Chapter 2

Darcy helped Miss Elizabeth to the sofa in front of the unlit fire and gestured for her to sit. She did so without complaint and immediately put her head in her hands.

“Can I get you anything?” he asked.

“No, thank you.”

He tarried, unwilling to leave until her prediction of a swift improvement was confirmed. It did not seem likely—though the library was barely illuminated by the anaemic moonlight, he could nevertheless see that she was hunched miserably, unmoving and ill. He felt a flash of vexation at her obstinacy. It was absurd that she should submit herself to such discomfort simply to avoid another few days at Netherfield. The Bingleys were excellent people, and one ill-judged invitation to dance hardly made him a villain.

“I thank you for your kindness in showing me in here, sir, but there is no need for you to stay,” she mumbled without looking up. “My sisters tell me I am not very good company when I am indisposed.”

Darcy liked that better as an explanation for her reproofs. “Is this why you declined to play the pianoforte—because you felt unwell?”

“No,” she said wearily. “I did not wish to play because I am not very good, and I had no desire to give anyone the chance to scorn my performance.”

“Scorn it? Your playing is delightful. What makes you think it would attract scorn?”

There was a pause, then she sighed quietly. “Pardon me, I should not have said that. I was not exaggerating when I said I was not fit to be in company at present. Truly—it would be best if you returned to the others.”

She was right, but he could not leave—loath though he was to examine why. “Permit me to stay until I can be sure you are not as ill as you look. Bingley has already scolded me once this evening. Imagine his protests if I left you to succumb to a fever in his library.”

Her faint laugh gave him a wholly unexpected rush of pleasure.

“You are very good, sir,” she said quietly.

“Am I? Some of your earlier remarks seemed to imply otherwise.”

She dropped her hands away from her face and looked up at him, her expression obscured by shadows. “Can you deny you were unhappy that Jane and I were required to stay?”

“Yes, I can. I have not been unhappy about it at any point.”

“Really? I have eyes, Mr Darcy. I have perceived every smirk and sneer that has passed between all of you, both at my expense and at my family’s. I perfectly understood Mrs Hurst’s horror when she heard that I had walked three miles to get here. And Miss Bingley’s derision when my mother boasted of the size of our neighbourhood. And Mr Hurst’s incredulity when I told him I prefer a plain dish to a ragout. I could go on. I believe I have been the recipient of more veiled contempt in the past two days than in the whole of my life.”

Forced to give it proper consideration, Darcy could not deny the many uncharitable things Miss Bingley and the Hursts had said about Miss Elizabeth in her absence, nor the incivility they had occasionally shown to her face. He was sorry to have done so little to discourage them, but he had always refused to join in their censure and was not content to be tarred with their brush.

“None of these offences were committed by me.” It sounded peevish even to his own ears.

“True,” Miss Elizabeth replied. “You are slightly better at concealing your contempt than the others, but you have not been entirely successful. Your purpose was to show me to disadvantage when you asked me to dance a reel just now.”

She was still looking up at him, and though Darcy could not see her face, he would swear he could feel the accusation in her look.

“And you did think my mother was awful when she visited today.”

At least there he could defend himself. “Miss Elizabeth, I, too, have eyes. Even you were mortified by your mother’s behaviour this morning.”

She laughed, but it quickly devolved into a groan, and she flopped heavily against the back of the sofa. “I suppose I was. Perhaps I have been unjustly anticipating your disapprobation because you were so disparaging on our first meeting.”

“In what way?”

“You declared that I was not tempting enough to stand up with. Remember?”

Darcy was glad of the dark then, for he felt the heat of a blush overspread his cheeks, and he had a strong aversion to betraying any loss of composure. Would that she had not paid such bold attention to an exchange that had clearly not been meant for her. “I beg your pardon. I had no idea anybody was listening to my private conversation.”

In her new, semi-recumbent attitude, Miss Elizabeth’s face was very faintly illuminated by the pale shaft of light coming through the window. He still could not make out her expression, but he could see the moonlight glinting in her eyes as she regarded him. He disliked how uncomfortable it made him and was about to remind her that he had asked her to dance twice since then, when the door opened, and someone came in, carrying a candle.

“Mr Darcy? Are you in here?”

Miss Bingley. Next to him, Miss Elizabeth began to slide down on the sofa, presumably to remain hidden from sight, and even in the midst of the unpleasant episode, it still amused him. She truly was unlike any other woman he had ever known—wholly uninhibited by propriety, yet by no means gauche; she was all femininity and grace. Darcy generally disliked disguise, but he had no desire to place her under any suspicion for having been in a darkened room alone with him. Besides, he had given his word that he would not reveal her whereabouts, and the prospect of being party to her subterfuge was undeniably appealing.

“I am,” he said, and walked towards the door, leaving Miss Elizabeth where she was.

The candle bobbed up and down as Miss Bingley attempted to see beyond its circle of light. “I thought you must be. Your man said he had not seen you.”

