part0021

Elizabeth walked with a spring in her step. She had arrived at Netherfield the day before, and was already feeling much better. It was a great comfort to be able to roam the old, familiar paths again – so much so that she could not help feeling it would do her a world of good to return to live in Hertfordshire.

The long walk was in great measure responsible for her raised spirits, and so was Jane’s influence, and the discovery that her mother and younger sisters had already returned to town. For all those blessings Elizabeth was grateful, especially the latter, for she knew not how she could face them yet.

Mr Bingley and Jane were all that was kind and reassuring and good. They were shocked by the revelations, but they left Elizabeth in no doubt that they would support her in whatever she would choose to do.

On the previous evening, the deeply unsettling intelligence and the Bennets’ predicament had been discussed openly and in detail. Eventually, they had resolved that Mrs Bennet and her daughters would come to live at Netherfield as soon as their sojourn in town came to an end. Mr and Mrs Gardiner had insistently offered their assistance, but Mr Bingley would not be swayed, and everyone could see the wisdom of his suggestion: that the family should return to live in a neighbourhood where they knew everybody, and in a house that could easily accommodate them.

Elizabeth had to own that, troublesome circumstances aside, she could no longer dislike the prospect of living at Netherfield. The joy of being reunited with Jane made amends for almost everything, and after the turmoil of the last couple of days, it was rather soothing to think of settling back into the familiarity of Hertfordshire.

As for being able to call Netherfield home, that was an attractive prospect in itself. Elizabeth had long thought it a beautiful house, with a great deal to recommend it, although sadly imbued with Miss Bingley’s and Mrs Hurst’s arrogant superciliousness. She smiled. Netherfield was a very different place now. It was happy and welcoming, no longer exuding its former mistress’s haughtiness, but Jane’s kindness and warmth, and the love she and her husband shared. It was ironic – and exceedingly gratifying, Elizabeth thought with amused satisfaction – to see Jane ruling over the place where she had once been disparaged, and the perpetrators of the offence now devoid of all their power over Mr Bingley and his happy home.

Elizabeth had reason to hope that her mother and sisters would not object to the arrangements either, although they would presumably bemoan the separation from their Devonshire friends.

The difficulty lay in how much they should be told, and when. It was Mr Gardiner who had introduced the concern, and it was just as well, for Mr Bingley would not have dared voice the question that was on everybody’s mind: how to ensure that the carefully guarded and potentially damaging secret regarding the identity of Farringdon’s previous owner would not be inadvertently disclosed by Mrs Bennet or Lydia, and made public knowledge, to the detriment of all.

No satisfactory answer could be found as yet, and that remained the only unresolved conundrum. They determined that the removal to Netherfield should be attributed at first to Jane’s insistent wish to spend more time with her family. It was Mr Bingley who suggested it, and Jane readily concurred, with a smile of gratitude towards her kind and thoughtful husband.

Elizabeth had her own thoughts on the matter. In her opinion, her mother would never mention returning to Farringdon again if someone – their aunt, perhaps? – were to drop a hint regarding her daughters’ improved chances of marrying well, should they live at an easy distance from town, under Jane’s guidance and care. It was far too disloyal a thought to be voiced in Bingley’s presence, though. A better option by far was mentioning it privately to Mrs Gardiner, when they retired for the night.

With the best course of action agreed between the parties, there was very little left to be done. Thus, Mr Gardiner decided he had much better return to Gracechurch Street and attend to his business, despite his hosts’ earnest entreaties that their relations prolong their stay, in compensation for the curtailed tour of pleasure. Yet they could not be persuaded, and the Gardiners and their children set off towards town in the early hours of the morning.

Soon after seeing them to their carriage, Jane – well-attuned to her sister’s thoughts and sensibilities – suggested she should go for a long walk and revisit some of her best-loved places.

Oakham Mount had always been a decided favourite, and Elizabeth made her way towards it without hesitation. It was a delightful walk, full of pleasant reminiscences at almost every step, and as to the final ascent – taxing, but not overly so – it demanded enough of her energy to leave her with little inclination to dwell on unpleasant thoughts.

It was a great comfort to be atop the familiar eminence once more, feel the wind in her face and rejoice in the tranquil beauty of the sunlit countryside. Yet, as she gazed at her surroundings, she could not fail to remember that it was on the very stretch of open field at her feet that she had caught her first glimpse of the two gentlemen who were to influence her own life and that of her family so greatly. Elizabeth did remember, and with a sigh she bent her steps back towards Netherfield.

