Chapter Eleven

J ane was well enough now to sit up in bed and ask for a supper tray. Elizabeth was delighted. "I will ask for a tray as well, Jane; we can eat together."

"No, that would be rude, Lizzy. Go down to dinner with everyone else."

Elizabeth made a face. "I would much prefer the company of my beloved sister."

"And your beloved sister would enjoy your company as well, but we do not want the Bingleys to think us ill-bred."

"Miss Bingley already thinks we are the barbarians at Rome's gate."

"Then let us not give her any more reason to think so. Wear that blossom-coloured gown that Mama sent."

"You must be feeling quite a bit better if you are up to managing my wardrobe selections."

"I am, so beware!" Jane began to laugh, which turned into a hacking cough.

"But not yet entirely better," Elizabeth said, smoothing her sister's hair. "I will ask Miss Bingley to have a tray sent up for you."

Elizabeth went to her room. After surveying her choices, she took Jane's advice. The blossom gown was indeed very becoming on her, being a light pink first seen in La Belle Assemble three years earlier. Perhaps Mr. Darcy would – and here Elizabeth stopped herself. She would not think about Mr. Darcy.

As she made her way downstairs to the drawing room, she heard a new voice. It was a powerful voice, certainly not Mr. Bingley's or Mr. Hurst's, and equally certainly not the serious tones of Mr. Darcy. When she entered the room, the gentlemen rose and bowed, and the newcomer was presented to her.

Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, a cousin of Mr. Darcy's, matched the voice perfectly. He was a large, heavily muscled man, and the voice was certainly appropriate for a Colonel. She could imagine that voice barking out orders that would be obeyed immediately! She felt instinctively that she would like him.

Miss Bingley was on a sofa beside Mr. Darcy, and the Colonel was in a chair near the fire. Elizabeth took a chair between Mr. Darcy and the Colonel. "Were you very lately in battle, Colonel?" she asked.

He made a face. "Most recently, I am sorry to say, I was involved in the Battle of Albuera."

Elizabeth's face was sympathetic. "A great loss of life on both sides and no clear benefit gained."

"Precisely. You follow war news, Miss Elizabeth?"

"I do not pretend to understand all that I read, but I sit with my father's maps and make an effort to do so. I think it the responsibility of those of us here at home to at least attempt to comprehend the terrible risks being taken by our men."

Miss Bingley scoffed at that, causing the Colonel to turn to her. "You do not agree, Miss Bingley?"

"Of course not. Our men want ladies to keep their minds sweet and gentle, and not be burdened with images of bloodshed."

"Do you think all men feel that way, Miss Bingley?"

"All true gentlemen, of course."

Mrs. Hurst broke her customary silence to say, "Sister, I think we cannot categorize all gentlemen as the same, can we?"

"On matters such as these, I think we can safely do so," Miss Bingley insisted.

Mr. Bingley interrupted what was becoming a tense conversation. "How is your sister, Miss Elizabeth?"

"Her fever is quite gone, though her cough is still troublesome. Miss Bingley, might I trouble you to have a supper tray sent to her? She is finally regaining some appetite."

Miss Bingley nodded, regally, and rang a bell; a maid appeared immediately and Miss Bingley made the request for Jane's supper tray.

Dinner was then announced, and everyone rose. Miss Bingley clutched Mr. Darcy's arm, very evidently insistent on having him lead her into dinner. Mr. Bingley offered his arm to Mrs. Hurst. The Colonel offered his arm to Elizabeth, and she took it with a smile. It turned out that she was seated between the Colonel and Mr. Hurst; as Mr. Hurst had no conversation at all, she was glad to have the Colonel on her other side.

He was, as she had suspected, an intelligent gentleman. She was very interested in learning more about the war and army life, and he was able to speak knowledgeably on those subjects. She asked him why he went into the army, and he replied, "My father is the Earl of Matlock, but I am a second son, Miss Elizabeth. As you must know, we second sons must make our own way in the world."

"Of course, but you chose the army over, say, the law or the church."

"I am an active man, Miss Elizabeth. I could not imagine spending my life chained to a desk and reading dusty tomes, no matter whether those tomes be of law or religion."

Elizabeth laughed, saying she understood completely. "I am an active person as well; my mother used to despair of my wardrobe, as I was forever climbing trees and taking long walks, thereby ruining my gowns and shoes."

"You no longer climb trees, I take it?'

