Page 19 of Epiphany (A Little Bit More Darcy and Elizabeth #2)

18

W ith all the tribulations of the past few weeks, the ugliness of his aunt’s attacks, and the all-consuming euphoria of securing Elizabeth’s hand, Darcy had forgotten the very particular torment of Miss Bingley. She arrived with Mr and Mrs Hurst just after noon on Monday with the evident resolve of refreshing his memory. There was little that would have given him more pleasure than to tell her of his engagement and put an end to her officious attentions, but Elizabeth was adamant—and Bingley inexplicably still single.

Tea was served in the parlour an hour before they were all required to dress for the feast. The room was crowded, noisy from the numerous conversations occurring, yet he was not surprised that Miss Bingley still managed to find herself a seat near him and to begin wittering in his ear. She took up precisely where she had left off in London, agreeing with his every passing remark and deferring every one of her own answers to him. Eventually, he took his cup to the window and stood with his back to the gathered company, staring out into the garden, willing the minutes away until Elizabeth arrived.

Miss Bingley did not take the hint. “Your tea must be cold by now,” she said quietly, as she sidled up next to him. “Allow me to fetch you a fresh one.”

“This one is still hot, thank you.”

“I should have offered you coffee, for I know you prefer it, but Charles had already sent for refreshments before I came downstairs.”

“I was offered coffee. I preferred tea.”

“Quite so. Only tea will do when it is this cold. And this house is horribly draughty, do you not think?”

“I am not uncomfortable. Perhaps you are chilled from your journey.”

“Perhaps I am. You are kind to be concerned for me. Still, I should have preferred to stay in London.” When he made no answer, she continued. “Louisa and I saw Mr Pargeter at Lord Bertram’s rout last night. He wished to know whether you would be back in town before his party at the end of the month. I took the liberty of telling him I thought it likely.”

“That was a liberty, Miss Bingley,” said Anne from her nearby seat. Darcy did not acknowledge her remark, though he objected far less to her eavesdropping on this exchange than he had when she obtruded on his conversation with Elizabeth on Christmas Day.

“I am sure Mr Darcy does not consider it so, madam,” Miss Bingley replied. “After all, it was only a few weeks ago that he and I were discussing our intentions to remain in town for the rest of winter.”

“My plans altered,” Darcy said, then sipped his fast-cooling tea, indicating his disinclination to say any more on the matter.

Indeed, nothing more was said until a conversation struck up between those seated closest to them, at which point Miss Bingley shuffled closer to him and, in a hushed voice, carried her point.

“I must have misunderstood about my brother’s plans. I thought we had agreed they should remain as they were.”

“They are still as they were,” Darcy replied impatiently. “Would that he make haste and do something to rectify the situation.”

“By rectify , may I assume you mean leave? ”

Darcy returned his cup to its saucer and spoke with studied composure, lest anyone else hear. “Madam, I was wrong about Miss Bennet with regards to both her feelings and her suitability, and I did your brother a disservice in advising him to forget her. I have made it clear that I will no longer involve myself in his private affairs unless it is his explicit wish. Whatever plans he makes, he will make them without my interference.”

Regrettably . Given the choice, he would have counselled Bingley into action days ago, and they would both be celebrating something more than Epiphany at dinner that evening.

Miss Bingley peered at him questioningly. “You have always been good to him. I trust you will see him safely through this latest calamity, as you have seen him through all his previous ones.”

It was not a question, and Darcy gave no reply.

“Speaking of calamities,” she continued with an affected laugh, “I hear you were obliged to spend Christmas Day with the Bennets. What must that have been like? I dread to think!”

“That explains why you do it so infrequently.”

Darcy’s tea had gone distinctly tepid. He sipped it anyway and pretended not to have heard Anne’s remark. Miss Bingley was doing the same, if her tight smile was any indication.

“We were made exceedingly welcome at Longbourn,” he told her.

“Oh yes,” Anne agreed, tenaciously inserting herself into their conversation. “It was a most enjoyable, most festive occasion. And Mrs Bennet’s Christmas dinner was exceptional.”

Darcy turned to level an incredulous glare at her that she did not deign to acknowledge.

“How nice for you, Miss de Bourgh,” Miss Bingley replied, likewise turning to face her. “We had an enjoyable Christmas arranged ourselves, it being the first that Mr and Miss Darcy had agreed to spend with us. In the event, the day was quieter than expected, for half our company was required to rush off to Hertfordshire at the last moment.”

