Recognising the futility of further effort, Elizabeth inclined her head in a slight curtsey. “If you will excuse me, I shall go and check on Jane.”
With that, she withdrew, grateful for even a brief reprieve from Miss Bingley’s frostiest civility.
The instant Miss Elizabeth Bennetdeparted the room, Miss Bingley’s composure collapsed. She turned upon her sister with a sharp exhalation, setting aside her teacup with more force than was strictly necessary, indignation flashing openly across her features now that there was no one present to observe it.
“For the life of me, I cannot comprehend the audacity of that Eliza Bennet,” she declared. “To receive a call in a house that is not even her own! The presumption of it is beyond anything I have ever witnessed. What extraordinary assurance she must possess to behave as though she were mistress here and not merely a guest—one whom we have been obliged to receive under our roof. She does not belong in such a house, not with those relations of hers.”
Mrs Hurst, who had already endured this complaint more than once that afternoon, offered little more than a distracted murmur of agreement. Her languid indifference only heightened Miss Bingley’s irritation.
“What vexes me most,” Miss Bingley continued, her voice sharpening as she crossed the room and adjusted the fall of the curtain with unnecessary precision, “is that the man should come expressly to see her and not Miss Bennet. Jane is infinitely the more proper, the more elegant—anyone with eyes must see it. It is Eliza who attracts the notice of every gentleman present. It is she who commands attention as though she possessed some peculiar talent for it.” She paused, her expression hardening. “As though she took pleasure in collecting the admiring glances of men of every rank and situation.”
“They are not sisters, Caroline,” Mrs Hurst observed mildly, smoothing her gown as though the correction scarcely deserved emphasis. “They are cousins. It was mentioned at a recent gathering, and I believe it was never expressly said that they were sisters. They have been raised together since Miss Elizabeth’s parents died when she was young. The gentleman you met today is her grandfather and her legal guardian. It appears he has been abroad for many years on military service of some consequence. Mr Hurst recognised the name when MissElizabeth mentioned it at dinner and spoke well of him. He is not insignificant, nor is he without influence. Did you not say that he knew Mr Darcy’s father? From what I understand, he is known to several influential men in London as well.”
Miss Bingley’s lips pressed into a thin line.
Since coming to Netherfield, she had been singularly unsuccessful in securing Mr Darcy’s attention, and it troubled her deeply to observe the interest he appeared to take in that country miss. She was, of course, far better suited to be Mrs Darcy than that upstart Eliza Bennet. She had fortune, education, refinement—she possessed every advantage that ought to recommend a woman to a gentleman of consequence.
It was unreasonable, almost absurd, that she should be overlooked; yet she had scarcely contrived a moment alone with him, and his manner suggested not indifference but studied avoidance. None of what her sister had said suited her purpose, and she dismissed it at once.
She resumed her catalogue of objections with renewed vigour—Miss Eliza’s manners, her dress, her connexions, her forwardness—each criticism sharpened by the vexing truth that the girl continued to be taken seriously by those whose opinions mattered. That she proved to be merely a cousin to the Bennets, and that her connexions were better than first supposed, mattered little; indeed, the knowledge that she was an orphan only confirmed Miss Bingley’s conviction that such elevation was wholly misplaced.
She had scarcely reached the subject of Miss Elizabeth’s intolerably unfashionable habit of roaming the countryside on foot when the gentlemen entered the room.
At once she smoothed her expression, arranging her features into their accustomed composure.
One glance was enough to unsettle her entirely. It was unmistakable that two of them—her brother and Mr Darcy, much to her dissatisfaction—were searching for someone who was not present.
“Shall we have music this evening?” Bingley asked pleasantly, casting a cursory glance about the room. “Or do you suppose Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth might join us later?”
“Miss Eliza remains upstairs with Miss Bennet,” Miss Bingley replied at once, her tone carefully light, but the emphasis upon the improper name betrayed her distaste. “I believe she has no intention of coming down again tonight.”
Mr Darcy did not demean himself by enquiring further, yet Miss Bingley observed the brief pause that followed, and the alteration in his countenance—a fleeting contraction about the eyes before composure resumed its accustomed place. He inclined his head in acknowledgment and offered some commonplace reply, but the disappointment he sought, unsuccessfully, to conceal struck her like a deliberate slight. It vanished almost at once, mastered by long practice, yet remained unmistakable to one who watched him as closely as she did.
Her smile stiffened, every trace of warmth extinguished.
Miss Eliza Bennet was no longer merely an annoyance; she was a distraction—an intrusion—particularly where Mr Darcy was concerned. It unsettled and angered her to know that, despite all her efforts, he was allowing his attention to be engaged by a provincial girl.
She would wait.
But she had no intention of allowing Mr Darcy to quit Netherfield without securing his attachment.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Mr Darcy paid a call the following day at a small estate a few miles outside Meryton. Before departing Netherfield, Mr Grant had asked that he visit him there, as a business matter required a degree of privacy not easily obtained at the house. Thus, after bidding farewell to the Bennet ladies, who were to return home that morning, he made his way to Millwood Cottage.
“Your hostess appears to be the sort who listens at doors,” Mr Grant had remarked before taking his leave. “Since what I wish to discuss is of a sensitive nature, it would be far more prudent to wait to have our conversation at Millbrook Cottage than at Netherfield while she is in residence there.”
Upon arriving at Mr Grant’s modestly named home, Darcy could not prevent a slight chuckle. He dismounted, patting his horse’s neck as he surveyed the neat, well-kept grounds.
“Miss Bingley would be very much astonished to behold what the gentleman deems a ‘cottage,’” he murmured to the animal. “She sneered at my intention to come here, yet she knows nothing of his true identity nor of the wealth he undoubtedlycommands. Although she prides herself exceedingly upon her twenty thousand pounds, I believe she would be quite taken aback to learn the value of Miss Elizabeth Bennet’s dowry.”
Darcy frowned to himself as his thoughts turned towards the enchanting Miss Elizabeth. He had admired her almost from their first meeting, yet his admiration had been safely contained—an indulgence he permitted himself without ever allowing his mind to wander towards the possibility of matrimony. Whatever he might have implied to her grandfather the previous day, he had not, until very recently, considered her in such a light. He had owed her an apology for some time, and had fully intended to offer it; yet he was reluctant to acknowledge, even to himself, how greatly his opinion of her had shifted upon discovering who her grandfather truly was.
It was not her fortune that attracted him—he scarcely knew the extent of it beyond Netherfield itself—but the knowledge unsettled him nevertheless. For the present, he resolved to proceed with care. He wished to know her better, but he would not, under any circumstance, have her or her grandfather imagine him to be a fortune hunter. The thought alone made him stiffen with discomfort. To show marked interest now, so soon after learning her circumstances, might very well give rise to such suspicions.
He drew a slow breath, determined to temper both his admiration and his haste. If there was to be any future between them, it must rest upon foundations wholly unconnected with wealth or consequence—upon her wit, her character, and the quiet pleasure he found in her company. Only then would he trust himself to pursue her without fear of misinterpretation.
It did not take long before Darcy found himself seated opposite Lord Granfield—Mr Grant, he corrected himself firmly. He mustnot allow that title to slip, particularly not in Miss Bingley’s company. To reveal the man’s true identity would be to betray his trust, and Darcy knew full well that such a misstep would cost him more than the gentleman’s good opinion. He would almost certainly then forfeit any opportunity of remaining in Miss Elizabeth’s company.
