Chapter 9
Miss Elizabeth Bennet in Hertfordshire
Walking in the field opposite Lucas Lodge, Elizabeth enjoyed a few moments of blissful ignorance to the trouble presently afflicting her family–leastwise, she feigned such ignorance as she conversed with Charlotte.
“Lord Lightcliffe and Mr. Bingley do not seem to get along,” Elizabeth remarked to her friend. “Or, rather, Mr. Bingley did not take to Lord Lightcliffe in the slightest–Lord Lightcliffe appeared more indifferent than anything.”
“And why is that?” Charlotte asked. “Mr. Bingley has always struck me as an amiable sort of fellow.”
“It is Jane, I think. She has told me of her respect for Mr. Bingley, thinking him eloquent, fine, dashing–just as a gentleman ought to be–and indeed, I think her heart is well on the way to loving him…” words trailing off, Elizabeth sighed, her usual wit a muddle.
“But?” Charlotte prompted, her lips turning upward, “Perhaps Lord Lightcliffe possesses similar qualities?”
Nodding Elizabeth agreed, “He does. He is charming. Handsome. And I suspect as wealthy as Mr. Bingley, with a title added to his many qualities. No. He is a good man, and I say that though I am no longer convinced of my ability to ‘sketch a character in but an hour.’ It is merely… Jane is not usually inconstant, yet, even I noticed how her attention moved readily to Lord Lightcliffe. True, I do believe it was the reaction of Mr. Bingley which caused her shift, therefore inconstant is too harsh a term. For Jane has never approved of jealousy, saying how it never looks well on anyone. She feels it is doubting the love of the one you love, and while I do see her point, and a propensity to jealousy I never could abide; but we all are jealous of something at some point are we not?”
“That is true, though I can see Jane’s view as well.
The problem in this instance is Jane is not as open with her feelings as Mr. Bingley is–she may not mean to hide them, but her modesty gives such an impression.
If he is doubtful of her regard, her opinion that it displays a sign of nontrust is well…
not valid. True, jealousy, especially when displayed as readily as it sounds as it was, is.
Oh, what is the word I am searching for?
Disquieting. Yes, disquieting. At least it is to Jane, and we must honour that. She is no simpleton.”
Head turning toward the direction of Netherfield, Elizabeth sighed, “I only hope that, whatever happens, Jane is made happy–she deserves no less.”
“That she does. Now then, why are you not at Netherfield already? Do you not meet Mr. Darcy there about this time every day?” Charlotte smirked as she lifted her hand toward Netherfield. “You will never be settled until you have seen him.”
Gnawing her lip, Elizabeth considered Mr. Darcy’s displeasure if she were to go alone.
He had promised to retrieve her from Longbourn only a little later in the day.
But what of Mary? she warred with herself.
Is not her safety more important? Arriving at Netherfield without Darcy having to make the journey would save time, and allow them to work with the gentlemen he had brought in.
She would be safe enough, surely. Besides, once Darcy knew she had walked to Lucas Lodge alone, he would be equally cross.
She could only incur his anger once.
Arms folding in front of her, Charlotte’s lips curled, “Did Mr. Darcy have you promise not to walk alone? He did, did he not, for you look away from me even now. Very well, we must rectify this matter, here, let me send for a footman; unless you require more than one for protection?” she teased.
Elizabeth’s usual humour deserting her, she shook her head, “No. There is no need. I promised to work closely with Mr. Darcy, but I did not promise never to go anywhere without a chaperone; Netherfield is not far, and I promise to only walk the roads. It will be alright.”
Though her conscience prickled at the obvious lie, her pride had been allowed free rein; a rise of courage or recklessness being the unfortunate result.
Mr. Darcy’s notion of having someone with her outside of Longbourn or Netherfield held merit, but she had never had to strangle her movements before.
Meryton. The usual haunts she enjoyed. These she would not attempt without another by her side, but such a visible stretch of road? No real danger could touch her there.
Could it?
Gulping, Elizabeth prepared to make her way to Netherfield, Charlotte’s pleas to reconsider unheard.
“Mr. Darcy or one of the others shall see me home,” Elizabeth appeased her friend, the distance between the two growing. “I promise all will be well.”
Yet, in spite of her confident words and tone, Elizabeth’s heart doubted her decision, each step a seed of dread and imagination; her usual reason abandoned for a foolish moment of pride.