“That must have been terribly disappointing. I expect you thought you were on the cusp as well. And now, all those years of planning gone to waste,” said Anne.

“Hardly years , madam. A Christmas dinner can be planned in less than a week unless one is doing something very wrong.”

“Christmas dinner? I beg your pardon. I thought we were talking about something else entirely.”

“I am sorry our departure ruined your Christmas, Miss Bingley,” Georgiana said meekly, her own conversation apparently over, her attention no doubt drawn to this one by Anne’s dogged taunting. “I was eager to see my brother, but I ought to have considered?—”

“Fie, do not let my sister make you feel bad,” interposed Bingley, similarly interrupted from his chat with Hurst. “We offered to bring everyone with us.”

“Pray do not feel bad at all ,” Miss Bingley cooed at Georgiana. “Of course you wished that your brother would not be alone at Christmas, just as your brother sacrificed his own happy Christmas to ensure that your cousin would not be on her own. You are both so very good, always thinking of others. Of course, I was obliged to remain with Louisa, so that when Mr Hurst inevitably drank himself to sleep, she would not be alone.”

“Caroline, if you mean to make me feel bad, you will not succeed,” said Bingley. “I was not about to stay in town and let Darcy have all the fun here without me.”

“Really, Charles! Mr Darcy is a more rational creature than that implies. He does not chase about the country in pursuit of fun .”

That might be true, but Darcy had nevertheless found it in the wilderness surrounding Longbourn yesterday. He turned back to the window to prevent anybody from guessing where his thoughts had gone and revelled in the memory of Elizabeth’s gratifyingly passionate embrace. His reflections were entirely ruined when Miss Bingley stepped closer to him once again and spoke in a voice he presumed she thought alluring.

“Charles has an odd notion of what passes for entertainment. Perhaps you will allow me to delight you later this evening with the piece I was planning to play for you on Christmas Day.”

“My tea has gone cold, madam. Pray excuse me.”

* * *

Elizabeth was heartened by how rapidly Darcy came to her side upon her arrival at Netherfield. His evident pleasure in her company pleased her very well, though such was his determination to remain near her that she began to worry others might become suspicious. The thought was immediately followed by a rush of vexation. Would that there were no need for secrecy!

She observed Jane and Mr Bingley, hoping for an indication they might soon advance their understanding, but there was no hint of an imminent betrothal. For the first time in her memory, Elizabeth was displeased by her sister’s composure of temper for, though obviously content in one another’s company, Jane and Mr Bingley could as easily be discussing what was for dinner as declaring their eternal affection for one another.

She accepted a glass of wine from a footman and took a larger than advisable sip to quell her vexation. The idea to spare Jane’s feelings had seemed noble and just when she thought of it, for Darcy’s impetuous and quixotic proposal had given undesirable contrast to Mr Bingley’s inconstant, lackadaisical attentions. In the face of her sister’s glacial courtship, such generosity was losing its appeal.

Darcy, she knew, loathed the concealment even more than she, and it was not long before she comprehended there would be at least one very immediate benefit from him sharing the news soon. Until their engagement was made public, he would not be able to escape Miss Bingley’s jealous attentions, which had apparently not diminished since the autumn.

“Miss Eliza,” she said at a point early in the evening. “How delightful to see you looking so…” She left the remark unfinished, ending it instead with a disdainful appraisal of Elizabeth’s person.

“How delightful to see you at all, Miss Bingley,” Elizabeth replied. “You wrote in your letter to Jane that you would be staying in London for the whole winter.”

“That was the arrangement upon which we all agreed. But then, none of us anticipated Miss de Bourgh’s little expedition, nor that we should follow her here. Poor Mr Darcy,” she said, turning to him with an exaggerated pout. “You were resolute in your plan to spend Christmas with us, were you not? And instead, you were obliged to spend it here, without any of your friends.”

“I imagine there are few people who do not consider it an inconvenience when their plans are overthrown,” Darcy replied, “but it would be wilfully obstinate to continue to disapprove merely because it was not what was originally intended. My time here has proved uncommonly agreeable, and I would not change a moment of it.”

Elizabeth made no effort to disguise her delight with his answer. Miss Bingley made no effort to disguise her displeasure with it.

“And you, Miss Eliza? I do hope the presence of two such prominent guests did not interfere with your fascination with Mr Wickham.”

