Page 7 of The Heroic Mr Darcy’s Bad Manners

It was some mornings past the Lucases’ dinner party that Jane received an invitation from Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst. She hastily read it while the servant awaited a reply.

“Read it aloud,” Mrs Bennet demanded, her eyes sparkling.

“Miss Bingley has invited me for a whole day’s tête-à-tête. The gentlemen are to dine with the officers.”

“Dining out,” said Mrs Bennet. “That is very unlucky.”

“May I have the carriage?” Jane pleaded.

“You may not. Think of what your father would say if the horses were to be away for the entire day,” Mrs Bennet admonished.

“ Generally, those among us who are called patricians are rather deficient in paternal affections [3] ,” Mary interjected.

“Her father does not mind,” Mr Bennet drawled from behind his newspaper.

“You must go on horseback.” Mrs Bennet looked gleefully out of the window whilst disregarding Mr Bennet. “It looks like it is going to rain, and then you will have to stay the night!”

Mrs Bennet attended Jane to the door with cheerful prognostications of inclement weather, and Jane had not been away for long before it rained hard. Mrs Bennet was delighted, but Elizabeth became uneasy when the rain continued without intermission for the rest of the day.

“This was indeed a lucky idea of mine,” Mrs Bennet mentioned more than once through the course of the evening. Just how fortuitous she had been was proved the next morning when a note was delivered to Elizabeth. Jane had taken ill.

Contradictory emotions warred within Elizabeth. Jane said she suffered a trifling cold, but knowing her sister as well as Elizabeth did, she knew she would not complain unnecessarily. That she had written at all was proof she was very ill indeed. On the other hand, there was the matter of Mr Darcy, whom she would prefer to avoid.

She could manage to enter Netherfield clandestinely through the kitchen. But she was being silly. What was Mr Darcy to her? Absolutely nothing! Jane was infinitely more important, and she needed her sister. Come to think of it, Miss Bingley had not a nurturing bone in her body. Jane must be suffering neglect—or worse, tedious company.

Elizabeth declared her resolution to visit the patient. The carriage horses were occupied in the fields, so she would have to walk, but the distance was nothing when one had the motive.

“May I borrow your book, Mary?”

“You may. I have finished it,” Mary acquiesced and fetched the tome.

The three miles were done in an hour, though her skirts suffered in the dirty, wet grounds. She was approaching the kitchen in long strides when she heard Mr Darcy call her name. She imagined herself to be her mother, who proficiently and frequently overlooked her father’s calls for attention, and hastened through the door, where the housekeeper, Mrs Nicholls, was ever so pleased to see her.

“I have come to enquire about my sister,” Elizabeth said.

Mrs Nicholls expressed her relief she was there because Jane was not well at all. She offered to escort Elizabeth to her sister, but it was then that Elizabeth’s luck ran out. The housekeeper, who was unaware of her tactic of avoidance, led her first to the dining room, where the entire Netherfield party were having breakfast. Elizabeth curtseyed, stated her errand, and was taken to a feverish Jane before anyone had recovered enough to return her greeting. Poor Jane had begun coughing after she had sent the note.

When the clock struck three, Elizabeth felt she had to return home. Miss Bingley offered her a carriage, which so distressed Jane that the lady had to rescind the offer and instead invite her to stay.

Elizabeth would have politely declined if Jane had not been so ill. She accepted reluctantly and wrote a note to Longbourn to send necessities to the two sisters.

#

At half past six there was a knock on the door.

Elizabeth walked as quietly as she could so as not to awaken Jane, who had finally fallen asleep. She opened the door with a finger to her lips, slipping out and closing it behind her before asking what the maid wanted.

“Dinner is served, miss. Mr Bingley is eager for you to join their party.”

Indecision warred within her. It would be abominably rude to reject Mr Bingley’s kind offer, and the maid was already aware that Jane slept.

“I shall sit with Miss Bennet while you eat,” the maid offered, sensing Elizabeth’s reluctance to leave the patient unattended.

“Thank you.” Elizabeth surrendered to that which was unavoidable and walked down the stairs towards the voices emanating from the dining room. She halted just outside the door to straighten her back and bolster her spirits.

“She has nothing to recommend her but being an excellent walker. I shall never forget her appearance this morning.”

