“I am no longer surprised at your knowing only six accomplished women,” she threw back at him, fairly bristling. “I rather wonder now at your knowing any.”
Darcy nearly threw back his head and laughed at her delightful indignation, but he confined himself to raising an eyebrow at her protest. “Are you so severe upon your own sex, as to doubt the possibility of all this?” he goaded her.
“I never saw such a woman,” Elizabeth blustered, her confidence seeming to falter. “I never saw such capacity, and taste, and application, and elegance, as you describe, united.”
The other two ladies present, Darcy recalled, had immediately cried out against her expressions of doubt but were soon brought to order by Mr. Hurst’s complaints of their inattention to the game at hand. A few minutes later Elizabeth had retired and taken with her all the sparkle the evening had provided. Satisfied with the beginning he had made, Darcy had excused himself from playing another game and, sending a summons to his man, had left the Bingleys to their own devices.
She is certainly not a toadeater! Darcy chuckled quietly to himself as he shifted around in the bed for a more comfortable arrangement of limbs and pillows. She would not swallow absurdity with a smile in order to please, nor bow to it in the face of mounted opposition. “Miss Elizabeth Bennet” — he spoke as if addressing her — “regardless of your unfortunate connections, you are a singular young woman. I wonder what weapons you will bring to the fray tomorrow.”
The following morning found Miss Bennet a little improved under the loving care of her sister; therefore, a note was dispatched to Longbourn. The answering of that note with the persons of Mrs. Edward Bennet and her various daughters on Netherfield’s doorstep occurred, to Darcy’s mind, all too quickly. Presently, they attended Jane Bennet, and he and the Bingleys lingered in the breakfast room, awaiting the ladies’ descent. Bingley passed the time pacing, now sitting down to gulp at a cup of tea, then bounding up and pacing again, only to throw himself, moments later, into a chair against the wall and fiddle nervously with the porcelain shepherdess who reigned on the pretty little table that matched the much-abused chair.
“Charles, do put the Dresden back on the table before it is broken,” hissed Miss Bingley, her small reserve of patience with the intrusion of the Bennet family quite at an end. “And please do not pace so!” she added when Bingley once again thrust himself out of the chair. “Mrs. Bennet can have nothing upon which to object. Jane has been afforded every attention, and she is surely regaining her health. Country-bred girls are notoriously hearty creatures, are they not, Louisa?”
“So it must be, Caroline. How else can they be such excellent walkers!” Mrs. Hurst’s snigger was interrupted by the sound of the turning latch of the door.
Mrs. Bennet, in the lead of her daughters, entered the room all aflutter with expressions of concern for Jane’s condition and a horror at the idea of removing her to Longbourn that took no one but Bingley by surprise. By the end of her extended recital of fears and of Jane’s merits, Darcy was certain he had resolved the mystery of Miss Bennet’s remarkably unwise journey to Netherfield two nights previous. The only question that remained and had nagged at him since the note to Longbourn was sent was: Who would be called upon to continue nursing Miss Bennet? It was entirely possible the lady would require Elizabeth at home and send another daughter to try her luck at Netherfield. Or a servant…or, Heaven forbid, he swore silently, his jaw tightening, the mother might intend to stay! He studied Elizabeth’s face as she crossed the room in her mother’s wake and was puzzled at the anxiety he saw in every line. This does not bodewell…Could there be some truth in Mrs. Bennet’s protestations? No, if she is anxious, it is for her mother! He continued to watch them all from his vantage point at the window, the sun shining over his shoulders, as if he were attending a play. Mrs. Bennet simpered and smiled while the younger girls ogled the richness of the room and the ladies’ dresses, giggling and whispering to one another in the most uncircumspect manner. Elizabeth had found refuge from the antics of her relations in a light repartee with Bingley. She held herself less stiffly now, he noticed.
“Lizzy” — Mrs. Bennet’s voice cut through the brightness of her daughter’s conversation — “remember where you are, and do not run on in the wild manner that you are suffered to do at home.”
Darcy’s musings were swiftly brought to heel as the shrill voice caused all conversation in the room to a stop. His back stiffened. He glanced at Elizabeth’s face, noting the briefest appearance of pain in her guarded countenance before she turned back to her mother. The woman was impossible! Seething in displeasure, he quickly turned his back upon the room before he overstepped propriety himself. Was she so lost to proper feelings that she could scold her daughter in their presence!
Bingley stepped into the breach of shocked silence. “I did not know before,” he said, continuing the thread of his conversation with Elizabeth, “that you were a studier of character. It must be an amusing study.”
“Yes,” she replied. Her voice sounded quite small at first but steadied as she spoke. “But intricate characters are the most amusing. They have at least that advantage.”
Darcy turned back at her words, determined to encourage Elizabeth and disoblige her mother. “The country can in general supply but few subjects for such a study.” Elizabeth looked up at him questioningly. “In a country neighborhood,” he explained, “you move in a very confined and unvarying society.”
“But people themselves alter so much,” she replied, a merry twinkle giving testimony that a diverting example lay behind her words. “There is something new to be observed in them forever.”
“Yes, indeed,” cried Mrs. Bennet stridently, evidently offended by his estimation of a country neighborhood. “I assure you there is quite as much of that going on in the country as in Town.”
Darcy stared at her, incredulous that he should be the object of such a person’s insupportable manners and open animosity. His glance flickered to Elizabeth. The look of apprehension mixed with mortification was returning to her face. He swallowed the stinging setdown that clamored to be set loose, clamped his lips together in a grim line, and turned silently away.
Conversation resumed as he slowly walked about the room. Although he gave the appearance of disinterest — now gazing out the window, then withdrawing into the perusal of a book — he was careful to remain within hearing of Elizabeth. His subterfuge was little rewarded; Mrs. Bennet, once in command of the conversation, would not relinquish its control. She waxed eloquent now on the attention Jane had received from a London gentleman when she was but fifteen years old. “He wrote some verses on her, and very pretty they were,” she concluded grandly.
“And so ended his affection,” Elizabeth hurried to interject. Darcy stopped his perambulations and looked at her curiously. “There has been many a one, I fancy, overcome in the same way,” she continued in a strained voice. “I wonder who first discovered the efficacy of poetry in driving away love!”
“Driving love away, Miss Elizabeth? Curious! I have been used to consider poetry as the food of love, not its executioner!” Her head came up at his contradiction, and he saw with complacence the gleam his words of challenge had returned to her eyes.