“We have come to inquire after dear Jane’s health,” Miss Bingley said airily. “I see she is awake; how excellent!”
Without waiting for a response, the two women sat and began conversing with each other and Jane. Elizabeth watched with mild amusement at the way they did their best to exclude her. Poor Jane, oblivious to their intentions, continued to draw her sister into conversation, much to the Bingleys’ dismay.
The following half hour, however, left Elizabeth feeling a bit more disposed to like Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst; they were all solicitous and affectionate towards Jane, and they kept her amused. This inclination was further deepened when the clock struck three. Elizabeth very unwillingly said it was perhaps time for her to return home. Jane was set to tears upon hearing this, and Miss Bingley immediately pressed Elizabeth to remain at Netherfield for the duration of her sister’s stay.
“I am quite grateful,” Elizabeth said to Miss Bingley. “I was loath to leave my sister’s care to anyone but myself.”
“She would receive every attention, I assure you,” replied the woman stiffly. “However, as she so greatly desires your presence, I wouldn’t dream of sending you home. I would be a poor hostess indeed if I denied her such comforts that are within my power to give.”
Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst then excused themselves to dress for dinner. Seeing that Jane was doing a little better, Elizabeth determined that she should go down as well. She looked ruefully at her hem, which was covered in mud at least six inches up from the bottom, then shrugged. There was little she could do about the situation, and she didn’t particularly worry about what the Netherfield party thought of her.
A glance at the clock showed that a full thirty minutes still remained until the dinner-bell would ring. She settled into anarmchair and closed her eyes, reliving the memories of the last time she was in the presence of the entire Netherfield party in a formal setting.
It was at Sir William Lucas’s house, where a large party was assembled for an evening of entertainment. Some of the officers, including a Colonel Forster and his wife, were present. When the party from Netherfield arrived, Bingley briefly greeted his hosts before heading directly to where Jane was standing with her mother.
Mr. Hurst behaved similarly, only the object of his attention was the punch table, where he surreptitiously opened a flask and poured it into his cup of punch.
For their part, Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst clustered around Darcy, who looked around the room with his face impassive and cold.
“What does he mean, Charlotte, by staring at me in such a fashion?” Elizabeth hissed at her friend several minutes later, having once again caught Darcy’s gaze fixed upon her person.
“I’m afraid only Mr. Darcy can answer that question,” replied Charlotte with amusement.
“He seeks to criticize me, I am sure. Perhaps he ponders how intolerable he finds my appearance.”
Charlotte laughed. “You know that you are quite pretty, Eliza, and anyone who says differently is selling something. Now, it is time to open the instrument, and you know what follows.”
“Very well; I will keep my breath to swell my song.”
As Elizabeth played, she felt Darcy’s gaze burning into her. The intensity with which he stared caused her to fumble a few notes. Then,her courage rising, her playing strengthened, she began to sing. All the anger and hurt over his words about Jane poured from her mouth as her fingers flew across the keys, crashing down with an intensity that almost overwhelmed her.
She looked up and saw Darcy staring at her, his face as hard as marble. She lifted her gaze to his, and the fiery inferno in his dark eyes revealed the depth of emotion he kept hidden behind his stone mask. Her courage rising, she met his stare with a challenging one of her own.
At last, the song drew to a close, and she played the last few notes with smooth, soft strokes. The room fell silent; then eager applause broke the spell which captivated the pair of them.
Later, Sir William urged Darcy to ask Elizabeth to dance. The heat in his eyes as he made the request seemed to leap into her bosom, and she fought the urge to slap him. She coolly professed no desire to dance, then turned her back on him and walked away.
She never wanted to see the hateful man again.
Elizabeth’s musings were interrupted by the dinner bell. It seemed she would see Darcy again after all. Taking a deep breath, she went down the stairs towards the drawing room.
Upon arriving, she was dismayed to discover that only Darcy was present. He turned from where he stood at the window and gave a deep bow upon her entrance, then fixed her with an unsettling gaze.
She halted and looked around before saying, “I thought I would be the last one to arrive.”
“I believe Bingley and his family are still accustomed to Town hours.”
She thought she heard a faint note of amusement in his tone, but she quickly discarded the notion as ridiculous. Instead, she took a few steps forward and sat on a comfortable chair near the fire.
“Forgive me for not having inquired earlier; how does your sister fare?”
Elizabeth was surprised that his question caused her eyes to fill with tears once again. She blinked furiously. “I’m afraid sheis still quite unwell. She wished to go home, but Mr. Jones wouldn’t allow it.”
Darcy sat in the chair next to her. “I am very sorry to hear that.”
She looked at him with amazement; his tone had almost seemed sincere. A sudden thought struck her, and she said bitterly, “Of course you are. You wouldn’t wish to be under the same roof as myunnaturalcreature of a sister.”
Darcy blanched, his face turning white, then red. He openly gaped at her. Before he could say anything, the door opened once again to admit Bingley, his sisters, and Hurst.