The voice sounded like Mrs Hurst, which was confirmed by Miss Bingley’s reply.

“Indeed, Louisa. I could hardly keep my countenance. Imagine the two of us scampering about the countryside windswept and forlorn.”

“We would never! Her petticoats were six inches deep in mud.”

Elizabeth wondered what she could have done to Mrs Hurst and Miss Bingley for them to abuse her so.

“Your picture may be exact, but I thought that Miss Elizabeth looked uncommonly well. Her dirty petticoats quite escaped me.” Mr Bingley’s voice of reason did much to soothe Elizabeth’s unease.

“You observed it, Mr Darcy,” Miss Bingley purred. “I am convinced you would not wish your sister to make such an exhibition.”

“Certainly not!” the oaf confirmed.

Elizabeth, as she saw it, had two choices. She could run back to her room and cry into the pillow, or she could raise her chin, enter, and make the residents of Netherfield as uncomfortable as they deserved to be.

She looked at the stoic footman in the porter’s chair. She had long known Tommy as he was the child of a Longbourn tenant. She caught his eye and raised a quizzical eyebrow. Tommy rolled his eyes back in his head, and she almost laughed aloud. She mouthed thank you and entered.

She donned an imaginary confidence, approached Mr Bingley, and just so happened to turn her back on Mr Darcy and the supercilious sisters.

“Thank you for your kind invitation, Mr Bingley. I assure you that I would have been content with a small tray in my room, or if that were too much to ask, a bow and arrow to forage in the woods.”

She smiled brilliantly at Mr Bingley, who chuckled.

“That will not be necessary, Miss Elizabeth. I have a sister to keep house for me, and though much can be said of her civilities, she sets an excellent table.”

“I am much relieved she is not finding it too daunting to perform in the wilds of Hertfordshire.”

“As am I, but enough about my sister. How is Miss Bennet faring?”

Elizabeth immediately sobered.

“She is feverish but has finally fallen asleep. It is to be hoped that the rest will aid her recovery.”

“Should I send for the apothecary?” a concerned Mr Bingley enquired.

“I would first like to see whether she improves overnight. If her condition worsens, I might solicit your errand boy to fetch Mr Jones on the morrow.”

“Any time, Miss Elizabeth. My servants are at your disposal.”

Servants began to enter with platters, and Elizabeth took the offered seat next to Mr Bingley. She paid Mr Darcy no mind as he was thoroughly entertained by Miss Bingley’s incessant chatter. As soon as the meal concluded, she excused herself and resumed her anxious watch over Jane.

The night passed with short moments of slumber in between Jane’s spells of coughing. There was no improvement in the morning, and Mr Jones was called to administer a draught. The concoction helped, and by the afternoon, Jane was feeling a little better. Elizabeth ordered a tray for dinner, but when her sister promptly fell asleep after the meal, she felt she must thank Mr Bingley for his thoughtfulness.

With dread filling the pit in her stomach, she approached the parlour where the party was assembled. In her hands she clutched her book, an item she had brought to hide behind. It was ridiculous; she, who never shrank from confrontation, had become a coward in the company of Mr Darcy. But no longer. He deserved no attention and certainly no reverence of any kind. If he wanted to insult her, she was completely indifferent to his opinions.

A footman opened the door and announced her. Fortunately, Mr Darcy sat at a desk in the far corner, writing a letter. Mr Bingley and his family played cards.

“Miss Elizabeth, how good of you to join us. How is Miss Bennet?”

“I am glad to assure you that she is improving, though she is not well yet. I must thank you for summoning the apothecary. His draught has done wonders in addition to the fervid care she has received under your roof.”

“It is no trouble, I assure you. Whatever it is in my power to provide for Miss Bennet’s comfort, you need only ask.”

“Thank you, Mr Bingley, but she has no further needs at the moment.”

“Will you join us, Miss Elizabeth? There is always room for one more. I shall request another chair.”

Elizabeth glanced at the stack of coins. She had not thought to bring any money and would never stoop to borrowing.

“I thank you but no. I have my book, and it is beckoning me.”

Since the Bingleys and Hursts occupied the only table and chairs, her remaining choice was a sofa, which made her vulnerable if Mr Darcy decided to join her. She almost laughed at her own silliness. With his low opinion of her, he was more likely to sit on the floor.

