Page 7 of Mr. Darcy and the Mysterious “Miss B”

Darcy

D arcy stood near the fireplace, reflecting on the afternoon’s conversation. Elizabeth Bennet continued to confound him at every encounter.

When he had first brought young Lydia back to her aunt—or at least attempted to do so—Elizabeth had rounded on him like a lioness protecting her cub.

Her accusations had stung—not because they were true, but because she had thought him capable of such behaviour.

Yet tonight, she had been entirely different.

Witty, engaging, challenging him with every response whilst maintaining perfect courtesy. She had even apologised.

He could not reconcile the two versions of her. The suspicious woman who had accused him of taking advantage, and the sparkling conversationalist who had matched him word for word across the drawing room.

In his circles, women did not often contradict men, nor square up to them.

He assumed this was unusual in these settings also.

Yet, Miss Bennet had not shied away from making her opinion known.

He should have found that appalling, ought to have taken offense but he had not.

He’d found it—thrilling in a way he could not quite understand.

“Most peculiar,” he murmured to himself.

“What was that, Darcy?” Bingley asked from behind him.

Darcy turned. His friend stood near the fireplace, a bemused expression on his face. “Nothing of import. I was merely reflecting.”

“Miss Elizabeth is quite spirited, is she not?” Bingley’s eyes held a knowing gleam.

“She has opinions on everything,” Darcy replied, though without the criticism such words might once have carried. “Literature, society, the proper maintenance of libraries. Most ladies of my acquaintance content themselves with commenting on the weather.”

“And you find that tedious.”

Darcy considered this. “I do, rather. Though I confess I am not certain what to make of Miss Elizabeth. She judges swiftly—perhaps too swiftly—yet seems willing to revise her opinions when presented with evidence.”

“A fair-minded person, then.”

“Perhaps.” Darcy moved away from the window. “Though her temper runs hot when her family is concerned.”

Bingley smiled. “As it should. I admire that in a woman—fierce loyalty to those she loves. Miss Bennet has the same quality, though she expresses it more.”

“You are quite taken with the eldest Miss Bennet.”

“I am.” Bingley’s smile widened. “She is everything gentle and good in this world, Darcy. When she speaks, I feel as though I am the only person in the room. And her smile…” he sighed. “I could watch her smile for hours and never grow tired of it.”

Darcy studied his friend. His upturned lips, his sparkling eyes—there was no denying it. Charles was in love. Of course, fell in love as easily as he breathed, but this seemed different. More considered. “You have spent a lot of time with her this evening.”

“Indeed. We spoke of books, of course—she has read everything—but also of music, of her family, of her hopes for the future. She is remarkably sensible, Darcy. Not given to dramatics or affectation.”

“Unlike her aunt, Mrs Phillips. Or, I assume, her mother. I heard talk at the assembly that she was rather outspoken and given to histrionics.”

Bingley laughed. “Mrs Bennet is rather… enthusiastic from what I hear even from Jane. Not so much now, given her loss. In any case, Jane is nothing like her mother or her aunt in temperament. She is calm, thoughtful, kind. I find myself quite desperately wanting to know her better.”

“Charles—”

“I know what you are thinking,” Bingley interrupted. “That I am being hasty. That I barely know her. But I am certain.”

Before Darcy could respond, footsteps echoed in the corridor. Caroline swept into the room, her silk skirts rustling with each step.

“What a delightful evening,” she declared, though her smile seemed forced. “Though I confess myself rather exhausted by such… rustic company.”

Darcy bit back his first response. “The Miss Bennets were perfectly pleasant guests.”

“Oh, certainly. Though one does notice the difference in breeding, does one not? The younger sister especially—Miss Elizabeth—has such decided opinions. Quite bold for a country miss.”

“I found her conversation refreshing,” Darcy said coolly.

Caroline’s smile faltered for a moment before returning full force. “How charitable of you, Mr Darcy. Though I suppose even the most basic education appears impressive when one’s expectations are sufficiently modest.”

“Caroline,” Bingley warned.

“I merely observe that there are certain refinements of manner that come only from moving in the highest circles,” Caroline continued, positioning herself near Darcy.

