Darcy still felt exhausted. Despite the comfortably appointed room he had been given, he did not sleep well. His mind was far too occupied with the thoughts and images of Elizabeth. Her gracious attitude upon his return, her small smiles and looks, and her friendly demeanour—she must be feeling something for him, something more than friendship.
He had watched her in social settings before, balls, dances and the like. She had always been friendly to whomever she was partnered with. Indeed, her singular talent of making even fools, like Mr. Collins, feel heard and attended to was a quality with which he was quite impressed. Darcy certainly could not claim such talents. And so, not for the first time, the question of her attentions toward him over the past twelve hours plagued him and robbed him of sleep.
He must have finally drifted off into some semblance of slumber because he was pulled back to the present by a pounding of footsteps outside his door and the muffled sound of raised voices.
Lifting his head from the pillow, he heard the unmistakeable rumble of Mr. Bennet’s voice and the shrill retorts of a female voice. Ah, he thought, it seemed that Lydia was reaping what she sowed. Darcy had never been a particularly rebellious child, but he had enough experience with punishment to have a pang of sympathy for the youngest Bennet girl.
Reaching behind the bed, he rang for a servant and began his morning stretches. The long, cold ride the night before had settled into his muscles and forced him to make each movement slowly and carefully.
“Enter,” Darcy said when he heard a soft knock at the door. He winced as he bent forward to touch his toes. Turning his head, he saw a young boy waiting for his orders. “Hot water, please.”
With the door open, he could make out the words Mr. Bennet was shouting. He tried very hard to block out what he was hearing.
“Right away, sir,” the boy said, glancing over his shoulder. Darcy kept his head down so the child would not see him smile—the boy’s curiosity was warranted: Mrs. Bennet’s sobs were now the dominant sound. Darcy saw that the boy had paused, his mouth hanging open.
“Off you go,” he said gently, reminding the servant of his task. The boy shook his head, bowed and retreated from the room.
As the door closed once more, the voices faded to wordless rumbles. Darcy felt sorry that Mrs. Bennet was so distraught, and that Mr. Bennet was forced into a role that Darcy suspected was foreign to him. However, all sympathy he had for Lydia faded as the events of the previous night came roaring back into his mind.
Lydia had no idea what danger he had pulled her from—perhaps she could understand the loss of her reputation, but he wondered if she understood how very close she had come to losing her virtue as well.
A shiver of anger rolled down his spine: Wickham was no stranger to robbing innocent young girls of their virtue. He had no solid evidence of this behaviour, but the combination of the stories circulating and Darcy’s first-hand accounts of his father’s ward’s behaviour left no doubt in his mind. Georgiana had been lucky: had her fortune been less… No, he thought, best not think on it too much. It would only infuriate him more.
But just as Georgiana had not known the ways of the world, neither did Lydia. It was both the benefit and frustration of youth. Part of him wished the girl had a notion of what could have happened, wished that she could see the consequences of her actions, but the other part of him was glad she did not. She was not yet grown.
Swinging his arms, Darcy also reminded himself that, despite Lydia’s behaviour, what had nearly occurred was not her fault. She was but a young fool who had too much to drink—Wickham was the villain who thought to take advantage of her state. Lydia deserved her punishment for sneaking out, for imbibing, for her disobedience, but Darcy hoped the Bennets would not be too harsh for her dalliance with Wickham. In her state, she could have sooner wrestled a blacksmith as rejected his advances.
Another knock sounded and the servant re-entered the room, carrying both a basin of hot water and a stack of clothes. Surprised, Darcy realised that the boy carried his own clothing.
“Mr. Bingley sent to Netherfield for fresh clothing for you and himself, sir,” the servant explained, seeing Darcy’s puzzled look.
Of course, Darcy thought. Charles would want to be at his best for his new fiancée, no matter what had happened the previous night.
“And I’m to tell you that the lunch hour has been reserved to celebrate the engagement of Mr. Bingley and Miss Bennet, and they have requested that you stay and join them,” the boy continued.
“Excellent news,” Darcy said heartily. “Thank you.”
The boy bowed once more and left. Darcy was glad that the Bennets had not forgotten the wonderful events of the previous evening amid the turmoil. It was without question that he would stay—if Bingley were not motivation enough, Elizabeth still held him spellbound. Whatever distraction the reality of Lydia’s punishment might have provided was quickly dissipating, replaced by the nervous excitement of once again being in Elizabeth’s presence.
