Chapter Eighteen
Netherfield
Darcy
“Ah, Mr. Darcy, I was meaning to ask you about the lady with whom you danced last night.” Caroline Bingley smiled with an excess of sweetness scarcely calculated to disguise her curiosity.
Darcy had barely taken his seat at the breakfast table before she continued. “Miss Elizabeth Bennet, I believe?”
Darcy rubbed a hand over his eyes. He had slept badly, his mind returning far too often to the previous evening and, in particular, to every opportunity he had allowed to pass without telling Elizabeth plainly about the letters or explaining the extraordinary manner in which he had come to know so much of her.
He looked around the breakfast table before his gaze settled upon Caroline. She had not actually asked him anything, and Darcy knew her well enough to recognise the invitation for what it was. She wished to discuss Elizabeth and expected him to provide the means of beginning.
Ever since Darcy had become acquainted with Bingley, his sisters had regarded him as a desirable addition to the family.
Louisa’s marriage to Mr. Hurst four years earlier had only made Caroline’s intentions more apparent, and she had since developed an unfortunate habit of enquiring into any unmarried woman who received more than passing attention from him.
The habit became particularly pronounced whenever the lady in question possessed fewer advantages of fortune or consequence than Caroline herself.
Darcy suspected Miss Elizabeth Bennet was about to receive the same treatment.
“Yes, Miss Elizabeth,” Bingley supplied, thankfully relieving Darcy of the necessity of answering. “She is the younger sister of Miss Jane Bennet, with whom I danced twice.”
“Ah, Charles,” Caroline said, turning towards her brother with an indulgent smile. “I assure you, nobody at the assembly could have failed to observe your admiration of Miss Bennet. I was speaking of Mr. Darcy’s rather more surprising enthusiasm.”
Darcy reached for his coffee. “Was it surprising?”
“Three dances with the same lady?” Caroline’s brows rose. “From you, certainly.”
“I thought Miss Elizabeth very agreeable,” Darcy replied, giving the matter no more emphasis than he could help.
“Agreeable?” Mrs. Hurst repeated from across the table. She exchanged a glance with her sister. “I suppose she is tolerably pretty, though I cannot say I discovered anything extraordinary in her.”
“Her eyes are very fine,” Darcy said before considering whether silence might have served him better.
Caroline's attention sharpened immediately. “Her eyes?”
Darcy occupied himself with his coffee.
Mr. Hurst, who had thus far shown considerably greater interest in his breakfast than in any Bennet, looked up. “Which one was she?”
“The second Miss Bennet,” Louisa reminded him. “The dark-haired one Darcy danced with all evening.”
“Ah.” Hurst returned to his plate. “Pretty enough.”
Bingley laughed. “A ringing endorsement, Hurst. I am sure Miss Elizabeth would be gratified.”
“I thought her rather lively,” Caroline continued. “Though perhaps a little too determined to be clever. There is something fatiguing in a woman who must find amusement in everything.”
Darcy's gaze lifted from his cup. He had read enough of Elizabeth's letters to know how poorly Caroline had understood her, but he could hardly defend Elizabeth with knowledge he had no right to possess.
“I found nothing fatiguing in her conversation,” he said simply.
“No,” Caroline said, her smile returning. “That much was evident.”
“Caroline,” Bingley protested, though he was grinning. “Darcy danced three sets with an agreeable woman. Must we conduct an enquiry into it over breakfast?”
“I am only curious. It is so unlike him.” She turned back to Darcy. “Indeed, I cannot remember the last time you danced three times with the same lady.”
Neither could Darcy.
Mrs. Hurst buttered a piece of toast as she considered him. “You must admit, Mr. Darcy, that you invited speculation. Half the room had noticed before the second set was finished.”
Darcy had not considered that aspect of the matter until Elizabeth herself had pointed it out. His sole intention had been to prevent Sotherton from troubling her again. Only later had he recognised how readily such particular attention might be interpreted by everyone else.
