Chapter 5 #4
At last, the party was obliged to depart. Farewells were exchanged. Sir William expressed his gratitude in expansive terms. Lady Lucas pressed Bingley to come again. Miss Lucas curtsied with composure. The Bennets prepared to leave shortly after, and Darcy found himself with one final opportunity.
Miss Elizabeth stood near the door, fastening her glove.
He moved toward her. “Miss Bennet.”
She faced him, brows raised. “Yes, Mr. Darcy?”
The words were civil. Nothing more.
“I wished—”
“Lizzy, there you are,” Jane said, approaching. “Mama is ready.”
Miss Elizabeth’s gaze did not instantly leave Darcy’s face.
For one instant, he thought she might allow him to continue. Then she smiled. “Good evening, Mr. Darcy.” She turned and went to her sister.
Darcy stood with the sentence unfinished again.
In the carriage, the Netherfield party arranged itself with less cheer than Bingley might have desired.
Bingley, however, supplied enough satisfaction for them all. “A most agreeable evening. I cannot recall when I have passed one better.”
Mrs. Hurst leaned back against the cushions. “You are easily pleased.”
“I hope always to remain so.”
Mr. Hurst said nothing, already half asleep.
Miss Bingley sat opposite Darcy, her posture perfect, her expression composed to the point of severity. She said very little. That troubled him more than her complaints might have done. She was not indifferent. She was calculating.
The remark about fine eyes had been a mistake. In attempting to understand Miss Elizabeth, he had given Miss Bingley a weapon. She would not use it openly at first. She was too practiced for that. But she had heard him. She had marked his attention. She would act upon it.
Irritation tightened across his shoulders.
Bingley, unaware or unwilling to attend to it, continued in high spirits. “Miss Bennet danced beautifully. Did you not think so, Darcy?”
“Very much so.”
“And Miss Elizabeth? I saw you ask her.”
Miss Bingley’s gaze was like flint.
Darcy looked out the window. “She declined.”
Bingley’s tone held amusement. “So, she did.”
Miss Bingley spoke at last. “A remarkable display of confidence.”
Darcy turned his head. “A lady may decline a dance.”
“Of course. Though some ladies make a virtue of being difficult.”
His frown went unnoticed in the dark carriage. “Miss Bennet presented no difficulty.”
“No?” Miss Bingley’s smile was slight. “How generous you are this evening.”
Bingley glanced between them and, with admirable wisdom, directed the conversation elsewhere.
Darcy turned his attention back to the darkness beyond the glass.
The road carried them toward Netherfield. The wheels moved steadily over the uneven surface, and the sounds of the evening gradually receded behind them.
He had failed again.
The thought sat poorly with him.
By this hour, Thomas and Toby would be expecting progress. They would look for honor, action, and amendment. Two boys of tender years had passed judgment upon him and found him wanting. Absurd as the notion might have seemed, it possessed a force he could not dismiss.
They would be disappointed. Worse, they would be right.
Darcy leaned back against the seat, his mouth settling into a firm line.
At the next opportunity, he would apologize. Properly. Without Miss Bingley near enough to overhear. Without interruption or failure.
Whether Miss Elizabeth Bennet intended to allow it was another question entirely.
The carriage lamps cast a wavering light upon the road, illuminating little beyond the narrow stretch before them. Within, conversation had diminished. Even Bingley’s spirits, though never subdued, had settled into a quieter satisfaction, his thoughts plainly engaged elsewhere.
Darcy remained silent.
Miss Bingley’s composure was outwardly unchanged; a new tension lay beneath it—a restraint more deliberate than before. She had said very little since her last remark, but her attention remained keenly fixed. He could feel it without turning in her direction.
That, too, was a consequence of his own making.
He shifted slightly, drawing his gloves more tightly into his hand. The motion provided a small occupation, though it did little to steady his thoughts.
Miss Elizabeth’s final look returned to him.
It had contained neither coldness nor cutting reproach.
It had simply conveyed resolve.
She had refused him with perfect ease.
That, perhaps, was the greater difficulty.
A sharper response might have invited an answer. Open displeasure might have offered an opportunity for explanation. This quiet dismissal left him with nothing to confront except his own error.
Across from him, Miss Bingley adjusted her shawl with a care approaching precision. The movement drew his attention despite himself. She kept her gaze elsewhere.
Darcy understood her well enough.
He had given her ample cause for speculation, and she would be certain to make use of it.
He turned his gaze once more toward the darkened window.
The outline of Netherfield would soon come into view. The evening would end.
The matter, however, remained unsettled.
He had every intention of setting it right.