She sat and opened her book.

“Do you prefer books over cards? How singular,” Mr Hurst drawled.

As an individual whose sole purpose in life, it seemed, was to eat, drink, and play cards, he was one to speak. Elizabeth refrained from answering, but her humorous musings made her able to smile and nod.

“Miss Eliza Bennet,” Miss Bingley pronounced, smirking and glancing at Mr Darcy, who happened to raise his head from his letter, “despises cards, is a great reader, and takes no pleasure in anything else.”

“You forget that I am an excellent walker.” Elizabeth smiled. “Though I dare not recommend my peripatetic nature as an admirable trait. I have sometimes heard it mentioned as a great failing…”

She returned her attention to the book but not without noticing a pained expression on Mr Bingley’s face. In the future, she must curb her sarcasm to avoid further embarrassing the innocent gentleman.

Elizabeth turned the pages to chapter two. Begin the morning by saying to thyself; I shall meet with the busybody, the ungrateful, arrogant, deceitful, envious, and unsocial [4] . Which fitted perfectly in this company. What would Marcus’s philosophy prescribe to endure such unpalatable society? To act against one another is contrary to nature. It is acting against one another to be vexed and to turn away. Terrible advice! What was she supposed to do? Embrace the oafs and shrews sitting in this very room? Whatever it is that I am, it is a little flesh and breath, and the ruling part. She leafed past a section she had read at the assembly and found another passage upon which to dwell. Do the things external which fall upon thee distract thee? Give thyself time to learn something new and good and cease to be whirled around. Well, that was good advice. Lately, her days had been much occupied with her desire to avoid Mr Darcy. But her heart still ached, and indifference was not yet within her grasp. It was a cruel fate that by force repeatedly put her in his path. But was she not the ruler of her own fate? The first thing she would do when she returned home was to write to Grandmother Bennet. She was currently with Uncle Henry at his Irish country estate, but they were due back in town before Christmas.

Elizabeth felt a piece of fabric graze her bare shoulder. Someone or something was standing directly behind her. She leapt in her seat and shut her book with a resonating thump.

“I beg your pardon for startling you. I was only curious to see what book kept you so engrossed that you did not even notice me coming.”

The velvety baritone unsettled her, and the book shook in her hands. She dared not turn and meet his stormy blue eyes because that might compel her to say something she would live to regret. She was far from recovered from her imprudent infatuation given that her entire being was immediately on high alert.

“It is Meditations by the Roman emperor and philosopher Marcus Aurelius,” she informed him with the appearance of calm.

“You would not want your sister to read gentlemen’s literature,” Miss Bingley snickered. “Miss Eliza has a quaint taste.”

“You are mistaken. I condone any lady who reads to extend her mind.”

To say Elizabeth was shocked would be an understatement, though the Mr Darcy from the Argyll Rooms would have agreed. She had come to think of them as two separate people. Perhaps there was a good and an evil twin? She opened her book on a random page and read: … see distinctly what kind of thing it is in its substance, in its nudity… She hastily turned the page with heat rising in her cheeks. It would not do if Mr Darcy happened to be reading over her shoulder that he should see anything that reminded him of a certain sojourn to the pond. Body, soul, intelligence. To the body belong sensation, to the soul appetites, to the intelligence principles. She belatedly grasped the meaning of sensation and turned yet again. The best way of avenging thyself is to not become like the wrongdoer. That was a sentiment for which she would not blush.

“Does your father approve of your unfashionable reading habits?” Miss Bingley wanted a part in the conversation.

“It is not my book. I borrowed it from my sister Mary. It was a gift from our uncle, who wanted my sister to expand her mind from her usual religious texts.”

“Was that the uncle who is the attorney in Meryton or the uncle who has a London shop?”

Elizabeth glanced at Miss Bingley, who smirked at Mrs Hurst.

“Neither. It was a gift from Uncle Henry, who is not strictly my uncle but my father’s. He is my grandmother’s brother.”

She hoped, by omitting Uncle Henry’s title, that Mr Darcy would not be reminded of the masquerade ball. It was too late to rekindle the flame that had been irrevocably doused at the Meryton assembly.

