CHAPTER 3
Mr. Bingley, having secured a bride, a licence, and a date, discovered within a week that he had not yet ensured that his new estate was fit to receive his new bride, and, without his sisters’ help, he threw himself into the remedy of this oversight.
Soon enough, paper-hangers were summoned from Meryton, a man came from London about the drawing-room curtains, and Bingley himself, who had never in his life had given any opinion on upholstery, had developed, almost overnight, a strong conviction that the morning room wanted repapering before he could bear to bring a wife into it.
"You must come and tell me what you think of it, Jane," he had written, in a note delivered to Longbourn before the household was properly awake, "for I have no notion what a lady wants in a morning room, only that I want you to have exactly that thing, whatever it is, and I cannot trust myself to choose it without you. "
Jane went gladly; but propriety, as Mrs. Bennet was swift to point out, could not permit an engaged young lady to spend the better part of a morning alone in a gentleman's house, however soon that house was to be her own, without some further member of the family in attendance.
Thus, Elizabeth was assigned to accompany her sister; it was a commission she gladly accepted, remarking to Jane on the carriage ride over that she considered herself a very poor sort of chaperone, being neither old enough nor grave enough to inspire much confidence in her own authority, but that she would do her best to look severe if ever Mr. Bingley came near.
The sisters laughed at Elizabeth’s tease, and were both eager to see what Mr. Bingley had been up to.
At Netherfield, however, propriety was rather better served by circumstance than by Elizabeth's supervision, for Bingley and Jane were shortly closeted in the morning room with a paper-hanger and draper and no less than six pattern-books between them, leaving Elizabeth, after the first quarter of an hour, entirely without occupation.
Seeing that the draper from London was an acceptable enough presence of propriety in the room, English wandered, without much thought, into an adjoining room where she found a large quantity of fabric laid out upon every available surface in preparation for new curtains.
There were bolts of muslin and damask, a workbasket left open, and a great tangle of ribbon and trimming.
She noticed too that some industrious hand had begun to sort out the tangles, but had not yet finished.
Finding nothing better to do, and being unable to resist the temptation of an unfinished task, Elizabeth set herself to sorting the ribbons properly.
She sat down on a low stool amid the fabric, and placed her bonnet aside, while she rolled her sleeves up, and began to become quite absorbed in matching one length of blue ribbon against another.
She was thus engrossed in her work when the door opened behind her and a gentleman's firm voice addressed her without ceremony.
"You there; is this the whole of the trimming that came up from London, or is there more to follow? Mr. Bingley wants to know before he commits to the damask."
Without turning from her task, Elizabeth, thinking the man some worker, rather enjoyed the novelty of his unceremonious address, and replied in the same practical tone she supposed the occasion required. "I could not say, sir. I have only just begun to sort what is here."
"Then you had better make haste with it,” his tone sounded somewhat annoyed. “The paper-hangers cannot proceed with the morning room until the colours are settled between them, and Mr. Bingley is not a patient man where his own comfort is concerned."
She smiled, but he could not see it, as her back was still turned to him. "I had not observed that particular fault in him, sir, though I confess our acquaintance is not of long standing."
"No," said the voice, coming nearer, "I do not suppose it can be, if you have only just come up. Are you from the village, or did Mrs. Nicholls send to town for you?"
It was at this point that Elizabeth turned, and found herself looking up into the face of a gentleman, one whom she had not yet had the honour of meeting.
The man stood gravely, his expression composed but for a certain tightness about the mouth that suggested was not entirely delighted in his present employment.
At the same time, Elizabeth also noticed how tall and handsome he was, with broad shoulders, and a well-defined jaw.
His dark eyes loomed on her, waiting for a response.
The more Elizabeth stared, the graver he became, she thought, at the circumstances in which he found himself, which seemed, at that moment, to consist of nothing more than helping Mr. Bingley sort out the rushed and haphazard upkeep of a house that gentleman had taken it into his head to remodel within a fortnight of his wedding.