“One learns to moderate one’s expressions; to consider the effect of one’s words.

These are skills that cannot be taught from books. ”

Darcy’s jaw tightened. “Are you suggesting Miss Elizabeth lacks proper breeding?”

“I would never be so ungracious. I note that country society has different standards. What passes for wit in Hertfordshire might seem rather provincial in town.”

“Then town society is the poorer for it,” Darcy replied.

Caroline blinked in surprise. “Mr Darcy, surely you cannot prefer provincial bluntness to refined elegance?”

“I prefer honesty to artifice,” he said. “And intelligence to empty flattery.”

The barb hit its mark. Caroline’s cheeks flushed, but before she could respond, a commotion erupted in the entrance hall. Raised voices, hurried footsteps, someone calling for Mr Bingley.

All three rushed towards the sound. In the entrance hall, they found Elizabeth supporting her sister Jane, who was alarmingly pale and clearly in distress. They had left a quarter of an hour ago, and to see them again—and in this condition—was alarming.

“Good God!” Bingley exclaimed, rushing forward. “Miss Bennet, what has happened?”

“I am quite well,” Jane whispered, though her grip on Elizabeth’s arm suggested otherwise. “I merely lost my footing on the stairs as we were preparing to leave.”

Elizabeth’s face was tight with worry. “She fell hard. The carriage took some while to arrive and I had gone to the paddock to pet the horse. I heard her scream and rushed back. When I reached her, she could barely stand.”

“My back,” Jane admitted, wincing as she tried to straighten. “And my ankle. I fear I may have twisted it.”

Without hesitation, Bingley swept Jane into his arms. She gasped in surprise.

“Mr Bingley, I can walk—”

“Nonsense,” he said. “You shall do no such thing. Caroline, please prepare the blue bedchamber. Mr Darcy, might you send for the town physician immediately?”

Darcy nodded and strode towards the servants’ quarters whilst Caroline hurried upstairs, muttering about the inconvenience of unexpected guests.

Within the hour, Mr Morrison, a surgeon rather than a physician, had arrived and conducted his examination. The verdict was troubling: Jane Bennet had severely bruised her back and twisted her ankle. Complete rest was essential—several days at minimum.

“She cannot be moved,” the surgeon declared. “Any jostling could worsen the injury to her back. She must remain perfectly still.”

Elizabeth’s face crumpled. “But we cannot impose upon your hospitality, Mr Bingley. Mama will be beside herself with worry.”

“Then we shall send word immediately,” Bingley said. “But Miss Bennet stays here until Mr Morrison declares her fit to travel. I will not hear otherwise.”

“But the impropriety—”

“Hang propriety,” Bingley said with uncharacteristic firmness. “Your sister’s health matters more than gossip.”

Elizabeth looked between Bingley’s determined face and Jane’s grateful one. “Very well. But I shall stay as well. Jane cannot be left alone amongst strangers.”

“Of course,” Bingley agreed immediately. “We would not dream of separating you.”

As arrangements were made and messages dispatched, Darcy observed his friend with growing interest. Charles had taken complete charge of the situation, brooking no argument about Jane’s care. His genuine distress over her injury was unmistakable.

This was not the behaviour of a man merely charmed by a pretty face. Bingley cared for Jane Bennet—truly cared for her in a way that went beyond mere attraction.

The realisation should have concerned Darcy. The Bennet family’s circumstances remained unchanged. Their reduced fortune, their inappropriate connections, their want of consequence in society—all the objections that had occurred to him still applied.

Yet watching Bingley’s tender care as he helped Jane to her temporary quarters, seeing the way her pain seemed to cause him actual physical distress, Darcy found his concerns fading. Whatever Jane Bennet’s circumstances, his friend’s feelings appeared genuine and deep.

Perhaps there was more to consider than mere social advantage.

***

Much later, after Jane had been settled comfortably and Elizabeth had been shown to an adjoining chamber, Darcy was alone in the drawing room. The fire had burned low, casting flickering shadows across the walls.

He poured himself a brandy and settled into his favourite chair, reviewing the evening’s events. Elizabeth’s clever retorts during their conversation. Jane’s accident. Bingley’s immediate, protective response.

