Page 12 of Disarmed

D arcy had been hiding in the Netherfield library for the best part of three days.

He had used every excuse imaginable—letters to write, papers to look over, matters to discuss with the steward on Bingley’s behalf—to evade the cloying company of Miss Bingley beyond the obligatory meals.

Every morning, he had risen early for a long ride to avoid being in her presence at the breakfast table; every evening, he had feigned tiredness or a headache to escape her tiresome conversation or her entreaties that he partner her at cards.

When she was not disparaging others to make herself look superior, she was imploring him to intervene to prevent her brother from returning to the neighbourhood to court Miss Bennet.

Darcy was loath to admit to himself that were it not for Miss Lydia, he may have been in agreement with Miss Bingley on that particular matter.

Whatever had compelled him to stay in Hertfordshire rather than accompany Bingley to town, he could not imagine.

That was not entirely true, he mused as he paced the library like a caged animal.

He had not wanted to leave her . Elizabeth Bennet.

She—and her youngest sister, he had to admit—had rattled his composure so much that he had been unable to make a rational decision.

Her family’s standing in society was beneath his—of course it was!

But…what did her lack of wealth and connections matter?

Did money truly make one person better than another?

Elizabeth was clever and kind, well-read and interesting to converse with.

Why would he want to spend his life with a woman who possessed a fortune but no intelligence; who could connect him to a dukedom but also bore him to death?

He shook his head violently. His aunts and uncle would never accept her. And, most importantly, he had his sister to consider. His wife’s connections would reflect on her. On how well she might marry.

“Do you not want her to marry someone who actually likes her and might make her happy rather than someone who just wants her money and to be connected to other rich people?”

Miss Lydia’s words from the Netherfield ball hit him like a punch to the gut.

Of course he wanted Georgiana to be happy.

But he had always assumed that an alliance with a rich and powerful family would accomplish that.

He fell heavily into an armchair and sunk his head in his hands.

Riches and power had little to do with happiness.

He knew that. His aunt Lady Catherine amply proved it.

Why had it taken him so long to accept the fact?

His head truly did ache now.

He rose and strode to the window, looking out across the lawn to the trees beyond. He had already ridden just a few hours ago, but he needed to get out of the house again. To be in the fresh air and to clear his head. Crossing the room, he pulled the bell for a servant to attend him.

An hour later, after a refreshing gallop in the crisp air, Darcy found himself once again in the woodland between Longbourn and Meryton.

Deliberately avoiding the cottage in which he had spent a vexing hour with Miss Lydia, he turned the stallion towards the town, hoping the bustle there might further distract him from his confusing thoughts.

As he approached the market square, he was hailed by a familiar voice; Miss Lydia was waving to him from outside the haberdasher’s.

She curtseyed theatrically as he neared her and dismounted, and he gave her an exaggerated bow in return.

“Mr Darcy.”

“Miss Lydia. How do you do?” He looked about. “Are you alone again , madam?”

She huffed at him, but she was smiling as she did so. “No, you silly man. Kitty and Maria are in there”—she cocked a thumb at the shop behind her—“but my mother has sent me to take this note to the butcher’s.” She nodded across the street and sighed.

“You are reluctant to run an errand for your mother?”

“You make me sound so spoilt and selfish, Mr Darcy. But yes, I am. Only because Mr Hodges not only sells pig meat but also smells like it too. And on Saturdays, his dull-witted daughter helps in the shop, and she chatters about all sorts of nonsense so you cannot get away.” She sighed again.

“If I am not out in five minutes, you must cause a disturbance to distract her so I can escape!”

Darcy laughed. “A gentleman of my standing would never cause a disturbance, madam. You are on your own. But I have faith in your ability to invent your own excuse to flee the poor girl’s company.”

Miss Lydia scowled at him, but the corners of her lips were upturned, and she ran across the street, clutching her hat to her head so it did not fly off as she jumped over the puddles.

Darcy mounted his horse again, and feeling lightened by the unexpected encounter, he rode back to Netherfield, contemplating how being called a “silly man”, far from provoking the disgusted affront in him it would have done a week ago, had actually filled him with a brotherly warmth.

He wished his relationship with his own sister might regain some of the playfulness it had lost recently.

After lingering in a hot bath and dawdling over his preparations, Darcy finally made his way down the stairs, hoping Miss Bingley and the Hursts were occupied elsewhere. As he passed through the entrance hall, the front door burst open to reveal a grinning Bingley.

“Darcy!” he cried as he strode towards him, leaving a trail of muddy footprints across the marble floor.

“Good to see you, old fellow. I must say, I wondered whether you would still be here when I returned, what with having to withstand Caroline’s company and what not.

” He winked. “But I am jolly pleased to see you. Jolly pleased!” He gave Darcy a wide grin and slapped him on the shoulder.

