Chapter 6 In Defence of Honour
by Hazel R Banks
Netherfield Park, Hertfordshire
Arut in the road jolted Darcy awake, and, cursing silently to himself, he quickly straightened his attire.
It was unusual for him to fall asleep whilst travelling, a result no doubt derived from the many sleepless nights he had endured since that wretched day at Rosings.
Exhaling a shaky breath, Darcy quickly pushed down the maudlin thoughts and let his gaze roam across the countryside.
All too soon, the familiar facade of Netherfield Park loomed into view through his carriage window, returning to where the heartache started for him.
He knew he should not, but like the proverbial moth to the flame, when Bingley said he was to return to Netherfield, how could he not?
He had no time to collect his thoughts as the footman opened the door, and he was ushered up the steps to be greeted by a smiling Bingley.
Darcy’s eyes wandered over the rest of the company as Bingley prattled on with his greetings.
They were exactly as he remembered from the previous autumn: Miss Bingley posed beside her brother, statuesque, preening with delight.
Mr Hurst, in the background, looked as thoroughly uninterested with the arrival of their guest as he did with anything that was not of the edible or drinkable variety, whilst his vapid wife stood beside him, fingering the bracelets on her arm.
If Darcy ever suffered the feeling of having experienced a previous situation, surely this was it.
“Those awful murders.” Miss Bingley’s voice brought him back to the moment.
Clearing his throat, he noticed the assembled looked upon him expectantly. “Pardon me, madam, I was not attending.”
“Why, Mr Darcy, we only remarked whether you had been the latest victim on account of your arriving so late.”
Bingley guffawed. “Now, Caroline, I don’t think the man knows how to be anything less than punctual.
Besides, I cannot see Darcy being overset by dastardly kidnappers, for I know no creature as irritable as Darcy when he travels in a carriage.
With such an awful sight before him, I’m sure the kidnapper would release Darcy back to us! ”
“Moreover,” said Hurst, “this murderer is only abducting fair maidens. I think Mr Darcy will be safe from him.”
What? Darcy frowned. He had not read of murderers and kidnappings in the papers.
“Indeed. I encountered no kidnappers or highwaymen. However, I fear the poor state of the road has given me a headache. You’ll forgive me if I take a short walk.
” Wincing slightly at how wooden his voice sounded, even to himself, he sucked in a steadying breath.
“Darcy, do not tarry!” Bingley called to his retreating back, his voice laced with amusement. “I have accepted an invitation to the twelfth night assembly this evening.”
Darcy strode down the steps without a backward glance, past his startled valet, who was overseeing the removal of his trunks, and set off at a brisk pace towards the park.
He shook his head, aware he had been abominably rude, but he needed to stretch his legs, calm himself…
especially knowing how near she was. Unsurprisingly, his feet led him, of their own accord, to the boundary with Longbourn, and his thoughts took a maudlin turn towards Miss Elizabeth Bennet and her cruel rejection.
As if conjured by his thoughts, she appeared through a gap in the hedgerow, walking in the field beyond.
Darcy felt the familiar constriction in his chest and throat as his eyes greedily drank her in.
Her bonnet, held in her hand by the ribbons, swinging merrily as she strode on, her light and pleasing figure was no doubt the product of her vigorous walks.
He followed, adjacent and hidden behind the border hedge. Perhaps he should approach?
“Ho there!”
Darcy shrank back as Miss Elizabeth paused, hailed by a man Darcy vaguely recognised.
That pompous knight, puffed up with his own self-importance.
What was his name? Sir William, yes, that was it.
Mrs Collins’s father. The gentleman glanced in his direction, and Darcy held his breath, hoping he remained unseen by the hedge, that he might escape the effusions that were sure to come and, worst of all, a repeat of Sir William’s tales of receiving his knighthood at St. James.
“My dear Eliza,” Sir William’s voice boomed. “I had not thought to be presented with such fair company on my walk! Allow me to accompany you.”
“Sir William.” Elizabeth brushed a wayward lock from her face. “I had not thought to see anyone else abroad, given the assembly this evening. Your escort, however, is unnecessary. I am just returning to Longbourn. Do not let me distract you from your business.”
“Ah, but I insist! These are anxious times. What would Bennet say if he knew you were about when the Hertfordshire Hound is still evading capture?”
