Chapter 5
Any hope Elizabeth had experienced upon first encountering Mr Darcy on Longbourn’s drive was checked by the tension that radiated from his person as he escorted her indoors. He had seemed so troubled when she encountered him in the garden, and though she rightly supposed that his conversation with Mr Wickham had been anything but pleasant, Elizabeth could not help but worry that she herself was contributing to his sombre demeanour. Why had he returned to Hertfordshire? Did he simply wish to support his friend? Could he possibly still care for her?
His voice, that deep, melodious rumble, brought her to a halt outside the door to her family’s parlour. Eyes fixed upon her own, Mr Darcy’s countenance had lost none of its reserve, though she thought perhaps a flicker of concern passed over his face.
“I-I wanted you to know that?—”
“Lizzy, child! Whatever are you doing lingering about in the hall? I am sure Mr Darcy would prefer his tea and cake to standing about in such a silly manner!” Mrs Bennet’s shrill tones had interrupted whatever Mr Darcy had wished to impart, and Elizabeth could only cringe in embarrassment as she led the gentleman inside.
Perhaps one day—far, far into the future—Elizabeth would reflect back upon the truly odd gathering before her with some of her habitual humour and liveliness, but sadly, that day was decidedly not in the offing. Lydia sat on the chaise longue, her ankle raised high under a precarious set of ruffled pillows, while her husband gathered sweets onto a plate at her loud and waspish direction. Mr Bingley hovered by the tea service, shadowing Jane as she prepared his cup as best she could, while in his anxious state the poor gentleman knocked the spoons to the floor. Mama, with her ever-fluttering lace handkerchief, was flanked by Mary and Kitty on the large sofa. Mary’s face was buried in yet another book of severe sermons that she only neglected on occasion in favour of glaring at Lydia, and Kitty lounged off the opposite side in a posture that all but confirmed the absence of a governess to any interested observer. Her father, who might have derived some genuine amusement at the unfolding scene, was secluded in his book room per usual.
Unable to bear the likelihood of Mr Darcy’s stony gaze, a mortified Elizabeth gestured to the unoccupied chairs by the fireplace.
“I ought to help Jane serve the tea. Please, do sit down.” With eyes still trained upon the floor, Elizabeth bustled over to Jane’s side. “Mr Bingley, why do you not sit with your friend by the fire, and I shall assist Jane?” Pointing to the vacant seats, Elizabeth glanced briefly at Darcy, who sat stiff and tall with hard eyes following Mr Wickham.
“Of course, Miss Elizabeth—uh…I trust you will be a more able assistant than I—that is…I shall just go sit by Darcy, shall I?”
As Mr Bingley wandered over to his friend, Elizabeth collected the fallen spoons before Jane turned to her, a look of distress written upon her beautiful features.
“I do not know if I shall survive this visit! Mama was completely shameful while you were out of doors. I fear she will bully the poor man into a proposal, and I cannot yet tell if that is Mr Bingley’s intent in returning. Perhaps he merely wishes to make amends for quitting the neighbourhood so suddenly last year.” Her voice was only a murmur, but the anxiety in it was obvious.
“Mama’s behaviour aside, I cannot believe that you still doubt his feelings for you,” Elizabeth replied with a look of consternation.
Cannot Jane see the way Mr Bingley looks at her?As far as I can tell, he wears his heart upon his sleeve.Would that his friend do the same!
“Truly, Jane, though Mama may not know the best way to go about it, I believe she sees as clearly as the rest of us that this visit is entirely for you.”
“Whatever else may happen, please promise me that you will not leave my side. I know Mama will try to arrange a private interview, and I cannot bear the scrutiny yet. Perhaps if he visits again, I may be able to maintain my composure, but not yet—not yet. I am simply too nervous!”
Though she had compassion for her sister, gentle as she was, Mr Darcy’s obvious tension in company with the Wickhams and Elizabeth’s own current unease with Mr Wickham in particular, rendered Jane’s plight rather trifling by comparison.
And then there was the matter of Mr Darcy himself. Why had he returned? He cannot possibly still love me, no—but, what if he does? Hope was a fickle thing indeed.
“Why do you not take Mr Bingley his tea and join the gentlemen by the fire? I shall be swift to join you, I promise, and then you can converse among friends. That cannot be so intimidating, surely?”
“You will not be long?” Jane queried, her disquiet obviously lessened by Elizabeth’s reassurances.
“Of course not. I simply mean to prepare Mr Darcy’s tea.”
At her sister’s nod, Elizabeth turned back to the parlour table, searching for the lemon slices. As she added a slice to a freshly poured cup, she inwardly marvelled at her knowledge of Mr Darcy’s preferences. Perhaps she had always paid a bit more attention to the gentleman than she had previously cared to admit.
“I see you have anticipated me, Sister.”
