Miss Bingley had evidently been listening in, as she took the opportunity to call out across the table, “Your dinner partner may not climb trees, Colonel, but she is still taking long walks. She walkedthree milesto be here with her sister and she was covered in mud when she arrived.”
“Indeed, Miss Elizabeth? That speaks very well of you,” the Colonel said, loudly.
“I do not think Miss Bingley meant it as a compliment,” Elizabeth whispered to him.
“I knew that, of course, why do you think I spoke as I did?” he whispered back.
Elizabeth laughed, shaking her head at him.
Mr. Darcy found himself stuck between Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst; a duller set of dinner partners he could not imagine. Making it much, much worse, he could see that his cousin was very much enjoying speaking with Miss Elizabeth, and she was very obviously enjoying it as well. The dark cloud that had momentarily lifted after his conversation with his cousin now descended upon him again.
Mr. Darcy’s wineglass snapped off at the stem. He stared at the red liquid as it spread across the white tablecloth. Had he done that? He had not realised he had been clutching the wine glass so tightly. Then he felt pain in his palm. Blood was dripping down from his hand. Not wanting to cause any more of a fuss, he surreptitiously wrapped his napkin around his palm.
A footman leapt into action to mop up the spill and bring Mr. Darcy a new glass.
“I am so sorry, Mr. Darcy,” Miss Bingley said. “The dinner service here at Netherfield is very cheap stuff; if Charles buys the estate, we will have to spend a good deal of money buying chinaand crystal. And the decoration of the bedrooms! I have never seen such…” And she went on and on about how much of the house needed to be re-decorated, how out of fashion it all was, and so on. Mr. Darcy heard none of it; he was too busy glaring across the table at his cousin.
The dinner was finally over and the ladies left the room, leaving the gentlemen to their brandy and cigars. Colonel Fitzwilliam looked across the table at Mr. Darcy. “Miss Elizabeth, is it?”
“What about her?” was Mr. Darcy’s terse reply.
“You were upset because I was speaking with her.”
“I most certainly was not.”
“You most certainly were. And you have known her for…how long?”
“Two days,” Mr. Bingley supplied, grinning.
“Two days,” Colonel Fitzwilliam repeated. “Well, I cannot say that I blame you. She is certainly a delectable creature.”
A delectable creature? She was, of course; that pink gown was perfect for her! But of all the ways to describe – Mr. Darcy swallowed hard. He knew his cousin was teasing him, hoping for a reaction. He remained silent, turning away from Richard’s gaze.
When the men rejoined the ladies in the drawing room, Miss Bingley was at the instrument, performing one of her complex sonatas. Colonel Fitzwilliam quickly took a seat beside Elizabeth, causing Mr. Darcy to grind his teeth.
Mr. Bingley asked, “Might Miss Bennet be well enough to come down for a brief while?”
Elizabeth shook her head. “Perhaps tomorrow, Mr. Bingley.”
“Very well; please tell her that she is much missed.”
“She will be glad to know that you thought of her, Mr. Bingley,” Elizabeth assured him.
Shortly thereafter, Miss Elizabeth rose, curtsied to everyone, wished them a good evening and went upstairs.
As soon as she disappeared, Miss Bingley expressed her belief that Miss Bennet was quite well and certainly able to go home, but was delaying her departure as long as possible so as to allow Miss Eliza to make an impression on the eligible gentlemen now residing at Netherfield.
Mr. Darcy listened for a minute and rose to take his leave. Before Georgiana’s elopement, he might have sat and listened to this vitriol simply to be polite; he had the Darcy family reputation to protect, after all! But now he seemed to have lost his patience for such things. Wickham had destroyed the Darcy family’s reputation, so there was no longer anything to protect; perhaps Mr. Darcy need no longer hold himself to such strict and exacting standards of behaviour.
“Are you leaving us so soon, Mr. Darcy?” Miss Bingley enquired, seeing the gentleman on his feet.
Mr. Darcy replied, “I have no wish to listen to a young lady’s character being destroyed.” He bowed curtly and left the room. He went to the kitchen. His hand hurt like the devil, and if there was anyone in the house who knew how to deal with a cut, it was the Cook. Sure enough, she had his hand neatly bandaged in just minutes.
From there, he went to the library. He knew he was hoping to find Miss Elizabeth there, though he was well aware she had gone up to her sister.
He must have fallen asleep upon the sofa, for he found himself suddenly startled by the rustling of fabric. Sitting up quickly, he found Miss Elizabeth tiptoeing into the room.
“I apologise, Mr. Darcy; I seem to be unable to be quiet enough to not awaken you.”
