Page 12 of Epiphany (A Little Bit More Darcy and Elizabeth #2)

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“C aroline is furious. I am not sure whether at me or you,” Bingley called over the sound of pounding hooves. “You, I think.”

“Would she have had me conceal it from you?” Darcy shouted back.

“Probably. She still does not believe Miss Bennet’s affections are genuine.”

Darcy was inclined to think Miss Bennet’s affections, genuine or otherwise, were of no importance to Miss Bingley whatsoever, and she only claimed to be unconvinced to justify her continued opposition to the match. If she had expected him to do the same, she had severely misjudged his character. He might yet oppose it, but he would not manipulate his friend out of it with falsehoods and concealments.

“Either way, Caroline refused point-blank to come, so we shall have to do without her,” Bingley grumbled. “Are you sure your sister will not mind playing hostess? She agreed, of course, because she is a dear, but I must say, she did not seem overly enamoured of the idea.”

“Mrs Annesley will assist her. As will my confounded cousin. She owes me a favour.”

“That she does,” Bingley replied with a laugh that was curtailed into a warning shout. “Dash it! The blasted gate looks shut. Think you can jump it?”

“I shall not even attempt it in this weather,” Darcy called back. “In any case, is it not that way?”

He smirked to see Bingley look all around him in perplexity. It had snowed slightly overnight, and the light dusting had rendered the landscape unfamiliar. Not enough to put Bingley off coming out, however. At three o’clock that afternoon, he had appeared in the doorway of the library, thrown Darcy’s own hat at him, declared that he had not come all this way to watch him stalk about the place like a cantankerous old bear, and insisted that he join him to ride off his snit.

Darcy was sorry to have dampened his friend’s festive spirits, though he fancied Bingley might be rather more grateful if he comprehended his efforts to limit himself to mere sullen silence when what he wished to do was rage and storm.

He had not managed to make Anne divulge what passed between her and Elizabeth the previous evening. She had demurred, prevaricated, and—he was convinced—outright lied. It mattered not. He could guess without being told. Had she not undertaken in her letter to Georgiana to ensure Elizabeth ‘dropped whatever false hope’ he might have given her?

“Ride faster!” Bingley shouted. “And do not give me any more of your objections about the blasted weather. Cantering is clearly not sufficient. You still look as though you might bludgeon the first person to come within ten yards of you, and I shall have no violence under my roof at Christmas.” He kicked his horse into a gallop and sped off in the new direction.

It was a fine idea. Darcy spurred his horse onwards and soon overtook his friend, who hooted his enjoyment of the chase. Earth and snow were flung into the air in Darcy’s wake, and icy wind whistled past his ears as he raced ever faster across the field.

His miseries kept pace with him the entire way, inescapable, unconquerable. How he reviled that despicable creature, Providence, for taunting him thus! The one woman—who in temperament and understanding, deeds and thought, liveliness and loveliness, who was perfect for him and would bring him happiness in every conceivable form—had been thrown not into his path, but near enough to torture him with the knowledge that she would never be his. He reined in his horse. There was no point laming the beast attempting to escape troubles that could not be outrun.

Bingley thundered up behind him and came to a skidding halt, his horse steaming with exertion. “I hope that did the trick, for any more of that nonsense and one or both of us will end up with a broken neck.”

“Forgive me, Bingley. I have much on my mind.”

“As always, my friend. You are the master of weighty problems, the original troubled soul.” He dropped the sardonic tone with which he had said this to add more seriously, “I think you take too much upon yourself, Darcy.”

“Perhaps.” He urged his mount back in the direction of the house. “I certainly ought not to have taken on the superintendence of your romantic affairs. I apologise for thinking it was my place.”

“I must say, your note was a surprise. As was its postmark.”

Darcy grimaced. “I must apologise for that as well. I only concealed my destination from you because I knew you would wish to accompany me, and at the time, I believed Miss Bennet to be still indifferent to you. I thought it would only pain you. Besides,” he added irritably, “I only intended to be in Meryton one night and had no intention of seeing the Bennets.”

