Page 13 of Epiphany (A Little Bit More Darcy and Elizabeth #2)

12

E lizabeth’s delight for Jane increased further still when Mr Bingley called on them the very next day. It seemed he intended to make up for lost time, and he would receive no resistance from anyone at Longbourn.

“We had a wonderful time at dinner yesterday. I hope you will allow us to return the honour soon,” said Mrs Bennet. “You are still quite in our debt when it comes to family dinners.”

“I should like that very much, madam, though I am come with an invitation that might put me even more in debt. But you first. I should hate to offend,” replied Mr Bingley.

“Well, if we must get in first, how are you fixed for tomorrow evening?”

“Done!” Mr Bingley exclaimed, clapping his hands together. “I say, Caroline always makes a mountain out of this entertaining business, but there is nothing to it. Right, now it is my turn. In an ideal world, I should be inviting you all to a lavish Twelfth Night ball.”

Lydia and Kitty began cooing excitedly until he grimaced apologetically and said, “Alas, I have not the time to arrange one at such short notice, and my sisters are engaged for other parties in London on the twelfth. But I thought it would be nice to have a smaller gathering the following day, when they are able to join us. I mean to invite the Lucases as well. What say you? Are you amenable to a Three Kings feast?”

The invitation was readily accepted for everyone but the Gardiners, who were due to return home on Tuesday. After that, Mr Bingley was drawn into a description of the sorts of balls and soirees he and his sisters usually attended when they were in London. Elizabeth wondered whether Mr Darcy’s engagements were of a similar kind or whether he preferred quieter events. She fancied he might appreciate the theatre, though if he practised dancing with his sister, perhaps he enjoyed the occasional ball. It was a shame he was not there to tell them.

Indeed, it was a shame he was not there anyway, for it would have given Elizabeth somebody else to talk to whilst everyone vied for Mr Bingley’s attention, and he vied solely for Jane’s. She smiled to herself as she reflected that Mr Darcy probably would not have said very much anyway, but she had begun to rather enjoy his quiet attentiveness. She liked the consideration he gave to all that was said, even if he did not always remark on it. She supposed it was what Miss de Bourgh had meant by ‘companionable silence.’ Whatever it ought to be called, it was an improvement on her father’s method of only joining a conversation to make sport. She contented herself with her aunt Gardiner’s company, each of them stealing surreptitious glances at Jane to see how she fared throughout the remainder of the call.

“Until tomorrow evening, then,” said Mr Bingley, donning his hat and coat.

“What time shall we expect you all? Shall we say seven?” enquired Mrs Bennet.

“Ah—no, not all of us! Darcy has left to take his cousin back to Kent. How dashed silly of me, I almost forgot to mention it! I do beg your pardon.”

Jane assured him no harm was done, and Elizabeth stepped back, along with her mother, to afford them a more private farewell. It surprised her how greatly the news disheartened her. Just as I was coming to dislike him less .

At least she would not have to suffer Miss de Bourgh’s insolence all evening. Though, a few trifling barbs seemed a price worth paying for a stimulating debate or two. The dinner promised to be a good deal less interesting now.

Elizabeth puffed out her cheeks, resigned to it—or as close to resigned as such fresh disappointment would allow. It was never expected that he would stay in Hertfordshire forever. She did, however, wish that she had said a proper goodbye the night before, instead of staring at him in such a stupid manner.

It mattered to her, she realised with a start, that his impression of her should be favourable. It had, perhaps, always mattered, for even at the beginning of their acquaintance when she had taken pains to debate most of what he said, it had gratified her to think that he should consider her clever. Gormless was most definitely not the look with which she would have chosen to fix herself in his memory.

* * *

Darcy awoke stiff and unrefreshed after too little sleep on a too-soft mattress. He detested staying at Rosings. Every item of furniture was either too old or too ostentatious for comfort, and the rooms were all either perishingly cold or perpetually sweltering. Of course, too many hours in the saddle had not helped, but that had been preferable to sitting in the carriage. Travelling with Mrs Jenkinson was about as interesting as travelling with a potato, and Anne had exhausted his every reserve of forbearance before they left Hertfordshire.

With Lady Catherine still away, they had arrived to an empty house. Eschewing any pleasantries, the ladies had removed directly upstairs, where they remained with dinner taken to them on trays. Darcy had done the same, more for the servants’ sake than his own, but sleep eluded him long after he blew out his candle and capitulated to the incommodious bed.

