Page 17 of Disarmed

A t the sound of the front door opening, Darcy closed his book.

He had not been reading it in any case; his mind had been too occupied with thoughts of Elizabeth Bennet and what to do about her.

He was in no doubt now that he loved her.

She was the sunshine to his shadow, the melody to his silence, the blooming rose to his thorny bramble, the…

He gave himself a mental slap. Where had such soft-brained twaddle come from? He must never, ever, speak such thoughts aloud!

To his relief, the library door opened, and Bingley stood in the aperture. The man was the sunniest and jolliest of people one could ever meet, but his countenance as he strode towards Darcy was positively bursting with delight.

“You may congratulate me, my friend,” he cried, his arms outstretched, “for I am engaged to be married to the most angelic creature that has ever walked the earth!”

Darcy could not help but be caught up in his friend’s happiness. He grasped Bingley’s hand and gave it a hearty shake, slapping the man on the back for good measure.

“Congratulations, Bingley, congratulations,” he said. “I wondered where you had sneaked off to, but now I understand the subterfuge.”

Bingley looked chastened, but only a little.

“I am sorry, my friend. It was cruel of me to leave you with my sisters, but once I had made up my mind, I could not wait another moment! But then whatever I do is done in a hurry, is it not?” He beamed at this analysis of his own character, and Darcy regarded him fondly; Bingley was a good man, he would make a fine husband, and Darcy was increasingly certain that he was fortunate in his choice of wife.

“I say, though,” his friend continued, casting a quick look behind him at the open door and dropping his voice, “I do not intend to tell Caroline and Louisa yet. They will have to hear me announce it at dinner like everyone else. I shall not give them the opportunity to berate me and question my judgment.”

“Good man,” Darcy proclaimed. “It is not for your sisters to criticise your choice, and I am glad you have decided to be firm with them.”

“Thank you, Darcy. This is all down to you, you know. I was shilly-shallying until you told me plainly that Jane loved me. After that, I could see it clearly! I do not know why I was so unsure before. I owe you, my friend.”

“Not at all, Bingley, it was my pleasure,” Darcy said honestly.

Bingley cleared his throat, his cheeks slightly pink. “Well, I must speak to Mrs Nicholls about dinner. And decide what to wear. Perhaps my blue coat…” The man was now talking to himself as he left the room, and Darcy smiled. ‘ Love is merely a madness’ , as the bard so aptly put it.

Sinking back into a chair, he turned his thoughts to his own love and the madness it had driven him to.

∞∞∞

When Bingley made the announcement of his engagement in the drawing room before dinner, Darcy had no reason to repine his advice to his friend.

With their attachment official, the reserve Miss Bennet had previously shown melted, and the love in her eyes would have been plain to even the most cynical of men.

Not the most cynical of women, however. Miss Bingley looked like she had bitten into a lemon.

While cries of congratulations burst forth from the Bennet ladies, Darcy watched as the sour sisters exchanged horrified and desperate expressions.

Hoping they might check themselves before the happy couple noticed, Darcy stepped forwards to add his own words of congratulation.

Miss Bennet thanked him sincerely, though shyly, before turning to her mother, who was proclaiming her need to sit down having been overcome with joy.

Darcy bristled a little at the woman once again putting herself before her daughters and stealing attention from those who truly deserved it.

However, glancing at Elizabeth, her youngest sister’s admonishment came back to him.

“She would never be prevailed on to marry someone who showed such scorn towards her family…”

“Mrs Bennet, let me help you to a chair,” he found himself saying, offering the lady his arm.

She looked at him in shock, and he feared for a moment his uncharacteristic gesture might have worsened her nerves.

But she took the proffered limb and allowed him to lead her to an armchair by the fire.

Once she was comfortable, he insisted on fetching her a glass of wine to further enhance his act of chivalry, finding when he returned with it that she had fully recovered and was issuing a barrage of imperious advice on wedding arrangements to her eldest daughter and Bingley.

Feeling a light tap on his elbow, he turned to see Miss Lydia, the delight on her face almost as great as Miss Bennet’s. She looked up at him. “Thank you, Mr Darcy,” she whispered before moving away. It was the most composed, mature, and sincere thing he had ever heard her say.

By the time they went in to dine, the Hursts and Miss Bingley still had not offered their congratulations.

Darcy was certain that the Bennets had noticed, yet they had refrained from making any comment.

Bingley, on the other hand, kept casting surreptitious glares at his family, and Darcy was sure that a storm was brewing that would rain down on Netherfield once the guests had left.

It was an informal dinner, and there were no seating arrangements as such.

Miss Bingley took her usual place at one end of the table, opposite her brother, and Mr and Mrs Hurst hastened to sit either side of her.

Glancing up, Darcy caught Elizabeth’s eye.

She looked pointedly towards the seats beside the Hursts, then back at him.

Taking her meaning, he gave a small smile, and they both moved to take the empty chairs, creating a barrier between Bingley and his beloved and those who wished to destroy their happiness.