“Now, I stopped at Longbourn on my way back. I thought it was only right to let them know I had returned. Sadly, Miss Bennet was out with her sisters, but Mrs Bennet was kind enough to invite us to dinner. Tonight. I doubt Caroline and Louisa will want to come, but do say you will, Darcy. It gives you an excuse to escape my sister’s company, eh? ”

Darcy stared at his exuberant host for a moment, taking in his slightly flushed, jubilant countenance. “That was quick work, my friend,” he finally said.

Bingley’s colour deepened. “Well, strike while the iron is hot, as they say.” He cleared his throat. “I must bathe and dress. We leave in an hour!” And with that pronouncement, he strode off, leaving a bewildered yet amused Darcy staring after him.

A short while later, Darcy found himself at the door of Longbourn feeling a mixture of pleasure and trepidation. He had not seen Elizabeth since the ball; might her feelings towards him have softened since their dances and conversations? He certainly hoped so.

As they were shown into the drawing room by the servant, Darcy was aware of Mrs Bennet rushing to welcome Bingley with loud effusions, but his gaze was drawn across the room, to where Elizabeth sat with her eldest sister.

The candlelight caught the warm glimmer in her eyes, and her lips were turned up in a smile of welcome.

He had never seen her look at him thus, and it struck him that he had been wrong in believing she had previously enjoyed his company.

This was a look of pleasure. This was a look of anticipation.

He had been so arrogant, so blind before in assuming that she had been pleased to see him simply because he was Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley.

What joy there was in pleasing a woman worthy of being pleased!

Darcy was disappointed to see that there was no seat near Elizabeth this time. She was sharing a sofa with Miss Mary, her mother seated on her other side. There was a chair next to Miss Lydia, though, and he sank into it gratefully. He was about to enquire about her health when Bingley spoke up.

“Your cousin has returned to Kent, I presume?” he asked, looking about the room.

Darcy had forgotten about the ridiculous rector.

He had assumed that Miss Lydia had firmly seen him off at the ball, but a sudden dread filled him.

What if she had not? Had he actually proposed to Elizabeth?

He realised his fingers were digging into the fabric on the arms of his chair while he waited for a response.

Mrs Bennet sent a filthy look towards her second-eldest daughter.

“Yes, Mr Collins left on Wednesday,” she said.

“He was supposed to remain until this morning, but perhaps he was not made to feel as welcome as he should have been.” She was still glaring at Elizabeth, whose jaw was set firmly, her eyes averted, her face a little flushed in either embarrassment or anger—or perhaps both.

A glance at Miss Lydia, on the other hand, revealed that she was struggling to check her laughter. Bingley looked confused.

Fortunately, Miss Bennet smoothly changed the subject. “Did you manage to complete all your business in town, Mr Bingley?”

Bingley answered in the affirmative, and the details of his trip were discussed. Darcy used the opportunity to turn to the lady next to him. “I do hope your visit to the butcher’s was successful,” he said. “You were not detained in there too long, I trust?”

She gave him a smug little smile. “Actually, I spoke to Betty Hodges for over half an hour. It was most enlightening,” she said mysteriously.

Darcy gave her a pointed look, and she added, “It seems our friend Mr Wickham spends rather a lot of time in that particular shop.”

Darcy froze. He should have known. Wickham was liable to seduce any young female—from servant to duke’s daughter.

He was taking quite a risk fixing on a girl whose father was so well known in the town in which his regiment was stationed, however; if his colonel found out, the consequences could be grave.

He must have been frowning because Miss Lydia waved her hand idly and said, “Do not worry, Mr Darcy. She and I had a little chat.” She winked at him, and Darcy smiled.

He leant towards her slightly and kept his tone low. “It is fortunate for Wickham that those pigs hanging in Mr Hodges’s window are dead, for he is terrified of the creatures.”

Miss Lydia’s eyes widened.

“When we were boys, Wickham was forever ruining our games. He is the most dreadful competitor. If he won, he would brag and boast for days. If he lost, he would cry and complain to my father that I had cheated. One day, when we were around eleven years old, he challenged me and my cousin Richard to race across the fields to a nearby farm. At the signal to go, he shoved me hard into Richard, and we both fell on our faces in the mud. By the time we had righted ourselves and chased after him, Wickham was far ahead. When we reached the farm, he was sitting on the fence of the pigsty eating an apple, gloating about his speed and mocking our filthy clothes. Richard pushed him backwards into the pigsty. The pigs were hungry—and curious. They surrounded him, trying to get to the apple he was holding and the ones he had in his pockets. He screamed and screamed. My cousin and I were severely punished, of course. And Wickham has been petrified of pigs ever since.”

Miss Lydia was listening with rapt attention. Her face broke into a huge smile. “Well, well,” she said, “that is a most interesting story, Mr Darcy.”

Darcy studied her carefully. “I suspect I may regret telling it to you, Miss Lydia.”

She gave him a look of pure innocence. “I do not know why you think so,” she said. “What could I possibly do with such information?”

“That is what concerns me, madam,” he replied.