“Yes,” his friend said, laughing. “From what you have told me, it seems your cousin has given you quite the merry chase. Is she usually this audacious?”

“No, she is not. But then, she has never before been free of my aunt’s watchful eye.” And she has never before had cause to suspect that her cousin was about to ruin the whole family with a staggeringly imprudent marriage , he thought privately.

They rode for a while in silence, then Bingley cleared his throat. “Your letter was somewhat short on details, old fruit.”

“What further details do you require?”

“A man needs more to go on than an observation that the woman he admires ‘might not be indifferent’ to him. Have you nothing else for me?”

“Not a great deal. But her sister Elizabeth insists she admires you. Her father confirmed she was miserable when you left. And she looked very well pleased when your letter arrived announcing your return.”

Nevertheless, Miss Bennet’s modest smile had been nothing to the look Elizabeth had given him when she met his gaze on the drive outside Longbourn. It was a look which, many years hence when he would likely not have laid eyes on her for an age and may even be married to another woman, he would probably still treasure better than any other Christmas gift he had ever received. It had plagued him all day, for one such look could never be enough to last a lifetime. He desperately wanted more.

“You are right,” Bingley replied. “That is not a great deal, but it is a start. I shall just have to hope for better luck at dinner.”

Darcy only nodded. Dinner! Another major source of his present misery. Good sense told him he ought to have returned to London at first light, rather than torture himself with another evening of Elizabeth’s company, but though he abhorred his own weakness, he simply could not tear himself away. He would give himself one last evening of bliss before he must return to life without her.

* * *

Two hours into the evening, Darcy reflected that ‘bliss’ was not a word anyone could use to describe proceedings thus far. The Bennets had arrived promptly at seven o’clock, with only their three youngest daughters in tow. The Gardiners had arrived almost half an hour later with their two eldest nieces, claiming one of their young children had delayed them.

There had been no heart-stopping looks directed at either him or Bingley from either lady. Elizabeth had stepped down from the carriage and attached herself firmly to her sister’s arm, where she remained, watching her possessively throughout her re-introduction to Bingley and sparing nary a glance for anybody else.

The introduction to Georgiana, for which Darcy had been so very anxious, had been even less inspiring. Elizabeth was perfectly civil, but she seemed largely unaffected by the honour of the presentation, far more interested in her own sister than his, almost as though she expected Miss Bennet to disapprove of the acquaintance. Georgiana had been typically meek, stammering and wincing her way through her hostess’s duties with humiliatingly frequent prompts from her companion and vexingly few from her cousin. The whole thing had left him vastly dissatisfied, a far cry from the joyous meeting of kindred spirits he had foolishly envisaged.

As for Miss Bennet, gone was the lady who had blushed happily at the mention of Bingley’s return. She scarcely seemed able to look at him, replied to his questions with monosyllabic responses or looked to Elizabeth to answer for her, and generally acted as though she would rather be anywhere but in Netherfield’s dining room. Darcy began to wonder whether he had slipped from his horse and hit his head upon arriving in Meryton and hallucinated everything that had occurred since, for nothing he had witnessed this evening corresponded to his previous observations.

“I must say, Mr Bingley,” said Mrs Bennet, who then instead of saying it, took a large gulp of claret. “That was a delightful meal. Your cook did a wonderful job, considering she had less than a day’s notice to prepare it all.”

“Or have we just eaten the meal you were supposed to have the day you took your leave without warning?” said her husband, chuckling to himself. “It was worth the wait. Nothing like well-aged beef.”

Bingley coloured slightly but forged valiantly onwards. “No, indeed, I had it all brought down from London with this dinner in mind.” Looking at Miss Bennet, he added, “I had a fancy that it should be as enjoyable as possible.”

Miss Bennet did not look pleased. She only smiled weakly and continued eating.

“Beef is your favourite, Georgiana, is it not?” Darcy said to cover the intervening silence.