Most unsettling of all, his own changing feelings towards the Bennet family. A week ago, he would have dismissed them as beneath his notice. Tonight, he found himself admiring Elizabeth’s fierce loyalty and Jane’s quiet grace.

“Mr Darcy?”

He looked up to find Caroline hovering in the doorway, her hair released from its evening arrangement and flowing over her shoulders. She had changed into a wrapper of sapphire silk that clung to her figure in a manner he suspected was entirely deliberate.

“Miss Bingley,” he said, rising politely. “I thought you had retired.”

“I could not sleep,” she replied, gliding into the room with studied grace. “The excitement of the evening, you understand. Poor Miss Bennet’s accident was quite distressing.”

“Indeed.”

Caroline settled herself on the sofa, arranging her wrapper to best advantage. “Though I confess I am not entirely surprised. The stairs at Netherfield can be treacherous, especially for those unaccustomed to grand houses.”

Darcy’s eyebrows rose. “Are you suggesting Miss Bennet fell due to inexperience with staircases?”

“Oh, not inexperience precisely,” Caroline said with a tinkling laugh. “But one does notice the difference between those raised in modest circumstances and those accustomed to grander establishments. Some people carry themselves differently.”

The implication was clear and entirely uncharitable. Darcy’s opinion of Caroline, already strained, dropped further.

“Miss Bennet’s accident was unfortunate,” he said coldly. “Nothing more.”

“Of course,” Caroline agreed, though her smile suggested otherwise. “I merely observe that such incidents seem more common amongst certain… classes of people.”

Darcy set down his brandy with deliberate care. “I find that accidents occur regardless of social standing, Miss Bingley. Gravity affects duchesses and farmers’ daughters with equal force.”

Caroline’s smile faltered. “You are quite right, naturally. I spoke thoughtlessly.”

An uncomfortable silence stretched between them. Caroline fidgeted with the belt of her wrapper, clearly searching for a new topic of conversation.

“I have been meaning to inquire,” she said at last, “about your cousin Anne. I heard the most interesting rumour in London.”

Darcy’s attention sharpened. “Indeed?”

“That she has become engaged. To the Marquess of Ashford, no less. Such a prestigious match for dear Anne—though I confess I am surprised. I had always understood that you and she were… that is, your families had certain expectations…”

Caroline let the words hang in the air, watching Darcy’s face with obvious interest.

“My aunt did harbour such hopes,” Darcy admitted. “However, Anne has chosen her own path. The Marquess is an excellent man, and she appears quite happy with her choice.”

“How wonderful for her,” Caroline said, a glint in her eyes. “Though I imagine Lady Catherine must be rather disappointed. She spoke so often of the match between you and Anne as a settled thing.”

“My aunt’s disappointment is her own affair.”

Caroline leaned forward, her eyes bright with interest. “But surely this changes things for you? I mean to say, with that… understanding no longer in place, you must feel such relief.”

“Relief?”

“Well, you are free to make your own connection now, surely,” she said with a smile.

Too late, Darcy realised his mistake. By confirming Anne’s engagement, he had inadvertently signalled his own availability. Caroline’s increased attention, her late-night visit to the drawing room, her pointed questions—it all made perfect sense.

She was positioning herself as a candidate for his affections.

“Well, that is true. However, I have no intention of being tied down at present. I am rather enjoying a period of freedom after being traded as my cousin’s husband for so long.”

“I see.”

The silence that followed was painful.

“The hour is late,” she said finally and rose. “I shall have to retire.”

She swept towards the door, pausing only to deliver a parting shot, “Though I confess myself curious as to where your affections might actually lie.”

With that cryptic comment, she was gone.

He sank back into his chair, rubbing his temples against the beginnings of a headache. The evening had begun with such promise—Elizabeth’s sparkling conversation, the growing understanding between them. Now it threatened to become decidedly complicated.

He had no answers, only the growing certainty that the next few days at Netherfield would prove far more interesting—and perilous—than anyone imagined.

For sadly, Caroline Bingley was not one to give up easily.

In that way, she was rather like a dog with a bone.

And in this case, Darcy was afraid he was said bone.