Chapter 9
Darcy’s Bedchamber
Netherfield Hall
Two Hours Past Midnight
The ticking of the mantel clock and the crackling of the fire were the only sounds to disturb the nocturnal peace that wrapped around Netherfield Hall like a blanket.
Inside, all the occupied bedchambers were comfortable, their fireplaces well filled with wood, and the sheets pleasant from the warming pans.
There was, in short, no physical reason for Darcy to still be lying awake at two hours past midnight.
He had always preferred country hours to town hours and thus should be deeply and dreamlessly asleep.
Yet here he lay, his mind caught in a turmoil that did not allow for repose.
Over and over again, his mind replayed in vivid detail the moment when Miss Elizabeth had leaned in, fine brown eyes snapping as they met his, and murmured his own words back to him.
His stomach twisted as confusion and mortification clouded his mind.
After Miss Elizabeth's stinging rejection and departure, Darcy had mostly lurked in the corners, ostensibly observing the festivities while he turned Miss Elizabeth's pointed refusal over and over in his mind.
He had taken leave of his hosts through the same fog of preoccupation and vaguely remembered absent responses to Bingley's attempts at conversation in the carriage on the way home until his younger friend had given up.
Darcy had readied for bed as though in a dream, and only now, the lone wakeful soul in the silent house, did he really feel fully aware. Overwrought as he was, clear thought seemed an impossibility.
Yet clear thought really was imperative.
He had brooded long enough now, Darcy told himself sternly, and it was time to think clearly. He took a deep, slow breath, and then another, in the way he had learned long ago when uncertainty would take hold. When his mind was calm, he stopped his breathing exercises and cogitated.
First of all, Miss Elizabeth had obviously overheard his insult at the Meryton assembly when he had only just arrived.
The very acknowledgment of this caused him to wince and sent him perilously back towards spiraling in confusion and dismay.
With an effort, Darcy pulled himself back from that brink, clearing his mind again.
It was, he acknowledged with an uncomfortable frisson of guilt, no great surprise that she had heard him.
He had not taken any pains to moderate his voice, absorbed as he had been in his own foul mood and irritated with Bingley for pressuring him to dance when he plainly did not wish to do so.
Shame pooled hot in his gut. It had been an unworthy comment as well as an untrue one.
Darcy recognized that he had been unpardonably rude to one of the most genuinely attractive women he had ever beheld.
He had insulted her looks to her very face and disdained asking her to dance when there were few gentlemen available.
She had evidently put him down as a complete boor, and Darcy realized that she was right.
His mother would be ashamed of him speaking of a lady in such a way.
His father would be starkly disappointed, and even his uncle, the Earl of Matlock, would not be pleased to hear that his nephew had allowed his temper to get the better of him to such a degree.
The thought of the disapprobation of all these near and dear relations was disturbing, but what really cut up his peace was the memory of Miss Elizabeth's smiling contempt as she returned his insult.
Darcy did not want Miss Elizabeth's contempt.
The truth was that she intrigued and fascinated him.
He had never met a lady so effortlessly mysterious.
Oh, there were girls in London who desired to be mysterious, who emulated mystery, but Darcy invariably found them trite and tiresome.
None of them, with their flirting fans and soulful gazing into the distance, possessed even a fraction of Miss Elizabeth's ready wit and unmistakable intelligence, none of her inherent charm and fascination.
Not that Darcy could even consider making any serious overtures as a suitor.
Miss Elizabeth was exceedingly attractive, but she was not worthy of Darcy of Pemberley.
Perhaps some cruel trick of genetics had endowed her with beauty and wisdom, but her connections were execrable, her wealth a mere pittance, her progenitors an embarrassment.
Her mother was vulgar and her father was an absentee landlord of his own estate, pursuing an interest in astronomy no less, which was not a dishonorable study in itself, but certainly not where the man's legitimate responsibilities lay.
Strictly speaking, such a woman had no right to look down on him, but here in Hertfordshire they had never heard of Darcy of Pemberley, and her first impression of him had been one of shocking rudeness. Darcy did not blame her at all for her low opinion of him, no matter how it stung.
He sighed heavily and turned onto his side to face the fire.
The flames had died down now to glowing red embers, and he watched them idly, torpor finally settling heavily on his limbs.
He would just have to work to prove her wrong, that was all.
From henceforth he would be the very model of a perfect gentleman and reform Miss Elizabeth’s view of him.
Between the comfort of this final conclusion and resolution, the late hour, and the pleasant warmth of his comfortable bed, Darcy at last found sleep.
***
Breakfast Parlor
Netherfield Hall
Morning
Caroline Bingley suppressed a yawn and took a sip of tea mixed with fresh milk. That was, at least, one pleasant thing about living in the country; the milk and eggs were fresh and tasty.
There were far more irritations than benefits, though, and she cast a weary look outside the window. The dark clouds reflected her own gloomy spirits. She was so incredibly tired of the country.
“Sisters,” her brother said from the head of the table where he was plowing his way through his meal. “I have been thinking about it, and I believe it would be a neighborly thing to host a ball here at Netherfield for our neighbors.”
Caroline choked on her tea and coughed so hard that Louisa, who was seated beside her, had to pound her on the back. When she had sufficiently recovered, she directed angry eyes at her brother, who was now regarding her with concern.
“Are you all right, Caroline?”
“Yes … but no, I am not! Oh, Charles, you cannot be serious about hosting a ball for our entirely tedious neighbors. It is quite absurd!”
“It is not absurd in the least,” her brother replied with a mulish expression on his face.
“I do not know how many times I need to say this. It is important that I prove a friendly neighbor to the families in the area, and Netherfield has a large ballroom, which I daresay has not been used in some years.”
“But…,” Caroline began and then turned as Mr. Darcy entered the room.
She was surprised since Darcy usually rose and breakfasted early, but she quickly transformed her expression from peevish to cheerful, and said, “Mr. Darcy, good morning. I hope you will help us with a disagreement we are having. Charles is wishful of hosting a ball for the neighborhood, and I am certain you agree with me that such an endeavor would be far too much work, not to mention completely tiresome, given the nature of the local society.”
Mr. Darcy frowned and looked at Bingley, who said, “And I contend that as the current master of Netherfield, it is important that I show my hospitality to the community.”
Caroline kept a smug gaze on Darcy, who was, she knew, even less enthused with the local society than she was.
“I think that is a good idea, Bingley,” Darcy said to her complete and utter shock, “though perhaps it would be wise to consult with some of the local families to determine the details. I am not certain what day of the week would be best, for example.”
Charles looked as startled as Caroline felt, but he was obviously pleased at his friend’s support. “That is an excellent idea. Perhaps we could call on the Bennets today?”
“Yes, or the Lucases,” Darcy replied, walking over to pour himself some coffee. “I believe the Bennets and the Lucases are the preeminent families in the neighborhood.”
“I would prefer the Bennets,” Bingley replied promptly, and Caroline could not suppress a moan of dismay, along with a resentful look at Mr. Darcy.
She had thought the master of Pemberley would be sensible enough to convince Charles not to host a ball, and it was worse still that they were now also intending to call on the Bennets.
She really ought to have attended the dinner at Lucas Lodge last night, but she had, at the last minute, found herself unable to stomach such a dull evening, and had cried off with claims of a headache.
No doubt Charles had spent the evening ogling Miss Jane Bennet, and while Caroline had trusted Mr. Darcy to keep an eye on the situation, it appeared that it was time for her to take a hand in making certain that Charles did not offer for the hand of the lovely eldest daughter of Longbourn.