Page 21 of Penned by Mr Darcy (…By Mr Darcy #3)

The sound of rather pained piano echoed from behind its closed door, and he winced. He found himself missing dear Georgiana even more than he did already, for her talent on the instrument was truly remarkable for one her age.

“Forgive my sister,” Miss Elizabeth said quickly, catching his displeasure. “She is a very eager student, but a student she most certainly is.”

“I do so admire those that can play an instrument. Your playing at Netherfield was very pleasing, Miss Elizabeth. I am sorry that we did not have an opportunity to hear Miss Bennet play.”

“Jane is more talented at needlework than music,” Miss Elizabeth said with a small smile.

She pushed open the parlour door.

“Mama, girls, Mr Bingley and Mr Darcy have arrived.”

“What!” Mrs Bennet’s outraged voice rung out from inside. “Where is Hill? Why were they not properly announced?”

Miss Elizabeth looked back at them, smiling awkwardly.

“They are here with me, Mama. Please, gentlemen, do come in.”

Darcy followed Bingley dutifully inside.

They bowed, and the four women – though two were little more than girls – curtsied in return.

The youngest, Miss Lydia, was practically vibrating with excitement.

He only hoped she held herself with more decorum at the ball.

She would do well to look to the eldest Miss Bennet, who was truly in possession of gentle manners.

“If you’ll excuse me for a moment, I will fetch Jane.”

“Yes, fetch her at once, Lizzy!” Mrs Bennet barked.

Miss Elizabeth left the room, sweeping past him. He could not help but turn and watch her leave.

“Would you care for tea?” Mrs Bennet asked. “Please, have a seat. Did you ride here? The weather has cleared, thank goodness! Poor Lizzy – silly, poor Lizzy – took herself for a walk the other morning and returned much as Jane must have arrived at Netherfield!”

He had tried to put that morning from his mind – half of him had wondered if it was real at all, or if it had been some wonderful, cruel dream.

“She ought to take more care,” he said, more to himself than to anyone else.

“We put her to bed for the entirety of the day, and, touch wood, she seems to be as hale and hearty as ever! Lizzy is a strong girl; she never stops moving, and I believe her constitution is as hardy as a mountain goat.”

Darcy was not sure Miss Elizabeth would appreciate her mother’s comparison; women, in his limited experience, preferred to be compared to flowers, rather than barnyard animals.

Darcy sat rigidly on the settee; he did not take tea when it arrived, nor did he contribute a single word to the conversation.

He allowed the sound to swirl around him, and he thought of little but Miss Elizabeth’s absence.

He found that she calmed her family down expertly, reigning in their wild and unfiltered conversation with little more than a word or a glance.

He was relieved when she returned, Miss Bennet walking behind her. Her countenance had much improved from the last time he had seen her, but she was undoubtedly still unwell. Her skin was pallid, her eyes dull and a little glassy.

“Miss Bennet!” Bingley exclaimed. “It is a pleasure to see you looking so well.”

“Mr Bingley. It is thanks to you, and the care you provided me with.”

“It was nothing. Nothing at all! We have come to invite you to our ball. I sincerely hope you will be in attendance.”

“I would not miss it,” Miss Bennet smiled. “I am sure it will be a most splendid evening.”

“The girls were thinking of going into town this afternoon,” Mrs Bennet announced suddenly. “Perhaps you would care to accompany us, gentlemen?”

Darcy could think of little he desired less, but Bingley readily accepted the invitation before he could say a word.

“We would be delighted, wouldn’t we, Darcy?”

He hummed non-committedly, and Mrs Bennet clapped her hands together with delight.

As they made their way into Meryton, the walk lively with chatter and anticipation, the younger girls surged ahead. The quiet rhythm of the morning was broken by Lydia’s shrill exclamation.

“Oh! It’s my new friends!”

Elizabeth turned to her, puzzled.

“What new friends? I didn’t know a new family had arrived.”

“No, silly - the militia!”

Elizabeth arched a brow.

“The militia are not your friends. What do you mean?”

“We’ve spoken with them often - haven’t we, Kitty? There are two in particular who are very entertaining. And so handsome!”

Before Elizabeth could object further, Lydia and Kitty were already skipping ahead, their bonnets bouncing as they ran toward the cluster of red coats gathered by the fountain. Mrs. Bennet followed at a quickened pace, nearly as breathless with excitement as her daughters.

Elizabeth glanced up at Darcy, who had gone rigid beside her.

“You must forgive my sisters,” she said, lowering her voice. “They are young. And they forget themselves.”

Darcy’s jaw tightened.

“You would do well to keep a tighter rein on them, particularly when it comes to engaging in social contact with men that are not known to the family.”

He waited for her indignation - knew his remark bordered on inappropriate, even presumptuous.

But Elizabeth only nodded.

“You are right. I will speak with them.”

He gave a single, tight nod in return. He looked once more tot her sisters. Miss Lydia was laughing, her hand resting upon the red-clad arm of one of the militia. When the man turned, Darcy felt as though he had stumbled into a nightmare.

The air seemed to shift. Darcy’s chest constricted; the ground beneath him felt suddenly unstable.

It was Wickham.

Here, in Hertfordshire. How was it possible?

! And the militia – was that his latest scheme?

God knows the man possessed no loyalty or sense of duty to anything, much less His Majesty.

It had to be a trick, a plot. Darcy could not think clearly, rage filling his body as he stared at Wickham.

He did not have a care in the world as he spoke to Miss Lydia, his posture and face the same subtle seduction Darcy had seen him use countless times in their shared youth.

“Are you well, sir?” Elizabeth’s voice cut through the haze. “You look pale.”

“I… Yes. Thank you. I must return to Netherfield at once.”

“Mr Darcy?” Her voice followed him as he turned. “Whatever is the matter?”

“Excuse me.”

Without waiting for further questions, he turned sharply on his heel and left. He did not stop walking until he had left the town behind and was well on the way back to Netherfield. The miles it would take to walk there were of no consequence; he did not wish to see anyone, or speak another word.

He had to leave Hertfordshire at once.