Anne was obviously angry, though she could be in no doubt she was not alone in that . Their few words after dinner on Boxing Day had not been friendly, and they had said the absolute minimum to each other on the journey to Rosings. Darcy had not yet decided how many words he would spare her before he departed, though he could not avoid speaking to her at least a little, if only to ensure she comprehended that she must leave Elizabeth alone henceforth. He would not countenance a repeat of her behaviour at Netherfield, which had left him no less incensed than ashamed. For all his reservations about the Bennets, his own relation had betrayed a greater want of propriety, a shallower disposition, and a streak of malice that not one of them possessed. With what absurd prepossession had he held Elizabeth’s family in such contempt?

Anne was not in the breakfast room when he arrived downstairs. Neither did she appear in the morning room afterwards. His temper simmered as the clock ticked towards midday. He was on the verge of sending a note, requesting that she bestir herself to come and speak to him, when the door opened, and Lady Catherine swept into the room.

“Darcy! It is you! Pratt said you were here, but I thought he must be mistaken. Whatever are you doing in Kent? Where is Anne?”

He stood to greet her, his expression carefully neutral as he bowed. This had not been part of his plan. “Anne is?—”

“Here, Mother,” said she, coming into the room behind Lady Catherine and sending Darcy an expressive look, though what she meant to express was beyond him. “We returned early. I wished to be home. I am glad I did now that you are returned also.”

“Why did you wish to come home? Was your Christmas not enjoyable? Darcy, what happened in town that made Anne wish to leave so soon?”

“Nothing happened in town, Mother,” Anne answered for him. “I only wished to be at home. How fares Mrs Fortescue?”

Darcy winced. He would have thought that after almost thirty years, Anne would have learnt such methods did not work on Lady Catherine.

His aunt’s eyes narrowed, and she swivelled her head to peer penetratingly at her daughter. “Mrs Fortescue is dead. Thus, you will comprehend that I am in no humour to be put off with prevarication. Tell me this instant why you left London earlier than planned. Are you unwell?”

“We were not in London, madam,” Darcy told her. Anne rolled her eyes and flounced dramatically in her chair. He ignored her. There was no avoiding the matter now. Better to get it over with. “We were in Hertfordshire.”

“Hertfordshire? Why?” Her ladyship whipped her gaze back and forth between them, her generous girth adding momentum to the movement. She came to a quivering halt in front of Darcy. “Whatever made you go there? Have you taken leave of your senses, Nephew? You must know Anne is too frail to travel that far. What were you thinking?”

Darcy was unused to being spoken to in such a way, even by Lady Catherine, but he made an effort to swallow his affront. Anne was her daughter, after all, and she had a right to be concerned for her. His forbearance faltered when her ladyship sucked in an almighty breath and redoubled her attack.

“Clearly you were not thinking. This is not to be borne. I thought you intelligent! Or is it that you merely care so little for my daughter’s well-being? Tell me what is so important in Hertfordshire that you would risk your cousin’s life on poor roads and in icy weather to take her there?”

“I did not take her there,” he said stiffly. “I went there to bring her home.”

Darcy felt the enmity in Anne’s glare and guessed she meant to punish him for divulging as much, as though she had not given him enough trouble already!

“What is your meaning?” demanded Lady Catherine. She did not give him time to answer. “What is his meaning, Anne? When did you go to Hertfordshire? And why have you lied to me about your plans? Tell me at once!”

“I went last week with Mr Collins. I did not tell you because I did not wish to obtrude on your time with Mrs Fortescue. And you will be grateful that I took the trouble when I tell you that my purpose was to prevent Darcy from marrying your parson’s cousin.”

Darcy ground his teeth. He had not doubted she would expose him, so he knew not why he was surprised she had presented it in as poor a light as possible.

Lady Catherine’s countenance flooded crimson, and she fixed her hawkish eyes on him. “Pray, tell me my daughter is mistaken.”

“I credit my cousin with knowing her own mind. If Anne claims that was her purpose, I shall not say she is wrong.”

“Do not be clever. Tell me Anne was mistaken to suspect you would marry one of Mr Collins’s cousins.”

“I cannot answer that without knowing her reasons for thinking that I might.” It was not an approach that held much promise of success, but Darcy would be damned if he was going to account for his decisions to his aunt. He wondered that she or his cousin thought it their right to influence him on the matter. He was painfully aware of the duty he had to his family, and he begrudged them thinking they had need to remind him.

“Come, then!” Lady Catherine demanded of her daughter. “What made you think he was marrying one of the Bennet girls?”

It was Anne’s turn to blush. She lost some of her boldness and developed a sudden interest in the trim of a nearby cushion as she mumbled something unintelligible.

“Speak up, you silly, silly girl.”

Darcy frowned. He had heard Mr Bennet call his girls silly many times—never with such a marked want of affection.

“Georgiana wrote that Darcy thought she was compassionate and?—”

“Do not dare blame that dear girl,” her ladyship interrupted. “Georgiana is too good, too sensible to do anything as reckless as you have done.”

