Mr. Darcy arrived at Netherfield on the twenty-third of February, as he had promised. Mrs. Hurst greeted him at the door, explaining that she was now Netherfield’s hostess in Miss Bingley’s absence. He politely enquired as to Miss Bingley’s whereabouts, and was very glad to learn that she now made her home in Scarborough with an aunt.
Manners forbade Mr. Darcy from further enquiries on the subject, but Mr. Bingley arrived just a moment later and had no compunction in providing details on the subject. “Darcy! I see Louisa greeted you – yes, I sent Caroline away. You did not think I could do it, did you? No, there is no use denying it. But my love for Jane triumphed –“
Here Mrs. Hurst laid a gentle hand on her brother’s shoulder. “Charles, may we not allow Mr. Darcy to have refreshments? Or would you prefer to go to your room first, sir?”
Mr. Darcy said that refreshments first would be delightful, and so the party moved into the drawing room. Mrs. Hurst signaled to the maid, who returned shortly with a tea tray.
“Have you found your wife yet, Darcy?” Mr. Bingley enquired, a roguish glint in his eye.
“Sadly, I have not had your good fortune, Bingley,” Mr. Darcy returned. “But it is not for lack of looking.”
“I rather thought you liked Miss Elizabeth, Darcy. The two of you spent a good deal of time together. But it is not for me to play matchmaker for you. Say, would you like to accompany me to Longbourn today?”
Mr. Darcy hesitated. He had promised himself to avoid Miss Elizabeth as much as possible, but with this carrot now dangled right under his nose…”Of course, Bingley. Just give me half an hour to change into more appropriate clothing.”
As he went up the stairs to his room, he berated himself for his lack of self-discipline. He should change his mind and not go to Longbourn. He could develop a headache, he could insist that he had correspondence to attend to. But he knew that he would make none of these excuses. Where Miss Elizabeth was concerned, he was not master of himself.
***
All the Bennet ladies were in the parlour when Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy were announced. They rose and curtsied; the gentlemen declined refreshments and found seats; Kitty immediately rose from her place beside Jane and offered it to Mr. Bingley, who took it with quiet thanks.
Mr. Darcy’s eyes had sought Miss Elizabeth the moment he had entered the room, but she refused to meet his eyes. She looked first at the carpet and then down at her sewing. She is as eager to avoid me as I am to avoid her, he thought. Good; that will make this easier.
But somehow he found himself seated in a chair near her; manners dictated that he speak to her, so he asked her how she was.
“I am well, thank you, Mr. Darcy.”
Just let it go now, he instructed himself, but soon heard himself say, “I have the honour of standing up with Bingley tomorrow.”
“So I understand.” She still would not look at him.
“You are standing up with your sister, are you not?” Why could he not make himself stop? She clearly had no interest in conversing with him.
“I am.”
Finally, he whispered, “Will you not look at me, Miss Elizabeth?”
She turned those glorious eyes on him, then, and he felt himself falling into their depths. Had there ever been eyes like these before? So dark, so large, such long lashes, such a perfect shape…all those young ladies he had danced with, none of them had had such eyes…
“I apologise for my poor manners, Mr. Darcy,” she whispered. “But this is all rather difficult.”
“I have…I have thought of you often, Miss Elizabeth.”
Her eyes widened and then looked back at her sewing. “I wish you would not say such things to me, Mr. Darcy.”
“I know I should not; I cannot seem to help myself.”
“Have you found a wife in London yet?”
“No.” The single syllable contained all his anguish, all his desperation; surely she could hear it!
“I am sorry to hear of it; doubtless you will succeed before the Season is over. I will be happy for you.”
“Will you?”
“Of course.” She thought of Gottfried Leibniz; did he not define true love as being delighted by the happiness of someone, or to experience pleasure upon the happiness of another? If she truly loved Mr. Darcy, she would be delighted by his happiness. She would, of course. She vowed it to herself; when he married, she would be pleased.
“What are you two talking about so quietly over there?” Mrs. Bennet called out.
