Page 10 of The Happiness of a Most Beloved Sister (Pride and Prejudice Variation)

CHAPTER NINE

D ash it all! Darcy regretted confirming Bingley’s penchant for accumulating ‘angels’ almost the moment it slipped from his mouth.

His dance with Elizabeth, while by no means as free and easy as he had previously imagined, had been utterly ruined by the concession.

It was obvious in the anxious set of her features, the stiff way she held herself, as he led her into dinner that she was greatly vexed by the news.

Was it not bad enough that I had to answer for my own foibles? Must I do the same for my friend’s?

He silently cursed Bingley for placing him in such a position.

Rarely, if ever, had Darcy met a woman of Elizabeth’s calibre, and now he must obliterate her sister’s matrimonial aspirations.

Regardless of how dreadfully dull and shallow Darcy found Miss Bennet, he knew that Elizabeth was greatly attached to her.

How it must pain her to learn that Bingley’s affections tended to be as impermanent towards ladies as they were regarding whatever dwelling he happened to inhabit—he would no doubt forget Miss Bennet the moment he returned to town in the same fashion he would forget Netherfield.

At least she would forget him just as easily, if her demeanour were any indication of her deeper feelings.

Reminding himself that he could never be more to Elizabeth than an acquaintance, a friend at most, did nothing to mitigate how wretched it felt to cause her distress.

Although Bingley and his fickle habits were at fault, it had been Darcy who had dealt the blow, Darcy who was forced to endure the diminishing of sparkle in Elizabeth’s fine eyes. Blast you, Bingley!

The pair of them entered the dining room amidst the dregs of the company, finding nearly everyone seated already.

Darcy had meant to lead Elizabeth away from the cause of her worries—all the better to return her undivided attention to himself and hopefully lift her spirits—but open spots were scarce, and the best he could do was place her midway down the table.

The position was still close enough to see her sister and Bingley, though not quite near enough to speak to them to any great degree.

He left her there to fetch them plates, pressing her hand before he stepped away. She offered him a wan smile in return.

The meal did not progress more favourably from there.

Elizabeth, though she only picked at her food, was largely silent no matter which subject he sought to introduce—albeit, he would be the first to admit that discussion of the weather and crop rotation were hardly stimulating.

His own powers of conversation being what they were, they both descended into sullen quietude as the rest of the company chattered about them.

Darcy did note that Elizabeth’s gaze strayed frequently to where her sister sat next to Bingley.

The pair of them, entirely unaware of any scrutiny, appeared as they always did—he animated and restless as a puppy, she serene and aloof as a cat.

Although his friend was clearly smitten, the lady appeared apathetic by comparison, heightening Darcy’s ire.

Neither of them deserved the concern Elizabeth spared them, for it was clear she was more invested in their relationship than they were.

“…a Christmas wedding will be just the thing! Flowers will be very dear, of course, but the church will look resplendent decked out in holly and greenery. And I shall hang mistletoe at the breakfast in the hopes of marrying off another of my girls! Imagine, my Jane being mistress of Netherfield by the New Year…”

Darcy’s lip ached to curl at Mrs Bennet’s outburst, but he willed it into a flat line instead so as not to offend Elizabeth.

If Miss Bennet’s cool manners were not enough to persuade him that Bingley was being hunted for his fortune, her mother’s uncouth bragging would have enlightened him.

It was plain to him, as it should be to anyone, that neither supposed ‘lady’ had any genuine regard for his friend.

His eyes dashed to where Elizabeth sat at his elbow.

The way she nibbled her lip, worried at the thumb of her glove, and distractedly watched her sister from down the table showed how taken in she was by her sister’s performance.

No matter what he had suspected before, he could not accuse Elizabeth of wishing to trap his friend—were that the case, she would have used her wiles on him to speak to Bingley on Miss Bennet’s behalf.

She had to know that he would have been tempted by a flutter of her lashes by this point; could he have made it more obvious that he was under her power during their set?

Darcy hoped that he would be able to resist her charms and remember the loyalty he owed his friend.

Much as it pained him to cause Elizabeth more distress, he could not, in good conscience, sanction a match with Miss Bennet given what he had observed.

