Chapter 3
THREE
The entire situation was a farce. He had gone to town on business he could have conducted by letter, but in truth it was his desire to escape the lady with whom he was again in close company.
Four days at Netherfield had been a challenge to his will and his wits, no less a test of his desires.
Was he doomed to repeat it here, in a small house with no chance of escape, at least until morning?
Darcy sighed. The danger had begun weeks earlier, when he had observed her in conversation at Sir William’s home, laughingly regaling the party’s younger set with a tale of her encounter with a crow determined to have the shiny clasp on her bonnet.
Her voice rose and fell as she described the bird circling her, chasing her, until finally, she tore off the clasp, only to find the bird preferred her blue ribbon, sending her home hatless and tangled-haired.
Elizabeth told the story with great animation, exaggerating her gestures as her mother sat only a few feet away, oblivious and unrefined, laughing loudly with Meryton’s leading matrons.
But she, Elizabeth Bennet, had been wondrous.
Lively and merry and elegant, just as she had been when he had watched her during a dinner at Haye-Park and at the bookshop and in every room and path at Netherfield.
She never faltered in amusing those around her and drawing others to her—including him—with her warmth and conversation.
She had that ease with others, bringing smiles even to the dour Gouldings.
It was obvious to him they wished their son to favour her, but the dolt appeared captivated by a pale, curvaceous girl...
one of the Long family, he was told. Of course, any parent would wish a daughter of brains and beauty and charm and eyes that could hold an audience captive.
He had fallen under their spell over the past days at Netherfield and most unwillingly, they had pulled him back to Meryton.
Only to find himself with her, once again under the same roof. Was this heaven or hell? Perhaps the latter, as it was the home of her aunt and uncle. The gossip and the solicitor.
No. The gracious couple who offered me a bed when I had none.
The home itself, situated above Philips’s offices, was not grand, but its furnishings were of quality, and a few nice pictures hung on the walls. He did not recognise the artist’s hand, but admired his eye; a portrait of two young boys and a landscape of a verdant green valley were especially fine.
The sound of Mrs Philips’ piercing voice pulled him from his reveries.
The lady’s familial connexion with Mrs Bennet was undeniable.
She would not be discreet about his presence here and would undoubtedly boast of it to her sister, making mention of what he ate, drank, and spoke of.
It would be wise to be silent, but it would not be easy; not only would it be rude to his hosts, but he would not forgo an opportunity to engage with Elizabeth Bennet.
It was not a prospect without danger, but he cared nothing about that—not any longer.
He had known her barely a month and determined she was the most handsome, charming, and intriguing girl he had ever met—and was likely ever to meet.
He had admired a lady or two, but after a brief flare of attraction, had found them lacking in understanding or character.
Every observation he had made of Elizabeth Bennet only deepened his fascination with her; this strange confluence of events—of perverse luck—had placed them here together, and he would make the most of it. Danger be damned, she is singular.
Mr Darcy was aloof at dinner, and as her uncle was a quiet man, the table was entertained, so to speak, by Aunt Philips’s effusive descriptions of the business of her neighbours and speculation on how many more could fall ill.
“We are well-stocked and our windows shut tight to ward off any illness,” she asserted. “Three were taken by dreadful fevers in the summer and we shan’t have more tragedy on our hands.”
“None were taken by fever, Aunt. Mrs Ridgeley was nearing her eightieth year. Mr Fitch was thrown by his horse, and Miss Price was half-drowned before succumbing to pneumonia.”
“Nevertheless, Lizzy, cold and fever are perilous to everyone. Jane and Kitty had scarlet fever; Kitty was only six years old at the time, poor girl.”
Elizabeth, discomfited by her aunt’s inclination to dwell on topics that could only bring dread, sighed.
“You worry for your family.”
At the sound of Mr Darcy’s voice, she looked up to find his gaze intent on her.