Indeed, so foolish did she judge her decision as she rounded the bend which put her out of sight of Lucas Lodge, that she had half a mind to return straight to her friend’s side, an apology and a request for a chaperone to follow.
Unfortunately, the rustle of a bush behind dissuaded her from that course, her pulse racing as she increased her pace.
She could reach Netherfield.
Nothing to fear.
Only a bird. A fox?
These thoughts and others like them swirled in her mind, her stride fierce as her hands dampened.
She would be alright. She would.
Wishing she had waited for Mr. Darcy, Elizabeth turned down the long drive of Netherfield, throat tight as the noise which had first whispered only from behind came now from a second location in front.
Stepping backward as a man emerged from the trees surrounding the drive, Elizabeth turned to make her escape, only to find another figure blocking her path.
“Tsk, tsk, Miss Elizabeth,” the man before her said as he stepped forward, Elizabeth’s hands fisting, though her arms remained firm at her sides. “I heard tale you promised Mr. Darcy you’d not journey without him. But since you did, give him a message.”
The other man coming behind her, Elizabeth felt her stomach roll.
“Tell him,” the first man continued as he rubbed a finger over Elizabeth’s cheek, his action causing her to recoil. “That if he doesn’t send for the money soon, there will be consequences; his cousin, your sister… maybe even you. It won’t be pretty. You tell him that.”
Nodding, her eyes fixed to the ground as she prayed for them to leave, the man giving her cheek one last stroke before his hand moved from her sight, footfalls filling the air as he left.
Breath shallow, Elizabeth’s hand drifted to her neck as she looked around her, the two men running in the direction of Meryton.
“Foolish. Headstrong,” she whispered to herself, her breath at last easy; the insults appearing too lacking in their veracity. She had risked everything.
Continuing down Netherfield’s long drive, Elizabeth shivered, the horrid feeling of that man’s hand upon her cheek lingering even as minutes passed and the great house came into view.
Perhaps, she thought, the feeling would leave when she was inside? When she saw Darcy again?
Darcy. He would be disappointed. Entirely so, for she had agreed to his plan and declared it sound.
Yet, even as she knocked on Netherfield’s doors, she prayed he would overlook her indiscretion, her desire for the safety his presence lent fierce.
Another shiver racking her form as the doors opened, Elizabeth grimaced. Would the feeling of that man’s hand ever leave?
Moving past Mr. Innings, Elizabeth hurried toward the library in the hope of finding Mr. Darcy, her steps pausing as she saw Mr. Bingley standing within. Hesitating for but a moment, she entered, Mr. Bingley’s greeting warm as always.
“Ah, Miss Elizabeth. I suppose you are looking for Darcy; he should be down any moment. Please, sit, and I shall call for tea…” his breath scarcely stilling as she took the proffered seat, he pulled the bell cord and continued, “I am surprised Darcy did not fetch you, still, no matter. Tell me, how is your sister, Jane? I mean, Miss Bennet. Is she at home today?”
Eyes wide as she took in his multitude of words, she nodded, “Yes. She was at home when I left, though I believe she is walking into Meryton with our sisters today.”
Heart still pounding from her encounter outside, her gaze pulled toward the door at the sound of footfalls, her countenance falling when a busy servant passing by proved its cause.
Attention forced back to Mr. Bingley, Elizabeth observed the man before her; fidgeting as he observed the time, he appeared as a child waiting to be excused, though his countenance held a momentary flash of some emotion she could not place.
Perhaps he fears Jane will encounter Lord Lightcliffe again?
“Mr. Bingley,” she assured him, “you need not wait on my account. If Mr. Darcy is longer than expected, I can find a book to read. Your staff always provide a handsome fare and all the tea anyone might require. I shall be well looked after.”
Standing before her final words were spoken, Mr. Bingley smiled. “Thank you, Miss Elizabeth. Come to think of it, I do have somewhere to be…” having moved toward the door, he hesitated at its frame, “If you are certain you shall be alright?”
“Of course,” she smiled, though her chest reeled at the thought of being alone; the danger she had placed herself in and the feel of a stranger’s hand upon her cheek unable to be shaken.
“Excellent,” he answered with a light bow, before taking his leave with his usual good manners–hastened though they were.
Drawing her lip inward, Elizabeth turned her eyes about the room, the quiet, impressive size lending force to her feelings of smallness.