Chapter 20

Elizabeth lingered in the library for several minutes after Caroline walked out with Darcy. While her heart felt the painful tug at seeing the two of them together, it was at the same time grasping at any hint, any indication, that he might hold tender regard for her.

She closed her eyes and shook her head. Of course he would hold her in his esteem, if ever so slightly! They had a most amiable relationship onboard the ship. They lived for almost a month together posing as man and wife. Well, practically man and wife, Lizzy reminded herself, willing herself to remember the terms of their marriage. Was there any chance that his feelings for her would outweigh any feelings for or previous arrangement he had with Miss Bingley?

She looked down at the book in her hands and chided herself for even thinking he remembered that day in the carriage two years ago, let alone remember what she had been reading. He most likely just said the first thing that came to his mind when Caroline discovered them in there, and the black book with the gold filigree writing just happened to be this particular one.

She slowly turned and walked out of the library, compelled more by a sense of right than of pleasure, to join the others in the drawing room.

When she walked in, she found the whole party at loo and was immediately invited to join them, but she declined, saying she would amuse herself for a short time with her book. Mr. Hurst looked at her with astonishment.

“Do you prefer reading to cards?” said he. “That is rather singular.”

“Miss Eliza Bennet,” said Miss Bingley, “despises cards. She is a great reader and has no pleasure in anything else.”

“I deserve neither such praise nor such censure,” cried Elizabeth. “I am not a great reader and I take pleasure in many things.”

“In nursing your sister I am sure you have pleasure,” said Bingley, “and I hope it will soon be increased by seeing her quite well.”

“And I would not be surprised to learn that she finds pleasure in helping others, as well,” Darcy spoke matter-of-factly as he kept his eyes tuned to his cards.

Elizabeth, unable to turn her eyes to Darcy, and feeling all the conviction that she could not look upon him for fear of exposing her aching heart, thanked both gentlemen and turned her attention to the book.

“Did you find the book I suggested?”

This time Elizabeth’s eyes shot up involuntarily to Darcy, who had now turned to her, and she felt the revealing warmth of a blush pass over her face. “I… uh… yes, I did, thank you.” She tentatively looked away as she detected warmth and mirth in his.

“Had you read it before?”

Her pulse quickened and she felt her mouth go dry at his words. She steeled herself to meet his gaze again, and offered a quick reply, “Yes, sir, but it has been several years, so I do not mind reading it again.”

He seemed content with her answer and turned his attention back to the game. As she opened the book to the first chapter, she tried to concentrate on the words before her, but she could not. The conversation around the table then turned to Pemberley’s library, and Caroline gushed words of praise.

Elizabeth listened with amusement to the conversation while feigning an interest in her book. She wished that she could say just how much she had enjoyed Pemberley’s library and how grand it was, but she could not. When the conversation turned to Miss Darcy, Elizabeth found herself looking up.

Miss Bingley seemed to have intimate knowledge of Pemberley and Miss Darcy. Regrettably, Elizabeth experienced pangs of jealousy that shot right through her. She braced herself as Miss Bingley talked about this young girl as though they were the closest of acquaintances, and although Elizabeth had spent not an hour with the young girl herself, she had a very difficult time believing Miss Darcy would feel as close to Miss Bingley as the woman thought.

“Is Miss Darcy much grown since the spring?” asked Miss Bingley. “Will she be as tall as I am?”

“I think she will,” Darcy spoke softly as he looked at his cards. “She is now about Miss Elizabeth Bennet’s height, or rather taller.” When he said her name, he looked up from his cards and lifted his eyebrow, before turning his attention back to his hand.

As Elizabeth looked down at her book, still held open at the first page of the first chapter, she tried to calm her violently beating heart. If she became so unsettled when he simply mentioned her name, how was she to survive in this household with him?

The conversation now turned to Miss Darcy’s accomplishments, and Bingley graciously commented about the virtues of women in all their accomplishments. Elizabeth surreptitiously listened as Caroline and Mr. Darcy added their opinions of what made up an accomplished woman. Caroline was resolute that one could not be really esteemed accomplished unless one had a thorough knowledge of music, singing, drawing, dancing, and the modern languages. When she added to that the possession of a certain something in her air and manner of walking, tone of voice, her address and expressions, Elizabeth stifled a huff.

“Yes, all these may be important,” added Darcy, “but to all this she must yet add something more substantial: in the improvement of her mind by extensive reading and the desire to learn more about the world by taking every opportunity to travel.”

