Chapter 11

Dining Room

Longbourn

The sturdy Longbourn dinner table nearly groaned under the weight of the dishes atop it. Mrs. Bennet had scarcely seen Mr. Bingley pass through the hallway before flying down the corridor to the kitchen to instruct the cook to nearly double the planned dinner for that night and never mind the next day’s dinner, as a servant could purchase a ham or something on the morrow.

Now the lady of the house beamed down the length of the table, the shining silver platters and china plates and bowls and tureens practically hidden beneath the bounty they contained. Mrs. Bennet’s gaze rested with complacent joy on her eldest daughter and Mr. Bingley, sitting side by side with their heads together and murmuring to each other over their food. Mr. Bennet sat in silent introspection at the far end of the table.

Elizabeth hardly noticed her family or what she was putting into her mouth, absorbed as she was in her own thoughts. She was still reeling in shock at the truth of Wickham’s scurrilous words and deeds, with shame swelling like a hot slow tide in her breast. To think that she had not only believed the man’s deceptions, but liked him! She had relished his company! Oh heavens – she had begun even to entertain the notion that she might be in love with him. Now she felt only horror when she pictured his smiling face and artful speeches as he spoke to her of Darcy, of London, of Pemberley, charming and blinding her to his true nature.

A lump rose in her throat that had little to do with the bite of pork that she was swallowing, but she pushed it sternly down. She would hold herself composed at the dinner table, at the very least. Any tears would wait until she had attained her bedchamber that evening, though she thought that she might have to excuse herself with a headache.

“Jane,” Lydia piped up suddenly, “Kitty and I were speaking earlier today, and we wondered whether you and Charles would like us to help with decorating Netherfield Hall for Christmas.”

Elizabeth turned a startled look on her sister; Lydia enjoyed the food and feasting and festivities of the Season, but she had never bothered to help in collecting holly and bay and laurel and making wreaths.

“Oh!” Jane said, looking as surprised as Elizabeth felt. “That would be very kind, thank you. Poor Caroline is not able to move about with any sort of ease, so I would not expect her to oversee any decorating, and Louisa likely has her hands full helping her sister.”

“We would also be pleased to help with the boxes for the folks at Netherfield,” Kitty chimed in.

“That is very kind,” Bingley said genially, “and I am confident that Jane would appreciate any help. What kind of decorations did you imagine?”

Elizabeth listened with growing astonishment as the younger girls Bennet talked about collecting greenery and hanging it and then turned the subject to the various parlor games played around Christmas. It had been two years since her sisters had showed any sort of interest in such activities; for some time, Lydia had spoken primarily of young men, and Kitty had followed her.

“It sounds as if we will have a very pleasant Christmas,” Charles said happily.

/

Dining Room

Netherfield

The light of a dozen candles shone softly over the table at Netherfield, gleaming off the dishes and the polished wood and stunningly white tablecloth. Darcy savored his next bite of beef roast as he listened to the conversation around the table. The food was more pleasing than the talk, and he once again found himself appreciative that Bingley employed a most accomplished cook. He was also aware that the lavish spread was yet another bid on Caroline Bingley’s part to become Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy.

Bingley himself, of course, was dining at Longbourn, and thus was not present to act as a buffer to his sister. Mr. Hurst was not interested, nor was it his responsibility to take Caroline in hand. Louisa Hurst would only encourage her sister, and Mrs. Annesley, as a mere companion, could do little to turn Miss Bingley’s tongue. It fell to Darcy to stand between his sensitive sister and the shrewish Caroline, and he had Georgiana sitting close to his side.

“I do hope that you will not be terribly bored here, Miss Darcy,” Caroline said. She was seated at the end of the table with her foot elevated on a little stool, and her forehead was tight with either pain or irritation.

“Oh, I am certain I will not be,” Georgiana said cheerfully. “I so enjoy the country, and I treasure time with Fitzwilliam.”

Miss Bingley looked, if possible, even more cantankerous. “It is a great pity you did not visit us earlier this autumn, Miss Darcy. I am confident that my brother, in particular, would have enjoyed your company.”

Darcy turned a cold glare on the lady and said, “While I know that Bingley is a consummate host, he has been busy courting Miss Bennet these weeks.”

Caroline opened her mouth, but Louisa, who had been watching anxiously, interrupted her. “Yes, and Jane is such a lovely young woman. I have no doubt you will like her, Miss Darcy.”

Georgiana produced a surprisingly cheeky smile and said, “Based on what Fitzwilliam has told me, I like her already!”