His sister stammered an inarticulate reply. It was all his senseless remark warranted, to be fair. Damn, he hated inane pleasantries!

“Goodness, Mr Bingley. What a lot of trouble you have gone to for your friends,” Elizabeth said coldly, confirming Darcy’s impression that she was exceedingly angry about something. He wished he knew what.

He had, at first, assumed it to be whatever Anne had said to her, but he was less certain now, for her resentment did not appear to be reserved for him or Anne but included the whole Netherfield party. He wished also that her expression, so like the one she had worn when they danced at Bingley’s ball, was not so devastatingly alluring. Unsmiling severity sharpened the contours of her face, plumped her lips, and made her beautiful eyes flash dangerously. He could not look away, and his thoughts were in chaotic, brutish uproar.

“Indeed,” Bingley replied. Still looking at Miss Bennet, he said, “I aspire to please.” It did him no good. She was not looking at him, and his earnestness was wasted.

“You may take heart then, Mr Bingley. Many people have aspirations. Yours, at least, are attainable,” Anne remarked.

Elizabeth looked at her darkly. Her sister paled and attended more diligently to her meal.

“Oh, you did listen to me yesterday then, Miss de Bourgh?” said Mrs Bennet. “I was worried you would not take my advice to heart.”

“Is that what it was, madam? Advice? You will have to forgive me. I mistook it for impertinence.”

Mrs Bennet gave an affected laugh. “Oh no. Impertinence would have been to ask one of my daughters to decline Mr Bingley’s kind invitation and not come today.”

Anne flushed scarlet and said no more. Darcy fixed her with a furious glare, which she refused to meet. Surely, she did not?

“Have there been many more dances in Meryton of late?” Bingley quickly enquired.

“Aye, there was one last Saturday,” Miss Lydia replied. “Miss de Bourgh swooned halfway through her dance with Mr Wickham.”

Several hissed reproaches went up around the table, all of which were drowned by the sound of Georgiana dropping her knife and fork. They clattered noisily onto her plate, and one fell into her lap, drawing a whimper from her lips as she fumbled to reclaim it. Darcy swore to himself and tried desperately to catch her eye, but not even Mrs Annesley’s cleared throat could persuade her to raise her head.

“I understand he has gone out of the country now,” he said in as steadying a voice as he could.

Georgiana still did not look at him, and her countenance had turned ashen, but she nodded slightly, retrieved her cutlery, and resumed eating.

Elizabeth, of course, observed the entire exchange. She looked away when she noticed Darcy’s gaze, thus he could not tell what she made of it. He only knew that he must want her beyond reason when he briefly considered throwing more cutlery into his sister’s lap to draw her attention back his way.

“Your stumble that evening was most unfortunate,” said Mrs Bennet to Anne, “but that was precisely the point I was making yesterday. Now, Jane danced with Mr Mountbatten—did you not, Jane? He would have been a far better match for you, Miss de Bourgh. A stout fellow, not too fast on his feet. And short sighted, which I should think would be of benefit to some, though Jane would be quite wasted on him.”

“Mr Bingley, I hear your ball in the autumn was a fine affair,” Mrs Annesley interposed with such gracefulness as made Darcy vow to increase her stipend.

“It was, madam, even if I do say so myself. I am excessively fond of dancing.”

“It shows,” said Mr Bennet indiscreetly to Mr Gardiner. “I have never known any man dance around a question for as many months as he.”

“Do you often get the chance?” Mrs Gardiner enquired.

“I had the chance yesterday, as it happens,” Bingley replied. “My sisters and Miss Darcy were attempting to teach me a new cotillion. I daresay you would like it, Miss Bennet. You dance so very prettily. Perhaps, Miss Darcy, you could teach Miss Bennet the steps?”

Georgiana had not yet recovered, and it was too soon for her to speak with any confidence. Miss Bennet looked mortified by the mere suggestion. Both ladies appeared on the verge of tears.