Elizabeth was rendered motionless by his words, wondering again of his intent. When she came to her senses and glanced up, she found Darcy’s gaze intently focused on her.

Miss Bingley was not unaware of the import of his words or the direction of his gaze. “Yes, Mr. Darcy,” she said. “How right you are. But truly, only a woman in the highest circles of society would have the opportunities to avail herself of all those things you speak of.” She slyly looked over to Elizabeth. “For example, one would hardly find a woman in this neighbourhood who would satisfy your description of an accomplished woman.”

Caroline’s words stirred Elizabeth from her silent reverie and her eyes widened as she understood quite clearly the insinuation of the remark.

“Why… I would have to object, Miss Bingley!” Elizabeth protested.

Darcy looked to Elizabeth, recognizing the look of anger and insult written across her face, coupled with a very determined look of wishing to speak her mind. She continued, “We may not have all the advantages one has in town, but we certainly have opportunities that we may take advantage of to improve ourselves.”

“Perhaps it would not be the norm,” Darcy interjected, “but I do believe one could easily find an unblemished pearl—or two—in a country neighbourhood such as this, if one knew where to look and what exactly he was looking for.”

Elizabeth’s anger was somewhat appeased by Darcy’s words. He had, at least, stood up for her, and for that she was grateful. If he had remained silent, she could only suppose he agreed with Miss Bingley, and she did not think she could bear that.

Finally, not making any progress in her book, she stood up and excused herself, saying she wished to check in on Jane and then retire for the evening.

When Elizabeth walked into the room, Jane awakened. Elizabeth found her to be even more feverish, and poured her a glass of water from the pitcher in the room. Elizabeth secured a blanket for herself, choosing not to sleep in her room, which was next to Jane’s, but to sleep next to her sister in the chair.

When Jane finally settled down again, Elizabeth sat at the mirror and let down her hair, brushing it vigorously in the light of one small candle. She decided to sleep in her dress, and would change into another come morning.

Elizabeth slept little, hoping to keep Jane’s body temperature down and encouraging her to drink as much fluid as possible. Jane fell asleep again, the house was very still, and Elizabeth was certain everyone had retired for the night. She soon found herself in need of refilling the pitcher with water.

She picked up the pitcher and quietly went to the door, opening it slowly and closing it behind her. She walked down the hall, and soon heard the sound of footsteps coming up the staircase and the flickering of a candle could be seen.

She came to a stop when she found herself face to face with Darcy.

“Good evening, Elizabeth,” he whispered softly. “How is your sister tonight?”

“She is quite feverish. I have used up all the water. I was just on my way down to refill the pitcher.”

“Let me do that for you.” He took the final two steps up to reach her at the top of the stairs.

“No, there is no need for you…” She stopped, as did her heart, when she felt his free hand come around hers on the pitcher.

“Please, Elizabeth. I know exactly where to go to refill it.”

Looking at him through the flickering candlelight, and having the warmth of his hand securely around hers, she felt a tremor pass through her.

Darcy could not take his eyes off her, not having had the pleasure for several months of beholding her beauty in candlelit darkness. She was too close for him not to feel the gentle stirrings of admiration build within him, and he thought back to their kiss that last night on the ship, and how much he wanted to take her in his arms again at that very moment.

Her tiny hand felt so right held in his, but he forced himself to let go and reach up above hers and grasp the handle of the pitcher. “Go back to your sister, Elizabeth,” he whispered. “I shall fill this up and bring it back to you shortly.”

Darcy took it from her hands and turned to head back downstairs, leaving Elizabeth quite unmoved from where she had stood. If only he would treat me with indifference, it would make it so much easier for me! She slowly turned and walked back down the darkened hallway to Jane’s room. He is too kind to me. She let out a soft sigh.

Elizabeth sat patiently in the room, waiting for him to return. At length there was a light knock on the door. She opened it, and Darcy walked in, carrying the pitcher of water over to the small table.

“If there is anything else you need, just let me know. I am across the hall, three doors down.”

“Thank you,” Elizabeth said softly, her eyelashes covering her eyes as she looked toward the floor.

Darcy took a sharp intake of breath and brought his fingers up to her chin, lifting it up ever so slightly. “Elizabeth, this is not good. We have to talk.”

Looking over at Jane to make sure she was still sleeping, she replied, “But certainly, we cannot here! Not tonight, not in this room!”

