Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
D arcy paced near the large windows of the drawing room at Netherfield, casting a woeful glance out of them only to see that it was still raining, just as it had been all day. Dinner was in less than an hour. It meant that, even if the weather cleared, it was too late to do anything away from the house, which precluded the possibility of a ride or walk. He was never pleased to be so inactive and listening to the many comments on the neighbourhood Bingley’s relations were making—none of them especially good—was giving him a headache. How could they have so many complaints, and why must they repeat them over and over again? Just as puzzling was that Bingley managed to respond without sounding at all vexed.
It was the end of July, and they had been at Netherfield for three weeks. Three unexpectedly enjoyable, truly wonderful weeks. If he kept to his original intention, Darcy would be departing in a few more days. But was that what he wanted?
Since the picnic at Longbourn, he had seen Miss Elizabeth many times. She had not misspoken when she told him the local families liked to take advantage of the summer weather, and he could not count the number of parties and excursions he had attended, almost all of which she had also been at. He missed her when she was not present, and, when she was, he remained by her side as much as possible.
He was well aware that their friendliness had been noticed, as had Bingley’s preference for Miss Bennet. His friend’s sisters had commented on it several times, Miss Bingley once making a weak joke about Darcy marrying Miss Elizabeth, telling him he would have a ‘charming mother-in-law’ who would always be at Pemberley and demanding he find rich husbands for her younger daughters, one of whom was sombre enough to be a nun and the other two wild enough to be nothing but trouble to their relations. He listened without comment. Certainly, he disapproved of Miss Bingley’s biting remarks, which he believed were based on her hope that he would take a romantic interest in her despite him showing no such inclination.
What did her opinion or that of anyone else signify, given he had only known Miss Elizabeth for such a short period? He was enchanted by her; there was no denying it. At the assembly, he had liked her, then, after the picnic, realised he liked her a great deal, and, with each passing meeting, he fell deeper and deeper under her spell. She was lovely, with skin that begged to be caressed and eyes that he would never grow tired of gazing into. In addition to her physical attractions—which distracted him more than he would care to admit—he had discovered so much more: her liveliness, caring nature, and sense of curiosity meant she was exactly the sort of lady he would be glad to spend his life with. But was it possible?
Despite having met a short time ago, it seemed as though he had always known her, that she was as familiar to him as his beloved family. No lady had ever affected him as she did, and that had to mean something, did it not?
He wished his cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam was there. Darcy trusted his opinion above that of most people, and he would value knowing what he thought of Miss Elizabeth and whether Darcy was mad to wonder whether she was the lady he had always dreamt of finding. What he knew for certain was that he had to decide. Did he remain to see whether they fell in love? He suspected he was halfway there already, and she gave every sign of liking him above other gentlemen, always seeking him out, smiling and seemingly eager to talk to him. Or should he depart as arranged and do his best to forget her, find the sort of lady he was expected to marry, one who was well-connected and rich?
An image came to mind: his cousin Anne de Bourgh. Her mother, Lady Catherine, was in favour of the match, as were others in their family, such as his uncle and aunt, the Earl and Countess of Romsley. It would be a prudent match, but when he compared Anne to Miss Elizabeth, he knew which lady would make him happier, which made his heart sing and stirred his blood. But could he overlook how imprudent a choice she would be? He would disappoint his relations, her uncle was in trade, and her mother was ignorant and often vulgar. Could his sentiments for Miss Elizabeth be strong enough to overcome his justifiable reservations?
“Mr Darcy,” Miss Bingley said, pulling him from his reflections. “I am very sorry your stay is soon to end. Do say we can convince you to remain longer. You know how much we would welcome your company.”
“That is kind of you,” he said, taking a seat near his companions .
“Especially when we are in such a place,” Miss Bingley said, her gaze shifting to her sister.
Bingley sighed heavily, and Mrs Hurst said, “The society here is a little…thin.”
“That Mr Goulding is not.” Mr Hurst laughed merrily. “I have seldom seen such a paunch on a man.”
Darcy was tempted to point out that Mr Hurst’s own figure was becoming rounder by the year, and if he did not change his habits, he would be at least as large as Mr Goulding by the time he was that gentleman’s age.