Bingley glanced helplessly at Darcy, and well he might, for the warm welcome he had been promised was nowhere to be seen. Instead, awkward silence pervaded the company as the central turret of one of the cook’s castellated ices slid off sideways and landed on the tablecloth with a dull splat.

Darcy knew matters had reached a decided low when he found himself wishing Miss Bingley were there to rescue them all with some of her insipid but well-honed social graces.

I was right , he thought to himself. I ought to have left this place at first light.

* * *

Elizabeth would gladly have complied with Miss de Bourgh’s wishes and remained at home. It was Jane who had insisted upon coming, too well-mannered to renege on an invitation already accepted. If Mr Bingley had not chosen her, she insisted, then she would neither resent him for it nor be so petty as to refuse his olive branch. That was all well and good, except that for the last several hours, Elizabeth had watched Jane struggle to maintain her composure as the man she loved flaunted his new paramour in front of them.

Mr Darcy was little better, obstinately promoting the match at every opportunity. Miss de Bourgh was, as always, being insolent and superior—an air made worse by dint of Elizabeth’s mother, father, and younger sisters determinedly betraying every bit of the disdain for propriety of which the woman had accused them. By the time the ladies separated from the gentlemen after dinner, Elizabeth was so angry she was tempted to ask for her pelisse and steal away home.

The only person at whom Elizabeth could not be vexed was Miss Darcy, though she wished to be. Indeed, she had begun the evening determined to find her as objectionable and proud as Mr Wickham had described her. That, perhaps, was the reason her resolve had crumbled so rapidly, for Mr Wickham’s testimony held little water with her of late. It had been the work of less than a few minutes to determine that Mr Darcy’s sister was only painfully shy. Neither had it escaped Elizabeth’s notice the effect Mr Wickham’s name had upon her, nor her brother and companion’s concern for her after its mention. It was a turn from which Miss Darcy had yet to recover, though Miss de Bourgh appeared oblivious to her cousin’s distress.

“What possessed you at dinner, Georgiana?” Elizabeth heard her say in a harsh whisper. “You are aware, I suppose, that the saying ‘When in Rome’ is proverbial and not to be taken as instruction.”

“I am sorry, Cousin Anne. I was nervous.”

“When will you learn it is for people like this to be nervous in your presence, not the reverse? Now you have splashed gravy on yourself.”

Miss Darcy gasped in mortification and inspected her gown for the offending stain.

Little though Elizabeth was inclined to take her part while Jane looked on, it tugged at her conscience to see the young lady’s embarrassment over the regrettably obvious mark. It persuaded her to swivel in her seat to fully face them and lean forward so she could whisper. “’Tis hardly noticeable, Miss Darcy. You must not concern yourself.”

Miss de Bourgh fixed her with a rancorous glare. “Do not attempt to ingratiate yourself this way, Miss Elizabeth. It will not work.” To her cousin, she added, “What will Mr Bingley think?”

“I—I do not think Mr Bingley will mind,” Miss Darcy replied in a stilted voice. “He is too kind, and I believe he is altogether too engrossed in Miss Bennet to care about my gown.”

Elizabeth was instantly alert but uncertain how to proceed without knowing whether the remark had been made in bitterness or innocence. She had not long to wait before Miss de Bourgh demanded the answers she herself was so desirous of hearing.

“What is your meaning? Is he chasing after another under your nose? Need I speak to your brother?” More to herself than to her cousin, she added, “Though he is little better. I doubt he will be of much use.”

Miss Darcy’s expression was one of the oddest Elizabeth had ever seen. It was as though somebody had taken all Jane’s diffidence and all Lydia’s meddlesomeness, and mixed them together in one countenance that was too noble to give either a good home.

“Mr Bingley was never chasing after me,” she said quietly and almost excitedly.

“You said in your letter he was.”

“Pardon me, Cousin Anne, you misunderstood me. I—I said that was his sister’s dearest wish. It always has been. It is a silly notion of which none of us has ever disabused her, for we are all such good friends. And I expect my brother would agree if Mr Bingley and I were ever to decide upon each other—but we never shall. Mr Bingley does not wish to marry me any more than I wish to marry him. We are too much like brother and sister.” She wrinkled her nose. “And he is rather old, do you not think?”

