Page 16 of Look on the Heart (Darcy and Elizabeth Variations #10)

Chapter Nine

Elizabeth enjoyed the stay at Netherfield more than she expected.

Mrs. Hurst’s and Miss Bingley’s dismissive behavior did not affect her, for she had ample opportunity to exchange witticisms and stimulating conversation with Mr. Darcy.

Mr. Bingley likewise joined in but eventually declared, with amused exasperation, that he could not keep pace with the pair and chose to listen instead.

When Elizabeth expressed regret, he waved her off.

“Books are Darcy’s purview,” he said. “’Tis clear you match him in that regard. I am content to observe.”

Each day, Mr. Bingley inquired after Jane and her progress. It was slow, but with the aid of tinctures brought by Mr. Jones, her voice soon lost its raspiness, and she began to rest more easily.

Mrs. Bennet arrived at Netherfield with the younger girls in tow to check on her dearest daughter.

Naturally, she exaggerated Jane’s condition, insisting that her daughter not be moved for at least three days.

Mr. Bingley agreed at once, appearing thrilled at the prospect of keeping Miss Bennet under his roof.

His sisters, however, were clearly displeased.

Elizabeth observed their exchanged looks of derision and inwardly cringed, knowing her mother’s gauche behavior reflected poorly on the family.

Mama had best tread lightly, lest she ruin Jane’s chance at happiness.

Mr. Darcy did not engage in conversation during the visit, yet Elizabeth detected no hint of judgment from him.

It was a relief, for she feared he would hold her family’s conduct against her and find her wanting.

Mrs. Bennet, for her part, further displayed her ill-breeding by ignoring him entirely.

He did not seem to mind. Elizabeth felt a pang of sympathy.

He must be well accustomed to such treatment.

How can he bear it? she wondered. People either fawn over him or dismiss him completely.

Why is beauty the first thing one notices when meeting another?

By Saturday, Jane felt well enough to join the others for dinner.

Elizabeth watched her sister converse with Mr. Bingley, her lovely countenance aglow with happiness.

Yet she could not help but notice the continued disapproval in the glances of the gentleman’s sisters.

Their meaning was unmistakable, and Elizabeth wondered whether Mr. Bingley might be susceptible to persuasion.

If so, Jane’s future happiness could be at risk.

“Will you return home tomorrow, Miss Elizabeth?” Mr. Darcy’s inquiry broke into her thoughts.

“Mama wishes us to stay until Monday, but we shall ask for the carriage after church. I know Jane—she will not wish to trespass upon Mr. Bingley’s hospitality longer than necessary.” She sipped her soup, directing her attention toward her sister.

“Does she like him?” Mr. Darcy sounded at once wistful and curious. “They seem well-matched.”

“Jane does not often share her feelings, though I have every reason to believe she is losing her heart to him. Will Mr. Bingley’s sisters object?”

“They wish for their brother to marry into the first circles. Even with his fortune, he is still from trade. There are few peers who will lower themselves in that way.” His tone bore a sardonic edge, and when Elizabeth turned to look at him, he raised one brow and smiled.

After dinner, Miss Bingley sought to engage Mr. Darcy’s attention.

She flitted about him, flirting with exaggerated sweetness, before settling herself at the pianoforte.

There, she played romantic ballads and concertos, but he paid her no mind.

Elizabeth found the performance highly amusing, though she made no remark.

She was content to observe Jane and Mr. Bingley seated close to each other by the fire, heads bent in quiet conversation.

They made a lovely pair, and though it had been only four weeks since his arrival, it was evident that Jane clearly favored him above all other gentlemen.

Elizabeth mused on the nature of love and how unpredictable it could be.

Mr. Darcy sat very near her and she remained acutely aware of his presence.

His proximity exerted a curious pull upon her attention, as though a magnetic force drew her gaze.

When she turned to look at him, she was startled to find he was already watching her.

His expression was fathomless, but in his dark eyes she glimpsed something tender—perhaps even affection—for her.

He did not look away. It made her heart flutter and her breath catch.

A cough from Jane broke the spell, and Elizabeth turned at once. Her sister looked pale and weary, a handkerchief clutched in her hand as she leaned into the cushions of the chair.