Darcy held himself still, gladder than ever to have concealed his sister’s near-elopement from his aunt and undesirous of giving her away at this stage.

“Would that you could have turned out more like her, instead of this wretched, snivelling creature.”

With deepening alarm, Darcy tilted his head, as though hearing his aunt’s words from a different angle might mitigate their cruelty—a foolish act but one borne of disbelief.

“Is that it, then?” her ladyship went on. “You have no better reason for this preposterous behaviour? You have risked your health and your cousin’s reputation because you heard it said that he thought a woman was kind ?” When she received no answer, she demanded stridently, “Well, child ?”

Anne folded her shoulders inwards and dipped her head, veritably cowering away from her mother. “Mr Collins said she was very pretty.”

“Yes, and I can see why that would worry you , but if you think this sort of carry-on is going to make you any prettier, then you are even stupider than I thought. Fortunately, Darcy is more rational than to lose his head over a handsome face. You ought to give him more credit. He knows his duty to this family. It is about time you remembered yours.”

“I am sorry, Mother.”

“Your apologies are as worthless as you are. If you were a pleasanter, healthier, more accomplished woman, you would have been married by now, and your disappointing looks would be immaterial.”

“Good Lord, that is enough, madam!” Only horrified incredulity had kept Darcy quiet that long. He stepped in front of his cousin, putting his back to his aunt. “Have your trunks packed, Anne. You are coming to London with me.”

She looked at him plaintively but shook her head as her mother began railing at them both. “I cannot?—”

“You can, and you will,” he replied in a low voice that nevertheless brooked no argument. “I shall deal with your mother. Go now.”

Darcy waited until Anne had left the room, then turned to face Lady Catherine. “I shall impute this reprehensible behaviour to grief and say no more on the matter, provided it is never repeated.”

An unpleasant sneer deepened the lines about her ladyship’s mouth and made her look older than she was. “Which one was it? The beautiful siren, put forth by the mother to capture unsuspecting heirs? The coquettish minors, out before their older sisters are wed? The bluestocking? Or the ungrateful fool who refused Mr Collins’s offer of marriage?”

Darcy baulked. She could only mean Elizabeth. The thought of her marrying that dolt sickened him. Blast it, the thought of her marrying anyone sickened him. He had never allowed himself to consider it before. He knew why not now. The panic it induced made him feel winded.

“Oh yes, Nephew, I know all about the Bennet sisters. Mr Collins has told me everything. Take care. He managed to escape their greedy clutches. Make sure you do, too.”

He stared at her. Had she always been so vicious? Or was it, as his conscience whispered, that four-and-twenty hours in the company of Elizabeth’s family had fundamentally changed his expectations of his own? Whatever the answer, Darcy did not know this woman. And if her behaviour were any reflection of his—which, with profound dismay, he acknowledged it probably was—then he barely knew himself.

“Who said I have escaped?” He had not meant to say it, but now that he had, he did not wish it unsaid.

His aunt billowed with furious indignation. “Was Anne right, then? Is this your resolve?”

“I have nothing more to say to you, madam. I am leaving.”

Darcy turned to go, but she stepped into his path, blocking his way. “Not so hasty, if you please! I demand to know. Are you engaged to one of these girls?”

He looked down at her with undisguised loathing. “Goodbye, Lady Catherine.”

“Darcy, you have been drawn in! You cannot see it, but you have been worked on!” she implored, her tone insistent, yet her voice unsteady. “You will comprehend if you will only give it time. Promise me that you will stay away until you are able to see clearly once again. Promise me you will not go back to Hertfordshire.”

“I could not promise you that, even if I wished to. I must return, for I have left something incredibly valuable there.”

* * *

Elizabeth could not wholly justify the happiness she felt as she closed her eyes that night. It could have been Jane’s increasing delight in Mr Bingley’s attentions. It could have been that her family all behaved themselves impeccably at dinner, giving her sister no cause to be embarrassed. It could have been the delicious meal her mother devised for their honoured guest.

Yet, she could not deny the most likely reason was that Mr Bingley had not arrived at Longbourn alone. It transpired that, in the confusion of issuing various invitations the previous day, they had somehow all overlooked that Miss Darcy and her companion were still at Netherfield. Which, Mr Bingley explained, was because his friend had not gone for good. Mr Darcy was coming back.

Elizabeth refused to dwell on the reasons why this should please her. His return was demonstrably unconnected to her, and his eventual departure would be equally independent of her inclinations. Once he arrived, his company would not be earmarked for her. She would, in all likelihood, see very little of him except for a few hours at Mr Bingley’s feast. Better that she not attempt to account for it and only enjoy the sensation of being puzzlingly, delightfully, divertingly happy.