“No, not tonight. I ought to leave.” His fingers lingered under her chin, holding her face up to his. He thought how easy it would be, how pleasant it would be, to bridge the short distance between their lips and leave her with a kiss of hope, of promise, of purposeful intentions.

But that thought was quickly erased from his mind as he heard a door down the hall open. Glancing back at the door, he whispered to her, “Now I know I must leave!”

Darcy quickly walked to the door, and as he stepped out into the hall, he was met by a tall figure. “Mr. Darcy! Is there some problem here?”

Elizabeth shuddered to think that Miss Bingley had just discovered him walking out of the room.

“There is not, now. Miss Elizabeth needed to refill the pitcher of water, and I encountered her in the hallway. I refilled it and just returned it to her.”

In the silence that ensued, Elizabeth felt she must say something to reassure Miss Bingley that nothing of a questionable nature had transpired. “Yes, Miss Bingley. Mr. Darcy was kind enough to refill the pitcher for me.” Turning to Darcy, she said, “Thank you, again, Mr. Darcy.” She was quite sure Miss Bingley noticed the trembling that affected her words.

Darcy proceeded to his room, leaving Caroline with countless speculations about this woman, her character, her intentions, and just how easily Darcy could be ensnared by her.

***

Having spent the night in her sister’s room, the next morning Elizabeth had the pleasure of being able to send a tolerable answer to the enquiries that she very early received from Mr. Bingley by a housemaid, and some time afterwards from the two elegant ladies who waited on his sisters. Jane had improved over the course of the night. Her fever had broken and Elizabeth was quite convinced she was on her way to recovery. But it was Mr. Darcy himself who came and inquired after her.

“How is your sister this morning?” he asked when she opened the door to his knock.

“She is much improved, thank you.”

“I am glad to hear it.” Darcy paused, as if waiting for a response from Elizabeth or deciding to make another himself. He looked over and noticed Jane sitting up in bed, and at length he excused himself with, “Shall you come down and join us this morning?”

Elizabeth nodded. “I shall be down shortly.”

He smiled and turned to join the others downstairs.

Elizabeth returned to Jane, who was enjoying a light breakfast brought earlier by one of the servants. Yes, she was grateful Jane seemed better. But it was her own spirits that had worsened during the night. She thought repeatedly of Darcy’s words that they must talk. Each time she conjectured what he would wish to talk to her about, it always came back to their marriage, its annulment, and Miss Bingley.

She wondered whether Darcy viewed their façade of a marriage in a cool, dispassionate light and wanted to ensure that she let nothing slip of its occurrence to anyone in the household. She looked at Jane, and wondered if he was concerned that she would have confided it to her.

She did not think she could bear hearing the words from his own mouth that the leanings of his heart were for Miss Bingley. Elizabeth closed her eyes as she pondered this. Just the thought of it brought her much distress, and she knew not how she would hold up if he spoke to her on this matter.

When Elizabeth had ascertained that Jane was comfortable, she went downstairs and joined the others in the breakfast parlour.

Upon walking in, she found Miss Bingley to be in a very animated discussion with Darcy. She believed the expression on his face betrayed a look of discomfort.

As her presence was noticed, all eyes turned to her, and Bingley expressed with great enthusiasm, “It is so good to hear that Miss Bennet is improved! Should we send a note home to your family? Should we extend an invitation for your mother to come and see for herself how she is faring?”

Elizabeth, with more apprehension at what Darcy would think of her mother than conviction that her mother actually had a real concern for Jane’s recovery, simply said, “I think a note informing her of her improvement would be sufficient. I would not want to burden her to come if she has other engagements.”

“Nonsense!” cried Bingley. “We shall send a note and extend the offer, and she may reply as she wishes!”

As Elizabeth sat down to join the others in the meal, she sensed tension in the air, and felt it was directed at her. She wondered whether Miss Bingley’s address to Darcy as she was walking in had something to do with finding him with her in Jane’s room last evening. He obviously was distressed that she imagined there was more to it than really was.

The breakfast continued in relative silence. Elizabeth was content to concentrate on the plate before her, not because she was particularly hungry but because she was very much aware of the two pair of eyes across the table bearing down on her. The one pair sent out fiery darts in their connection with hers; the other pair was quite disarming, and if Elizabeth did not know any better, would have supposed it was a look more of tender regard than disinterest.

