Chapter Two
The next day Jane was again much improved and Elizabeth sent up a swift prayer for her safe recovery and for their hopefully speedy removal from Netherfield.
She sat on the side of her sister’s bed and smiled at the colour that had returned to her face.
Jane was always beautiful, ill or otherwise, but she once again looked like her usual serene self and it made Elizabeth’s heart swell to see her so well recovered.
"You look like yourself again, dearest," she said, taking hold of Jane’s hand and squeezing it lightly.
"It is all down to you, Lizzy and the kind attention of the Bingleys and their servants," she said brightly, smiling at the maid who was refreshing her water jug. "You have been a treasure, Polly," she added sincerely.
"It’s my pleasure, miss," said the slight young girl, bobbing much deeper than was necessary before hurrying out of the room.
"There now, you have charmed everyone in the household," said Elizabeth with a raised eyebrow. "Particularly, its young master…"
"Oh Lizzy, please do not say such things. Someone could hear. Mr Bingley has only acted like a gentleman ought."
"Well, that gentleman is particularly pleased you will join us for dinner tonight."
At that, Jane threw a pillow at her smirking sister. Elizabeth dodged it easily and chuckled.
"Now, now dearest, violence is never the answer."
Jane shook her head and said, "Enough of that, tell me of life downstairs. I feel I have been in this bed for months and I would be glad to hear about anything that has not occurred inside these four walls."
"Well, let me see," said Elizabeth, tapping her finger against her lip.
"Mr Darcy is glowering his usual amount, which is to say, almost constantly.
Miss Bingley follows him around like a particularly shrill tiger hunting her prey.
And Mr and Mrs Hurst ingested such an enormous amount of port last night, that the poor butler had to refill two decanters and looked rather stricken about it. "
"Elizabeth Bennet!" Jane reprimanded. "That is most unkind."
"It is the unvarnished truth, dearest. But I suspect everyone’s rough edges will be dulled by your loveliness and sweetness tonight. Even my own. Now let us get you ready for dinner."
???
Dinner was unusually rich, even by Netherfield’s indulgent standards, but as Elizabeth suspected that Mr Bingley had ordered such a feast in honour of Jane, she could not find the energy to be annoyed by it.
As she watched him settle Jane’s shawl around her shoulders, she felt she could withstand any volume of rich cream sauces and poor company to see her sister so happy.
The delight Jane found in Mr Bingley’s company shone out of every pore and, for them, the rest of the room seemed to disappear as they lost themselves in each other’s conversation.
The wider party also seemed softened by Jane’s presence.
Miss Bingley directed what appeared to be a sincerely kind comment or two at "dear Jane" and Mr and Mrs Hurst were blessedly quiet—perhaps chastened by the amount of rich food and drink they had consumed the night before, which had been prodigious.
Only Mr Darcy seemed unaltered. He spent little attention on Jane and Mr Bingley, instead turning his stern features on Elizabeth who had found herself unhappily seated beside him.
He said nothing throughout the meal, but she felt his eyes upon her, even as she engaged in light small talk with the rest of the party.
"Miss Elizabeth," he said at last, several courses in.
She pasted on a polite smile and turned to him, "Yes, Mr Darcy?"
"You do not like the food."
"Excuse me?"
"The food, you have eaten so little. I cannot like it."
"Sir, I beg you, do not concern yourself with my eating arrangements."
"But you do not like it?"
She dropped her voice to an undertone, "It is simply a little rich for my liking. But as I said before, sir, please do not concern yourself."
"Perhaps if you tried the chicken…"
Trying to speak as firmly and as quietly as possible, she hissed, "My eating habits are not your concern, sir. Nor are my reading habits. My habit of taking an early morning walk. Or of sitting too close to the fire. You have an opinion on everything I do and it is most infuriating."
"Infuriating?" Mr Darcy said in shock, his tone rising so that everyone at the table turned to look at them. He looked horrified at the insinuation.
"My dear Mr Darcy," said Miss Bingley, wide-eyed from the head of the table. "Is all well? I know Miss Eliza’s opinions can be a little challenging."
"It was nothing, Miss Bingley… I merely, uh, caught my elbow on the table."
"My dear sir, I told Charles when we took the house that this table is a most inconvenient height. I pray you will forgive us," she simpered.
Mr Darcy nodded at her and returned his attention to his plate. Without looking at her he said again, more quietly, "Infuriating?"
"Infuriating, vexing, condescending, maddening. Take your pick Mr Darcy, you have spent these many weeks glowering at me or chastising me and I have had my fill. Pray let us eat in blessed quiet."
He opened his mouth as if to speak again, but closed it firmly again and began to cut up his venison with more force than was perhaps required. Elizabeth for her part, sullenly pushed her food around her plate and wondered for the hundredth time why this man vexed her so.
???
Miss Bingley soon led the ladies through to the parlour and Elizabeth was occupied with ensuring that Jane was comfortable and warm.
