Page 36 of The Happiness of a Most Beloved Sister (Pride and Prejudice Variation)

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

“ T o Jane and Mr Bingley and their unconventional road to matrimony,” declared Mr Bennet as he stood at the head of the table, saluting them all with an ironic twist to his lips.

“In spite of your difficulties, I have not a doubt of your doing very well together. Your tempers are by no means unalike. You are each of you so complying that nothing will be resolved on, so easy that every servant will cheat you, and so generous that you will always exceed your income.”

“Exceed their income!” cried Mrs Bennet from the opposite end of the table. “My dear Mr Bennet, what are you talking of? Why, he has four or five?—”

“To Jane and Mr Bingley!”

A chorus of ‘hear, hears’ sounded simultaneously round the table, thankfully interrupting Mrs Bennet’s vulgar exclamation about Mr Bingley’s income.

A good thing, too, because Jane herself had been tempted to snap at her mother to be quiet simply to prevent her mortification growing any deeper than it already was .

Not that it matters , Jane consoled herself as she sipped from her glass and darted a glance at her betrothed. It is all but impossible for him to extricate himself now, no matter what spectacle Mama makes.

That morning at church, the first banns for their impending wedding had been read out by Mr Grant, securing the connexion by way of a sonorous proclamation.

Between this public acknowledgement and the articles he had already signed with her father, they were all but permanently joined already.

Only the actual marriage rites were more binding, and Mr Bingley could not disentangle himself from his promise to Jane without a great deal of bother.

The only fly in her ointment, aside from Mrs Bennet’s determination to humiliate them all, was the presence of Mr Darcy amongst them.

He obviously did not care for Jane at all; one could see it in the way he spoke to her with only the barest trace of politeness in his tone, the glint of derision in his eye.

Why should he partake in the celebration of a forthcoming marriage when he detested the bride?

Yet there he sat next to Mr Bennet making cow eyes at Elizabeth across the table when he ought to be in London; he had done his part in reuniting her with Mr Bingley, and now she was quite ready to see the back of him and his haughty behaviour.

This was a vain wish, she knew, because he obviously meant to attach himself to Elizabeth, meaning that she was not only forced to endure him during her triumph but would most likely be saddled with his dour company going forward as well.

Not only would he be friend to her husband but also her brother, should Elizabeth accept him.

Jane gripped her knife and fork more tightly at the reminder that her younger sister had outdone her.

A tradesman’s son worth five thousand a year was certainly a coup for an impoverished gentlewoman, but the grandson of an earl and one of the wealthiest men in England was a far greater catch.

And what had Elizabeth done to deserve it?

Nothing. She was not extraordinary in any sense, merely second to Jane in birth and beauty.

And yet Elizabeth was poised to join the ranks of the bon ton above her more entitled sister. ’Tis not fair.

When Elizabeth leant forwards to speak around Mary, who separated her from Mr Bingley, to say, “Welcome to the family, sir,” Jane’s ire stoked higher.

I explicitly told her to stay away from him! She gritted her teeth to prevent an unladylike scold from bursting free.

Mrs Bennet had no such compunction. Her knife and fork still sawing at her beef, she chastised her second daughter without bothering to lower her voice. “Lizzy, leave Mr Bingley be! Have you not done enough meddling?”

Elizabeth, properly chastened, sank back in her chair and lowered her head. Her face was as red as a plum as she mumbled an apology.

Mr Bingley, seated directly across from Jane, appeared discomposed at the scene.

His eyes jumped from her to Mr Darcy—who gave the impression of a storm cloud about to burst—then to Elizabeth on his side of the table, and back again.

“Oh, ah, there is no need for…for…Miss Elizabeth need not apologise.”

Jane fixed her betrothed with a firm look, and he swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down.

“You are most kind, but Lizzy has promised to abstain from speaking to you. I believe it is no mystery as to why.” She swept her gaze about the table, taking in the discomfited fidgeting that her statement caused.

All save for Mr Darcy, whose nostrils were flaring.

Looking directly at Elizabeth, who blinked rapidly at her plate, she continued, “It is imperative that you follow my directive in this matter. You have already caused so much damage by speaking out of turn, and we cannot have?—”

Jane’s speech came to an abrupt halt with a loud clatter of silver striking china. Startled out of her wits, she could only turn towards Mr Darcy, whose clenched fists had descended upon the table like a pair of boulders. His glare seemed to emit sparks as he snarled, “That is quite enough.”