Miss Bingley had evidently been listening in, as she took the opportunity to call out across the table, "Your dinner partner may not climb trees, Colonel, but she is still taking long walks. She walked three miles to be here with her sister and she was covered in mud when she arrived."

"Indeed, Miss Elizabeth? That speaks very well of you," the Colonel said, loudly.

"I do not think Miss Bingley meant it as a compliment," Elizabeth whispered to him.

"I knew that, of course, why do you think I spoke as I did?" he whispered back.

Elizabeth laughed, shaking her head at him.

Mr. Darcy found himself stuck between Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst; a duller set of dinner partners he could not imagine. Making it much, much worse, he could see that his cousin was very much enjoying speaking with Miss Elizabeth, and she was very obviously enjoying it as well. The dark cloud that had momentarily lifted after his conversation with his cousin now descended upon him again.

Mr. Darcy's wineglass snapped off at the stem. He stared at the red liquid as it spread across the white tablecloth. Had he done that? He had not realised he had been clutching the wine glass so tightly. Then he felt pain in his palm. Blood was dripping down from his hand. Not wanting to cause any more of a fuss, he surreptitiously wrapped his napkin around his palm.

A footman leapt into action to mop up the spill and bring Mr. Darcy a new glass.

"I am so sorry, Mr. Darcy," Miss Bingley said. "The dinner service here at Netherfield is very cheap stuff; if Charles buys the estate, we will have to spend a good deal of money buying china and crystal. And the decoration of the bedrooms! I have never seen such…" And she went on and on about how much of the house needed to be re-decorated, how out of fashion it all was, and so on. Mr. Darcy heard none of it; he was too busy glaring across the table at his cousin.

The dinner was finally over and the ladies left the room, leaving the gentlemen to their brandy and cigars. Colonel Fitzwilliam looked across the table at Mr. Darcy. "Miss Elizabeth, is it?"

"What about her?" was Mr. Darcy's terse reply.

"You were upset because I was speaking with her."

"I most certainly was not."

"You most certainly were. And you have known her for…how long?"

"Two days," Mr. Bingley supplied, grinning.

"Two days," Colonel Fitzwilliam repeated. "Well, I cannot say that I blame you. She is certainly a delectable creature."

A delectable creature? She was, of course; that pink gown was perfect for her! But of all the ways to describe – Mr. Darcy swallowed hard. He knew his cousin was teasing him, hoping for a reaction. He remained silent, turning away from Richard's gaze.

When the men rejoined the ladies in the drawing room, Miss Bingley was at the instrument, performing one of her complex sonatas. Colonel Fitzwilliam quickly took a seat beside Elizabeth, causing Mr. Darcy to grind his teeth.

Mr. Bingley asked, "Might Miss Bennet be well enough to come down for a brief while?"

Elizabeth shook her head. "Perhaps tomorrow, Mr. Bingley."

"Very well; please tell her that she is much missed."

"She will be glad to know that you thought of her, Mr. Bingley," Elizabeth assured him.

Shortly thereafter, Miss Elizabeth rose, curtsied to everyone, wished them a good evening and went upstairs.

As soon as she disappeared, Miss Bingley expressed her belief that Miss Bennet was quite well and certainly able to go home, but was delaying her departure as long as possible so as to allow Miss Eliza to make an impression on the eligible gentlemen now residing at Netherfield.

Mr. Darcy listened for a minute and rose to take his leave. Before Georgiana's elopement, he might have sat and listened to this vitriol simply to be polite; he had the Darcy family reputation to protect, after all! But now he seemed to have lost his patience for such things. Wickham had destroyed the Darcy family's reputation, so there was no longer anything to protect; perhaps Mr. Darcy need no longer hold himself to such strict and exacting standards of behaviour.

"Are you leaving us so soon, Mr. Darcy?" Miss Bingley enquired, seeing the gentleman on his feet.

Mr. Darcy replied, "I have no wish to listen to a young lady's character being destroyed." He bowed curtly and left the room. He went to the kitchen. His hand hurt like the devil, and if there was anyone in the house who knew how to deal with a cut, it was the Cook. Sure enough, she had his hand neatly bandaged in just minutes.

From there, he went to the library. He knew he was hoping to find Miss Elizabeth there, though he was well aware she had gone up to her sister.

He must have fallen asleep upon the sofa, for he found himself suddenly startled by the rustling of fabric. Sitting up quickly, he found Miss Elizabeth tiptoeing into the room.

"I apologise, Mr. Darcy; I seem to be unable to be quiet enough to not awaken you."

"And I seem to be unable to remain awake in the library. Are you looking for another book?"