Elizabeth made her way into the drawing room – and froze. Jane was there, but she was not alone. Georgiana sat at her side, and so did Mr Darcy. At her entrance, he rose and bowed, very deeply, then remained standing, his eyes fixed on her, the most solemn look darkening his countenance.

Instinctively, Elizabeth’s hand shot back to the door-handle, and the urge to turn around and flee was overpowering. Yet she let her hand fall, to smooth the side of her dress, and she drew a long, steadying breath.

For the sake of her sister and brother, for the sake of his sister even, sooner or later she would have to become accustomed to being in the same room with him, and she might as well make a beginning, Elizabeth told herself – so, with another deep breath and a small and rather conscious smile, she advanced towards the party .

“Miss Darcy,” she greeted her new friend with restrained but real pleasure. “What a lovely surprise to see you again so soon.” She released the young lady’s hands to turn towards the gentleman, and could do nothing but drop a curtsy and acknowledge him with constrained civility. “And Mr Darcy. ‘Tis good to see you, Sir.”

The greeting so obviously lacked genuine sentiment and warmth that even she felt the awkwardness of the distinction between the sister and the brother, and could not be surprised to see him look injured. But there was nothing to be done about it, so Elizabeth resignedly went to perch herself on the edge of the sofa across from Jane. Georgiana resumed her seat as well, but Mr Darcy remained standing, resting a hand on the back of his sister’s chair.

Elizabeth could not bring herself to look in his direction, but she felt his steady gaze fixed on her, as unsettling as ever. The silence was overpowering, yet she could think of nothing to say. There seemed to be an embargo on every subject. At length, her own wise sister asked if she had enjoyed her walk, and they proceeded to talk about the beauties of Hertfordshire with great perseverance, assisted by the occasional tentative contribution from Georgiana, who would venture an opinion about the comparative merits of the Derbyshire countryside, whenever the conversation appeared to be flagging.

They remained thus engaged for about a quarter of an hour, when the door was suddenly opened, and Mr Bingley made his appearance. Elizabeth was left in no doubt about his purpose – or his allegiance, for that matter – as soon as he came to sit with her on the sofa and inquire with great gentleness and interest whether she had enjoyed her walk.

The obvious confederacy aimed at putting her at ease brought a smile to her lips, and a trace of the cheerful archness of old rang in her voice as she affectionately glanced at her brother by marriage.

“I thank you, it was very pleasant indeed, but as we have already discussed the comparative merits of Hertfordshire and Derbyshire at my sister’s instigation, perhaps I should refrain from a repetition and retire to dress for dinner.”

With that she rose and, dropping a curtsy to no one in particular, she left the room. Without a second thought, Darcy moved to follow. But Bingley had his own views on the matter.

“I would prefer you obliged me now,” Bingley said evenly, without a trace of diffidence. “My study?” he suggested, and at his friend’s surprised and resigned nod, he opened the door and motioned for Darcy to exit before him.

“You wanted a word. Although I fail to see the urgency, I am at your service,” he said stiffly, barely refraining from concluding with ‘so come now, out with it.’ Nevertheless, the inference was there.

“Your sister? ” he asked, all astonishment, at a loss as to where either Miss Bingley or Mrs Hurst came into it, before inwardly abusing himself for his stupidity. “Your sister. Of course.”

Although it was indeed too early for port, Bingley filled two glasses nonetheless. He took one to his friend, then perched himself on the arm of one of the heavy chairs, at Darcy’s elbow. He took a sip, biding his time, and finally brought himself to resume:

“I hope you do not mind my asking, but would you tell me whether the report is true?” Not that he doubted Elizabeth’s word any more than her judgement, but he could not bring himself to let the matter rest without seeking to hear his friend’s side.

“I know not what you heard, but if you are asking whether I made over a property in Devonshire to Mr Bennet before he passed away, then aye, the report is true,” he tiredly acknowledged .

“So, you stood there last autumn, listening to me telling you about the supposed inheritance, while you were behind it all the while? Dash it, Darcy, I thought we were close friends,” he remonstrated, his voice heavy with reproach and disappointment.

“Forgive me,” Darcy replied, genuinely contrite. “But you must see why I could not tell you. The fewer people knew, the better, and you were to become connected to the family. Not that I did not trust your secrecy,” he added swiftly, “but the deed was done, and I had no wish to discomfit anyone. Least of all you.”

“Because I did not want E— any of the Miss Bennets to contemplate marrying such a reprehensible character as Mr Collins for their family’s security,” he said at length, resigned to owning a fraction of the truth.