How Miss Bingley could not perceive Darcy’s furious incredulity was a mystery, but she seemed pleased with her attack, smirking as though she had scored a great victory.

“Not at all. Neither Miss de Bourgh nor Mr Darcy stayed at Longbourn. If there was any inconvenience, it belonged entirely to Lady Lucas. In any case, the neighbourhood had quite exhausted Mr Wickham’s rather shallow reserves of charm long before that,” Elizabeth replied.

“But not before my ball,” Miss Bingley persisted. “You were asking a thousand questions about him then, I recall, and were quite determined to be pleased with him.”

“I was determined to judge him fairly, a courtesy I wish I had extended to all my new acquaintances, but we live and learn.” Elizabeth smiled warmly at Darcy, who returned the gesture with something more than warmth—an exchange that brought a spiteful sneer to Miss Bingley’s countenance.

She turned slightly to dismiss Elizabeth and speak exclusively to Darcy.

“I meant to say when you came down earlier that your man has done a wonderful job of selecting a waistcoat in a shade so similar to my gown. What a pleasing coincidence.”

Elizabeth struggled to contain her amusement as Darcy looked first at Miss Bingley, then between both garments with an expression of bewildered disdain. She shared his confusion. It would have been a curious non sequitur anyway, but it was rendered nonsensical by dint of his waistcoat being dark green and Miss Bingley’s gown a dusky pink.

Perhaps seeing their puzzlement, Miss Bingley peered more closely at Darcy’s waistcoat and then let out an affected and somewhat feverish titter. “A trick of the light. I thought before that your waistcoat was plum. It hardly signifies. I have never much cared for such fripperies as clothes anyway. You agree, I am sure, Mr Darcy?”

“No, I am quite fond of clothes.” He betrayed no hint of amusement, which impressed Elizabeth no end.

Miss Bingley’s eyes widened in alarm. “I did not mean that I do not like clothes. I only meant I do not care what I look like in them.”

Miss de Bourgh joined them in time to give a tart hum of concurrence to this remark which, along with her contemptuous glance at the gown in question, threw Miss Bingley into ever more agitated spasms.

“That is, I meant that I am not vain.”

“Then you are dishonest,” Elizabeth said, tired of Miss Bingley’s attempts to work on the man for whom she felt a new but formidable possessiveness. “Nobody is wholly without vanity.”

“Nobody?” Darcy enquired.

He regarded her with that same burning attentiveness she adored, and she felt a thrill that he had so readily taken up the debate. She turned in the same way Miss Bingley had, excluding both other ladies and speaking for Darcy’s pleasure alone.

“I never met anybody who did not care at least a little what others thought of them. People who boast of being unconcerned for other people’s opinions, in truth, desire to be perceived as hard-hearted. Those who claim to be too modest to care how they are perceived are, by definition, concerned that others should not perceive them as self-interested.”

“You are speaking of character, then, not appearance,” he replied. “Not everybody is concerned about the latter.”

“You speak from a position of luxury there, sir. It is all too easy to declare oneself indifferent to people’s opinions when all opinions are guaranteed to be favourable.” Elizabeth did not miss that Miss Bingley’s eyes widened divertingly at this. Or that Darcy’s darkened, his mouth lifting at one corner into a slight but captivating smile.

“Are you proposing that vanity is an immutable aspect of human nature—something to be accepted and not repressed? I seem to recall you telling me one night at Netherfield that vanity was a weakness.”

“No, sir, you said it was a weakness. I merely pointed out that it was one from which you suffered.”

Miss Bingley sucked in her breath. Even Miss de Bourgh raised an eyebrow. Elizabeth did not care. All she knew was that Darcy was savouring the debate with palpable satisfaction, his gaze unblinking, his attention riveted. The thrusts and parries of the exchange reminded her, for reasons she dared not consider in Netherfield’s drawing room, of their kiss the previous day. Her heart was certainly pounding with the same rapidity as it had then. She would happily have argued that vanity was second only to godliness if it meant she could continue the argument.

“You have not lost your penchant for turning everything into a debate, I see, Miss Eliza,” said Miss Bingley.

“Better than turning everything into a blandishment,” retorted Miss de Bourgh.

It was likely a good thing they were called into dinner at that moment—not only to avoid a more serious disagreement but to enable Elizabeth to eat something. She had drunk her wine too quickly, it seemed, for she was hot and breathless and unreasonably conscious of Darcy’s unwavering stare.