Page 13 of A Most Unfortunate Gentleman

Netherfield

Darcy

The following morning at breakfast, Darcy surveyed the hall from his seat at the dining table, hoping to see Miss Elizabeth join the meal. He had slept better the night before and during the night her fine eyes and flushed face had visited his dreams.

When Elizabeth finally entered, the room brightened as though dawn had arrived at last. Bingley, the Hursts, and Darcy were already seated.

Elizabeth exchanged pleasantries and was immediately questioned about Jane’s health.

She assured them Jane felt better, though still too weak to come down for the meal.

Bingley mentioned that Dr. Jones would arrive later in the morning to assess Jane’s progress. Darcy poured himself tea and said, “I hope she recovers soon. I can only imagine how distressing it must be for you to see a sister so unwell.”

Elizabeth gave a small smile. “Thank you. Your kindness is appreciated. Jane is stronger than she seems. I would not be surprised if she were well enough to travel by evening or tomorrow morning.”

Darcy thought silently, I hope not. He dared not voice it. He wished Jane remained in Netherfield a little longer. Not for her sake, but so that Elizabeth must stay close. The idea troubled him. His selfish wish meant delaying Jane’s recovery.

He could not explain it yet. Still, something about Elizabeth restored him. He felt like the Fitzwilliam Darcy he remembered.

“Well, there is no rush,” Bingley said. “Miss Bennet may stay as long as she likes.”

Elizabeth partook but little of the meal and spoke even less before declaring that her appetite had waned. She excused herself from the table, carrying a small tray for her sister despite Mr. Bingley’s offer to have a servant attend to the matter. She assured him it was quite unnecessary.

Scarcely had she left when Miss Bingley began criticising her departure.

She accused Elizabeth of poor manners and insufficient civility.

“I have seen to Jane myself more than five times,” Caroline said.

“Her condition is mild. Miss Eliza Bennet used it as an excuse not to dine yesterday and to avoid conversation altogether.”

Mrs. Hurst seconded her sister. “She is a thorough pretender. Nothing is more natural than her wish to elicit sympathy from Charles.”

Caroline added, “And her appearance—did you see her arrival yesterday? Her petticoat was nearly six inches deep in mud. Unladylike and uncultured after so much rain.”

Bingley interjected. “I saw nothing improper in her walking that distance to care for her sister. I hope you would do the same if I were ill.”

“Don’t count on it,” Mrs. Hurst muttered.

Caroline turned to Darcy. “Surely you observed her muddy arrival? Perhaps you would explain to your friend why such behaviour is improper.”

Darcy studied her for a moment. He sensed what she wished to hear, but refused to indulge her vanity.

“All I saw was a devoted sister who would make any sacrifice for her family. That in itself is admirable.”

Caroline sneered. “Does devotion excuse appearing uncivil in public, coated in mud and walking unchaperoned miles? It borders on improper independence and lacks all decorum. You would not allow such for your own sister.”

Darcy met her eyes calmly. “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. When I arrived at Netherfield some weeks ago, I was covered in dust and my boots were soaked in mud. I do not remember anyone scolding me about being uncivil.” He paused to draw air, “All I saw was a woman with beautiful eyes. Yes, a little flushed, but beautiful still. As for my sister, I know Georgiana will cross oceans to reach me in danger.”

His words hung in the air. Caroline opened her mouth to respond, but Darcy refused to wait for her reply. He glanced at a smiling Bingley, then resumed his meal.

The Bingley sisters, left to their own discourse, soon turned their talk to the Bennet family, declaring with great certainty that there was little in their connections to commend them.

Bingley defended the Bennets warmly. Darcy remained silent.

At his continued indifference, Caroline and Mrs. Hurst abandoned the topic of Miss Elizabeth entirely and allowed their conversation to drift elsewhere.

Mr. Darcy gave no heed to their talk; his thoughts were occupied elsewhere.

***

About noon, shortly after Dr. Jones had examined Jane and declared that a day or two more of rest would suffice, Mr. Bingley informed Darcy of an errand that required his and his sisters’ attention. It pertained to a ball he had been quietly planning since the assembly at Meryton.