“No, he was not. Pray oblige me, and credit me with a modicum of sense,” he snapped, then rubbed his brow and apologised. “Perhaps their engagement and the announcement of the so-called bequest were concurrent, but I had no notion he would propose and be accepted when I instructed my attorneys, some weeks prior.”

“Would all of this account for your avoidance of the Bennets and your subdued spirits at the time, then?” Bingley inquired, but Darcy shrugged in lieu of any other answer.

He was loath to still deal in falsehoods with his friend, but he was not ready to bare his soul to him, either. Bingley adored his wife, and Mrs Bingley was inordinately protective of her sister. Perhaps they would have kept his confidence, but Darcy had neither the inclination to ask it of them, nor the willingness to take the risk. It simply would not do for Elizabeth to learn of his sentiments from a third party .

“A very generous gesture, I grant you… But I still fail to see why you would take so much upon yourself. I can understand your opinion of Mr Collins and I fully concur with you on that score, but in what way could it affect you if any of the Miss Bennets were to marry the man, to the extent of giving them a home and an income? What made you feel you had to ensure the Bennets’ security any more than any other family’s? Why, you do not even like them, for goodness’ sake!” Bingley exclaimed, forgetting himself, as it was not in his nature to plague anyone of his acquaintance in this fashion, least of all his best friend. He raised his glass to his lips, yet his arm froze in mid-gesture. “Unless—” he pondered aloud, and then sighed. “Oh, I see,” he said quietly, before finishing his move and draining his port.

Darcy spun around to observe him with no small measure of panic. What? What did he see?

“I appreciate your friendship,” Bingley resumed with no little sadness, “but you can be awfully high-handed at times. A pity you squandered a small fortune in your effort to ‘protect’ me from offering for Jane, but I can hardly feel responsible for that. In fact, I am disposed to regard your interference as officious at best.”

Darcy advanced towards his friend, his eyes full of contrition. The misapprehension was a relief, and he was not about to correct it, but Bingley’s sadness and obvious displeasure weighed on him.

“I apologise,” he said earnestly, his right hand outstretched. “I assure you, I deeply regret my errors. All I can say is that I hold valid none of the considerations that had prompted me at the time,” he added truthfully, inwardly thankful that his friend did not know the full extent of his misjudgement.

“Bygones, then?” he said with a smile, but there was nothing humorous in his manner, regardless of the lightness of tone, when he continued, “As long as you refrain from protecting me and mine against our wishes, from now on. ”

“Not if she does not wish it,” he replied, with no small measure of regret. “I hope you can see that. Elizabeth is part of my family now, and a guest in this house. I cannot conspire against her peace of mind.”

Darcy could not suppress a gesture of vexation. That Bingley would presume to act as Elizabeth’s defender, and protect her from himself, of all people! A sharp retort came to his lips, but Darcy swallowed the bitter words, along with his resentment. By now, he might have had the privilege to stand at her side and protect her for the rest of their lives. It had been his own choice not to seek it.

There was always the Red Lion in Meryton, or some other inn he could remove to, but Darcy dearly hoped it would not come to that.

Darcy readied himself for dinner with great haste, in the hope of gaining a few moments alone with Elizabeth, but it did not take him long to see that subtle but most effective countervailing efforts were at play. Mrs Bingley came down for dinner at the same time as her sister, and although she was the perfect hostess, and as welcoming as ever, there was no doubt of her determination to assist Elizabeth in avoiding a private exchange.

All that was left for him to do was to bow deeply to both and content himself with the formality of common-place civilities, all the while struggling not to dwell on the fact that Elizabeth would not meet his eyes for above two seconds, nor give anything but monosyllabic answers to any inquiries he dared make. The sharp contrast between the stilted, strained semblance of a conversation and that glorious afternoon in Green Park was painful to behold. How was he to tell her that he loved her and ask her to trust him with her hand and her heart, if she would not talk to him? If she could not even bear to look at him?

The tension was somewhat eased when the others joined them – Fitzwilliam at first, much to Elizabeth’s astonishment, until the connection was explained to her, then Bingley and Georgiana – and for the following half an hour or so they all played their part with great diligence and varying degrees of skill, conspicuously trying too hard to be voluble and mask their discomfort, until mercifully dinner was announced.

It made little difference, Darcy was dejectedly forced to own. Their mouths and hands might have had additional employment, but one could still cut the tension with a knife. Mrs Bingley had wisely chosen the smaller dining room for the occasion, to avoid their party being dispersed around an awkwardly large table, but the snugness of their arrangements and the apparent family atmosphere was not making anyone more comfortable, least of all him.