Darcy watched as a guilty smile crept over Elizabeth’s face at Sir William’s admonishment.
“I know I should not have disobeyed Papa’s orders, but I could not waste such a beautiful day.”
“I was on my way to Longbourn anyway to discuss the latest sightings of the Hound. Come.”
Saying so, Sir William bowed, and casting a furtive glance at the shadows of the hedgerow, led Elizabeth home.
Darcy shrank back, crouching on the balls of his feet as the duo passed his hiding spot.
He rubbed his hands roughly over his eyes, unsure how much more of this torment he could endure.
He raised his eyes to the heavens, if this was a divine punishment being meted out for his past conduct, then it had effectively made its point.
The doors to the assembly rooms opened, and Darcy was bombarded by an intense feeling of familiarity, of remembrance.
Yet so much had occurred since he and Bingley first arrived at Netherfield last November.
A combination of body heat, raucous laughter and chatter from the revellers, and a distinct musty smell, which he supposed emanated from the bodies of those dancing in the oppressively warm rooms, assaulted his senses.
He sighed, his headache heightened. Once again, they were late.
No amount of cajoling had convinced the Netherfield party that tardiness was a sign of incivility and not the grand entrance they imagined.
Darcy’s eye pulsed in time to the discordant tones of the quartet, and he heard little of what Sir William was saying to their party as he led them towards the principal families of the area.
All at once, they were before the Bennet matriarch.
Darcy’s heart leapt with anticipation and just as quickly plummeted when he realised Miss Elizabeth was not amongst their number.
Perhaps she is already dancing, he mused, scanning the crowd, hoping to catch a glimpse of Miss Elizabeth.
“Mr Darcy, I do hope you have come to dance.”
Turning, he saw Mrs Bennet looking at him expectantly whilst the youngest Bennet girl smiled coquettishly. He had obviously tarried in their company too long.
“If you would excuse me, madam.” He bowed, removing himself from their clutches, and wandered the perimeter of the room.
A sudden burst of laughter, a light and melodious sound he would recognise anywhere, caused him to stop.
“Elizabeth,” he whispered. Not ten feet from where he stood, he saw her.
Her eyes alight with mirth as she replied animatedly to whatever her father had said, as a younger gentleman smiled indulgently at the pair.
Odd, he thought, wracking his memories, not remembering Mr Bennet attending that first assembly and having gathered from his previous sojourn to the country that Mr Bennet usually eschewed local merriment.
Such musings were cut short as the younger gentleman took Miss Elizabeth’s hand and led her to join the set.
Jealousy swirled within him like a tempest as he watched the dance proceed.
Her beguiling eyes lit with merriment at the antics of her partner, who was, in Darcy’s opinion, rather more buoyant than the dance called for.
His heart clenched. She had never looked at him that way.
Unable to watch anymore, he slunk away, pondering, not for the first time, how he would ever win her regard.
Why had he even agreed to come to this blasted assembly? His black mood deepened as Miss Bingley walked in his direction. In no mood to listen to her social commentary on the denizens of Meryton, he retreated farther, until a pillar half obscured him.
From his hiding place, he watched in disgust as the Bennets once again made a spectacle of themselves, the two youngest and the mother as brash and uncouth as he remembered, shouting and running about in a most unseemly manner.
Surely Miss Elizabeth was as uncomfortable with their behaviour as he.
A clap to his shoulder brought him out of his reverie, and he turned to see a beaming Bingley at his side.
“Come, Darcy!” he said, “I cannot have you standing around in this stupid, sullen manner. This is too reminiscent of our first assembly here. Why, you will scare the locals into thinking the Hertfordshire Hound is among them!”
Darcy fought the urge to roll his eyes as Bingley chuckled at his own joke.
“You had much better dance than frown at my neighbours, and it should be done with alacrity before the cry for the pitchforks and torches goes up!”
“I certainly shall not. You know I have a headache. It would be as much a punishment for me as whatever wallflower you try to press upon me.” His conscience chaffed at this notion as his eyes turned to survey the dance floor, seeking Miss Elizabeth, though she was not among the dancers lining up for the next.
Darcy frowned, using his height to his advantage; his eyes swept over the perimeter of the room, only half listening to his friend.