Perhaps she had gone too far.

With his heart thundering in his ears, Darcy fixed Jane Bennet with a look that had never failed to intimidate anyone, be they man, woman, or beast. It had the expected effect on Miss Bennet—and Miss Lydia, too, who quickly pushed her chair back and removed herself from between them.

Darcy was sorry to have frightened the youngest Miss Bennet, but he only had attention to spare for the eldest, who shrank back physically as if she expected him to leap over Miss Lydia and throttle her.

As much satisfaction as that might bring him, he was in better control of himself than that .

Even so, he could not deny that he was sorely tempted to violence.

He had spent the entire day with the Bennets and borne witness to the execrable treatment Elizabeth was forced to endure from her elder sister and mother.

When Miss Bennet deigned to speak to her, it was only to issue a command.

If Elizabeth did not heed her directive fast enough, she would be subject to the shrill chastisement of Mrs Bennet until she acceded to it.

More than once, Darcy had opened his mouth in his lady love’s defence, only to be stayed by the soft brush of Elizabeth’s hand and a subtle shake of her head.

He had bitten down on his tongue until it bled, but he could endure it no more.

It was time to put Miss Bennet in her place.

Darcy’s voice was dark, gravelly, and perfectly level as he finally purged his indignation.

“From the very beginning, from the first moment I may almost say, of my acquaintance with you, your manners have impressed upon me the fullest belief of your arrogance, your conceit, and your selfish disdain for the feelings of others.

I had not known you a month before I felt that you were the most heartless creature I have ever had the misfortune to know.

“Your sister”—Darcy raised one trembling finger to point at Elizabeth across from him, though his narrowed gaze never left Miss Bennet’s pale countenance—“by contrast, is easily the most admirable. Not only did she walk three miles to tend to you when you feigned illness at Netherfield, but she spoke up on your behalf when she believed Bingley meant to abandon you—something that he later did. He might have misunderstood the purport of her interference, but the fault of his departure does not lie with Elizabeth. Truthfully, I had far more to do with it than she, and at first, I revelled in my success. Had it not been for the sister you so unfairly malign, I would have continued to do so, for you, madam, are false.”

He could feel every eye in the room fixed upon him as he vented his spleen but cared not for the shock and awe he was inspiring.

Someone had needed to say it, and since neither of her parents, any of her sisters, nor her betrothed was prepared to do so, it had fallen upon Darcy to correct Miss Bennet’s vainglorious airs.

“Now, Darcy?—”

Darcy snapped his glare in the direction of Bingley, who recoiled and was silenced. “I warned you it would come to this if you did not check her behaviour towards Elizabeth. You did not, and so here we are. I, unlike you, am beholden to my word and will not shy away from what needs to be done.”

He then returned his acid gaze to Miss Bennet, who trembled in her seat.

“You have never especially cared for my friend in the way that you pretend, just as you, apparently, do not care for your supposedly most beloved sister. No matter how much devotion Elizabeth shows, or how many times she apologises for the actions of others, you remain impervious to all proper feeling. You will not so much as acknowledge the fact that she was the one who set in motion the events that brought Bingley back to you—something I can assure you would never have come to pass without her staunch advocacy. Frankly, you do not deserve her.”

The room was all but silent in the wake of Darcy’s proclamation; only the ticking of the hall clock could be detected over the drumming of his own heart.

He at last tore his gaze from the shaking Miss Bennet to rove the table, finding each and every face gaping at him as if he had just breathed fire.

Bingley quivered like a rabbit caught in a snare.

Mrs Bennet mirrored her eldest daughter in pallor, while her husband merely blinked at Darcy with incomprehension.

The youngest girls were, for once, not giggling behind their hands but rather sitting quietly as if they hoped to remain unnoticed.

The middle one clutched her hands together as if praying for salvation. As for Elizabeth…

Darcy looked to her last, swallowing thickly as he somehow found the courage to meet her gaze.

Her brilliant eyes were wide and shiny, the lashes fluttering fitfully.

She had a hand pressed to her bosom, just over her heart, and he could see that it heaved with her breathing.

She said nothing, apparently as stunned to silence as the rest of her family, and for the first time he worried that he had gone too far.

Having said his piece, Darcy stood, the legs of his chair screeching against the wood floor. He threw his napkin upon the table, bowed deeply in Elizabeth’s direction though he could not bear to look at her any longer, and fled.