Page 16 of Only Mr Darcy (Obstinate, Headstrong Girl #1)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
J ane joined the company for dinner for the first time the very next evening, appearing pale and delicate in the candlelight. Elizabeth really could not blame Mr Bingley’s bestowal of great attention upon her, seating her beside himself, for the room was draughty and his usual seat was closest to the fireplace; as well, the extra shawl he had fetched was doubtless needed. He was such a good, considerate man to be so conscious of Jane’s health.
“Miss Darcy, you are so much grown since the spring,” said Miss Bingley. “You must be nearly as tall as I am!”
Miss Darcy flushed, and looked at her brother as if she could not think how to answer this pedantic observation.
“I think she is. Or perhaps Miss Elizabeth Bennet’s height, or rather taller,” Mr Darcy said, saving her from answering.
This mention of her own name drew Elizabeth’s attention to his solemn countenance. He gave her a look which she could not interpret, but then his gaze shifted to Jane.
Truly? You want me to throw my sister at you, somehow, tonight, while she is still fragile and your sister’s nerves are fraught? She managed to put these thoughts into her return gaze, her success in communicating them obvious when his mouth hardened and his eyes narrowed.
Miss Bingley grabbed again for the reins of the conversation. “How happy I am to see you again, Miss Darcy! It is an honour to welcome one such as you, so lovely of countenance and fine of manner, and so very accomplished, to our home. Your performance on the pianoforte is exquisite. I hope you will treat us to an exposition of your talent this evening.”
Miss Darcy flushed dark red at Miss Bingley’s lavish compliments, clearly extremely uncomfortable at the idea of performing anything for anyone.
Kindly Mr Bingley came to her rescue. “It is amazing to me,” he said, “how young ladies can have patience to be so very accomplished as they all are. Do you play, Miss Bennet?”
“I do, but I have never had a master,” replied Jane shyly.
“My dear Charles,” Miss Bingley said incredulously, “I hardly can believe that all, or even most, young ladies could be considered accomplished. Miss Darcy has extraordinary talent as well as the best instructors. After hearing her play, no one else will dare take the instrument.”
Miss Darcy hunched her shoulders, as if she wished to sink into the floor. Only one as obtuse as Caroline Bingley could have missed her embarrassment.
“Yes, all of them, I think,” Mr Bingley contended. “They all paint tables, cover screens, and net purses. I scarcely know anyone who cannot do all this, and I am sure I never heard a young lady spoken of for the first time, without being informed that she was very accomplished.”
“A wise observation, Bingley,” Mr Darcy said—and she did not miss his note of sarcasm as he turned to her. “Perhaps you would like to hear of some resident accomplishments? Miss Elizabeth, surely you possess a hand-netted purse to display for us, that we might admire it?”
Elizabeth saw the smirk in Miss Bingley’s eyes at his taunt and narrowed her own at him. “Perhaps,” she replied, “the gentlemen should share their accomplishments so that the young ladies may admire them with equal enthusiasm. I am sure I never heard of a gentleman who cannot ride the mightiest of stallions, race his gentlemanly friends upon said stallions, or bring down those dangerous, wily foxes whilst racing about upon them.”
Mr Bingley chuckled at this. “Ha-ha! And if you are Darcy, you can curse in dead languages whilst racing and hunting!”
Elizabeth noted Miss Darcy’s relief that the conversation had been turned away from herself and was glad, but inwardly she fumed at Mr Darcy’s mockery. Did he believe that belittling her would impress Jane?
“Your list of the common extent of accomplishments,” said Mr Darcy, “has too much truth. The word is applied to many a female who little deserves it. How many truly accomplished women do you know, Bingley?” He only gave Elizabeth the briefest of glances, but his eyes glittered derisively.
Mr Bingley smiled at Jane, who blushed modestly and looked down at her dinner plate, but then he extended his grin to Elizabeth and his sisters. “I am certain every lady at this table does deserve the compliment,” he declared stoutly.
