Page 18 of Disarmed

“W e are ruined, we are ruined!” Mrs Bennet sobbed, her wails piercing Elizabeth’s skull.

In front of her, Jane sat silently, her hands clasped in her lap, her fingers twisting her handkerchief.

Mary had finally resorted to picking up her book, no longer even pretending to listen to her mother’s lamentations, which had been going on now for a full four-and-twenty hours.

Lydia and Kitty had removed themselves from the parlour at the first opportunity and had walked to Lucas Lodge to call on their friend Maria, but only after swearing to their mother that they would not breathe a word of the disgrace that Mrs Bennet was certain had befallen their family.

Elizabeth was of a mind to agree with her father: Mr Bingley had not forsaken Jane.

The previous morning, the Netherfield party had arrived at church only moments before the service began.

Mr Bingley had joined the Bennets in their pew, and whilst he had smiled and nodded and attempted to give the impression that all was well, it was clear it most certainly was not.

His expression had been tight, his eyes devoid of their customary sparkle, and he had sat rigidly throughout the service.

Afterwards, he had refused their mother’s entreaty to accompany them to Longbourn, stating only that a business matter required his immediate presence at home, and with a kiss to Jane’s hand and a promise he would call on the morrow, he had been gone.

Miss Bingley, the Hursts, and Mr Darcy had not even acknowledged anyone.

Mrs Bennet was certain this all meant he had changed his mind.

That he regretted his proposal and was going to hie back to London never to be seen again, leaving Jane to face heartbreak, derision, and disgrace.

Lydia had promised to hunt him down and make him pay if that was the case, but like Elizabeth, she also believed that the situation was far less dire than their mother was predicting.

It was nearly noon when sounds were heard from the drive, and Jane finally lifted her head, then rose and took a few steps towards the window.

“It is Mr Bingley’s carriage,” she said flatly.

Her face was white, and Elizabeth cursed her mother for putting the idea into her sister’s head that she had been jilted.

She went to Jane’s side, wrapping an arm around her waist. “I am sure all will be explained now,” she soothed. “Mr Bingley loves you. I am certain of it.”

Jane did not respond, and their mother once again began wailing about how the gentleman had surely come to break the bad news.

Elizabeth and her sister watched as the carriage came to a halt outside the house; a groom opened the door, and Mr Bingley stepped out followed by Mr Darcy.

The former looked tired, but as he raised his head and saw the sisters at the window, his face brightened, and the look he gave his betrothed was full of joy and love and anticipation.

Elizabeth turned to her sister to see tears of relief streaming down her face, upon which the smile was finally restored.

The ladies smoothed their gowns and returned to their seats to await the entrance of the gentlemen.

When the door opened and the guests were announced, Mr Bingley looked almost as he always had.

There was a trace of darkness around his eyes, perhaps, suggesting he had not slept well, but his smile was wide and unforced as he turned to Jane.

His face fell immediately, though, upon seeing the tears on her cheeks, and he rushed forwards, sinking onto his knees on the carpet before her. “My love?” he asked, lifting her chin with a gentle finger. “Pray! Tell me what is the matter!”

Jane seemed at a loss for words. Her mother, however, suffered no such restraint.

“Well, sir, I hope this is not how you plan to treat our family in future—barely exchanging a word in church, refusing our invitation, then running off to do goodness knows what and leaving us to fret before appearing again as if nothing is wrong! Oh, my poor nerves!”

Having stood to make this speech, Mrs Bennet now collapsed into her chair, fanning herself furiously.

Mr Bingley looked stricken. “Madam,” he said, “I offer you my deepest apologies for any suffering I may have caused.” He was still on the floor, Jane’s hands clasped tightly in his own.

“There was a…matter… yesterday of the utmost importance that required my immediate attention, but…I am mortified to know it distressed you! That it distressed you all.” With a squeeze of Jane’s hand he rose and approached their mother.

“Please may I take your daughter for a turn about the garden to explain the events that detained me?”

Mrs Bennet huffed. “I think that is the least you owe us, Mr Bingley,” she sniffed.

Throughout this rather uncomfortable conversation, Elizabeth had been aware of Mr Darcy’s gaze on her.

She had not looked in his direction—she had not needed to; she could feel his observation.

With the news of the engagement and then the concern over Mr Bingley’s steadfastness, she had found little time to think about the most handsome man of her acquaintance—for that was undoubtedly what he was.

He was also the most interesting, she acknowledged.

Their conversations recently had been some of the most enjoyable she had ever had, and now that the spell of charm Mr Wickham had cast on her had well and truly worn off, she could admit that he was not a bad man at all, merely a man who had been raised in a certain circle, with certain expectations placed on him, and who had been given responsibilities that would defeat someone with twice his years and experience.