“I can only hope Jane is not the only one spared. She has only just recovered from the illness that kept her abed at Netherfield and will expend too much of herself on caring for my family. Unlike many, Jane has need to be of use to others, and I fear Longbourn’s guest, my father’s newly arrived cousin, may tax the servants if he is stricken. ”
Mr Philips frowned. “Has Mr Collins come? Your mother cannot be pleased.”
Elizabeth looked at Mr Darcy. “My father’s estate is entailed to his cousin, a vicar in Kent.
He arrived yesterday, and though it has been a brief acquaintance, none would complain if it remained so.
” She smiled and lifted her napkin to her lips.
“Forgive me. He is overfond of reciting scripture, inspecting the furnishings of his future home, and describing the glories of his parsonage in Hunsford. His much-esteemed patroness has directed him to choose a wife from among us. It led to his tedious consideration of me this afternoon; before he could ask to examine my teeth, I fled the house in search of a pair of gloves possibly left at Netherfield.”
“Oh Lizzy!” cried her aunt. “You have never been shy of anyone!”
“I was not shy, only revolted,” she said quietly. Mr Darcy’s expression showed what she could only surmise was concern, a surprising change from his usual severity.
Mrs Philips tutted. “Mr Collins will inherit Longbourn, making him a good match for any of you, excepting Jane, of course. Let us hope everyone at Netherfield soon recovers.”
“Oh,” Elizabeth said. “My mother will blame me if Mr Bingley and his sisters are ill, supposing I took to Netherfield whatever infected Longbourn.”
“You are not to blame,” Mr Darcy said, almost fiercely. “Mr Jones mentioned mushrooms and a recent illness at Haye-Park. Perhaps the kitchens at all three estates rely on a particular field or farm for those.”
“Mr Payne’s field has always had a large variety of mushrooms,” she said. “Cook served a mushroom ragout for dinner. Mary and I despise mushrooms, and Jane had only soup. However, Mama and Lydia adore them and, with Mr Collins, enjoyed our portions whilst we had only fish. That must be it.”
Mr Philips raised his glass. “Bravo. A mystery solved.”
Elizabeth indulged her uncle and lifted her own glass. “Though the misery continues, it is thankfully a short-lived illness. I pray Jane does not learn of the situation at Netherfield as well.”
She felt Mr Darcy’s eyes on her, but when her aunt began to expound on the personalities of ‘Fanny’s girls’ and how they matched those of her and her sister, the gentleman’s gaze was steady on his plate.
“Oh, Lizzy and Jane are not as Fanny and I were, though it is Lydia who is my sister’s true heir.
Lizzy is like my brother, Edward, a model of intelligence and humour; it is little wonder she is his favourite. ”
“No,” said Mr Philips, his voice a little thick from four glasses of wine. “Lizzy is her father’s child, fond of books and teasing. But prudent, like your brother.”
For a moment, Elizabeth thought the dissection of her family had ended, but then Mr Darcy’s deep voice was heard. “A brother? Is he in Meryton as well?”
“No,” Elizabeth said, watching to see his reaction when he learnt her other uncle was in trade. “My uncle Gardiner is in London—in Cheapside, near his warehouses. He has a large and successful importing business.”
“Does he specialise in a particular merchandise?”
“In addition to his commissions, my uncle deals in tea and spices and silks from India and China, rugs and carved chests from Persia, and all manner of musical instruments, fabrics, and paintings from the Continent.”
Seeing with satisfaction that Mr Darcy was impressed, Elizabeth turned back to her plate.
“I think I should like to make Mr Gardiner’s acquaintance. My sister has recently turned sixteen and I would like to surprise her with a new pianoforte in the music room at Pemberley. I understand those made in Germany and Austria are among the finest.”
“Wonderful,” cried Aunt Philips. “Mr Philips has his card in his office.” She smiled at Mr Darcy and reached for her newly refilled wine glass. “Now, sir, do tell us of Pemberley. How many rooms has it?”