An unwelcome voice at her shoulder halted Elizabeth’s progress, her spine stiffening as she realised the close proximity of Mr Wickham.
“Let me see…no sugar, lemon wedge. For shame, Elizabeth! You must know by now that I take my tea with milk and sugar. After all, one must enjoy the sweet things in life.” Mr Wickham sent her a leering grin that set Elizabeth’s teeth on edge. “Now why is this particular drink so familiar?” Wickham pondered, tapping his chin in thought that was clearly feigned.
“Oh, I do not know,” Elizabeth countered, her voice airy and everything insincere. “Perhaps you are not so familiar with the customs of polite society as I once thought.”
With a tight smile and no opportunity for a rejoinder, Elizabeth left to join her sister and the Netherfield gentlemen.
“Your tea, sir.”
“Thank you, Miss Elizabeth.” Mr Darcy took his cup, and though she could not be certain, Elizabeth thought she observed a small smile cross his visage as he peered down into the porcelain. His sombre mien returned swiftly, though his eyes conveyed sincere concern as they flickered between her and Mr Wickham. “You are well, I trust?”
“Of course. I believe I have told you before that my courage always rises at every attempt to intimidate me,” Elizabeth assured him, her tone light and teasing.
Rather than allaying his unease, her attempt at levity only brought about an even sterner expression on the gentleman’s face as he directed a cold, piercing gaze at her brother-in-law.
Sensing the perturbation of his friend, Mr Bingley gallantly addressed the newly married couple. “I say, I have been quite remiss in offering my congratulations on your nuptials.”
Preening at the attention, Lydia replied, “Thank you, Mr Bingley. My dear Wickham and I are so exceedingly happy! We were married in London, you know, which is far more fashionable than stuffy old Meryton. But then, you must know all about it already for Mr Da?—”
“Lydia my sweet,” Mr Wickham interrupted, glancing nervously at Darcy before continuing. “You must not bore the gentlemen with talk of the wedding. After all, lace and fripperies matter little to anyone other than the bride.”
After a brittle smile and a sharp look at his wife, Wickham turned to Mr Bingley. “As my wife said, we are truly quite joyful at our union, and I certainly cannot repine the connexions I have obtained. My sisters are everything delightful, are they not?”
Staring down into her teacup, Elizabeth could feel Wickham’s gaze settle quite pointedly in her direction.
“Have you any news of the Gardiners, Miss Elizabeth? That is—I hope they are well. I greatly enjoyed making their acquaintance this summer,” Mr Darcy interjected.
Stunned into silence, Elizabeth could only stare at Mr Darcy as she tried to think of something to say that would not disclose the information she had recently received from her aunt. If only his otherwise gracious attempt at redirecting the conversation could have been about anything else!
“You are acquainted with my brother and his wife?” Mrs Bennet’s surprised voice rang out across the parlour.
“Yes, madam. I had the pleasure of meeting them in Derbyshire at my estate while they were travelling with Miss Elizabeth.”
“Lizzy, you never mentioned meeting Mr Darcy on your travels!”
Wincing at her mother’s scolding tone, Elizabeth chanced a look at Mr Darcy only to see him studiously observing his boots. How had this day become such a muddle?
“’Twas no secret, Mama. There simply was not the opportunity to tell you, what with all the events that transpired upon my return.” Elizabeth could not help glancing briefly at Lydia and her husband before quickly returning her focus to her tea.
Looking between Elizabeth and Mr Darcy, Lydia suddenly exclaimed, “Oh, so that is how he?—”
“Lydia, my love. I believe you require some fresh air—a turn in the garden perhaps? Come, let me assist you.” Without so much as another word, Mr Wickham swept his wife into his arms and carried her out of the room, her wrapped ankle leading the way out the parlour door.
“What a dashing young man! That is, I am sure he meant to properly take his leave of you gentlemen,” Mrs Bennet surmised, looking out the door in confusion after the Wickhams’ hasty exit.
“It is no matter, madam, though I believe Bingley and I ought to depart. We have business with his steward.” Mr Darcy looked directly at his friend who was still staring longingly at Jane. “Bingley?”
“What? Oh yes, quite right.” Collecting himself, Mr Bingley stood before addressing Jane. “I do hope we may call again tomorrow?”
With a slight blush in her cheeks, Jane quietly replied, “We shall always be happy to welcome you, sir.”
Together with her sister and at their mother’s insistence, Elizabeth saw the gentlemen to the door. After they donned their coats and hats and mounted their steeds, Elizabeth watched them ride off, overcome with wretchedness that Mr Darcy had to endure what was perhaps one of the worst and most awkward calls that had ever taken place at Longbourn—a feat of some significance. If only she had the power to wish the irksome Wickhams far, far away, and the ability to wish the handsome, serious gentleman from Derbyshire back.