The note was immediately dispatched, and Mrs. Bennet, accompanied by her two youngest girls, set out for Netherfield soon after the family breakfast. Her prompt arrival seemed less driven by a desire to dispense any words of comfort to Jane or any encouragement to Elizabeth, but instead, to see how things were progressing with Mr. Bingley.

Had she found Jane in any apparent danger, Mrs. Bennet would have been very miserable indeed; but being satisfied that her illness was not alarming, she had no wish of her recovering immediately, as her restoration to health would probably remove her from Netherfield. She would not listen, therefore, to Elizabeth’s proposal for the two of them to return home.

After sitting a little while with Jane, on Miss Bingley’s appearance and invitation, the mother and three daughters all attended her into the breakfast parlour. Mr. Bingley met them with hopes that Mrs. Bennet had not found Miss Bennet worse than she expected.

“Indeed, I have, sir,” was her answer. “She is a great deal too ill to be moved just yet. We must trespass a little longer on your kindness.”

“Removed!” cried Bingley. “It must not be thought of. My sister, I am sure, will not hear of her removal.”

“You may depend upon it, madam,” said Miss Bingley, with cold civility, “that Miss Bennet shall receive every possible attention while she remains with us.”

Mrs. Bennet was profuse in her acknowledgements. To Elizabeth’s dismay, her mother exhibited her typical boisterous and unchecked behaviour, and Lydia insisted in a manner bordering on brazenness that Mr. Bingley give a ball.

By the time her mother and two sisters left, Elizabeth was quite certain that her family’s character had been decided by Mr. Darcy and found lacking. Elizabeth returned instantly to Jane, leaving her own and her relations’ behaviour to the remarks of the two ladies and, she was sure, Mr. Darcy who, however unbeknownst to Elizabeth, could not be prevailed upon to join in their censure.

In the silence of the room as Jane slumbered, Elizabeth could not relax, having felt the greatest humiliation at the hands of her mother. How he must congratulate himself that he has annulled the marriage and will not have to endure being married into a family with a mother such as mine! It would be a wonder if he were not thinking at this very moment that had he known of my family, he would never have even considered such an alignment with me. “Ohhh!” Elizabeth cried out and pounded her fists down onto her lap.

Jane opened her eyes. “Lizzy, is something the matter?”

“Oh, Jane.” Elizabeth came over and sat down next to her on the bed. “I may tell you someday, but for now, just believe me that I did a foolish thing a while back, and it has come back to haunt me.”

Elizabeth spent the rest of the day with Jane, certain of two things: that Darcy did not wish her company and the two sisters desired her gone. Mr. Bingley had proven himself to be most gracious, and Elizabeth saw such goodness and acceptance from him that she felt he could love Jane completely despite all their family oddities. For that she was grateful.

Darcy retired to the solitary confines of his room for the rest of the day. He had struggled; it was to be expected, with the unbridled outbursts of Elizabeth’s mother. Several times he had to fight the prevailing will to silently turn away. Again the quiet, persistent voices from his past rose up, needling him to put aside these irrational feelings and do what was required of him in finding a suitable wife. But Elizabeth is suitable! She is more than suitable for me! He walked to the window and looked out, slapping his hand against the wall and then leaving it to rest there.

As he looked out, mulling over the disparity in Elizabeth’s station and his, the refined Darcy name and her unchecked family, he came to one conclusion. He could not live without her. And until she told him, to his face, that she had no wish—no desire—to keep their marriage intact, he would do nothing to dissolve it. He took a deep breath. He told her last night he needed to talk to her. He needed to talk to her alone, and it was apparent that was not going to happen on its own. Darcy had to come up with a plan.

Jane continued to mend, though slowly, but she remained in her room, and in the evening Elizabeth joined the rest of the party in the drawing room. The loo table, however, did not appear. Mr. Darcy was writing, and Miss Bingley, seated near him, was watching the progress of his letter and repeatedly calling off his attention to it with messages to his sister. Mr. Hurst and Mr. Bingley were at piquet, and Mrs. Hurst was observing their game.

Elizabeth picked up her book, hoping to attend fully to it, although she watched with great interest what passed between Darcy and his companion. As Miss Bingley repeatedly praised either his letter writing, or the evenness of his lines, or the length of his letter, Elizabeth wondered at the woman’s behaviour. If she had already secured his affections, she was not behaving as if she had.

Elizabeth almost laughed as she regarded his short, stilted answers to Miss Bingley’s words of praise. Sometimes he answered not at all. As she looked on curiously, Darcy turned to her.