/

Elizabeth’s Bedchamber

Longbourn

Midnight

Elizabeth’s pillow was still damp from her tears, but her soul was soothed and empty of the storm that had watered her linens. She curled beneath her coverings, grateful for the warmth and softness of the old, well-loved sheets and blankets, and gazed sleepily towards her low flickering fire and the smoldering embers.

She now felt better able to deal with her foolishness and gullibility in believing Wickham’s lies. She had been blinded by the man’s handsome face and charm, all too ready to lend an ear to his tale of woe. Her prejudice against Darcy inclined her to accept Wickham’s slanderous stories of the master of Pemberley, eager to accept them to shore up her own dislike. How wrong she had been, how drastically wrong!

But it was some comfort to learn that she was not the only person to believe Wickham’s lies. According to his son, Mr. Darcy – the old Mr. Darcy – had never acknowledged his godson’s true character. If a wise and canny master of a vast estate had not recognized Wickham for what he was, it was not unreasonable that she, dazzled by Wickham’s charm and manners, had been unable to discern the militia officer’s true nature.

It had been very kind of Mr. Darcy to mention that his father had been deceived, but then, he had been compassionate about the whole affair. Elizabeth had not expected him to apologize for his insult the night of the Meryton assembly, and she certainly had not expected him to be so openly sincere, earnest, and caring. He had not mocked her for trusting Wickham; all of his anger seemed directed toward his childhood friend.

Elizabeth, too, was angry at Wickham, and even more displeased with herself. But what was most important now was that she knew the truth and that Wickham would soon be sent far away, to a place where he could do no more harm. His lies to her and the gentry of Meryton were relatively small offenses, really, but to slander his godfather’s son, to run up debts and steal from tradesmen and ruin maidens – it was appalling.

Elizabeth let out a long shuddering sigh and turned over, nestling into the drier side of her pillow. The memory of Mr. Darcy’s face floated in her mind as he earnestly apologized for his prior incivility, his expression open and earnest and penitent. He was a very handsome man; not as openly charming as Wickham, but classically handsome, and his figure was pleasing. It was a rare man, she thought, who would admit his mistakes and apologize to the one he offended.

It was on these agreeable thoughts that she drifted at last to sleep.

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Darcy’s Bedchamber

Netherfield

Midnight

Darcy was smiling toward the fire from where he lay in his comfortable four poster, the coverpane pulled almost up to his chin. He was not entirely sure why he was smiling, why his spirits felt so buoyant. There was a certain relief in knowing that after tomorrow Wickham would trouble him no more, but that was more of a weight removed rather than a true happiness.

A vision of Elizabeth Bennet looking at him in admiration swam into his mind, and his smile widened. Unease and discontent had niggled at him ever since Bingley had told him that Miss Elizabeth had overheard Darcy’s discourteous words at the assembly. His comments had been thoughtless and rude, and above all, completely untrue; Miss Elizabeth was, without a doubt, one of the most handsome women of his acquaintance.

She had accepted his apology today with an ease that had astonished him, only to turn around and offer her own apology for being tricked by Wickham’s lies and taking the other man’s part. He had attempted to comfort her, dismayed by her plain distress, assuring her that she was far from the only person to be charmed by the charismatic scoundrel. To his relief, his reassurances had appeared to work, calming the lady and easing some of the tension from her beautiful face.

She was not worthy of being a Darcy bride, of course, but Darcy would rather like to think of them as friends. Her arch wit had enchanted him from the beginning, and he had always enjoyed, even relished, their conversations and debates.

Yes, he liked Miss Elizabeth very much, and he hoped that his sister would too. Bingley had mentioned over dinner that the Bennet ladies would arrive at Netherfield early the next day to start preparations for Boxing Day, and Darcy planned to linger until they arrived in order to introduce them to Georgiana. He was concerned, as he always was, for his sweet, shy sister, and the younger Misses Bennet were often overly boisterous. But Miss Jane Bennet was gentle and kind, and he trusted that Miss Elizabeth would set Georgiana at ease. At worst, Mrs. Annesley – a gem of a woman – would provide an excuse for her charge to escape upstairs.

He did not expect she would have to. How lovely it would be, Darcy thought, if Georgiana befriended the elder Misses Bennet. He would be very pleased if she made friends here in the country, away from the pressures of Town. How splendid it would be if she grew fond of the beautiful Miss Elizabeth…

He sank at last into sleep.