He was seated at Mrs Bingley’s right and Elizabeth at Bingley’s, as far from each other as the table could divide them, with Georgiana by his side and Fitzwilliam between Mrs Bingley and her sister. For what it was worth, Darcy could not fail to inwardly give credit to Mrs Bingley for her ability to defuse the situation as much as possible. The seating arrangements were a credit to her tactical finesse, and her efforts at keeping up a conversation with him throughout dinner a testament to her kindness and delicacy of spirit.

Much as Elizabeth’s continued withdrawal from him pained him, he could not but rejoice, for her sake, in the fact that Mrs Bingley’s diplomacy seemed to bear fruit. As dinner progressed, Bingley’s end of the table became animated with his and Elizabeth’s light-hearted exchanges, punctuated more and more frequently, to Darcy’s surprise and only real joy, by Georgiana’s laughter and well-placed comments. All that was left for him was the bitter-sweetness of looking on when least observed, and delighting in her wit and sparkle, although it was for the others’ benefit, not his.

As for Fitzwilliam, he attempted to keep the conversation going in both of the separate groups, but avoided singling Elizabeth out, and for his understanding and forbearance Darcy could be nothing but grateful, for he did not know how he could have borne it otherwise .

When the time came to separate after dinner, Darcy could not dismiss the uncomfortable suspicion that, were it not for him, the custom might have been forgone – but the discomfort such a notion brought was nothing to the distress caused by their eventual return to the ladies.

Darcy and his cousin followed Bingley into his study for brandy and port. Nothing of consequence was discussed this time, in part because Fitzwilliam’s presence precluded it, although Bingley could not doubt his good information. After what seemed like an eternity, Bingley suggested they rejoin the ladies, and Darcy readily agreed. He followed his friend towards the drawing room, sounds of laughter and animated voices beckoning invitingly. The door was opened, and to Darcy’s dismay, their entrance – nay, his entrance – cast a pall over their obvious enjoyment. The laughter died out, and the room filled with all the simmering tension of the previous encounters.

Darcy’s spirits sank beyond redemption. He could not bear to be party to this any longer. He most certainly would not impose his presence upon them, upon her , if all it engendered was this dismal atmosphere. He took a few steps towards Mrs Bingley and bowed.

“Would you be so kind as to excuse me, Ma’am,” he formally addressed her, “and allow me to deprive myself of the pleasure of your company? There is something in Bingley’s library I would like to peruse.” A hesitant nod was all the licence he required, and with another bow he turned towards the door and would have left, were it not for an intervention from the least likely quarter.

Elizabeth had no need to think of the remarkable collection housed at Pemberley, nor remember a conversation held months ago in that very room, about the deficiencies of Bingley’s library, to ascertain the unlikelihood of Darcy having found anything worthy of his urgent perusal therein. It was clear to her that, against his wishes, he had excused himself to ease her discomfort, and his turn of countenance and the look in his eyes spoke of his distress and his unwillingness to remain in the present company as persona non grata , regardless of his obvious reluctance to leave them.

Elizabeth found herself unable to allow it. True, his presence made her profoundly uncomfortable, and yet she could not bear the thought of spending a pleasant evening with her family and friends, while he exiled himself to the cheerless solitude of the library, for her benefit .

“Mr Darcy, must you leave us so soon? We are to have some music in a little while. Your sister has kindly agreed to play for us, and from what I understand, this is a delight you would not care to miss,” she said with a genuine smile, surprised at her own daring, as well as the ease with which she had found a plausible reason for urging him to stay.

The difference her words made to his countenance almost brought tears to her eyes. The surprise of such a request coming from her was replaced almost instantly with a look so much like humble gratitude as to make Elizabeth heartily ashamed of herself.

Over the course of the day, she was given to understand from his obvious contrition that no slight had been intended and none should have been perceived in his actions. No, it had not been his intention to remove the Bennets from his circle, and in having suspected him of it, she had greatly wronged him. His interference was misjudged and high-handed at best, but her aunt Gardiner was in the right: it had given her father peace of mind in his last days, and that was worth any humiliation she might have felt. As to the humiliation itself – aye, she would have experienced it anyway, but it was only made worse by the heartache of finding herself the object of his pity, just as she had discovered she hoped for his love.

“Well, Sir, what will it be? The joy of music or of the printed word?” she asked, in a manner so highly reminiscent of their past interactions as to make him almost giddy with renewed hope.