“Do you find it interesting?” Mr Darcy hastened to enquire before Miss Bingley continued her tirade.

“Yes, though I do not agree on all accounts. I do not believe that you should not be vexed and simply turn away from the arrogant, deceitful, and unsocial.”

Was not that exactly what she had done? Cowardly running away and striving to avoid encountering Mr Darcy. It was of an insignificant comfort in this instance to have abided by the strictures of Marcus Aurelius.

“Mr Darcy, do join us. Mr Hurst is playing me abominably and keeps winning every game. I need your prowess to beat him.”

Elizabeth recognised the ugly feeling of jealousy that shone from Miss Bingley’s eyes, regardless of how misplaced the sentiment was. She could not stand for a moment without garnering all the attention, and particularly the notice of Mr Darcy. The gentleman released a barely audible sigh and sat down next to Elizabeth on the sofa.

Elizabeth was on her feet within the blink of an eye and promptly excused herself. She declared to have neglected her sister for far too long, which was true. That she could not bear to be so close to Mr Darcy had nothing to do with her hasty escape.

#

Elizabeth spent the chief of the night in her sister’s room, and by morning she wished to send a note to Longbourn. She desired for her mother to come and judge the situation. Mr Bingley dispatched the note expeditiously. Mrs Bennet complied and arrived with her two youngest daughters soon after breakfast.

Had Jane’s ailment been dire, Mrs Bennet’s misery would have been great indeed, but finding nothing alarming in her condition, she saw no need for an immediate recovery. After half an hour in Jane’s chamber, Miss Bingley invited Mrs Bennet and her three healthy daughters to join her in the parlour, where Mr Bingley was eagerly awaiting news. Mrs Bennet, of course, pronounced her daughter to be very ill indeed and not to be moved, with which Mr Bingley heartily agreed.

“You have a very sweet room here, Mr Bingley,” Mrs Bennet gushed. “And a charming prospect over the gravel walk. Netherfield does not have its equal in the country. I hope you are not thinking about quitting it any time soon. Though I know you have a short lease.”

Elizabeth stiffened. The last thing she needed was for her mother to mention the owner of the estate and bring back memories of a night best forgotten.

“Whatever I do, it is done in a hurry,” Mr Bingley replied. “Therefore, if I decide to quit Netherfield, I would be out in five minutes. However, I am quite fixed here at the moment.”

Elizabeth could not laugh at his quip because if there was truth to his boast, Jane’s heart was at risk of breaking as much as her own. With her sister’s disposition, heartache would affect Jane much more than herself. It was quite possible she would never recover…

“The country is a vast deal more pleasant than town, is it not, Mr Bingley?” Mrs Bennet was not one to take no for an answer.

“They each have their advantages. I would be happy in either,” Mr Bingley replied indifferently.

“Aye. That is because you have the right disposition. Whilst that gentleman”—Mrs Bennet looked directly at Mr Darcy, and Elizabeth felt a surge of dread run through her veins—“looks down upon the country as if it is nothing at all. Our neighbourhood is quite large, and we dine with four-and-twenty families. And Uncle Henry—”

Elizabeth could not allow her mother, no matter how well deserved her set-down would be, to continue. The Bingley sisters were snickering, and even the agreeable Mr Bingley could hardly keep his countenance. If the suspicions she harboured were true, it was best for all concerned that Miss Bingley were not apprised about their illustrious connections. She interrupted her mother’s speech with the first thought that entered her mind.

“Have you seen Charlotte since I left, Mama?”

“Yes, she called yesterday with her father. Sir William is an agreeable man, is he not, Mr Bingley? A man of fashion, so genteel and easy. He always has something to say to everybody. That is my idea of good breeding. Those who fancy themselves so very important and above their company, throwing insults at young ladies haphazardly, quite mistake the matter.”

The deafening silence that followed Mrs Bennet’s rant was torture to the fragile Elizabeth. She pretended she had not heard her mother’s barb.

“Did Charlotte dine with you?”

