Chapter 11 #2
During his brief time in Hertfordshire, Darcy had found himself, in turns, embarrassed, irritated, and wearied by the silly yet conceited Mrs Bennet.
The woman was coarse, uneducated, ill mannered, and uncouth, yet she possessed the airs of a duchess, particularly regarding the marital prospects of her five daughters.
All of said daughters were handsome creatures, but they were nevertheless country girls with little fortune and a lack of connexion to superior society.
In his estimation, Mrs Bennet’s pretensions were anything but realistic.
Mrs Bennet was taken to see Jane, whom she proclaimed to be quite well despite the fever, cough, and sore throat that continued to afflict her. “Dear Jane is very comfortable here; however, a daughter’s place is with her mother, so I shall take her home.”
“Mama, Jane must remain at Netherfield,” Elizabeth protested. “The apothecary has recommended it.”
“Apothecary,” Mrs Bennet dismissed the man with a wave of her hand. “Jane is well enough, and the ride is short. We shall have her settled at Longbourn in no time.”
A polite little argument ensued: Mrs Bennet and Miss Bingley against Elizabeth and Mr Bingley.
The former declared Jane well enough to return home, and the latter insisted she was not.
Eventually a compromise was struck, with the Bennet ladies to return to Longbourn on the morrow, provided Jane’s fever had abated.
Mrs Bennet, having been forced to give way, was disgruntled and took Miss Bingley in her sights, even though the lady had so recently been her ally. “Miss Bingley, it is a very sweet room you have here. I believe Mr Bingley is but leasing Netherfield; is that not so?”
Miss Bingley was also dissatisfied and had the correct sense that Mrs Bennet was disparaging her. Darcy grinned inwardly as Miss Bingley raised her chin, fully prepared to release her own pretensions.
“One cannot be too quick to settle, and although Netherfield is a charming home, we are used to moving in more cultured society and at a time in life when social obligations do increase. The confined and unvarying society of the country—”
“Confined and unvarying? You are quite mistaken. We dine regularly with four and twenty families, estate owners all. I beg your pardon for my forgetfulness, but do tell me: Where is your father’s estate?”
Miss Bingley did not respond; Mrs Bennet knew the origin of their fortune. Darcy felt an unmanly urge to giggle at the sight of the two most pompous ladies he knew attempting to outdo one another.
Elizabeth tried to deflect the rising tension in the room by interrupting. “Mama, how is Charlotte Lucas? Has she called at Longbourn since I have been away?”
“Oh, Charlotte—such a solid, dependable girl! She will make someone an excellent wife. Her skills in estate management would be an asset to any man.” She paused to beam knowingly at Mr Bingley, who appeared bewildered. “A pity she is so plain, but beauty fades where good heartedness will abide.”
“Mama!” Elizabeth gasped, obviously embarrassed by her mother’s coarse speech.
Darcy saw her blush and felt ashamed of his previous amusement. Elizabeth clearly did not find her mother’s airs acceptable and was mortified by her behaviour—a feeling that he was certain she experienced with regularity.
He again felt in his chest a sense of protectiveness from seeing, as he had before, that certain something fragile about her: the whisper of a shadow that would flit across her face or a moment of sadness, always so quickly gone.
Did he imagine it? Did he wish it there to justify this odd, fierce sort of desire to be her protector—to care for her and love her as she deserved?
It was just this impulse he yielded to now: the desire to protect and ameliorate her woes.
Perhaps it might even make her look more kindly upon him as, at this moment, she certainly thought him horrid.
“Miss Lucas seems a genteel, pretty sort of girl, and I have no doubt that the man she weds will be a fortunate one.”
Elizabeth looked at him in shock, and Mrs Bennet preened, certain that Darcy’s approbation would be all that was needed to secure Bingley’s heart for Charlotte Lucas.
Bingley appeared increasingly baffled by the conversation and unconscious of the air of tension running through the room.
Thus, he redirected the conversation to his own favourite sort of discourse: ideas for future amusements.
“Mrs Bennet, I find myself much of a mind to hold a ball here at Netherfield. What say you to that?”
Mrs Bennet gave Bingley a supercilious smile.
“How kind of you to think of your neighbours in this way, but it is unnecessary. You would not wish to undertake such an event when you are so newly arrived. Your poor sister!—much of the work would fall to her, you know, and if one is not experienced in entertaining at a country estate—”
Caroline sniffed haughtily. “I am quite capable of arranging a simple country dance.”
“Truly, you need not burden yourselves. ’Tis such a challenge with so many details and instructions for the servants; otherwise, nothing gets done properly.”
“It is not a burden, to be sure, particularly to one who is most capable of instructing her many servants—”
“Servants require close guidance for an event of true elegance and—”
“I am well aware of the requirements for a successful party.”
The two traded thinly veiled set downs for a few more minutes, and so it was that Bingley found himself committed to hosting a ball at Netherfield, and Miss Bingley found herself determined to produce an event the likes of which Hertfordshire had never seen.