Chapter 14

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

E lizabeth had thought she was prepared for marriage, but the sheer magnitude of the decision she had just made was slightly overwhelming. “I shall need to send a note to Longbourn, for them to send the carriage.”

“I hate for you to leave,” Mr Darcy said urgently. “Surely you can stay a little longer. One more day cannot hurt.”

“I do not wish to sound rude, but I would much rather not speak of our engagement while staying as a guest of Miss Bingley. I do not think she will take the news well.”

He did not try to deny it. “I have always been as careful as I can be to ensure she knows my feelings will never be engaged. She has known her cause is hopeless.”

“Oh, she is well aware,” Elizabeth said. “It will not help her cope with this announcement.”

Mr Darcy scrubbed a hand through his hair. “I am sorry for it. Her nature is a jealous one, but she has behaved more than usually so. I had hoped that it was merely a shallow sort of envy that she does not possess your beauty and wit.”

It was all Elizabeth could do not to laugh in disbelief; Caroline Bingley was an attractive, fashionable, wealthy woman. When she put forth effort, she could also be a witty, entertaining one. That she seldom chose to did not mean she lacked ability. She has every opportunity to find real happiness, and no reason to envy me!

Except that I possess Mr Darcy’s heart.

I would not trade him for ten times her beauty and fortune.

“Such gallantry deserves reward.” She leant over to place a kiss on his cheek, her own first act of affection. He turned his face at the last moment, however, and her kiss landed upon his lips. It was a long moment before she remembered her topic of discussion.

“Tomorrow morning,” he said, after one last kiss. “Let me spend a few more hours in your company. I shall have Bingley’s carriage take you home then. Netherfield will seem soulless once you depart, but after I speak to your father, we might spend the rest of the morning together. Then I am off to put our plans into motion.”

It was difficult to consider a longer separation, much less argue for a position she did not really like. Besides, Jane very much wanted to remain. “Very well. I shall tell Jane tonight. I feel sure she will say nothing if I ask her not to. You can reveal our news to the Bingleys once we are away.”

Mr Darcy kissed her again, his delight in her answer obvious. It was a temptation to stay outdoors with him until dark, but she knew their absence would be noted, and Jane would worry. “I had better return to the house,” she said at last, unable to prevent a note of reluctance.

“I ought to finish the letter to my cousin, I suppose. I mean to send it express.” He sounded no more eager to leave her than she felt at leaving him.

Soon, we shall be no more parted. Thank goodness it is to be a brief engagement!

“Lizzy, are you sure you are well? You were out of doors a long while today. I could have Mr Jones sent for. I did not mean—I hope, most sincerely, that you did not do it because of what I said. I ought never to have said it—or even thought of it! If you truly are ill, I shall never forgive myself.”

Alone in Jane’s sitting room, Elizabeth knew her restlessness had been too much to hide. Not that she wished, any longer, to keep her engagement secret—she had only been deciding which words to use.

“Please, Jane…do not fret. I am in the pink of good health. It is just that I have intelligence that will astonish you; I have certainly astonished myself. You will never guess who has asked me to become his wife.”

Jane swivelled in her seat to face Elizabeth, concern upon her brow. “Mr Collins did not come here , did he?”

“Oh, no. I have not yet met him. I am quite safe from his proposals.”

Suddenly Jane’s whole posture drooped, her pretty face paling. “Has…has Mr Bingley asked you?”

Elizabeth might have laughed, had not Jane been so desperately trying to be stoic. “Jane! Of course not! I am certain you have seen that Mr Bingley only has eyes for you.”

Jane’s cheeks pinkened. “I…I am trying not to hope. But who else could it be?”

“Who is the other eligible bachelor at Netherfield?”

“Not…oh, Lizzy. You do not mean—you cannot mean—Mr Darcy?”

“Is it so unbelievable?” Elizabeth asked, trying not to be annoyed. It was beyond belief, almost, especially after their bad beginning.

“Oh! That he should love you is completely understandable! It is—I did not know he…that he had so suddenly grown sensible!”

Dear, loyal Jane.

Her sister hurried to her, with embraces and many expressions of gladness. After a few minutes, however, Jane grew quieter.

“I do not think Miss Bingley will be pleased,” she said, with massive understatement.

“No, I do not suppose so. That is why we shall say nothing tonight. Tomorrow, Mr Darcy will see us delivered home, and he will inform the Bingleys himself. It will not then be so awkward.”

“I agree,” Jane murmured, looking relieved.

“I also might hope that, since I shall marry his dearest friend, you will often be thrown into company with Mr Bingley. I do not suspect it will take a goodly amount of time before they become brothers, as well as friends.”

She saw the moment Jane realised what it might mean for her own hopes, to be so closely connected to Mr Darcy. Elizabeth grinned. “I daresay my plan is a better one than yours was,” she added slyly.

Both sisters laughed as if it was the funniest joke in the world.

But that night, as they gathered in the drawing room after the evening meal, she wondered once again whether she might have made a mistake. She watched as Jane constantly looked between herself and Mr Darcy with a confused expression on her face.

As well she might be confused, for so am I.

Mr Darcy acted, for all intents and purposes, as though she were not in the room. He was not rude, of course. He was the man who he had been upon her first arrival at Netherfield, if not quite the man from the assembly. He was not the man in whose embrace she had been enfolded a few hours before.