Whilst spending the evening in the company of the characterless couple and their poisonous sister would not have been Darcy’s first choice, he was also sitting opposite Elizabeth, who had chosen him, above all others, as her partner in a delicious conspiracy to thwart the treacherous trio. His heart was singing!

The conversation naturally centred around the forthcoming wedding.

Mrs Bennet, with not a trace of her previous indisposition evident, dominated the discussion, but Bingley and his intended did not appear to mind, content in their quiet joy.

Only the three at the end of the table did not contribute to the discourse; Mr Hurst was, as ever, only interested in his plate and his wine glass, while his wife and sister moved their food around silently, glancing only at each other.

When he was certain no one else was paying attention, Darcy gazed at Elizabeth, but he also got the impression that she was doing the same—glancing at him furtively—and he often caught her looking away when he raised his eyes. He allowed a modicum of hope to tentatively bloom inside him.

Once the topics of dates, dresses, flowers, and guests had been canvassed, Miss Lydia addressed their host.

“Speaking of weddings, I hope you will walk into Meryton with us on Tuesday, Mr Bingley. Colonel Forster is getting married, you know, and it is tradition for the whole town to turn out and watch the bride and groom emerge from the church. It should be a jolly affair.”

Bingley turned to his betrothed, who smiled and nodded her assent, before agreeing with alacrity.

“That does sound delightful, Miss Lydia. There is nothing like watching a happy wedding to get one in the mood for one’s own!

” He paused and frowned. “Not that I am not already in the mood for my own wedding of course,” he added with a nervous laugh.

Miss Bennet gently placed her hand on his arm, and he looked at her with relief, turning slightly pink. Darcy smiled, his eyes swivelling of their own accord to look at Miss Elizabeth, who, to his delight, was smiling at him too.

Once the last fork had been placed on an empty plate, Bingley stood. “If everyone is in agreement, I propose no separation of the sexes this evening,” he announced. “Shall we all adjourn to the drawing room?”

There were murmurs and nods of acquiescence, and chairs scraped on the wooden floor as their occupants rose. About to take the opportunity to offer Elizabeth his arm, Darcy checked himself and instead turned to Mrs Bennet. “May I have the honour of escorting the mother of the bride?” he asked.

She tittered and grabbed his arm whilst patting it with the opposite hand.

“How gentlemanly of you, Mr Darcy,” she said.

“When Kitty said she approved of you, I thought the girl must have run mad. And when my Lydia agreed, well, I almost examined her for signs of a fever! But I must say your behaviour has been most agreeable this evening. I do not think you are unpleasant, after all.”

“Praise indeed, madam,” Darcy said drily as they strolled through to the next room.

Securing the lady a comfortable chair by the fire, Darcy turned to observe Elizabeth, who was looking at him with one eyebrow raised and amusement dancing in her eyes.

He offered her a small bow. Well, it seems I have won over her mother and at least two of her sisters.

Perhaps she might not hate me quite as much as she once did .

He stood a little taller, confident of his rising position in her esteem.

Leading his intended to a sofa and settling down beside her, Bingley declared, “Shall we have some music? Can I persuade any of you ladies to perform?”

Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst both glared at their brother, but he paid them no mind, instead smiling at Miss Mary, who had risen eagerly and was making her way to the instrument.

Darcy’s stomach sank. He could not bear to watch her suffer another humiliation as she had at the ball!

Observing his companions, he caught the supercilious sisters exchanging alarmed looks, and Mr Bennet was not even trying to conceal his smirk, no doubt taking wicked delight in his daughter’s impending mortification.

Darcy’s ire rose. He would not allow the girl to be an object of ridicule.

“Allow me to turn the pages for you, Miss Mary,” he said, standing and striding across the room towards her.

She looked at him with shock and not a little fear, and he attempted to smile and put her at ease as he joined her in leafing through the sheets of music.

Finding what he sought, he lowered his voice so they could not be overheard and spoke in what he hoped were soothing tones.

“This is one of the few pieces my sister will play in company. She says it sounds impressive but is actually remarkably simple. It puts her at ease knowing she will entertain her audience without overtaxing her skills or her nerves. It also happens to be one of my favourites.”

Miss Mary took the music tentatively. “Für Elise… Yes, I have tried this before. Thank you, sir, for the suggestion.” She placed the music on the stand, flexed her fingers, and began to play.

Darcy was relieved to find that his sister’s description of the piece had been accurate—it did sound impressive, yet Miss Mary did not seem to be struggling with the notes.

No one admitted to the privilege of hearing her could think anything wanting.

He was watching her with such pride that he almost forgot to turn the page!

Where had this sudden need to play brother to the younger Bennets come from?

Was it his love for their sister? Was it his position as brother to one impressible young lady that compelled him to care for others in a similar position?

Or was it that the lesson he had been taught in childhood—that other people’s sense and worth could not compare with his own—had been mercilessly exposed as hollow conceit by someone whose opinions he never expected would matter. He strongly suspected it was the last.