Page 19 of Such Persuasions as These (Pride and Prejudice Variation)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

“ M iss Bingley is behaving this way because she is unsure of your commitment, sir. And really, it is cruel to keep your arrangement a secret, especially when anyone can see by the way she treats you that you have a longstanding attachment,” Elizabeth scolded Mr Darcy as he paced towards the fire, his hand flying up to his forehead, his napkin—and one chagrined feline—falling to the floor and landing upon the ornately knotted rug.

She had known the insinuation would disconcert the gentleman, but to see him react by flying out of his chair and fairly shouting in disbelief was more than she could have expected.

She regretted causing him such distress, but she comforted herself in the fact that, if he felt so strongly about such an idea, then perhaps he would act quickly.

She would then be able to leave Netherfield with the rest of her wardrobe intact.

“This is preposterous. I can assure you, madam, there is no understanding, or arrangement, attachment, however you phrased it, between Miss Bingley and me. Never. How could you even…?” His raised voice turned into the croak of a throat deprived of all moisture.

“As you have witnessed many of her worst actions with nary a rebuke, I assumed you were simply blinded from her incivility by your heart’s affection.

” She understood it to be Mr Bingley’s office to rein in his sister’s malice, but Miss Bingley had made it clear that any efforts on her brother’s part to check her were to go unheeded.

Elizabeth had decided that it would require Mr Darcy’s disapprobation to move the woman to better manners.

“Affection? For her? Can one have affection for a viper? A poisoned arrow? A red hornet? Never!” He spoke this quick and vehement response, but immediately seemed to realise how ungenerous he was being.

“Forgive me, Miss Elizabeth. I should not have spoken thus, but you must believe that there is nothing—that there never will be anything—between Miss Bingley and myself.”

“I am afraid she might not know that, sir. I am fairly certain she believes you to belong to her, and that by spending time in your company, I am invading territory that is decidedly hers.”

“Well, if she has that idea in her head, she is decidedly wrong. I have never given her any special attention, nor shown even the slightest inclination towards her. Can she not see that I only answer her with one word unless I can help it?”

“Perhaps she believes that is how you communicate,”Elizabeth said, straining to keep her expression free from the mischievous glee he was creating inside her.

“Impossible. She has seen me in animated conversation with Bingley; she knows I can string more than three words together when I am so inclined.” He was still pacing, his brow furrowed in almost angry frustration.

“How you communicate with the fairer sex, then?” she offered.

“Extremely unlikely. She cannot help but see how I get on with you, how we converse so freely. She cannot be under the impression that if I admire a woman, I should speak to her less . No, you are imagining things, surely.” He was rubbing his face now, and Elizabeth’s eyes briefly widened at the truth he had laid bare.

“Why should she unleash her ire upon me if she has no claim on you?”

His distress was beginning to niggle at her conscience, but she was determined to see this through to the end.

“As I said,” he answered, finally sitting again, though at the edge of his chair, leaning in close, “she must see how well we…get on together. Perhaps there is a bit of jealousy there. But, she is aware that you are engaged; she should know there is no danger of anything…happening…between us.”

Elizabeth had to steel her resolve to continue, no matter how pitiful—or adorable—he was as he stumbled over his words.

“All I know is that she stares daggers at me the entire time we are in company together and spits fire with every word she says to me—and about me I dare say. The only logical explanation I could think of was that she was responding to the hurt she felt at seeing her betrothed pay attention to another.”

“I am not her betrothed!” He was shouting again.

Then he was silent.

Elizabeth could see the gears turning in his head as he finally leant back in his chair, not sitting like a proper gentleman, but almost slumping, his long legs still stationed in the middle of the rug whilst his torso sank into the seat.

He steepled his fingers before him for several moments and finally said, “You are correct about one thing. It is unacceptable for her to treat you as she does. I will not pretend that I can control her, but I shall do what I can to see that it stops.”

“I thank you for that. I apologise for making you uncomfortable; I suppose I simply jumped to the wrong conclusion.”

Mr Darcy bowed his head in acceptance of her apology and sat up properly. Spying the square of linen on the ground, he picked it up and replaced it on his lap. Upon seeing the man settling back into his seat, Italics forgave him freely and resumed his vociferous adulation.

Elizabeth hoped Mr Darcy did not see the satisfied curl forming on one side of her mouth.

After several moments of silently taking in Italics’s purr, Elizabeth asked, “What was the secret, then?”

Darcy had been lost in his thoughts, absentmindedly stroking the appreciative feline.

A long list had begun to compile itself in his mind of how inferior Miss Bingley was in every way to the woman sitting across from him.

Miss Bingley was critical, cynical, supercilious, haughty, and heartless.

Some might call her pretty, he supposed, and indeed that had been his first impression of her, but as he had hinted to Bingley, her beauty had diminished as her character had made itself known.

Elizabeth— Why do I not think of her as Miss Elizabeth?

—he had to admit was truly a superior woman.

She was gracious with the follies of others, humbly dignifying each person she touched without lowering herself.

Yeoman, servant, and squire alike loved her.

Even his own inexcusable silence in regard to the denigration he had witnessed Miss Bingley heap upon her, she passed over by assuming him blinded by love.

Love ? Caroline Bingley? His body convulsed in an involuntary shudder.

“Secret?” he finally replied, oblivious as to what she could be speaking of.

“You said I had figured out your secret. If it is not regarding Miss Bingley, then I cannot guess what it is.”

“Actually, it does have to do with Miss Bingley, and perhaps if I had shared it sooner, you would have been more quickly undeceived. I thought you had found out why I take solace in the library so often; Miss Bingley has severe sneezing fits… near cats .”

Neither was so uncouth as to laugh out loud at such a disclosure, but they shared the joke with their eyes, each shining towards the other with knowing mirth.

“I feel rather sorry for her. You are all too aware of her faults, while she sees you as possessing none at all,” she said.

“I have faults enough, believe me. My temper I cannot vouch for. It might be called resentful,” he confessed, his brow becoming stormy as he thought of the betrayal he had endured in the last year.

“In what way?”

“My good opinion once lost is lost forever.” The words left his mouth before he could think to lessen their severity, and she frowned at his brusque statement. He could not discern whether he read pity, sadness, or pique in her expression.

Finally, she enquired, “What might occasion the loss of your good opinion? For I hope it is not something you withdraw lightly.”

“It is not,” he assured her. “However, disguise of every sort is my abhorrence. There is nothing I condemn more than deceit. I have been betrayed by those whom I trusted most, and such sins I cannot find it in myself to forgive.”

Silence reigned for several moments, the air becoming decidedly heavy between them. He could not banish the image of Wickham falling to the ground atop the cliffs of Ramsgate from his mind. Even now, he could not grant the blackguard absolution.

At length, Elizabeth cleared her throat.

Darcy loved hearing her begin conversations; she always amazed him with her wit and humour, and he was never bored in her company. He considered her expectantly.

“Mr Darcy, there is something I must tell you.” She seemed nervous all of a sudden, which Italics must have sensed, for he promptly returned to her lap, forcing her to pet him with the hands she had begun wringing.

“You may tell me anything you like, Miss Elizabeth,” he said earnestly. Darcy had never seen her so discomposed. He swallowed hard. What could she possibly wish to confess to him?

“It is regarding?—”

Why is she hesitating so?

“Captain Frederick Wentworth,” were the only words Darcy heard as the butler swung the library door open. Evidently, the man was awaiting Elizabeth in the drawing room.