Chapter 27

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

D arcy arrived at Netherfield on the twelfth of May, only two days before Bingley's wedding, and was dismayed to discover nearly every bedchamber in the house filled with Bingley's relations, friends from town, and Hurst's family. Worse, his room—the one Miss Bingley previously had deemed the finest in an otherwise ‘merely adequate' house—had been given to Mr Nugent and he was now relegated to smaller, somewhat musty, quarters. Still worse, he learnt the Collinses were at Lucas Lodge, guests at the wedding and, he was certain, refugees from Lady Catherine's wrath.

How is Elizabeth faring amidst this sea of fools?

He would find out that afternoon, when he accompanied Bingley to Longbourn for his final visit there before the wedding breakfast itself. Tomorrow would be busy with final preparations for the evening's ball, and he was certain he would be needed to calm Bingley's nerves. His own nerves were hardly calm when they crossed Longbourn's threshold .

Is she still impertinent enough to want me as much as I want her?

Elizabeth was sitting with her elder sister when they were taken to the morning parlour. Not only did she smile at him, she appeared as unsettled as he. It seemed a good sign that even their emotions were in mutual tumult.

His joy increased when, after greetings were exchanged, she offered her seat next to Miss Bennet on the settee to Bingley and moved to a chair across the room; an empty chair sat beside it. He took it, managed to think of everything and nothing he could say, and was sorely glad she had no such struggles.

"Mr Bingley is pleased you are here to support him," she said. "I hope you have not come merely to flee angry missives from Lady Catherine."

He returned her small smile. "Not at all. She was unhappy my cousin and I departed early, yet I have received not one letter from Rosings. I hope no letters or unpleasant reminders of that place have haunted you since your return home."

"Not even my mother, who knows nothing of his actions towards me, wishes to host Mr Collins here. I am sure we shall see him at the ball, and will earnestly avoid one another's company."

"You and your dancing slippers have earned such a reprieve," he agreed. "Have you been to Netherfield and seen the madness there?"

Her outburst of laughter briefly drew Bingley and Miss Bennet from their conversation. "I apologise," Elizabeth said. "I have never seen a house party filled with so many people of differing opinions, and have enjoyed the many colourful conversations I have had this past week. "

"With Mr Nugent as well?"

"Oh yes. He has told me all about his betrothed."

"He is engaged ? So soon? But your sister?"

"Kitty is unbothered." She shrugged and she smiled impishly, her eyes alight with mischief. "To a lovely lady from Sussex, who is of fine character and whose father boasts even finer stables than his, and who adores his mother's wit and taste in wall-papers."

It took him only a moment to deduce the answer. "The Walters of Sussex? With four daughters who ride and race and despise town?"

"The very ones. Phoebe, I believe. She is a second daughter, which made him wary," she said, grinning, "but her seat is as fine as her mind for horseflesh, so he knew it to be love."

"I am happy for him—for them. Even if he did steal my rooms at Netherfield."

"Poor thing. Perhaps, in exchange for such an uneven trade, you could apply to him for some of his amusing stories."

Poor thing? Laughing, he shook his head, marvelling at the easiness between them . He had not imagined she would be so welcoming, not after he had created so much awkwardness between them. But with the ease came rising hopes, and he did not wish to spend his valuable time with her discussing Nugent and Lady Catherine. There was another concern he must address.

He leant his head closer. "My cousin Anne tells me your letter was quite gracious."

"Oh, indeed? Well, it took some practise to get to the point of graciousness. "

"That does not surprise me." He reached into his pocket and withdrew the folded letter found in his carriage. Elizabeth looked at it curiously, but without recognition. "This was found in my carriage. I presume, and hope from the sentiments within, that it is one of your ‘practise' letters."

Her eyes widened and she reached for it with a trembling hand. "Ah, it has been read?"

"Only by me. My coachman gave it to my butler, neither of whom opened it. I needed to determine what it was, and it was so brief, that yes, I did read all of it. And," he lowered his voice and looked directly at her, "I think it is brilliant, and not only in its sentiments towards my aunt, who deserves many strong set-downs."

Her eyes skimmed the very words he praised before replying, quietly, "Well, it is best she only thinks I dislike her, rather than she know of it." She glanced at Bingley and her sister, who remained happily engrossed in each other, before returning her eyes to him.