“Oh, Charles, there is one who is far and away above the others,” Miss Bingley began, and Elizabeth just knew she was going to mortify Miss Darcy once again.
“However,” interjected Elizabeth in tones of overdone veneration, “Mr Darcy has not, as yet, shared any of his own accomplishments, which, I expect, must be of the most illustrious nature. He has mastered a fine education, certainly. Oh, wait… I assume that was a gift from his father. But of course, we all are all aware of how stupendous is his estate—Pemberley, is it? And yet—” she paused, pretending to thoughtfully consider. “I suppose that, too, must be credited to his forefathers, rather than himself. But he has not lost it yet, so that is something!” She smiled brilliantly at him, imitating one of Miss Bingley’s adoring stares.
He frowned at her, but Miss Bingley was indignant. “Perhaps your country upbringing does not serve in this situation, Miss Elizabeth. The blood of earls flows through Mr Darcy’s veins! His grandfather was a bishop! He honours us with his marvellous condescension, and I know my brother fully appreciates his goodness in the offered friendship.”
“Oh, but I do appreciate it!” Elizabeth cried with exaggerated dismay. “I apologise, good sir, if my interest, even wonder, was mistaken for offensive curiosity. I assure you that I—and all my sisters agree—never saw such capacity, and taste, and application, and elegance, united in one person before meeting him. Our admission to your company is but half deserved.”
Mr Darcy raised a brow, and she blinked at him innocently from across the tablecloth. There. I have showered you with compliments in front of my sister, she hoped her aspect said.
Jane gazed at her, however, with something close to wonder.
Although perhaps I overdid it, just a little.
Miss Bingley, on the other hand, appeared mollified by her professed and abject humility. “It is well that you realise it,” she pronounced, with a solemn magnanimity that almost caused Elizabeth to convulse into giggles. Thankfully, Mr Hurst chose that moment to begin a long-winded recitation of the finer points of a horse he was considering whether to purchase from one of Bingley’s neighbours—which led, then, to the Bingley sisters’ treatise on the more vulgar attributes of certain neighbours living nearby them in town. This discussion naturally centred on people who were completely unknown to the Bennet sisters, silencing them both—no doubt by design.
At least Miss Darcy, also, was not required to contribute and with that, Elizabeth had to be content.
Darcy seethed.
Everything was wrong, wrong, wrong. Georgiana had shown up on Netherfield’s doorstep and grew hysterical whenever he—quite reasonably, he thought—asked why. Something about refusing to take dancing lessons, of all things, and Mrs Abigail Darcy insisting, and then furiously departing Darcy House. His sister’s arrival was followed, not long later, by an express from her companion full of scathing rebukes and invective, calling his sister wild, thoughtless, rash, and wilful. Mrs Darcy did not know of Wickham; yet, by taking Georgiana’s botched elopement and heedless, impulsive journey to Hertfordshire into account, every descriptor the companion had used in describing her was a truthful one. The woman had washed her hands of them both.
Not that Mrs Abigail Darcy was an ideal companion for any young, sensitive girl. The whole situation had reminded him, again, of how urgently he needed a bride. And then, at dinner, upon his first opportunity, as he had nearly decided to begin a more serious acquaintance with Miss Bennet…Elizabeth had ruined everything with her teasing sarcasm. The words he had wanted to toss back at her had risen so far up into his throat, he had choked on them—giving her the last word.
His sister had gone up long ago, but the rest of the party were seated in Netherfield’s expansive drawing room. Hurst had insisted upon cards; both Bennet sisters had refused play, but Bingley had cajoled Miss Bennet to remain at his side ‘for luck’. Darcy noted the look, one of frustration or disappointment upon Elizabeth’s expressive face when he said it.
Darcy could not have cared less. He simply sat, an open book ignored upon his lap, awaiting his chance to retrieve that last word from Elizabeth. When she finally made her excuses, he only waited moments before making his own.