Elizabeth rose and pronounced with sisterly authority, “I believe it is time to return you to bed, Jane,” Her sister did not protest, and Elizabeth helped her to stand.

Jane looped her arm through Elizabeth’s, and they left the room together.

Though she regretted parting from Mr. Darcy, she welcomed the distance, for she needed space to make sense of the feelings stirring within her.

“I shall be glad to go home tomorrow,” she murmured to her sister.

Jane nodded weakly. “I do not feel entirely myself, but I believe I should rest better in my own bed.”

Elizabeth opened the chamber door and led her sister inside. In a trice, she was in a night gown and tucked securely beneath the covers. Bending to kiss her forehead, she bid her goodnight and went to her own chamber.

It seemed preposterous that affection could develop so quickly, yet that was precisely what had occurred.

Mr. Darcy had awakened feelings entirely new to her—exciting, unnerving, and somehow joyful.

His intelligence matched her own and never once had he made her feel inferior.

If he could love her, she believed she would be most pleased.

Love? The thought came unbidden. How very rapid is my imagination.

No sooner do I recognize that I hold him in some affection, than it fancies me as his wife.

It would not do. Elizabeth needed more time before she could determine the truth of her feelings.

Mr. Bennet’s words of warning rang in her memory, and she knew she must be certain of Mr. Darcy’s character before forming any attachment she might later regret.

The ladies returned to Longbourn the next day, much to Mrs. Bennet’s displeasure. She complained loudly that Jane had returned unengaged and blamed Elizabeth for it.

“You ought to have pretended to fall ill!” she cried. “Then Jane could have nursed you and spent time with Mr. Bingley.”

Elizabeth did not deign to answer her mother’s ludicrous proclamations.

Instead, she went to her chamber to rest. She felt thoroughly weary, having slept but little the night before.

Jane, on the other hand, seemed much improved and attempted to calm their mother’s nerves as Elizabeth left the parlor.

The following day, their father cleared his throat to gain their attention.

“I hope, my dear, that you have ordered a good meal for this evening, for we are to have company.”

Mrs. Bennet’s exclamations interrupted her husband, who waited with visible impatience for his wife to finish.

“It is not Mr. Bingley, my dear. No, it is a man who I have never before seen in all my life and who will, upon my death, have the power to cast you all out. My cousin, Mr. William Collins, writes to extend an olive branch to the family. He will arrive at four o’clock.”

“Oh, Mr. Bennet! How could you not give me time to prepare? Goodness, I must speak to Hill!” Mrs. Bennet rose in a flurry, leaving her plate half full as she rushed from the room, calling for the housekeeper.

“That was badly done, Papa,” Elizabeth chastised mildly when the others had gone and they were alone. “She will be unbearable for the rest of the day.”

“I must have my amusements, Lizzy—you know that.” Mr. Bennet chuckled. “Here. Read the letter. You will find it as amusing as I did, I am certain.”

Elizabeth took the letter and began to read silently.

Sir,

We have not been introduced, and it falls to me to rectify this unfortunate matter.

I am William Collins, eldest son and heir to Mr. Josiah Collins, late of Kent.

The disagreement subsisting between yourself and my late honored father always gave me much uneasiness.

He spoke about the matter often while he lived, and I have long regretted the breach that prevented me from knowing my relations.

Since suffering the misfortune of his loss this past year, I have frequently wished to heal the rift.

It is no easy thing to undertake, and for some time my own doubts restrained me, lest my actions seem disrespectful to his memory, for it had ever pleased him to remain at variance with your household.

Likewise, the thought of how I would be received by those who, in his telling, had wronged my dearest father, filled me with dread, for I could only imagine your response would be what he told me—that of derision and dismissal.

My mind is, at long last, now made up on the subject, for having received ordination last Easter, I have been so fortunate as to be distinguished by the patronage of the Right Honorable Lady Catherine de Bourgh.

The name, cousin, may not hold familiarity to you, for she moves in exalted circles, far beyond those you command.

My patroness is the widow of Sir Lewis de Bourgh—a baronet of some considerable property when he was alive—and a grander lady never lived.

Neither is there one so predisposed to be generous, offering her condescension to all those honored with her notice.