The ladies giggled, and Bingley said they were being cruel. “He has been polite and extremely helpful to me, as has everyone I have met. I was just saying to Darcy this morning that I am exceedingly glad I found an estate in such a pleasant neighbourhood.”
Sounding impatient, Mrs Hurst said, “I grant you, there are some respectable people hereabouts, but there are no families that are close to our station. Could you imagine introducing any of them to our usual circle?”
“I would not hesitate,” Bingley said stubbornly.
Mrs Hurst scowled, while Miss Bingley rolled her eyes, and said, “Mr Darcy understands what Louisa means.” She turned to Darcy. “If you stayed longer, we would not force you to keep company with Charles’s neighbours as much as we have these last few weeks. Could you imagine what Lord and Lady Romsley would say if you were to present Sir William Lucas to them, or Mrs Bennet? They would think you had gone mad.” Both ladies laughed.
Once again, Bingley was quick to object. “Sir William is a jovial man, and I consider him and the Bennets friends.”
“We are all aware of your sentiments regarding the Bennets, especially the eldest daughter,” Mrs Hurst said, her voice dripping with disapproval. “The way you hang on her every word! Really, Charles, have a care before you find yourself trapped into marrying her.”
“What if I did? The Bennets are respectable?—”
“Mr Bennet is a gentleman,” Mr Hurst interjected. “But Mrs Bennet’s father was in trade, as is her brother, and Mr Philips is nothing more than a country attorney. If you want to improve your social position, aim higher.”
Darcy’s mind drifted as his companions continued their debate about the quality and shortcomings of the local families. His own dilemma took precedence. He understood what the ladies and Mr Hurst meant. Miss Elizabeth had spoken highly of her uncle who lived in town, but the man resided within sight of his warehouses. And while Darcy found Mr Bennet to be an interesting gentleman—a bit gruff, perhaps, but intelligent and learned—he could not foresee ever valuing Mrs Bennet.
Darcy’s brow furrowed as a thought struck him, one that gave him a new perspective on his quandary. Did not most families have someone such as her in them? For example, he had Lady Catherine, who was domineering, rude, and generally unpleasant, especially to those she considered beneath her.
There is less harm in Mrs Bennet, I believe. She wants her daughters to marry to secure their futures, which is understandable, but my aunt wants everyone about her to do whatever she decides is best, without reference to their opinion or well-being.
As for the Miss Bennets…the eldest was too serene for Darcy; it made her appear to lack spirit and intelligence, though he did not believe she was stupid. The three youngest were just that: young. It was clear they had not had the same ad vantages as Georgiana had. His sister would never be as silly as Miss Catherine or whine as much as Miss Lydia did. Miss Mary was an odd mix of self-conscious, seemingly aware of her deficiencies, and conceited.
Elizabeth was the best of them, the shining star in a dark sky, beckoning to him. He knew at that moment that to resist was futile. His fate had been decided the moment he looked at her and decided to ask her to dance.
Heedless of what the others were speaking of, he said, “Miss Bingley, I wonder whether you would find it inconvenient were I to extend my visit?”
“Of course you must stay, Darcy. As long as you like.” Bingley chuckled. “I am not always the most observant chap, but I do not believe I am mistaken when I say the prospect of spending more time with a certain young lady is your motive. Though, naturally, I hope it is also because you find the company at Netherfield agreeable.”
“You are most welcome, Mr Darcy,” Miss Bingley said, shooting her brother a quelling look. “Do not let Charles’s poor excuse of a joke change your mind. I know you would not be so careless as to inadvertently attach yourself to such a girl. I flatter myself that it is the company at Netherfield you prefer.”
This resulted in yet more bickering between the sisters and brother. Faintly, Darcy heard the ladies claim that Elizabeth was too self-satisfied or independent or some such nonsense. Why should he care about their opinions? Even those of his family did not deserve much concern; they loved him and would accept his choice, even if hesitantly. In time, they would learn to love Elizabeth. But that was a problem for another day. At present, he had much rather dream of seeing her again.