But as she went through the motions of fetching tea and arranging her shawl, she could not help feeling a twinge of guilt.
The man had looked genuinely horrified. It was the only emotion she could recall seeing cross his face apart from boredom and disdain and she wasn’t certain what to make of it.
Was it simply that she had the audacity to call out his bad behaviour?
Perhaps a man in his position was too used to being indulged.
Nevertheless when the men joined the women after their port and cigars she found she could not meet his eye.
She sat with Jane and Mrs Hurst as they talked of novels, contributing only a little when required.
And when Jane let out a small yawn and Mr Bingley insisted that she must rest, Elizabeth was glad to leave the room and the feel of Mr Darcy’s eyes against her skin.
???
She settled Jane in her chambers and retired to her own, finding herself pacing up and down with restless energy.
She had that hot, itchy feeling again and she longed to go out into the cool air and simply run back to her Longbourn.
Silly mothers, loud sisters and a father who would rather be in his book room than with his family would be a small price to pay to be out of Netherfield and away from the infuriating Mr Darcy.
She went through her toilette mindlessly and got in bed but found herself staring at the ceiling.
Sleep would not come and after more than an hour of unsettled tossing and turning she decided to retrieve a book from the library.
If she could not sleep at least she could occupy her mind and slow her whirring thoughts.
She opened her door gingerly and listened.
It was quiet and from what she could see down the corridor, dark.
It seemed the house was abed, and she wrapped her dressing gown tightly around her and padded carefully down the corridor and stairs to the library.
As she got to the door, she opened it just enough to squeeze through and held her candle high as she examined the nearest bookshelf.
Mr Bingley’s book selection left a lot to be desired, but she was certain she had seen a novel that she hadn’t read in here a couple of days earlier.
It was probably one of Mrs Hurst’s, that lady devoured every gothic tale she could get her hands on.
She moved onto another section, frustrated to find largely dusty agricultural works and stood on her tiptoes to examine a higher shelf.
"I would have thought with your great love of horticulture, a tome on farming wheat may be something you would enjoy, Miss Elizabeth."
The low baritone came from somewhere behind her and Elizabeth let out a shriek and dropped her candle, the light extinguishing and leaving the room in gloom. A voice from the other end of the library called out quietly, "My apologies, Miss Elizabeth."
"Mr Darcy!" she hissed, her fear quickly replaced by a rising sense of fury.
A pool of light made its way towards her and she saw the stern lines of his face illuminated in the glow. He was wearing no jacket or cravat and she could see a dark sprinkling of hair where his lawn shirt dipped low. She licked her lips nervously and took a step back towards the shelves.
His face softened and he took a step back. "I did not mean to startle you, Miss Elizabeth."
"I could not sleep," she said in a wavering voice and then, hit by another wave of irritation. "Do you often go around terrifying women in the middle of the night?"
His countenance hardened again. "Of course not. I shall leave you to your selection." Mr Darcy gave a stiff bow and turned, taking the only light in the room with him. He looked back and seemed to realise his mistake.
"Your candle," he muttered.
"Yes," she said stiffly. "You caused me to drop it when you appeared like a spectre out of the gloom."
He crouched and retrieved her candle from the carpet, awkwardly setting it to rights in the holder and lighting it with his own. He held it out to her, and when she reached to grab it, he did not release his grip.
"Do you really find me infuriating?" he said softly.
She blew out a breath of irritation. "Mr Darcy," she said slowly, tugging the candle to her.
"You constantly interrogate my actions and thoughts with a disapproving frown.
You stare at me constantly, as if my presence in the room is a personal insult to yourself.
You cannot even allow me to eat my dinner or select a book in peace.
You are the most vexing man in the world and I think it best if we see as little of each other as possible in the little time my sister and I will remain in this house. "
Elizabeth went to step around him and he stepped with her, blocking her exit. He ran a hand through his dark hair which was a mass of untidy black curls. He looked, for the first time in their acquaintance, like a man rather than a walking, talking granite statue.
"Miss Elizabeth," he said in an undertone. "I fear you have… or that I have… " He took a step closer to her and put a hand gently on her arm. She stiffened immediately. He was close enough that she could hear his unsteady breath and smell the scent of sandalwood on his skin.
This was insupportable. Really, this man, this infuriating, large, stubborn man, thought he could behave any way that he wanted.
Now, he simply looked down at her with eyes so dark that she felt as if she were pinned to the spot.
She began to speak, to give him a further piece of her mind when the library door opened and Mr Jones, the butler, came in, accompanied by Polly the maid.
Mr Jones carried a branch of candles and had his head turned to Polly, giving her instructions as he opened the door. As he caught sight of Elizabeth and Mr Darcy, he gave a rather undignified gasp that he quickly turned into a more reserved cough. Polly squawked, "Miss Elizabeth!"
Darcy sprang back from her as though burned by hot coals and placed his hands behind his back, his features turning to granite. She could feel her face burning red and tears starting to prick at the corners of her eyes, and with a sob, she ran from the room.