“He is three-and-twenty, Georgiana.”

“Exactly.”

Elizabeth bit the insides of her cheeks to keep them straight. Beneath her reserve, there was definitely more of Lydia than of Jane in Miss Darcy. The notion tickled her no end, and she wondered whether Mr Darcy were aware of this rebellious streak in his sister. Mrs Annesley looked as though she might have an inkling, for she watched her charge with obvious unease. It seemed Miss de Bourgh’s authority superseded her own, however, for she did not intervene.

“If you recall,” Miss Darcy said breathlessly, managing to make herself seem simultaneously eager and reluctant to speak, “in the same letter, I said that I should not be surprised if my brother and Mr Bingley soon returned to Hertfordshire because they both liked it so well the last time they were here. Mr Bingley is quite in love with your sister, Miss Elizabeth.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Georgiana!” scolded Miss de Bourgh. “I do not care how young you are, spouting this sort of nonsense is a ridiculous way to carry on.”

Rebellious she may be, but brave she was not. Miss Darcy sank back into her seat with a meek apology. Elizabeth assured her none was necessary, then excused herself to speak to Jane.

The gentlemen joined them moments after she finished relaying the whole conversation, giving her sister not the time to collect herself before she must face Mr Bingley again.

She clutched Elizabeth’s hand and whispered, “I am not formed for this much upheaval. First, he is gone. Next, he is back. Then, he is to marry Miss Darcy. Now, he loves me again. My heart will not stand the tumult.”

“Your heart will do perfectly well if you would only cease allowing other people to decide what it ought to feel. But you had better talk to Mr Bingley soon, or he will think you do not love him . We have not exactly been friendly towards him this evening.”

When Jane’s eyes widened in alarm, Elizabeth assured her there was plenty of evening remaining to remedy that. She nodded in encouragement when Mr Bingley came directly to sit with them, but seeing Jane blush and stumble for something to say, she determined to set them off on a better path.

“My sister was just saying how well she enjoyed dinner, Mr Bingley. You might not be aware, but beef is her favourite, too.”

“Oh, but I was aware,” he replied with an expansive smile that made Elizabeth think she could very easily fall a little in love with him, too. It was quite the sweetest compliment she had ever heard. Jane was suitably gratified by it, and to Elizabeth’s relief, they soon proved they had no further need of her to advance their conversation. She shuffled back into the corner of the sofa and let out a deep sigh.

Her sigh turned to a smile as she mused over the absurdity of the misapprehension that had almost ruined Jane’s happiness a second time. That smile froze in place when Elizabeth looked up to find Mr Darcy watching her, the turn of his countenance plunging her back into Longbourn’s hall the evening before, recalling her to all that was said then, and paralysing her with embarrassment.

She had all but forgotten. Jane’s distress the previous night, her tears and turmoil all that day, and Elizabeth’s own indignation had overtaken everything. Well, she remembered now! It would seem from the way he was regarding her, so did he. The intensity of his gaze made her shiver.

Then, it made her want to laugh. She had spent the better part of four months in contempt of this man who had once disdained her looks. One whiff of possibility that he admired her, and suddenly, a brief, unsmiling glance was enough to knot her stomach. And she had accused him of vanity! It diverted her enough that she was much better able to dismiss the flicker of tension she felt when he excused himself from his conversation with Mr Gardiner and came towards her.

“Sit here, Darcy. Mrs Jenkinson will make room for you,” called Miss de Bourgh, shooing her companion out of her seat to make room for her cousin.

Elizabeth thought Darcy hesitated, but her aunt chose that moment to move to the seat he would have taken, and the moment was lost.

“Lizzy,” began Mrs Gardiner, “your mother has just reminded me that I never told you what happened to my new lady’s maid.”

“Oh, you keep servants, do you?” said Miss de Bourgh.

