a local woman, she knew the truth behind Longbourn’s cortege of well-fed footmen.
The good lady said nothing of the matter to her master or mistress and quietly placed Jervis where he needed to be within the house.
Mrs Nicholls thought Miss Bingley would scarcely notice an extra servant as she had not bothered to know the ones belonging to Netherfield.
Jervis met Elizabeth in a secluded spot by the stables as Elizabeth hoped to avoid questions about him and his task. Giving her the letters, he mentioned, “There is some additional correspondence that awaits you at Longbourn: letters from Mr Stokes.” Mr Stokes was the steward of Warrington Castle.
“I shall see to them on my return tomorrow.” She smiled up at him, thanking him, and they departed. Jervis dropped behind to shadow her as he usually did.
She made for the house, Henry’s letters feeling like a living creature in her hand.
She both dreaded and anticipated seeing them again.
It was always such a delight to read the letters and imagine, for a time, that she was awaiting Henry’s return.
The feelings they elicited in her were too pleasurable to deny—the hope, relief, and joy lifting her heart from its usual frozen state.
However, all too rapidly, the delight would be followed by anguish as she was recalled to reality.
It was akin to losing him all over again, recalling that he would not come back and she had no hope, no relief, and no joy.
With those memories, her poor heart would again become encased in its shell of determined complaisance and hidden grief.
Was it worth the few brief moments of pleasure for the intense melancholy that came after?
“Miss Bennet.” She nearly jumped from her skin, having not noticed Mr Darcy in the hall. “I wonder if you would oblige me? I must speak with you on a matter of some delicacy.” He gestured towards a small sitting room that was currently unoccupied.
She was so surprised that she followed him into the room without question. He closed the door behind them, causing her to protest, “Mr Darcy, pray leave the door ajar. It would not do to have the servants gossip about our being behind a closed door together.”
For some reason her statement caused him to emit a bitter chuckle. “You are concerned over being in a closed room with me?”
She pursed her lips, choosing not to ask about his odd comment. She took a seat while Mr Darcy elected to remain as he was, towering over her.
He frowned down at her. “I observed your actions by the stables. You are fortunate I am the one who saw you; I abhor gossip, and you may depend upon my secrecy on the matter. I do implore you to exercise greater discretion, however. If you have no regard for your own respectability, you must think of your sisters.”
“My actions by the stables?” Elizabeth raised her chin and her left eyebrow, returning severity for severity. “I beg your pardon?”
Mr Darcy leant over her, speaking angrily. “I saw you, Miss Bennet, with a footman.”
“And what of it?”
Darcy straightened, folding his hands behind his back. “It is not fitting to behave in such a manner. I am no babe in the woods, Miss Elizabeth, and I do apprehend the meaning of the sight I saw before me.”
Rage blossomed within her as comprehension dawned. “Of what do you accuse me, Mr Darcy?”
His words were clipped. “You were alone in a hidden spot with a man unrelated to you. You stood too close to him. You received a letter from him.”
Elizabeth felt herself tremble and knew her face must be flushed from the effort required not to slap this presumptuous, hateful man. “And from this you conclude something of a licentious nature?”
She inhaled deeply and rose, not wishing to show any subjection to this odious man and his execrable suggestions.
“That man was a footman from my home, whom I dispatched this morning to retrieve a letter from my bedchamber at Longbourn. I met him by the stables because I was returning from a ride as he arrived. It was no more scandalous than sitting in my mother’s drawing room and asking him to retrieve a letter for me.
As for the letter itself, need I remind you that most servants neither read nor write, so love letters are out of the question. ”
“You would have me believe—”
She took a step towards him and did her best to appear threatening. “Jervis is my servant and no more than that. I shall thank you to keep your vile suppositions to yourself.”
Darcy simply looked at her, his breath coming a bit hard as he stared down at her face. At long last, an embarrassed look came over him. “I beg your pardon, I should not have—”
“No, you should not have. You were quick to judge, and as with most judgments made in haste, yours were greatly in error. Allow me to impress a truth upon you, sir: you do not know me, and this incident should serve as your reminder; things are not always as they look.”
With that, she swept from the room, maintaining great dignity the entire way to her bedchamber. Then she locked the door behind her and had an excellent, and relieving, bout of weeping.
Darcy hastily withdrew to the library where he felt certain he would encounter no one. He was utterly mortified, both by his ill-judged and offensive accusations as well as by the wild, irrational jealousy that had incited them.
Not good, not good at all. Miss Elizabeth Bennet was turning him into a blathering idiot, going about making a cake of himself at every turn. He must gain control of his thoughts and feelings at once!
He was deeply ashamed at the way he had insulted her.
He realised he should have supposed the man was a servant performing a task for her, or at least considered the possibility before accusing her.
After all, in recalling it, they were truly not standing so very close together, nor did they seem to have hid.
They were merely in an out-of-the-way place in the yard.
He had seen nothing more damning than the man handing her a letter—and, as she had rightly stated, servants generally did not read or write.
He placed his head in his hands, thinking of his embarrassment, and was in that very position when the door was flung open.
“Mr Darcy! There you are, sir!”
A more unwelcome intrusion he could not have imagined: Caroline Bingley in high dudgeon. “Come this instant. We are being set upon by more Bennets!”
“More Bennets?”
“Their carriage is arriving even now. Come with me. I insist.”
He dutifully followed Miss Bingley to the drawing room where Bingley also sat. A few moments later, Miss Elizabeth arrived, and much to his dismay, he could clearly see by her reddened eyes that she had recently wept. Darcy, you are a brute of the lowest order.
Miss Elizabeth sat with admirable composure. “Miss Bingley, my mother has sent a note indicating she believes Jane must return home though I have told her that Jane remains too ill to be moved.”
“We should not think of it!” Bingley cried, even as Miss Bingley replied coolly, “In all likelihood, she has the right of it.”