The chaos and mayhem of the night before might well have never happened if the lunch celebration were any indication. Mrs. Bennet had managed to lay a generous spread before them with the first fruits of the season and a delightfully prepared spring chicken. Mr. Bennet uncorked several bottles of fine madeira and the party enjoyed the food and drink liberally.
Bingley and Jane sat close together, dutifully engaging the rest of the table in conversation but often trailing off in mid-sentence to gaze into each other’s eyes and smile broadly. No one minded the breaks in conversation; whenever it occurred, Darcy had the opportunity to look at Elizabeth and, more often than not, they too exchanged a grin.
He had no idea if their exchanges were solely indicative of the joy each had in watching the happy couple or if each smile could have been something more. But each flash sent his heart racing: between his exhaustion, the wine and these small moments, he almost felt light-headed.
“I don’t see why I can’t have a bit of the madeira.” Darcy glanced to his right and saw that Lydia was pouting, her arms crossed over her chest. Elizabeth bore a look of pure exasperation and disbelief.
“After your night, I can’t imagine you would be up for any more,” he heard Elizabeth mutter towards Lydia.
Lydia grunted loud enough for others to notice—Charles and Jane were far too preoccupied with each other to hear, but Mr. Bennet looked at his youngest daughter with hard eyes.
“Be grateful you are allowed to be at this table,” Mr. Bennet said firmly.
When he had first come down the stairs, Darcy had been surprised to see Lydia at the table. He had been certain the girl would be bed-bound—her illness, exhaustion and residual drink keeping her in bed if not bidden to remain in her sick-room by her behaviour.
However, it was evident that this was a special occasion. Jane would not be engaged again, and Darcy soon understood the reason for the Bennet’s forbearance. But now, it seemed, Lydia did not think much of the level to which she was allowed to participate.
“I still do not understand why I must be punished at all,” Lydia grumbled to herself. “To be housebound for a month and miss the next two balls—it is most unjust.”
“Lydia,” Elizabeth said, a warning note in her voice.
“They never would have done this to you,” Lydia whined. “They punish me far worse than they have ever punished you!”
“Your sisters have had the good sense to conduct themselves in such a manner as to never require such reproach,” Mr. Bennet said, anger creeping into his voice. Darcy could see that his happiness for his eldest daughter was not quite enough to overshadow the disappointment in his youngest.
“I did nothing so wrong,” Lydia said, dismissively waving a hand. Darcy saw Elizabeth lips purse. “If anything, Mr. Darcy owes me quite the apology for ruining my evening!”
Darcy’s jaw tightened in disbelief as vexation flooded his being. Was Lydia still influenced by drink? How could the child say such a thing! The shock of her statement momentarily robbed him of words. He opened his mouth to say something, anything to attempt to convey the seriousness of Lydia’s decisions, but before he could voice his thoughts, Elizabeth answered instead.
“How dare you!” Elizabeth sounded absolutely scandalised. “Have you truly no understanding of the great debt you owe Mr. Darcy?”
“Debt?” Lydia scoffed.
“Yes, child,” Mr. Bennet inserted. Mrs. Bennet was glancing nervously between the drama unfolding on one side, and the happy couple on her other.
Bingley and Jane, as of yet, were not paying attention to the conflict. Darcy hoped it would remain so: Lydia had already marred their engagement, they did not deserve further disturbance. Darcy suddenly fought down a wild urge to pull Lydia from the table and drag her away before more damage could be done. It was not his place.
“Mr. Darcy saved you!” Elizabeth hissed. “He acted without regard for his own safety, tearing after an unknown vehicle in the dead of night to ensure you came home safely.”
Darcy felt his ears redden at these words. Did Elizabeth truly see him so? As some sort of… hero? He immediately felt embarrassed at this self-description. After all, Elizabeth had not described him as such.
“You weren’t there,” Lydia argued back irrationally. “You have no idea what transpired! You have no idea what Wickham’s intentions were or were not! You all have just made up your minds that poor Wickham had some wick intent, and you’re all just wrong!”
“That you do not know the depth of danger from which you were rescued,” Elizabeth said, her tone taking on a resigned note, “speaks volumes to the privilege from which you have come. Suffice it to say that you understand as little of the world and of men like Wickham as you understand the deepest, darkest parts of Africa.”