“Have you finished the book yet, Miss Bennet?”

His address to her startled her. “I have a little bit left.”

“Then you think you will finish it tonight?”

“I imagine so.”

Elizabeth watched him for a few moments, her heart caught in her throat as she met his gaze. She had avoided turning her eyes upon him ever since her mother left earlier that day, afraid to see his censure.

Darcy’s gaze remained on her face several more seconds before Miss Bingley, feeling threatened by something that hung in the air between them, spoke up again, wishing him to send off a missive to Georgiana.

When he finished his letter, he applied to Miss Bingley and Elizabeth for some music, having a great desire to hear Elizabeth play and sing. Elizabeth watched him fold his letter ever so precisely and slip it into his pocket. Miss Bingley moved with alacrity to the pianoforte, and after a polite request that Elizabeth lead the way, which she politely and most earnestly declined, she seated herself. Mrs. Hurst joined her and sang while Miss Bingley played.

Elizabeth walked over to look through the music books that were lying on the instrument, and became aware of how frequently Darcy’s eyes were fixed on her. She hardly knew how to comprehend it, mindful of the fact that he had been exposed to her mother’s foolish oddities that day, and perhaps to an even greater extent the night at Lucas Lodge. To think that she could be the object of his admiration she dared not hope. He lingered at the table where she had been seated, picked up the book she had been reading, and then just as quickly placed it back on the table.

After playing several songs, Darcy drew to Elizabeth’s side, quietly saying to her, “I would be very much honoured to hear you play, Miss Bennet. While Miss Bingley is very proficient, her style does not always suit me.” He looked through the books himself, so as not to draw suspicion from Charles’s sister.

Elizabeth kept her gaze upon the music books but felt the warmth of his breath as he spoke. “I play very ill, indeed, Mr. Darcy.”

“Let me be the judge.” He picked up a piece of music and gently nudged Elizabeth toward the piano. When Miss Bingley finished playing, he presented the piece of music and Elizabeth to her, asking her to allow her to play.

With an air of decided displeasure, Miss Bingley conceded the piano playing to Elizabeth. Elizabeth sat down at the pianoforte, her nerves still resounding from Mr. Darcy’s closeness. She was not sure she would be able to play even two measures without her fingers getting all tangled up together. The piece he selected was a fairly easy piece, and she knew the words by heart. But she was not sure she could sing them in a way to do them justice, particularly the way she was feeling at the moment.

As she turned her attention to the piece before her, her fingers began to move across the keys with a mind of their own, and as she began to sing, she was suddenly no longer aware of anything in the room, except a pair of dark, tender eyes that had settled upon her.

Darcy had taken a seat where he could watch her expression as she played and sang. As she lifted her eyes from her fingers moving across the keys up to the music, she could see his dark eyes immobile and resting upon her. Instead of making her nervous or wondering what he thought of her or her family, instead of conjecturing whether Miss Bingley was an object of his admiration or not, she put all her heart and soul into the song, and the room listened in silence.

Darcy could not take his eyes off her. He had endured two days being in her presence and being unable to talk to her without Caroline interfering. He could only hope his plan would work.

As he watched her, as everyone watched her in polite silence, her playing and singing affected him in an even greater way. Her piano playing was very moving, flowing with an interpretation that he enjoyed immensely. But as she sang, the words and the soft, sweet tone of her voice wrapped around him as if they were as real as two arms in an embrace.

At the conclusion of her piece, everyone graciously applauded her, and a grin came across Darcy’s face that neither Elizabeth nor Miss Bingley missed. Each was just as surprised as the other.

Elizabeth, growing tired, and needing some time alone to ponder some of Darcy’s behaviour, excused herself.

As she turned to leave the room, Darcy stood up as she walked past. “Do not forget your book!” He picked up the book she had left sitting on the table and placed it firmly in her hands.

Elizabeth nervously smiled and thanked him.

She walked to Jane’s room to check on her and found her sleeping contentedly. Returning to her room, she placed the book next to the bed and readied herself for sleep. As she crawled in, she decided she would finish reading, as there was little left. As she opened the book, a small folded piece of paper fell out. She picked it up curiously and slowly opened it.

Looking down at the scrap of paper and reading what it said, Elizabeth gasped.

It read, There is no greater delightful diversion than a walk at sunrise. Tomorrow. Fitzwilliam.