Had the letter to his cousin reminded him of all the reasons he ought not to have proposed? Of course, she did not want to announce their engagement yet, not until they were no longer Miss Bingley’s guests, not until proprieties—such as her father’s permission—had been dealt with. Still, as the evening wore on, she withdrew into herself, feeling hurt for no reason she could quite name. Surely there was no cause, engagement or not, that he should absolutely ignore her.

If he is embarrassed to acknowledge any slight friendship with me before his friends, why in the world would he wish to marry?

One could assume Miss Bingley might enjoy witnessing the coldness he displayed towards Elizabeth, except that her attempts to draw him into conversation were met with an equivalent chill. Did he hate everyone this night? Had her agreement to marry him somehow brought about this frigid mood? Or was something else wrong, entirely? It all reminded her that she did not know him. Not truly.

Miss Bingley took the pianoforte at last, and Jane gave Elizabeth a glance, questions in her eyes. Watching her sister’s bewilderment at Mr Darcy’s obvious detachment was painful. Withdrawing into a corner, wishing she was home, Elizabeth contemplated what she could do to remove herself from the situation, and her humiliation, as quickly as possible. She was a step or two from an exit. Perhaps it is time to retire; I could quietly excuse myself.

Mr Bingley engaged Jane in conversation— he at least was as enamoured of Jane as ever.

Mr Bingley would never utterly ignore his affianced bride , Elizabeth thought. He would be unable to. It is not in his nature.

Mr and Mrs Hurst appeared to be involved in some sort of private dispute, speaking to each other exclusively—in tones too low to overhear—from a settee placed somewhat away from where Jane and Mr Bingley sat. The expressions of unhappiness upon both their faces were impossible to miss.

Mrs Hurst chose him because she could not have Mr Darcy , she remembered, shuddering at the thought of such an unfeelingly loveless connexion.

Suddenly, she felt a whisper, so low it was feather soft in her ears. “Elizabeth.”

She glanced behind her; it was Mr Darcy, mostly in the doorway’s shadow, hidden from the rest of the room. Determinedly, she turned her attention away from him, back to the music. Miss Bingley was playing a fugue, a funereal piece that only disheartened her more.

The touch upon her spine was almost as soft as his voice. “I am troubled this evening,” she barely heard him murmur. “I find I have no ability for playacting. I pretend I am elsewhere—preferably at our wedding—lest I take you in my arms and shout to the world of my happiness. Which shall it be?”

Miss Bingley’s music crashed in crescendo, screaming of scorned love. Even though Elizabeth was certain she could see neither herself nor Mr Darcy from this angle, the woman might as well have announced her despair to the room.

“I am not sure the instrument could take any more of Miss Bingley’s unrequited passion,” she whispered. She did not mean to be unkind, but it was beyond awkward, being subjected to the rawness of the woman’s emotions.

Let me never conduct myself thus , she thought. Let me never be an object of pity. Mr Darcy may behave as he thinks best; I shall act as a lady, no matter the provocation.

She tried to smile, tried to experience relief at his words. But it still felt wrong. “You must, of course, do as your conscience guides.”

“I loathe disguise of any sort.”

“As do I.”

“There is no reason, I suppose, why the Bingleys should hear of our intentions before your father does.”

“That is certainly true.”

“Are you angry with me?”

Elizabeth sighed. “I had supposed there to be an option between disregarding me entirely and declaring yourself before the crowd. Forgive me for being so thin-skinned, and being hurt that you were unable to think of one.”

He grew silent; Elizabeth turned her attention back to the raging fugue. Abruptly, he moved out of the shadows, into the lighted room beside her. “Perhaps, Miss Elizabeth, we ought to join Bingley and your sister. It appears their conversation is an animated one.”

She peered up at him. His expression was sober; his eyes now appeared troubled, somehow. Nevertheless, he offered her his arm; she allowed him to bring her to Jane and Mr Bingley, seating her and himself—close, but no closer than was polite.

“Darcy! I was just telling Miss Bennet about the time you prevented me buying the lame mare from Somerset! Him a marquess, pulling the wool over my eyes! Ha-ha!”

Mr Darcy smiled tightly at his friend’s laughter; Elizabeth saw that he had, evidently, not been at all amused by the marquess’s attempted deception. She was not surprised when he quickly changed the subject to more substantial matters—Bingley’s meeting earlier today with Netherfield’s steward, and his explanation of the man’s long-term plans for Netherfield, answering Elizabeth’s questions with meaningful responses—and without any condescension. As he spoke of the land, and the people on it, and plans for it, he grew ever more animated.

This was the real Mr Darcy, serious-minded but never dull. She noticed Mr Bingley paying distinct attention as she made a particular enquiry, seeming to listen carefully to its answer. Was it possible that he hesitated, at times, to ask his questions? Mr Bingley did not mind displaying his own ignorance over horseflesh, but it did not follow that he was always eager to sound uninformed—especially upon a topic of such import to his friend.

Jane seemed satisfied, at least, now that Mr Darcy was no longer ignoring them all, her expression easing towards contentment. She did not speak overmuch, but Elizabeth saw how Jane’s eyes yearned towards Mr Bingley, and her pretty blushes when he paid a compliment to her. Once again, she could imagine evenings of entertainment, Jane and Mr Bingley, herself and Mr Darcy as a lively foursome.

I have been over-dramatic , she realised with an inward smile. I was seeing problems where they did not exist. Tomorrow we shall go to Longbourn, and Mr Darcy will speak to Papa, and my next life will begin.

And with these thoughts, she was comforted.