“No. She was needed at home to make the mince-pies. My girls do not toil in the kitchen, but then they are not as plain as Charlotte. My Jane! One seldom sees anyone better looking. When she was but fifteen, a gentleman was very much in love with her and wrote her some pretty verses—”

“Yes, and so ended his affection,” Elizabeth interrupted impatiently. Would this day never end? “I fancy many infatuations have been overcome in such a way. I wonder who first discovered the efficacy of poetry in driving away love.”

“According to the Bard, poetry is the food of love.” Mr Darcy’s resonant baritone almost made her flinch.

“Of a fine, stout, healthy love, it may be. Everything nourishes what is strong already. But if it be a slight, thin sort of inclination, I am convinced that one good sonnet would starve it entirely away.”

Elizabeth could feel Mr Darcy’s eyes boring into her, but she did not meet his gaze. She trembled in dread of what her mother might say next. Utterly exhausted, she walked to the window, embraced herself, and gazed out into the withered garden. Behind her, Mrs Bennet continued to flatter Mr Bingley, who was unaffectedly civil. When her mother finally called for the carriage, Lydia put herself forward and begged Mr Bingley for a ball he had mentioned in passing at the assembly. Elizabeth’s mortification was complete, and her relief was palpable when her family left after extorting Mr Bingley’s promise to arrange a dance.

Elizabeth returned instantly to Jane and left it to the Netherfield party to make critical remarks about her family.

#

The next evening Jane was much improved. Her fever had broken, but her cough remained.

“You should join our hosts for a while, Lizzy.”

“I shall, but only if you come with me, dear Jane.”

“You know I cannot. I would be mortified should I break into a coughing fit in front of Mr Bingley. But you must go and express our gratitude for his hospitality. I do not want him to find fault with the Bennet sisters’ manners.”

“I doubt that he will. He is too much inclined to think well of you, and he has proved himself to be a solicitous gentleman, even towards me.”

“What do you mean, even you?” Jane frowned. “You speak as if you do not deserve every consideration, and I heartily disagree with that notion.”

Elizabeth kissed her sister’s hand. Jane was her staunchest protector, and though she never saw fault in anyone, Elizabeth knew that Jane held her in the highest regard a sister could manage.

“I only meant that I am not the lady his heart desires, yet he is very attentive to my needs.”

“He is everything a gentleman ought to be,” Jane agreed.

“Yes. You have mentioned that fact quite a few times already, and I have not disputed it once.”

Jane tried to glare at her but failed miserably. She giggled, but that endeavour sent her into a long coughing fit.

“You should not speak,” Elizabeth admonished. “It only makes you cough. For the sake of your rest, I shall oblige you and join the rest of our party. If Mr Bingley is present, I promise to leave him in no doubt of our gratitude. Would that suffice? Please, do not speak. You need only nod, and I shall be gone.”

Jane smiled with watery eyes brought on by her coughing. Elizabeth smiled back at her sister until she had closed the door. Her cheeks ached from forcing the gesture, and she rested her head against the cool panel. She took a fortifying breath, shoved herself from the door, and descended the stairs.

The Netherfield party was assembled in a front parlour. Elizabeth curtseyed and stood close to Mr Bingley. Jane would enquire whether she had remembered to thank the gentleman, and Elizabeth made certain her mission on behalf of her sister was accomplished.

Miss Bingley requested she join the sisters. They were having a dispute and needed a mediator to negotiate the difference in their opinion.

“What do you think, Miss Eliza? I must have your opinion upon a subject because my sister is no help at all. Mr Darcy has been hinting about a pair of fine eyes he encountered in town, and I wonder what it means.”

“Perhaps Mr Darcy is engaged to be married?” Elizabeth enquired.

She dared a glance at the object, who had his nose in a book, but his eyes did not travel across the page.

“He is not, and definitely not to the aforementioned lady. He engaged the Irish miss for a set because of a wager with his cousins, Viscount Crawford and Colonel Fitzwilliam. They are the sons of the Earl of Matlock.”

“How quaint,” Elizabeth remarked numbly. “I did not know that a wager was the customary way to choose your dance partner in town.” It was fortunate that despite the shock, her sarcastic wit never failed her.

“Of course you did not. You can have had but little opportunity to travel to town and frequent our sphere.”