‘The joy of you . My greatest folly was to walk away from it.’

For a staggering moment, Darcy feared he had voiced his thoughts aloud, but since no one around him seemed to gasp, stare or betray any other sign of shock, he was reassured that he had not.

Reluctant to trust himself to speak, he bowed to her in acquiescence and went to join the small group gathered around the low oval table where the tea things stood. He accepted a cup from Mrs Bingley, took a seat across from Elizabeth and his sister, and smiled at the two ladies dearest to him in a fashion that made Elizabeth’s eyes widen, for she recognised the look in Georgiana’s sketch, and wondered at it emerging in her presence, their history considered.

She did not reply at first. She merely blushed, but soon spoke to decline in favour of Georgiana’s superior talent. His sister finally stood, willing to perform as long as Elizabeth would sit with her and turn the pages. They companionably took their places at the instrument, and Miss Darcy leafed through the very small selection, to finally choose a piece that was a longstanding favourite.

Drawn by the delightful music and the need to follow Georgiana’s progress along the score in order to timely perform her task, Elizabeth was for a long time unaware of Darcy’s steady gaze – but a chance look in his direction overwhelmed her. Their eyes met and locked and neither would look away. The unmistakable warmth in his eyes was mesmerising, and the devotion so evident that Elizabeth felt convinced she only found herself in the way of a look destined for his sister. Yet as their eyes held, she could not fail to acknowledge that the tenderness was not brotherly – nor was it for Georgiana. It was for her. She could scarce credit it, but it was for her .

He could not sleep. There was no way under heaven for him to rest after all that had happened, and in the knowledge that she was under the same roof again, less than ten doors away.

Darcy had dismissed Bingley’s footman – temporarily elevated to the duties of a valet – without even attempting to prepare for the night. Had he been at Pemberley, he would have roamed the halls in search of memories of her and of the evening, but as he was a guest in this house, he resigned himself to leaning against the back of his chair and closing his eyes. He was no less successful in conjuring her image than if he had walked into the now deserted drawing room. She was with him always, as she had been for months, and for the first time in the entire course of their acquaintance, there was a glimmer of hope in the picture his mind’s eye presented.

He would never forget the turn of her countenance and the look in her eyes earlier that evening, during his sister’s performance. There was none of her recent painful reserve; there was forgiveness for the mortification his misjudged gesture had caused, of that he was almost certain, but it was that warm look of wonder that deprived him of his rest and left him impatiently counting the minutes until daybreak.

He could not sleep, but the thought of her beautiful face resting on a pillow some doors down the hallway made him forcefully grip the arms of his chair and propelled him to the window, to stare into the darkness outside.

With a long sigh, he acknowledged the futility of his endeavours to guess the substance of her thoughts. Darcy turned away from the window to collect his coat and don it, then quietly left his room for the illusory sanctuary of the library, where he vainly hoped to find a way to cease thinking constantly of her. The candle in his hand cast long, tremulous shadows down the hallways of the silent house.

She could not sleep. She had not even attempted to prepare for bed. As soon as she had retired to her chambers at the end of a most unsettling evening, she had curled up onto the wooden seat in the corner of the small balcony that her room led to, her flushed cheek resting in one hand.

What on earth would possess him to regard her in that fashion, during Georgiana’s performance? She did not dare hope, and yet she could scarce help it. Teasing, teasing man! If he cared for her, why had he removed himself from her society for such a length of time? If he did not, why did he look at her as though he did?

With the wise but not so easily kept resolution to think no more of him, Elizabeth stood. It was very late and the advanced hour gave her pause, but she was not to sit and stare out into the night without purpose, on account of Mr Darcy! Poorly stocked as it might be, there ought to be something in Netherfield’s library to prevent her from constantly thinking of him .

She walked to the door and opened it, only to stop in her tracks at the sight of the receding figure – very tall and ever so familiar – that seemed to be heading in the same direction, his progress made evident by the soft glow his candle cast upon the walls.

Elizabeth quietly closed the door. She leant against it for a while, a pensive little smile at the corner of her lips, then started to remove her hairpins and ready herself for bed.

After a while, she blew out the candle and nestled under the covers, with the heart-warming thought of the pair of them being the only ones to keep vigil in the sleeping household.

She was still awake much later, when the sound of returning footsteps could just about be heard approaching down the corridor. They appeared to slow outside her door, and then faded in the opposite direction – and Elizabeth gathered the corner of the pillow under her chin, and finally fell asleep with a smile on her face.