Mrs Gardiner replied with perfect equanimity that she did, then continued. “She came into my room one evening by mistake?—”

“That is hardly surprising,” Miss de Bourgh said to Mr Darcy in a loud aside. “There is so little difference in rank between them, one cannot blame the poor woman for being confused.”

“—instead of Lucy’s room,” Mrs Gardiner finished pointedly. “And she missed the step down inside the door and turned her ankle. She will recover, but for all the trouble it took to appoint her, I am without her again for now.”

“You must be used to not having servants Mrs Gardiner,” Miss de Bourgh persisted. “You cannot always have had them, for Mr Gardiner’s money is so very new . It must be agreeable to you to have been able to elevate your condition in life by employing a maid. How easy it is to give the impression of bettering oneself by hiring someone beneath you.”

“Your army of servants at Rosings would rather discredit that theory, Cousin,” said Mr Darcy icily. “Georgiana, can you be persuaded to play for us?”

Elizabeth knew not whether to be amazed or amused. In the end, both sentiments ceded to pity, for it was a shame Mr Darcy must marry a woman he so evidently did not respect.

“I should rather not, if it is all the same,” Miss Darcy replied.

Mrs Annesley’s gentle but firm encouragement was interrupted by Miss de Bourgh’s firm and not at all gentle rebuke.

“Why would you refuse? Believe me, you have nothing to fear. I heard everyone here play yesterday, and you are by far the most talented among them.”

Curious, the way anger honed Mr Darcy’s features. Elizabeth found herself rather caught up in the way his clenched teeth accentuated the line of his jaw, and his furious glare made his dark eyes gleam. It afforded him an air of restrained potency that gave an exhilarating contrast to the sweetness she had observed earlier in his friend.

“Lizzy?”

“I beg your pardon?”

Mrs Gardiner smirked at her disconcertingly. “I asked whether you would play for us instead. Miss Darcy is a little shy.”

Elizabeth regarded the young lady to assess how shy. “Shall we play together?” she ventured. “Your cousin is right. I am not very accomplished. You cannot fail to impress everybody by comparison.”

They played, and they pleased everyone who wished to be pleased, despite Elizabeth’s making twice as many mistakes as even she expected. She could not seem to attend to the music. It had been a trying four-and-twenty hours, she was tired, and though she was determined not to look lest it put her off altogether, she felt Mr Darcy’s eyes upon her from the moment she sat at the instrument to the moment her father announced it was time to leave.

“Has your evening turned out well after all?” she said quietly to Jane as they donned their coats in the hall.

“Better than I dared dream,” her sister replied, smiling more broadly than was her wont.

“The perfect Christmas gift?”

“Absolutely! I shall have to think of something very special to give Mr Darcy next year to repay him.”

Elizabeth screwed up her face in puzzlement. “I meant Mr Bingley.”

“Oh yes! He was the gift. But Mr Darcy was the giver .” After a quick glance over her shoulder to ensure they would not be overheard, Jane lowered her voice further still and said, “Mr Bingley has explained—or tried to explain, as far as he is able on so delicate a matter—that in essence, he left because he misjudged my affections, but he came back because Mr Darcy sent him an express on Christmas Eve, telling him that his hopes were not in vain or words to that effect. It sounds as though it may have been rather less sentimental than that. Either way, it worked, for he is here, and I have Mr Darcy to thank for it.”

Elizabeth was not often speechless, but she had still not found the words to express her astonishment when the carriage was pronounced to be ready, and her family was ushered out into the night. When Mr Darcy stepped forward to say goodbye, she wished she could replicate her farewell smile from the previous day that had seemed to please him so well but found she was only capable of staring at him in wonder. He was a man too proud to marry, dance with, or ofttimes speak to anyone outside his own circle, yet he had reunited his oldest friend with a woman he considered wholly unsuitable because they were in love . What a wonderful thing to do! It made her question whether she knew him at all.

“Goodbye, Miss Elizabeth,” he said with peculiar finality, then he bowed and walked into the house.