“You spoke to Milton?”

“Only briefly. We were all wondering where you had got to.”

Nevertheless, her presumption was astounding. He could just imagine her displeasure should he take it upon himself to interrogate her lady’s maid. “Well, you have found me now,” he said tightly. He moved to leave, but Miss Bingley put her chamber stick down, then leant provocatively against the same table, gripping the edge on either side of her legs and thrusting her chest towards him.

“We all agreed, after you left, how tiresome Miss Eliza was this evening.”

Darcy said a private imprecation, but he was not quick enough to prevent Miss Bingley saying more.

“Though it is you who has borne the brunt of her antagonism. You must be at your wits’ end putting up with her constant quarrelling.”

“No, indeed, I enjoy an intelligent debate.”

Miss Bingley tittered affectedly. “You are too good, sir! Your forbearance does you great credit.”

Every word Miss Bingley uttered increased Darcy’s mortification. He tried again to leave, but Miss Bingley was not inclined to oblige.

“It is a shame you missed our game. It is called ‘Hues’ and the object is to assign each person of the party a colour, or the colour of an object, that best describes their character. For example, Charles was silver, because as you rightly pointed out, he is as whimsical as liquid silver, always changing his mind. You would have been gold, of course.”

“And why is that?” He dearly hoped she was not vulgar enough to remark on his fortune.

“Because you are such a shining example to everybody. A true gentleman, the best master, and a steadfast friend. Charles looks up to you as almost a brother, and I know that when he eventually settles on an estate, he will model all his endeavours on yours at Pemberley.”

Darcy thanked her politely, if not graciously. He was not insensible to the compliment, but he would be fascinated to hear what she thought she knew of his endeavours at Pemberley beyond his owning it. Knowing Miss Elizabeth was listening gave an even hollower timbre to the praise.

Miss Bingley cast him a sly look. “We all agreed that Miss Eliza was?—”

“I must insist that we return to the drawing room,” Darcy interrupted forcefully. He leant around her to pick up the chamber stick and marched out of the library, leaving her to scamper after him, attempting to placate him with more flattery.

The loo table had been set up while he was gone, and they were immediately called to join the others on their return. Darcy played badly, eliciting more than one rebuke from Hurst, but he could not attend to cards, not after what had transpired in the library. What Elizabeth had made of his exchange with Miss Bingley, he could not imagine. No matter her ability to ‘deflect meanness,’ while she had feelings, she must be distressed to hear herself spoken of in such terms.

He questioned what had prevented him from condemning Miss Bingley’s remarks, then or before. He could hardly claim deference to her brother as his defence, for unlike himself, Bingley had repeatedly challenged his sisters’ views of both Bennet ladies. Good manners could be the only explanation, though he regretted that consideration for one lady had resulted in the neglect of the other.

Much later than Darcy would have preferred, the evening drew to an end. He lingered until he was the last one remaining in the drawing room, then made his way to the library. It was to be hoped that Elizabeth had gone upstairs a long time ago, but he felt obliged to make certain. He was glad he had when he came around the end of the sofa and saw her still there. She had fallen asleep. The moon still shone on her—more brightly now, for the clouds had cleared—and at the sight of her, something squeezed in his chest. She looked unexpectedly beautiful.

He came near enough that she might hear a hushed word, but not so near as to alarm her. “Miss Elizabeth?”

She opened her eyes immediately and sat up with a start. Her mortification was evident in the way she ran her hands over her hair and clothes to straighten them.

He turned his back to afford her some dignity. “You fell asleep. The others have just gone to bed. If you go now, your absence may go unnoticed.”

“Thank you,” she replied groggily.

“I hope you are feeling better.”

“I am—a little. Thank you for not telling Miss Bingley I was here.”

He grimaced ruefully into the dark, unsure from her tone how much she could have overheard. He was disinclined to apologise for someone else’s incivility but felt some indication of regret was due. When a rustle of fabric indicated that Elizabeth had stood up, he turned back around to give it, but he had no idea how to begin and his hesitation lost him his chance.

“I should retire,” she said quietly.

“Yes, of course.” He gestured for her to precede him, and in awkward silence, they left the library and walked towards the stairs. From the corner of his eye, he observed her squinting intensely at the relative brightness of the lit hall and could not help but smile at the way it wrinkled her nose. When they reached the landing, he bowed and wished her good night.

Elizabeth bobbed a perfunctory curtsey and turned towards her room, but on a whim, Darcy stopped her.

“I am sorry you had to listen to what Miss Bingley said in the library. It was unpardonably rude.”

She looked back around. “Nothing she said surprised me. But perhaps you better understand my desire to go home now?”

“I do.”

She gave a slight nod and turned away again, but at the last moment she paused and said over her shoulder, “I cannot agree with her illustration of your character. I should have said jade was much more apt than gold.”

Before Darcy could say another word, she had opened her door and disappeared inside her bedchamber.