Darcy declined to accompany them. He remained at Netherfield under the pretext of preferring solitude, though in truth, he still carried the uneasy sense that venturing beyond the house might invite some fresh embarrassment. Misfortune had quieted, yet he trusted it little.

He retreated instead to the library, where he selected A Treatise on the Nature of Happiness .

He settled into the armchair near the window and allowed the ordered prose to dull the restlessness in his mind.

The stillness of the room soothed him, and for a time, he forgot everything beyond the printed page.

The soft sound of movement drew his attention.

The door to the library opened, and Miss Elizabeth Bennet stood at the threshold. She paused, startled to find the room already occupied.

"I beg your pardon," she said, her hand still resting upon the doorknob. "Miss Bingley mentioned they were going out. I observed Mr. Bingley from the window as he entered the carriage with them and naturally supposed you had accompanied the party as well

“I remained behind,” he replied, marking his page with a ribbon and setting the volume aside. “The library has its own appeal.”

Her eyes swept the shelves. “Indeed, I only came in search of a book. I did not mean to disturb your peace.”

“You have not,” he said. “And if you would be willing to share the room, I would be glad of the company.”

Elizabeth arched a brow, but there was amusement in her expression. “I should not like to infringe on your solitude.”

"There is no infringement," Darcy replied. "So long as we leave the door ajar and maintain a respectable distance, I believe propriety shall be preserved. Besides, the housekeeper is likely to pass this way at any moment and several maids are within calling distance. It is all entirely proper."

After a pause, she stepped inside and began to scan the shelves. “My sister is doing much better,” she said, glancing toward him. “The doctor believes she may return home tomorrow.”

“I am glad to hear it,” he said. Then, almost before he could stop himself, added, “Though I confess I had hoped she might stay a little longer.”

Elizabeth turned to him fully. “Why is that, sir?”

He looked at her directly. “Because your presence here has brought a kind of balance. It is a comfort I had not expected.”

She lowered her gaze, a faint blush rising to her cheeks.

“We have only been here two days, sir,” she said softly, her fingers brushing along the edge of a volume on one of the shelves.

There was a slight pause, and then, with a hesitating glance in his direction, she added, “I cannot quite explain it, but… it makes Netherfield feel altogether better.”

Her voice was quiet, and though her words were few, the sentiment lingered sweetly in the air between them.

Darcy shifted slightly in his seat, not entirely trusting his composure. He had not intended to speak so plainly. Yet her nearness, her voice, the quiet manner in which she moved—it all unsettled him in a way that was not unwelcome.

She reached for another volume. The moment her hand touched the spine, a loud creak shattered the quiet.

The bookshelf behind Darcy groaned under its weight and, without warning, pitched forward. A cascade of books tumbled onto him in a graceless heap.

Elizabeth gasped. “Mr. Darcy!”

He was not injured, only startled, and emerged from the wreckage with hair dishevelled and a folio clinging absurdly to his shoulder.

Elizabeth hurried to help him rise, biting back a laugh. “You attract more calamity than anyone I have ever known.”

He managed a low chuckle as he dusted himself off. “It would appear so. It’s just misfortune, finding me at every turn.”

“Perhaps,” she said with a grin, “the books simply wished to meet you.”

Their eyes met, and for a moment, neither spoke. The air between them shifted, quiet but charged.

“I shall ring for the housekeeper to send a maid to see to this,” Darcy said, reaching for the bellpull. “These volumes must remain somewhere safe until a carpenter is called to mend the shelf.”

“Then I had best choose my book and take my leave,” Elizabeth replied with an amiable air.

She selected a slim volume of poetry, and just before stepping out, turned to offer him a smile—one not merely of courtesy, but touched with something warmer, something soft and unspoken.

It lingered in her eyes for the briefest of moments before she departed, leaving Darcy very nearly breathless in its wake.

He pulled the bell, and soon after, the faint bustle of footsteps echoed beyond the corridor.

Satisfied, he sank into the nearest chair, the press of his back easing into the leather with an almost unfamiliar comfort.

For the first time since his arrival at Netherfield, the library no longer felt oppressively quiet or cold.

Though he had once again tasted the sharp edge of misfortune, Darcy could not help but feel that something altogether fortunate had just transpired.