Seeing her hesitation to say more, Darcy smiled tenderly. "At the risk of once again showing too much of my own feelings, the rest of your letter is exceptionally insightful. I may not deserve a wife who can challenge my pride and does not mind a little mud on her boots, but she is the wife that I want."

She blushed, deeply, and looked away for a moment. He could almost see her thoughts play out by watching the rapid change of expression, before she turned back to him, her eyes alight, with, he hoped, as much happy expectation as he felt.

They had no opportunity to go beyond those promising beginnings before Mrs Bennet arrived and announced she required Jane for a final fitting of her gown. Likely it was the first time the lady had ever invited any suitor to leave Longbourn; her expression upon seeing Darcy certainly did not convey hopes he would become one. Leaving before he could truly understand Elizabeth's feelings or Bingley could steal the kiss he clearly desired from Jane vexed both men. As Netherfield and its boisterously argumentative guests offered no comfort to either, they took a long ride, ending in Meryton so that Bingley could purchase yet another gift for his bride, before returning.

Meryton was again Darcy's destination the following morning. He was nearly there when the voice he loved most in the world called out.

"Mr Darcy?"

He held a hand to his eyes to shield the sun. It shone behind Elizabeth, providing him a shamefully affecting view of her figure under her light walking gown. He turned his eyes to the ground.

"What brings you here?" She stepped closer. "To Meryton, at this hour? Does Mr Bingley require something for the ball, ten hours from now?"

He could not confess he had scarcely slept the prior evening, thinking of her, nor admit his need to escape Netherfield and the clamour and chatter of the guests it held. Bingley's puppy-like excitement for his wedding, Mrs Hurst's zeal for decorating and managing the ball, and Miss Bingley's churlish disgust at all of it made the house unliveable except for sleeping. And, his mind full of Elizabeth, Darcy had failed at that simple task. Now he was hungry—his breakfast tray had arrived with cold tea and undercooked eggs, but he would not fault the overworked servants for delivering him nothing edible or appetising. His own aversion to engaging with the household was to blame.

Much as he wished to say something witty or resume yesterday's promising conversation, he could not. Not when she neared him, and without words, brought something truly delightful to his senses.

"You smell like ham," he said plaintively.

"Pardon me?" She stepped back.

"No, no. Excuse me, I have yet to have breakfast and dinner was a rather unappetising affair and I find myself exceedingly hungry. I thought I might find something to eat in Meryton."

Elizabeth looked at him closely, her eyes dancing with laughter, and he felt too dull to appreciate the intimacy of it. "Mr Darcy, are you hiding yourself away from the surfeit of Scarborough Bingleys, Sussex Nugents, and Middlesex Hiddlesons? Are you not practising your charms and conversation?"

"I am not. They are exhausting and I prefer to save all my charm and conversation for the very few who mean far more to me."

He was pleased she blushed and that she did not demur from his compliment, indirect as it was. "Well, your wretched desperation has had its effect on me. Will you join us at Longbourn? You may have to dine with my mother and sisters only hours away from the year's most anticipated events, but there is ham"—she paused, a wicked smile forming as she undoubtedly took note of his eagerness—"and baked eggs, and toast and rolls and Cook's special fruitcake."

"Miss Bennet is not the only angel at Longbourn." His strength returned and he held out his arm. "I like your sisters, all of them, very much. Not as much as you, or even as much as ham, but perhaps when I am less famished, we may discuss some things."

Promises were made to be broken. As satisfying as the breakfast and conversation were at Longbourn, Darcy was as besieged by chatter and arguments as he had been at Netherfield. He understood that weddings and balls enliven society, but was there no rule on the volume and quantity of the shrieking? If— when —I reach that point with Elizabeth, I will be the calm in the storm. And I shall ban shrieking.

The day prior, thanks to Mrs Bennet's unwelcomed arrival, he and Elizabeth had not progressed past the promise in her eyes. Today, before once again being shooed away, he had managed to request two sets with her at the evening's ball. Her answering smile gave him the sort of hope a man needs, he thought later, while sitting in his room and staring mindlessly at the ceiling. How lovely she is, how much she says without words but only with a glance or smile.

His respite for reverie was short. Bingley appeared at his door, wishing to talk about the business of marriage and his future with a wife and sister and so many Bennets, so Darcy set aside his own romantic concerns to manage whatever he could for Bingley—who had, after all, managed his own love affair quite nicely.