Page 4 of The Briar Bargain (The Rom Com Collection #3)

"I simply cannot bear the thought of being confined here for days on end." Miss Bingley sighed dramatically. "What shall we do with our time? The nearest neighbour of any quality is miles away, and even they are unreachable now."

Darcy caught the faintest frown on Miss Elizabeth's face and found himself agreeing with her obvious thoughts. There was more than enough work to keep one occupied, should one choose to be of service rather than complaining.

Apparently, Hurst felt the same. “It is a curious thing,” he said, staring at the rain streaking the window from his chair at the table, “how a river will swell and spill over its banks without a thought for the trouble it causes. Much like certain ladies I know, overflowing with idle talk until the house itself is in danger of drowning.”

"We must make our own amusements, Caroline," Bingley replied cheerfully. "We have a pianoforte, books, cards. And excellent company."

He smiled warmly at Miss Jane Bennet, who blushed prettily. Bingley was going to raise expectations if he was not careful.

"Yes, we are fortunate indeed to have Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth with us," Miss Bingley said, her tone artificially sweet. "Though I fear they must be dreadfully homesick, separated from their dear family."

The ever-composed Miss Bennet replied with quiet grace. "It is difficult to be parted from my parents and sisters, of course, but your kindness, Miss Bingley, and that of your brother, has made us feel most welcome. We are grateful for your hospitality."

Bingley’s eyes softened with something perilously close to devotion. “It has been entirely my pleasure, Miss Bennet. I only regret that such charming guests should be forced to remain here by the weather. Though I confess I cannot be sorry for the selfish delight I take in your company.”

He leaned ever so slightly towards her, and though Miss Bingley’s next sigh had a bite to it, no one said as much.

"And you, Miss Eliza?" Miss Bingley turned to Miss Elizabeth with predatory interest. "How do you fare? I imagine you must find Netherfield’s simple diversions quite limiting after the excitement of . . . Meryton."

Miss Elizabeth merely smiled. "I am quite content, Miss Bingley. I am never without occupation of some sort."

"Perhaps after dinner, Miss Eliza might favour us with a performance on the pianoforte," Miss Bingley suggested sweetly. "I am sure we would all benefit from some soothing music."

Darcy had heard Miss Elizabeth at Lucas Lodge and had found her playing lovely, but she had chosen simple airs. Miss Bingley was setting her up for embarrassment.

Miss Elizabeth's arched brow suggested she understood perfectly. "You are very kind, but I fear my playing is not nearly accomplished enough for such discerning company. Perhaps you might favour us instead? I recall your performance last week was . . . impressive."

Impressive did not always mean good. Miss Elizabeth had returned the compliment while gracefully declining to be humiliated. And he had caught her pause as well. Miss Elizabeth’s playing was emotional rather than technical, but Miss Bingley’s was technical without any feeling at all.

He knew which he preferred.

Darcy had long prided himself on mastering his impulses, yet Miss Elizabeth Bennet seemed determined to undo him at every turn. Her fine eyes sparkled too much, her wit cut too sharply, her beauty was enhanced when she smiled. The combination left him thoroughly unsettled .

This was intolerable. He was a man of consequence, not some schoolboy to become besotted by fine dark eyes and clever remarks.

It was precisely why, in the fortnight after the Meryton assembly, he had taken such pains to assure his friends that Miss Elizabeth was entirely without charm, that she had, in fact, scarcely a good feature in her face.

He had convinced them with remarkable ease.

The only person he had failed to persuade, unfortunately, was himself.

It was an inconvenient attraction. Nothing more.

As he was considering how he was to protect himself over the next few days, an acrid scent of burning material touched the air.

Darcy, always attuned to the smell of smoke, lifted his head to locate the source.

A young maid had entered quietly to tend the fire, moving with the kind of discreet efficiency that marked her as well trained.

Indeed, no one had paid her any mind until that moment.

Darcy saw it almost at the same moment as Miss Elizabeth: the hem of the maid’s gown had caught a stray ember from the hearth. In the breath between realization and alarm, Miss Elizabeth was already approaching the girl.

He moved to assist, but the danger was past. Miss Elizabeth had stamped out the ember. Before returning to her chair, Miss Elizabeth turned to the maid, who stood frozen. “Are you quite all right?” she asked gently, her voice soft enough to preserve the girl’s dignity.

But Darcy, in suspended motion a few steps away, heard it.

The maid nodded, wide-eyed. “Yes, miss. Thank you, miss.” Her voice wavered, thick with shock and discomfiture. With a quick curtsy and a grateful glance, she hurried from the room.

As Miss Elizabeth turned, Darcy said, too quietly for anyone else to hear, “I should prefer that you call upon a gentleman should a similar situation arise again, Miss Elizabeth. ”

There it was again, that amused expression that drove him mad.

“And deprive you of the satisfaction of reproving me afterwards?" she asked. "Let us strike a bargain, Mr. Darcy. I promise to summon you to assist so long as you promise not to scold me until after any danger is past.”