Darcy forked some eggs and ate quietly, aware that Caroline and Mrs. Hurst still looked towards him, plainly expecting a response. “I daresay the inhabitants of Meryton will survive the mystery,” he said at last, hoping that would put the matter to rest.
Bingley laughed aloud, but Caroline appeared less easily discouraged. “Then there is a mystery.”
“There was an assembly,” Darcy corrected, “at which I danced with a lady whose company I found pleasant. I assure you, Caroline, nothing more extraordinary occurred.”
The answer seemed to satisfy everyone except Caroline. She appeared, however, to recognise the futility of pursuing the subject any further and returned to her breakfast, the sweetness of her earlier smile quite gone.
“I mean to call at Longbourn tomorrow,” Bingley said, returning his attention to his breakfast. “Sir William tells me Mr. Bennet is a sensible sort of man, and as he was one of the few gentlemen I did not meet at the assembly, I can hardly neglect the opportunity of making his acquaintance.”
Caroline nodded with a mocking air, her disapproval evident. “How very diligent of you, Charles. Two dances with Miss Bennet, and already you find yourself anxious to make the acquaintance of her father.”
“It is only civil to make the acquaintance of one’s neighbours,” Bingley replied cheerfully. He glanced towards Darcy. “You will come with me, of course.”
Darcy took a measured drink of coffee. “If you wish it.”
Bingley appeared perfectly satisfied with this answer.
Darcy continued with his breakfast, hoping the subject might finally be abandoned.
Unfortunately, the moment he lowered his eyes, his thoughts returned not to the conversation before him, but to Elizabeth Bennet’s expression when she had placed her hand in his, accompanied now by the unsettling reminder that he would see her again tomorrow.
~
After breakfast, Darcy returned to his bedchamber, but the conversation at the table had recalled another matter which required his attention.
Six days had passed since he left Willowbrook.
Before the recent interruption in her correspondence, Elizabeth had written with sufficient regularity that another letter might already be making its way towards Somerset.
There was some chance, however, that she had delayed by a day or two, as she occasionally did.
He would see her at Longbourn tomorrow and, if the opportunity presented itself, could finally explain what he knew of Julia’s disappearance.
Until then, Elizabeth had no reason to cease writing.
She might already have written her usual letter, or might do so sometime that day, before she knew there was no longer any purpose in directing it to Willowbrook.
In either case, the assembly would almost certainly find its way into the account, and perhaps the gentleman with whom she had danced three sets.
The thought made Darcy reach almost immediately for a sheet of paper, though his conscience was equally quick to remind him that curiosity concerning what Elizabeth might write of him was hardly a respectable motive.
He wrote to the housekeeper he had left at Willowbrook, directing that any correspondence which arrived for Miss Julia Harding was neither to be returned nor left amongst the ordinary post, but forwarded unopened to him at Netherfield Park until further instructions were given.
Darcy paused before sanding the note. It was a perfectly sensible arrangement.
The previous letters were already in his possession, Mr. Humphrey's enquiries remained unfinished, and any further correspondence ought naturally to remain with the rest until Julia Harding's direction could be discovered.
Tomorrow, moreover, he might finally be able to tell Elizabeth enough of the truth to put an end to the correspondence altogether.
He noticed, with some discomfort, how readily tomorrow had become his answer to everything these past two days.
Tomorrow he would tell her plainly how the letters had come into his possession and how much he had learned through them.
Tomorrow he would put an end to a concealment that grew more difficult to excuse with every hour.
He had promised himself much the same at the assembly, only to dance three sets with her without saying a word of it.
Yet his mind supplied another consideration without invitation.
Elizabeth rarely allowed an event she considered worth relating to Julia to pass unwritten for very long. The previous evening had certainly given her something to relate.
And so, instead of resolving to tell her the moment he saw her, Darcy found himself hoping her letter was already on its way to Willowbrook. He wanted, before he was obliged to account for how much he already knew of Elizabeth Bennet, to discover what she had made of him.