M rs. Bennet had come to Netherfield.
Darcy almost wished he had not recovered the use of his legs.
She was here, evidently, at Miss Elizabeth’s request, and had appeared shortly after breakfast with her youngest two daughters.
He suspected the younger sisters had not been invited, as Miss Elizabeth’s countenance had paled and her jaw tightened when she saw them.
With some quick polite nothings, she had hurried her chattering relations upstairs and out of sight.
Would that he could have taken the escape she had provided for them, but Bingley insisted upon waiting for word of Miss Bennet.
Bingley’s inconvenient devotion was growing tiresome.
Why not wait until Mrs. Bennet was back in her carriage, trundling off to Longbourn, and then send a maid to inquire?
Miss Elizabeth would certainly be able to inform them of any changes.
When she had followed her mother downstairs and saw them waiting, he could have sworn her left eye twitched. Vulgar and ridiculous in turn, Mrs. Bennet reprimanded Miss Elizabeth at every attempt to rein her in, yet Miss Elizabeth retained her dignity.
“Do not,” the older woman said at last, “run on in the wild manner that you are suffered to do at home.”
His eyes rolled almost involuntarily, and he moved to the window to hide his ire.
There was a small gasp behind him, but a little impoliteness was better than the set-down he wished to deliver, and he was perilously close to offering it.
Mrs. Bennet’s treatment of Miss Elizabeth greatly offended him.
He wished to defend her, but it was not his place, and Miss Elizabeth would not thank him for it.
Mrs. Bennet’s rudeness to him was nothing.
He had managed such nattering matrons before.
Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst were no more than irritating woodpeckers in comparison.
But the hurt in Miss Elizabeth’s eyes at her mother’s dismissal made him angry.
Bingley, bless him, stepped in to direct the conversation elsewhere. His friend was stalwart in his attempts to rescue the situation, while his sisters only snickered cruelly.
Shortly after he had turned his back on them all, there was the swishing sound of muslin and Mrs. Bennet’s blather grew distant. He stood facing the window as he attempted to cool his temper.
“Oh, Mr. Darcy,” Miss Bingley cried, all sympathy, “what a trial for you. For all of us.” She droned on, but Darcy heard only the incessant drumming of a woodpecker.
Eventually, Miss Bingley stopped speaking. Mrs. Hurst assented to whatever her sister had said.
“I shall wait for your brother in his study,” he said to them.
Their sympathy ought to have been with Miss Elizabeth, but he knew it never would be.
Such an intelligent, bright woman to be anchored by a ridiculous mother.
It was a travesty. He was not amused, nor would he share in their bitter triumph.
It was not long after he had found a chair near the fire that Miss Elizabeth found him there.
“My apologies for interrupting your solitude,” she said quietly as she slipped inside the room.
“But I feel I must warn you.” She glanced around.
“I have never been in this room before. It is larger than I imagined.”
Darcy stood immediately, alarmed and disappointed. “Madam, you should not be here.”
Miss Elizabeth returned her gaze to him and shook her head.
“I am not intending to compromise you or ruin my own reputation, sir. I will remain but a few moments. No one will see me.” Miss Elizabeth worried her bottom lip for a moment before saying, “When you cut my mother just now, you made my godmother very angry. I wish you had not done it.”
He frowned and began an apology—anything to remove her from the room. “You have my . . . your godmother?” He had seen only Mrs. Bennet and her daughters.
Miss Elizabeth squeezed her eyes shut and nodded. She released a small, exasperated grunt, as though she was not pleased to be speaking of it. Darcy rather wished she would not. Whatever she was about to say, he suspected he would not like it.
With a resigned expression, Miss Elizabeth continued.
“I know you do not believe, but . . . the Bennets have always had fairy godmothers, Mr. Darcy. Mine is not the same as most fairies you read about in stories. She is neither all good nor all mischief. She is protective and compassionate, but she is also vain and can be petty. She is very similar to my mother, in fact. Forward, quick to anger, sometimes irrational.”
Darcy pulled a face.
“There!” Miss Elizabeth said in a tone of exasperation. “That very expression. And you rolled your eyes, too.” Her gaze was reproachful.