He certainly was not a man without defect, as Miss Bingley had once asserted, but he had clearly been trying hard to overcome those faults that Elizabeth had once believed were fixed in his character.

He engaged others in conversation, he had been incredibly kind—suspiciously so, in fact—to her younger sisters and even her mother, he seemed supportive of Mr Bingley’s engagement to Jane…

Why had there been such an appreciable change in his behaviour?

“He likes you, Lizzy!” Lydia’s words came back to her, and warmth flooded through her body all of a sudden. Could it be true? Did Mr Darcy like her?

What did she now think of him?

Elizabeth became aware that her mother was addressing her. “You must go and walk with your sister and Mr Bingley,” she demanded. “I am sure Mr Darcy will accompany you.”

The gentleman gave a short bow of acquiescence and turned towards the door through which Jane and Mr Bingley had already departed.

Elizabeth was about to follow when her mother grasped her wrist and hissed, “Not too close, Lizzy. Let the gentleman have his favours!” She winked in such an exaggerated manner that Elizabeth shrank back from the disturbing sight and darted from the room.

Out in the chilly December air, all Elizabeth’s senses were heightened.

The grinding of the gravel under her feet, the odour of the rotting vegetation and the smoke from the chimneys, the appearance of the low light that cast long shadows across the grass, and of course the rubbing of Mr Darcy’s rough coat on her wrist, where there was a small gap between her sleeve and her glove, all served to discompose her.

Mr Bingley and Jane had chosen to sit on a bench in the little wilderness at one side of the lawn. Their hands were clasped together, and the gentleman was speaking earnestly, but her sister did not appear distressed, much to Elizabeth’s relief.

She and her companion chose to wander the paths, their duties as chaperons largely forgotten.

“Might you tell me something of the events that led to your hasty departure from church yesterday?” Elizabeth asked after they had been walking in silence for a while.

Mr Darcy sighed and looked away, and she was about to apologise for her intrusion when he began to speak.

“I am sorry I did not greet you and your family. My friend had tasked me with returning his sisters to the carriage as soon as the service concluded, and…given the…conversation that had taken place at Netherfield that morning and the night before, I thought it best to follow his instructions.” He took a deep breath then looked at her earnestly.

“I am afraid Miss Bingley and the Hursts have…objections to Bingley’s choice of bride. ”

Elizabeth gasped, and she would have stumbled had not Mr Darcy’s strong arm been supporting her. She felt his muscles tighten under her hand as he righted her, which only increased her nerves and make her more aware of his closeness.

“I apologise for distressing you. Please do not be alarmed. Bingley has been firmer in his resolve these last weeks than I have ever known him to be. He is unmoved in his intentions and sentiments towards your sister and has left his own in no doubt of his decision. He sent them back to London this morning, where they will remain at Hurst’s house until they are prepared to welcome Miss Bennet to the family. ”

Elizabeth was quiet for a moment as she considered this information.

Eventually, she spoke. “I am sorry for the rift between Mr Bingley and his sisters. Jane will be most grieved by it. I cannot truly say I am surprised by their opinions, though. From the moment we met I was struck by their arrogance, their conceit, and their selfish disdain for the feelings of others. I apologise for speaking so ill of your friends, but their behaviour towards people who have welcomed them into the neighbourhood, and towards Jane, the sweetest, kindest, most gentle of souls, is unforgivable.”

It was Mr Darcy’s turn to be silent, and he remained so for so long that Elizabeth began to worry she had truly offended him.

She was berating herself for her ill-considered words when he said, “I believe that you once also counted me among their number. My behaviour when I entered Hertfordshire was no better. I shall not disrespect you by offering excuses, but please allow me to apologise. The lessons I have been taught in recent weeks have been great indeed, and I hope I have begun to remedy at least some of my faults and have improved in the eyes of those whose opinions I care about.”

While he had been speaking, they had stopped, and they were now facing each other.

Elizabeth’s hand had slipped from Mr Darcy’s arm, and he seemed to be cradling it within his own.

He was looking intently at her—as she had come to realise he did often—and she raised her own eyes to meet his gaze.

His mien was serious yet soft, and she was transfixed as he lifted her hand to his lips and placed a kiss on the back of it.

The clearing of a throat behind them roused her, and Mr Darcy dropped her hand as they both turned to Mr Bingley and Jane, whom they had not noticed approaching.

Both were smiling and looked at ease, much to Elizabeth’s relief.

“I believe we should return to the house,” Jane said.

“I am sure my mother is anxious for news.”

Elizabeth agreed, and they all turned to make their way up the path. As they did so, she chanced another glance at Mr Darcy. It seemed that he had chosen the same moment to glance at her, and a warmth filled her. Did he feel it too?