“You are correct in that assumption,” Elizabeth readily agreed, primarily because their paths had never crossed, which led her to assume that Miss Bingley’s supercilious behaviour was not founded in reality. Mr Bingley’s fortune was from trade and could therefore not be regarded as of the highest circles. But the main reason was that she did not have the wherewithal to spar with Miss Bingley. Her heart was beating wildly in her chest. The most magical evening of her life had been a lark to Mr Darcy. The lump in her throat grew to unmanageable proportions. If she did not escape, she would disgrace herself.

Elizabeth rose abruptly.

“Pray, excuse me. I must see how Jane is faring.”

“Certainly. Your devotion to your sister is admirable,” Mr Bingley praised. “Shall we play that round of billiards now, Darcy?”

Elizabeth hastened out of the door just as Mr Darcy agreed to the sport. Her feet thundered up the stairs. She bent her head to the floor and did not greet the unliveried manservant she passed. Staggering into her chamber, she tumbled head first onto her bed and buried her face in the pillow. The desire to scream was quashed, but the tears were allowed to flow freely in the privacy of her room.

She had been wretchedly blind and had allowed a childhood fantasy to abscond with her reason; but she would be a fool no longer. Oh no! Her time as an advocate of romantic twaddle was to become a distant memory soon enough. There simply had to be another possibility than marriage for a genteel lady, for the gentlemen she had met did not induce her towards matrimony. Her grandmother sprung to mind. She might not oppose having her granddaughter’s company, but she was in Limerick, and their return to town had been delayed. She was not due to arrive in London before the twenty-seventh

of November, which felt like eons away.

She was doomed to suffer the unpalatable company of Mr Darcy for nigh on another fortnight. It was insupportable with the counterfeit Mr Darcy and his fakespearian quotes. Elizabeth leapt from her bed. She was in urgent need of a copy of Twelfth Night to confirm her suspicions—that it was music and not poetry that was the food of love. But to get to the library she had to pass the billiard room where the glib Mr Darcy was engaged in a game, and he was the last man in the world she would like to see. Pacing the room seemed to be her only choice until the house quieted.

With the blindfold removed she was able to see clearly. Young Mr Darcy had rescued her from the untamed stallion to act as a hero to impress his friends. The tale would be enhanced and exaggerated at the boys’ leisure, as was the wont of the Lucas boys. A young John Lucas had once pushed Charlotte into the pond with the sole intent of acting the hero when he rescued her. The tale was less impressive when you knew that the pond was only knee deep at most. But John had boasted about his heroic action until Lady Lucas had boxed his ears for ruining Charlotte’s dress.

Another disturbing thought entered her mind: she could not remember whether it was Mr Darcy or his mother who had entered the enclosure first. Had he rescued his mother and cared not for the child who was attacked? And she, fool that she was, had conjectured a fairy-tale from her imagination.

But what made her heart ache in sorrow was that the gentleman she had met in the Argyll Rooms was but a mirage of what she had thought him to be. He was a fictional character worthy of a mawkish romance novel. No, he was worse than that. He was an imposter who had willingly preyed upon her heart and duped her into falling in love with him.

An onslaught of fresh tears assailed her. She slumped into the window seat and buried her head in her hands.

How she would endure another minute in Mr Darcy’s presence was unfathomable, and her mind reeled with designing opportunities for her escape. Feigning an illness was more likely to force her to remain. If only she could think of a plausible reason to beg her father to call her home. Preferably one that would not engender any probing questions.

#

Jane recovered and by the next day deemed herself well enough to endure the carriage ride home. A dispatch was quickly penned, and Mr Bingley was glad to send a boy to Longbourn with the note. Elizabeth became desperate when Mrs Bennet’s reply stated that the horses could not be spared. It was obviously a lie, and in a fit of pique, Elizabeth begged Mr Bingley for the loan of his carriage. The gentleman acquiesced but only if they remained for another day. Elizabeth could have cried if her emotions had not already been numbed by pain. By the evening, Jane was well enough to join the party for a short spell in the parlour, and Elizabeth was mollified when Mr Bingley behaved as solicitously towards her sister as only a true gentleman could. Surely his feelings were so much engaged it would overcome his capricious nature…

She was not as fortunate when she went to the library to borrow a book. Mr Darcy already occupied the room. She turned on the threshold and did not leave her room until Mr Bingley’s carriage was ready at the bottom of the steps.