“I did not care for the way your mother was speaking to you, Miss Elizabeth,” he told her bluntly. He had been taking her side when no one else would, even if he had done so silently. No good deed went unpunished, apparently. What strange story was she spinning?
“Oh,” Miss Elizabeth said. Her mouth dropped open a bit in surprise. “You truly wished to defend me? You do not even know me.”
“Which is why I did not speak, Miss Elizabeth. I would not make your situation worse.”
Miss Elizabeth’s blush deepened. “I . . . I do thank you, but I still wish you had not done it. My godmother has already made you ill. I do not wish for it to go any farther. You must watch your tongue and school your expressions, Mr. Darcy.” Her eyes implored him to agree.
He could not allow those fathomless eyes to lure him into their depths. “You expect me to believe that you have a fairy godmother, Miss Elizabeth?” he asked brusquely, pushing aside the swell of affection he felt when she showed herself concerned for his welfare. “It is nonsense.”
She shook her head unhappily. “You have already felt the consequences of her offense, Mr. Darcy. I am only attempting to save you from more of them.”
“What do you mean?” Darcy was perplexed. Was she truly laying the blame for his recent illnesses on some sort of magical creature with a score to settle?
“Please, I cannot reason with her.” She cocked her head. “I hear someone coming.” She looked around and began to move towards a door Darcy thought must open to the library. “I beg you,” Miss Elizabeth said, placing her hand on his arm, “be excruciatingly polite for the rest of your stay.”
“You cannot be serious . . .”
But she was gone, stealing out as silently as she had entered. No sooner had she disappeared than Bingley strode in from the main hall.
Darcy had thought before that Miss Elizabeth was peculiar. Strangely, he did not think so now. Miss Elizabeth lived with a scornful mother and shameful sisters. She was in her right mind, but somehow also believed she had a fairy godmother.
How extraordinary.
She could not have expected him to believe her. Absolute balderdash. Even had such creatures as fairy godmothers existed, why would the Bennets have one? The Bennets, of all families?
No, as kind and lovely as Miss Elizabeth was, there was also something decidedly odd about her. Although, inventing a woman who cared for her—it was something his sister might do.
No. Miss Elizabeth was not at all like Georgiana. He would dismiss the entire conversation from his mind.
Bingley was speaking, and Darcy was determined to listen.
“Shall we perhaps ride out to the ruins tomorrow if the weather is fine, Darcy? I am told there is good sport to be had in that area.”
This Darcy understood. This was why he had come.
“Yes,” he said emphatically. “I shall look forward to it.” When his eyes strayed to the door he was sure Miss Elizabeth had passed through, he frowned.
The door was no longer there.
“I waited until Mildread was with Priscilla to speak to Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth moaned to Jane, who was finally able to sit up and take some broth. Priscilla appeared. She did not say anything, but simply sat near the window. “He would not listen.”
“Lizzy,” Jane said with a soft sigh, “you cannot have believed that he would. It is too far from his experience.”
“We had established a truce, I thought,” Elizabeth replied pensively.
She plucked at the bedclothes until Jane raised the bowl for her to take.
“A somewhat friendly acquaintance, even.” He had wanted to speak in her defence.
She was only attempting to do the same for him.
“I had hoped he would do as I asked, even if he did not believe me. Is it so very much to request he be polite? Mildread has something very dreadful planned for him, I am afraid.”
“Perhaps you ought to let Mildread alone,” Jane observed mildly. “Do you not think she knows what she is about?”
Priscilla nodded sagely from the window seat before staring blankly out of doors.
“That is what I fear the most,” Elizabeth responded.
Jane gave her a shrewd look before dabbing a handkerchief against her reddened nose. “Why is that, Lizzy?”
“What do you mean?” Elizabeth inquired, setting the bowl down on the tray for the maid.
“What if Mildread were to do this dreadful thing you are concerned about to someone else? Timothy Lucas, for example?”
Elizabeth frowned. “She has done so, on more than one occasion.”
“Mm,” Jane assented. “Yet you did not protest his treatment.”