Before he could reply, Miss Bennet smiled at her sister. “You were there before I even saw what was happening, Lizzy.”

"Miss Elizabeth," Bingley said, "are you well?"

"Perfectly," Miss Elizabeth said, tossing Darcy a smug look and returning to her seat as composed as if she had simply been given a cup of tea.

His admiration was immediate and unwelcome. His exasperation swiftly followed. Why could she not be safely predictable like other ladies? Why must she be so accomplished in the most inconvenient ways?

When the ladies withdrew after dinner, Darcy felt simultaneously relieved and bereft.

"More port, Darcy?" Bingley offered with a slightly too innocent expression.

"No, thank you," he replied. He had already indulged more than his custom, seeking to dull the unwelcome sensations that Miss Elizabeth Bennet provoked.

Bingley settled back with a sigh. "What a day it has been. Flood and fire. Miss Bennet was not even surprised that Miss Elizabeth was first to spot the trouble.”

He wished he could tell Bingley to stop mentioning Miss Elizabeth. But that would only give rise to more questions.

"Did you see how quickly she moved? Most ladies would have screamed or fainted. She put it out before we had even risen from our chairs."

Darcy's jaw tightened. He had risen from his chair. "She could have been burned."

"But she was not. Cool as anything. Quite extraordinary."

It was extraordinary. It was also dangerous and thoroughly typical of a woman who seemed constitutionally incapable of taking the safe path. Why had her parents not taught her better?

"There were gentlemen in the room," Darcy said stiffly. "She should have called for assistance."

"Perhaps. But had she done so, the maid might have been injured before we could get to her," Bingley replied.

"Indeed," Darcy murmured, hoping his tone conveyed polite agreement rather than grudging admiration.

"I can see why you find Miss Elizabeth so intriguing."

Darcy's head snapped up. "I beg your pardon?"

Bingley smiled innocently. "Come now, Darcy. You have scarcely taken your eyes off her since her arrival. You know, you had me fooled for a time, making all those harsh comments about her the first few weeks of our visit.”

He had been ungentlemanly. But he was now caught in his own snare, for Miss Bingley, his partner in devising increasingly adroit insults, now imagined that they were of one mind. She believed they were friends, of a sort, and had begun taking little liberties in her conversation.

“I think you are long over your dislike for Miss Elizabeth,” Bingley said.

“In fact I begin to believe you protest too much.

You work so hard not to notice her that it becomes rather obvious that you wish to do nothing but.

And when you learned that the Bennet ladies were to remain here with us, the expression on your countenance was as dark as the clouds. "

Blast. Had he been that transparent?

Bingley laughed to himself. “I never believed I would see the great Fitzwilliam Darcy brought low like the rest of us. ”

"Miss Elizabeth Bennet is a gentleman's daughter,” Darcy said coldly, “but her connections are unsuitable, and other than Miss Bennet, her family is vulgar. She has no fortune, no connections of any value."

"None of which addresses her personal merits," Bingley pointed out with an irksome reasonableness.

Personal merits. Those Miss Elizabeth had in abundance. Courage, intelligence, loyalty, kindness, and the ability to make him want to smile even when she was being thoroughly provoking.

Especially then.

"Her personal merits are irrelevant in the face of such disadvantages," Darcy insisted, though the words felt hollow. How he wished they were not.

"Are they?" Bingley raised an eyebrow. "You have always prided yourself on your rational judgement, Darcy. Yet here you list a catalogue of external factors while studiously avoiding discussion of the lady herself."

When had Bingley become so perceptive? It was extremely inconvenient.

"There is nothing to discuss."

A not quite muffled snore rose from the settee near the hearth.

Mr. Hurst shifted, opened one bleary eye, and said with great solemnity, “When a woman saves a maid from catching fire, manages to look attractive doing it, and humbly returns to her meal after, a man ought to just surrender with dignity.”

There was a brief silence, and then Bingley laughed. “Well said, Hurst! Remarkably insightful for someone who has had three glasses of port and is half asleep.”

“Remarkably insightful,” Darcy repeated sardonically. “Next he shall be quoting Socrates.”

Hurst waved a lazy hand. “Wisdom comes to those who conserve their energy. ”

Darcy did not respond, but he felt heat rising up the back of his neck.

“And really,” Bingley added, swirling the port in his glass, “I think Hurst may be right. You may be outmatched at last, my friend.”

He was not outmatched. A Darcy was always in control of himself.

When Darcy did not respond, Bingley shrugged and changed the subject. Still, his knowing smile suggested the conversation was far from over. Darcy remained unsettled, partly by his friend's uncomfortably accurate observations and partly by his own reaction to them.

Miss Elizabeth Bennet would not penetrate his carefully maintained defences. If his resolve happened to waver whenever she entered the room, well, that was simply a feeling he would have to conquer.

He would be master of himself. He would. In this struggle, he would emerge victorious.