It was not, she suspected, an occupation Mr. Darcy seemed to have chosen for himself, and he wore the whole business with the particular ill grace of a man offering a favour he had not thought to refuse when it was asked of him, and now had not the heart, or perhaps only not the excuse, to abandon.
"Neither, sir," said Elizabeth, rising from the stool with a composure to match his own, though her eyes betrayed considerably more enjoyment than her voice.
"I came from Longbourn, with my sister, who is at this moment choosing wallpaper in the next room and will shortly be mistress of this house. "
Darcy's countenance underwent an instantaneous change, as Elizabeth watched gravity replaced with the profound.
Indeed, she found herself, afterward, quite unable to forget it.
His mouth twitched, as though a word had risen and been swallowed before it could embarrass him further, and his brows drew together in a swift, startled contraction, his whole face betraying a man caught entirely unprepared.
There was another moment of silence, before he spoke, sounding as if he had finally registered his error, "Then you are Miss Bennet's sister."
"I am, sir. Miss Elizabeth Bennet," Elizabeth replied with a graceful curtsey. "And I do forgive you for assigning me a character that was never mine.” A mischievous smile touched her lips. "Though I confess, I suppose I did look every inch the respectable draper."
"I assure you, Miss Bennet, I address everyone with equal propriety,” Darcy replied with composure, though a trace of annoyance crept into his tone.
He was, in truth, positively annoyed at Bingley and the disordered state of his household that he had only just walked into moments ago.
In fact, he was frustrated at the entire blasted situation.
Darcy had crossed half of England anticipating nothing more demanding than a few days of shooting and the opportunity to become acquainted with the family of Bingley's intended bride.
Instead, he found himself, upon his arrival not half an hour prior, directing the refurbishment of a neglected house, which were matters, he thought, ought to have occupied a competent housekeeper or mistress herself.
Elizabeth’s voice cut into Darcy’s reflections.
"You addressed me a moment ago as though I were in Mrs. Nicholls's employment, sir, and instructed me to make haste with the ribbon.
I do not think that was properly addressing a lady, however properly it might have addressed a housemaid.
" She raised her eyebrows, knowing she was right in the matter.
"I had no means of knowing you were a lady," said Darcy, with the stiffness of a man unused to defending himself. "You were seated upon the chair among the curtain trimmings, with your sleeves turned back, engaged in work. Why yes, Miss Bennet, I had every reason to suppose you were a servant."
As he spoke, he caught the unmistakable quirk of a smile at the corner of Miss Bennet's mouth; it was as if she found his explanation infinitely more diverting than convincing.
Her eyes shone with that lively intelligence which invariably preceded some impertinent reply, and Darcy found his irritation deepening.
"And finding a young woman so engaged, you concluded at once that she must be one, rather than allowing for the possibility that a lady might occasionally employ her own hands when she found herself with nothing better to do.
I begin to understand you, Mr. Darcy, for I collect you must be Mr. Darcy, there being no other gentleman expected who might address a stranger with such perfect confidence in his own judgment. "
"I collect I must be," said Darcy, with a dryness that did not entirely conceal his discomfort, "since you have already formed so complete a picture of me."
Elizabeth regarded him for a long moment. At first, she had found his justification diverting, as there was something undeniably satisfying in watching this proud, taciturn gentleman attempt to excuse so absurd a mistake.
However, the more he spoke, the more her amusement diminished. He appeared determined to defend his conduct rather than acknowledge its deficiency, as though the fault lay not in the manner of his address but in her failure to receive it as he had intended.
After a while, she felt inclined to correct the man. If you truly did not perceive how poorly you had acquitted yourself, someone ought to tell you.
"Mr. Darcy, I think a single sentence can speak volumes. Why, if I consider what I heard, you certainly did not say, 'I wonder whether you might know,' or, 'Pray forgive me, but could you direct me?' You merely said, 'You there,' as though I were expected to answer because you had spoken."
Darcy released a quiet breath attempting to master his patience, while struggling to decide whether he was more irritated by her accusation or by the uncomfortable realization that she was not entirely wrong.
"It seems you are determined to make a fault of it," he said at last, pride winning through his better judgement.
His tone was serious, and had an edge of vexation.