***

Elizabeth

Elizabeth giggled as she clasped the book in her hands while ascending the stairs.

Her cheeks were still tinged with the warmth of what had passed in the library.

Mr. Darcy’s words echoed in her thoughts, not for their content alone, but for the way in which he had spoken them.

He had not been flustered, nor guarded. He had looked at her directly and said her presence brought comfort.

It was not a declaration of affection, but it felt close to it.

Elizabeth had never been a woman given to flights of fancy.

She did not fall prey to easy infatuations or read too much into idle talk.

But today, she could almost state with certainty that Mr. Darcy liked her.

Not in the casual manner of one who tolerates company, but with the quiet intent of a man who sees someone clearly and values what he sees.

The way he looked at her was not dissimilar to the way Mr. Bingley looked at Jane.

Her thoughts wandered to the library shelf, still in slight disarray from its untimely fall.

She had told him he might well be the most unfortunate man she had ever known, and it was not said in jest. The library mishap was but the latest in a growing list. There had been his ill-timed remark at the assembly, which she had overheard.

Then the ripped gown incident. The rather dramatic dismount from his horse.

And now, the bookshelf collapsing upon him without the slightest provocation.

If the conversation she overheard between him and Mr. Bingley at the assembly was to be believed, there had been other incidents too, predating her knowledge. It was as though misfortune had followed Mr. Darcy from the moment he set foot in Hertfordshire, and he seemed to know it.

She wished he might share more with her.

If he thought her too forward in asking, perhaps she might frame the inquiry with greater delicacy, Elizabeth mused.

After all, he had been bold enough to confess that he found her presence soothing.

Perhaps, then, he would not take offence were she to inquire further—so she concluded.

When she reached the bedchamber, she pushed the door open gently and saw Jane sitting up in bed, her hair loosely pinned, a soft flush on her cheeks that spoke of recovering health.

“Lizzy,” Jane said, a note of amusement in her voice. “Where have you been? And why are you smiling to yourself as if you’ve just been handed a secret?”

“I went to the library to find something to occupy my time,” Elizabeth replied, crossing the room. “I did not realise you were awake.” She placed the book on the mattress beside her sister and took a seat. “You look better.”

“I feel better and stronger. If Miss Bingley has no objection, I believe we can return home this evening.”

“Miss Bingley is out with her sister and Mr. Bingley.”

“So we are alone here with the staff?”

“No. Mr. Darcy is still in the house. I saw him in the library.”

Jane tilted her head, her gaze narrowing ever so slightly. “Why do I feel your voice went a notch higher when you mentioned his name? I know when you are excited, Lizzy. I thought you didn’t like Mr. Darcy.”

“I never said such a thing,” Elizabeth said too quickly. She caught herself the moment the words left her lips.

Jane’s eyes sparkled. A teasing smile hovered on her lips. “Stop looking at me like that,” Elizabeth added.

“Like what?”

“I don’t know exactly, but you look as though I have just confessed he gave me flowers.”

“Did he give you flowers?”

“No, he did not,” Elizabeth replied, though her tone was more laughter than indignation.

She lay back on the mattress beside her sister and recounted, with measured candour, all that had transpired between herself and Mr. Darcy.

From the overheard remark at the assembly to the brief encounter along the East Walk, she described how his horse threw him down, to the collapse of the bookshelf that very afternoon.

She recounted his words, his looks, and his silences, each one fresh in her mind.

When she finished, Jane was quiet for a moment. “Mr. Darcy sounds very much like a man who likes you.”

Elizabeth felt the blush rise to her cheeks again.

Her chest swelled with a mix of disbelief and anticipation.

It was no small thing to be the object of interest to such a man.

He was well-connected, wealthy, and striking in his appearance.

Yet more importantly, there was kindness in him.

Consideration. A gentleness that was not often displayed but carefully kept, like something precious.

“He has not said it in plain words,” she murmured.

“How much plainer can it be than to say your presence is a comfort?” Jane asked, smiling.

Elizabeth had to admit her sister had a point. Still, something troubled her. “He believes so firmly that misfortune follows him. And I have witnessed it with my own eyes. Four times, Jane. Four.”

Jane reached over and clasped her sister’s hand gently. “Then perhaps he needs someone by his side to change his luck.”