Her bland serenity, her obvious financial motives, her carefully concealed manoeuvring—no, Bingley deserved better.

With one last longing look at Elizabeth, Darcy steeled himself for what he must do.

As Elizabeth fidgeted with her glove beneath the table, she watched with painful mortification as her mother, emboldened by the wine, crowed loud and long over Jane’s triumph at ‘catching Mr Bingley’.

Her elder sister had done no such thing, not yet, and frankly Elizabeth was increasingly concerned that she would be made unhappy if she did.

She would be yet more miserable should he defect now; from everything Elizabeth had witnessed, it was obvious that Jane’s heart was already engaged, even if her hand was not.

Knowing this, she could not sit idly by and allow Mrs Bennet to completely ruin Jane’s chances. The grim expression on Mr Darcy’s face informed her that he was disgusted by the display. What if he put Mr Bingley off Jane entirely?

“Mama,” she hissed, repeating herself a second and then a third time until Mrs Bennet attended her. “I beg you, lower your voice. You are doing Jane no favours by making a spectacle of yourself.” She subtly inclined her head in Mr Darcy’s direction with the hope of clarifying her point.

Mrs Bennet hiccupped and flapped her hand at Mr Darcy; Elizabeth felt him stiffen beside her. “What is Mr Darcy to me, pray, that I should be afraid of him? I am sure we owe him no particular civility as to be obliged to say nothing he may not like to hear.”

“For heaven’s sake, madam, what advantage can it be to you to offend Mr Darcy?

” She wished to add that her mother would never endear herself to Mr Bingley in so doing, but could not with the subject of their dispute sitting next to her.

This discussion was already humiliating enough without being vulgar herself.

“Oh, Lizzy, you are always so…so…” Whatever insult her mother meant to convey was interrupted by a belch. “You ought to leave off defending Mr Darcy’s delicate sensibilities and devote yourself to catching Mr Collins. It will not be so great a match as Jane’s, but it is good enough for you.”

So saying, Mrs Bennet turned back to Lady Lucas and continued her monologue, now with added complaints about ‘ungrateful daughters trying her poor nerves’ amidst the fantastical wedding planning. Elizabeth sat back in her seat with her face burning.

A glance at Mr Darcy was quickly withdrawn when she saw the tight set of his jaw.

Her mortification was all the greater for his visible censure, though she had not liked him prior to that evening.

Before his apology, she had considered him disdainful and cold, more likely to look at her with a satirical eye rather than an admiring one.

His acknowledgement of wrongdoing, combined with the faltering attempt at a compliment following quickly on its heels, had softened her towards him a great deal.

Instead of a prideful man who held himself far above his company, she now saw him as endearingly awkward, if still somewhat high in the instep.

Even if she credited Mr Darcy with better feelings, it was clear that he still held her mother in contempt. Given Mrs Bennet’s conduct, she did not fault him, but surely this behaviour coloured his opinion of all the Bennets.

Her gaze swept the length of the table, and she fought the desire to wince.

Mr Bennet was observing his wife from the corner of his eye and poorly hiding his laughter behind his wine glass; he would not be curbing Mrs Bennet’s volubility.

Nor, apparently, would he be disrupting the capers of his younger daughters.

Mary was pounding out a dirge on the pianoforte in the corner, having jumped ahead of Mrs Hurst to do so.

Kitty and Lydia had somehow obtained a sabre and were taunting Mr Denny with it.

The lieutenant was agreeably engaged in their game, only swiping at his purloined property with perfunctory intent, but the commotion it caused at that end of the room was atrocious.

Good Lord, if her family had actively conspired to expose themselves as much as they could, it would have been impossible for them to play their parts with more spirit, or finer success, than they were presently doing.

Mr Bingley might be ignorant of their antics, but Mr Darcy was fully aware.

Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst, too, were observing the Bennets with a gimlet eye.

Would they persuade their brother away from Jane? Could she do anything to prevent it?

She must speak to Mr Bingley. He owed her the dance after dinner, they had arranged it at the beginning of the evening, and she would take the opportunity to determine his intentions and beg him to handle Jane’s heart gently. It was all she could do; but would it be enough?