"I am, yes. The one I found last night was not to Jane's taste."

"Might I assist you? I do not believe you can reach the top shelves."

"Indeed, I cannot even read the titles on the top shelves! I thank you, Mr. Darcy."

He rose from the sofa and stood beside her. The faint scent of jasmine reached him. He inhaled deeply; she smelled wonderful. She looked wonderful. Everything about her was wonderful.

"Are you well, Mr. Darcy?" She looked at him with concern.

"Yes, I was just –" And here he stopped. He was what? Enjoying her scent? Admiring her person? He could not possibly explain. Instead, he changed the subject. "Let me tell you what I see here." And he rattled off the names of the volumes on the shelf. When he reached The Midnight Bell , she laughed and said, "Jane will love that. Might you bring it down for me?"

"Of course." He reached up – it was not a difficult reach, as he was a tall man with appropriately long arms – and dusted it off with a handkerchief before giving it to her.

She glanced at the bandage on his hand and raised a questioning brow.

"A small accident," he told her. "It is nothing."

She nodded, returning her gaze to the book. "It is astonishing that this book has been left behind by the previous tenants," she said. "But I will be certain to return it to the library before we leave."

"When do you think that will be?" he asked.

"I am very much hoping that we can leave tomorrow."

"Netherfield is not to your taste?"

"It is a handsome house," she temporized. "But I very much feel that we are an inconvenience."

"Certainly not to Mr. Bingley; he would have your sister move in permanently, I think."

She shook her head, reprovingly. "It is far too short an acquaintance to make such a statement."

"So you do not believe in love at first sight? That is an unusual position for a young lady, is it not?"

"I do, of course. But one must also take into account the practicalities. Can I live with this person peacefully? Will we help one another grow as human beings? Do we have the same life goals? These are important questions when choosing a partner."

"And how do two people learn these things about one another if all they are allowed to do is to have two dances at an assembly and sit beside one another at dinner or at tea?" he asked.

"That is a very good question, Mr. Darcy. It is difficult, under society's strictures, to learn much about a potential marriage partner."

"Miss Elizabeth," Mr. Darcy said.

"Yes, Mr. Darcy?"

"You asked why I had not confided my family's situation to Mr. Bingley."

"I recall that, yes."

"Once you posited the question, I realised that I do not trust Bingley to not repeat the story to his youngest sister, who would then immediately write to all her acquaintances in London."

She thought for a minute. "I think you are right to feel that way. Not because he would wish you ill, but because – well, I shall say no more."

Mr. Darcy said, "I will say it for you. He is a good soul, but he would never have the ability to keep such information to himself if Miss Bingley decided he was holding something back from her."

"Yes. But there is more to consider here, I think." She hesitated and then added, "I do not wish to be rude or to offend you in any way."

"I value your opinion, Miss Elizabeth. I beg you to share your thoughts."

She took a deep breath. "I know something – a very little something – about family pride. I cannot compare my family to yours, of course, but there have been Bennets at Longbourn for two hundred years. Now, because my mother did not bear a son, we shall be the last of our line, and a man named Collins will inherit."

Mr. Darcy bowed his head. "That is hard indeed."

"It is. But because of my family's situation, I can tell you that for my father, bearing the pity of the neighbours was hard enough; but what was even harder for him to come to terms with was how he viewed himself."

Mr. Darcy remained silent, hoping she would continue.

After a moment, she did, her voice filled with pain. "He can no longer see himself as the bearer of a proud name and a proud heritage. Instead, he is the man who failed to keep the estate for the Bennets. And that is far, far harder for him to stomach than the pity of his friends. Family pride has brought my father nothing but heartache. But it has taught me to believe that cultivating one's own virtues must take precedence over pride in one's family. The fact that the Darcy family name is tarnished feels terrible, I know; but perhaps you can now be free to focus on your own behaviour, your own character, your own wishes and desires, rather than on your family name."

Mr. Darcy could not speak.

"Mr. Darcy?"

He put a hand over his eyes so that she could not see his tears. He and his fair companion were quiet for a long while. Then he said, hoarsely, "Miss Elizabeth."

"Yes, Mr. Darcy?"

"May I call on you at Longbourn?"

Her expressive eyes opened wide. She was silent, staring at him.

"I hope I have not offended you," he added, hastily.

"No, no, of course not." She gathered her wits. "I would be very happy to have you call on me, Mr. Darcy." Then she blushed deeply, curtsied, and left with her book.