Page 8 of Only Mr Darcy (Obstinate, Headstrong Girl #1)
CHAPTER SEVEN
T hroughout the next two weeks, Elizabeth was by turns encouraged, then deflated. At the Harringtons’ musicale, Mr Bingley sat beside her and made pleasing conversation, which she took as a hopeful portent. Their discussion was upon bland topics of weather and Netherfield’s harvest—the usual farming subjects of interest, and thus not very interesting at all; but Mr Bingley was new to the agrarian life, and it was not at all unusual that he should find the dullest subjects of intense importance. He was to be encouraged, she decided, and scrupulously asked after his beet yields.
But at Mrs Long’s party, he urged Jane to join him and his sisters in a card game, and engaged her amiably throughout. Elizabeth had been occupied in conversation with Charlotte and the Harringtons and had not noticed them sitting down to play until it was too late. Jane apologised later, but it was not her fault she had been in the right place at the right time, and Elizabeth said as much to her. Nevertheless, it was discouraging.
It was at that same party that she and Mr Darcy had their first row.
Elizabeth had been trying not to look too often towards the card tables, talking desultorily to Charlotte instead, when her friend was called away to attend to her mother’s wishes.
“Miss Elizabeth,” Mr Darcy said, a thankful interruption from her bleak thoughts. “How do you find the fishing these days?”
She glanced up at him to see whether he was teasing her again, but he appeared serious. “Not very well. It has been unseasonably warm of late, and I have hardly had a nibble. They are likely to be more active at night, and closer to the river’s surface then.”
To her chagrin, his eyes narrowed. “You would not fish at night, of course.”
Too late, she remembered she was not speaking just to a fellow angler, but to a man of strict ideas who doubtless already thought her strange. “Of course not,” she flagrantly lied.
He kept his razor-edged gaze upon her. “You would not go out by yourself after nightfall. It would be dangerous.”
She ought to have blandly agreed, but there was something so irksome about his declarations, about his blatant disapproval.
“I think you exaggerate a bit, do you not?”
“Surely you cannot disagree? It is bad enough you are out, unaccompanied, during the day. You might fall in the river. Your father is negligent if he allows it.”
This stung, especially after Mr Darcy’s apology and even kindness towards her. For heaven’s sake, they had fished together! He had delivered her contribution to Magdalen House! She had wanted him for Jane, and believed him almost…brotherly! “I can take care of myself.” She lowered her voice, not wanting anyone else to overhear. “I can swim, at least as well as the carp.”
“I can imagine just how much that will help you if your gown catches on a tree branch below the surface, or you are dragged with it in the current.”
His voice was low as well, but he sounded so inexplicably angry.
“I can assure you, Mr Darcy, I am quite careful,” she hissed, defending herself.
“I require a promise from you—that you will not try to fish alone at night.”
“Firstly, I fail to see what business it is of yours. Why should you care?”
“I fail to see how you are blind to the dangers of wandering around, unaccompanied, in the dark of night. Can you not imagine how it might offer some sort of peril? Are you truly that na?ve?”
He was maddening. “Do you truly believe that brigands roam my father’s woods on the night of a full moon, in the slim hope that a maiden from Longbourn will appear on an abandoned cart path?”
“You cannot know who is on your property at any given moment. I cannot condone it.”
Elizabeth could hardly believe he had an opinion about anything to do with her, much less that he would behave as some sort of grandfatherly patriarch who was affronted by her choices. “It is a good thing, then, that you are neither my parent nor my keeper and have absolutely nothing to say about it.”
“It is not safe.” He uttered the words with a low growl.
“It is an utterly harmless activity!” Elizabeth realised she was breathing hard in her outrage. Charlotte glanced over, giving her a questioning look that brought her up short.
Foolish girl , she warned herself. She knew that he acted as a kind of guardian of sorts to Mr Bingley, and she recognised that her pursuits were not all ladylike, and everyone—not simply Mr Darcy—would disapprove. I must smooth this over before handing to him the power to ruin all my hopes!
Taking a deep breath, Elizabeth schooled her expression into an apologetic one. “I am so sorry, Mr Darcy. You are perfectly correct of course, but I have an awful habit, on occasion, of expressing opinions that are not in fact my own. To go fishing at night would be foolish and irresponsible. You may be reassured that I have no plans to put myself at such risk. I thank you for your kind concern.”
He looked at her for a long moment, as if he were suspicious. But Charlotte joined them, asking an innocuous question; the topic was turned to less divisive subjects, and she was saved.
The days were growing shorter, the nights cooler, and yet nature was unkind. The rain, instead of clearing the world of haze and heat, only seemed to add to it—an opaque, thick sort of warmth, a mildewy coat upon the skin. The fish did not like it and would not subject themselves to her lures.
There had been two more entertainments in the month—a card party at Purvis Lodge, and a dinner at Haye-Park.
At Purvis Lodge, Mr Bingley once again had sought out Jane as partner. Again, Jane had fervently apologised afterwards. Elizabeth reassured her that it would have been unforgivably rude to have refused his overtures. Truly, for what could Jane be blamed? For being pretty and popular with everyone who knew her?
Just before the Gouldings’ dinner party, Jane had made the excuse of a headache, and refused to attend. Mr Bingley had asked after her, expressing deep concern when he heard of her small illness. It was obvious that his tastes in females ran to beautiful, blonde, kindly and gracious. It was equally obvious that Jane had guessed his interest in her, and purposefully had chosen to hide away from it—for her sister’s sake.
Valiantly, Elizabeth had tried again for conversation with him, attempting to use the opportunity her sister had gifted her to rouse subjects beyond farming from Mr Bingley. The trouble was, Mr Bingley held no great opinions upon much of anything particular. On political matters, he decried his own ignorance; on religion, he agreed with all her views, unencumbered by his own. In literature, he professed to have no interest at all. Often, he referred or deferred to Mr Darcy’s judgment, saying he must be sure to ask his friend the next time they spoke on the matter, whatever it was. Oh, Mr Bingley was, to be sure, friendly and considerate, asking her a number of questions which showed an attentiveness she might have believed hopeful and even flattering—except that it was merely the attention of a skilled conversationalist, designed to keep her mind engaged and her mouth moving, with very little trouble to himself.
This is the man nature has designed for me? This gentleman is to be my fated heart’s own true love? Something like despair chased her every thought, although she fought against it. Mr Bingley was fashionable and considerate. To be his wife could hardly be thought a punishment.
But in her fickle heart, she was dissatisfied.
I am spoilt, like the obnoxious child who wishes for the toy in the shop window instead of the one in her hand .
Even so, if the child knew that the toy in the window would be her only plaything for the rest of her life, might she at least hope to enjoy it while still new? What if the toy was shiny, suitable, sweet, and still…tedious? Even worse, what if the toy in the shop window did not exist at all—and was just a handsome, empty carton, packaged without its works?