Lydia looked petulant at this statement and opened her mouth to respond.
“Lydia,” Mrs. Bennet said, finally entering the conversation. “Enough. Stop this at once.”
“But Mama,” Lydia whined again.
“Silence,” Mr. Bennet said, not raising his voice but the iciness of his words made it clear to everyone—especially Lydia—that the conversation had come to a close. She closed her mouth and slumped back in her chair, arms once again folded across her chest.
Darcy sighed, feeling a strange mixture of annoyance and satisfaction. Lydia was just as obnoxious as he thought he remembered, and her wilful disregard of the consequences of her actions was immature and infuriating. However, Elizabeth’s defence, her description of his role in Lydia’s rescue, the admiration he so hoped he had heard in her voice… All of this lit a fire in his stomach that warmed his whole being.
“Mr. Darcy,” Mr. Bennet said, turning to face him. Darcy looked towards his host, fiercely holding onto the warmth Elizabeth had given him. “We have offered you thanks for your actions of last evening, but we have not yet apologised.” He glared at his youngest daughter. “Both her decisions of last night and her behaviour at this table have shamed us all and lead to your own inconvenience and offense. Please accept our deepest apologies.” Mr. Bennet bowed his head.
“Yes, Mr. Darcy,” Mrs. Bennet fluttered. “You undoubtedly have our gratitude.” She gave him a simpering smile that she evidently thought was endearing.
“And our deepest regrets,” Elizabeth added softly.
Darcy fought his immediate urge to turn to Elizabeth and reaffirm to her, to the entirety of the Bennet family, that their apologies were accepted and grievances forgiven. Instead, he maintained his eye contact with Mr. Bennet, and offered his assurances, as was proper, to him.
“Thank you,” he said, bowing his head. “But all transgressions are already forgotten.” He glanced at Lydia. “Such things happen from time to time, but I am sure this episode will not be repeated.”
“Indeed, it will not,” Jane said, finally joining the conversation. Darcy turned to her and Bingley in surprise. He had not realised that they too were involved in the back-and-forth.
“Now that is settled,” Bingley said, his smile never wavering. “I would like to take this opportunity to thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Bennet.” He inclined his head in their direction. “As well as my dear friend Darcy.” Bingley again inclined his head, and Darcy felt himself flush. “As well as Miss Elizabeth.” Elizabeth too reddened at the mention.
“For all of your support and encouragement during our… protracted courtship.” Bingley smiled at Jane, his eyes clearly ignoring everyone else once more. “It was by sheer stupidity that it has taken me this long to make things official. Let us all hope that, in future, Jane is smart enough for the both of us.”
Laughter broke out around the table. It was Jane’s turn to blush furiously as she attempted to protest Bingley’s characterisation of himself.
“My dear Mr. Bingley,” Mr. Bennet said, his affable demeanour returning. “If I may share a piece of advice intended to promote marital harmony…” To Darcy’s surprise, Mr. Bennet took Mrs. Bennet’s hand. “Share your burdens with one another whenever possible. To be alone in a marriage is quite tragic.”
To everyone’s surprise, Mr. Bennet brought Mrs. Bennet’s hand to his lips for a quick kiss. Mrs. Bennet giggled like a young girl. “My own dear wife has always been willing to share, and for that I am grateful,” Mr. Bennet finished with a rare, Darcy assumed, look of affection towards his wife.
“Wise words indeed,” Bingley replied, smiling at Jane’s parents. “Now, let us recommence eating the beautiful table Mrs. Bennet has prepared in our honour!”
The rest of the meal passed with much happiness and little chatter from Lydia. Darcy looked toward her from time to time, and each glance told him that she was still displeased with her life at the moment. She shot menacing looks at her father and Elizabeth at varying intervals, but kept quiet. Darcy was glad to find she knew how to hold her tongue. In his previous dealings with the girl, she had been apt to fill the air with meaningless babble. Today, to everyone’s relief, it seemed Lydia had decided to protest via silence. It was most refreshing.
Instead, Darcy continued to enjoy the stolen glances and subtle shared smiles between himself and Elizabeth. With each expression, he became more and more certain that there was something changed within her. But, to his small dismay, he did not yet know what.