Page 4 of The Work of a Moment

Tossing aside the periodical, Elizabeth determined she must find a book and walked to the library. There, amongst the paltry offerings, she found a volume of Lamb’s poetry. Sighing with resignation, for she disliked his mawkish prose, she sat with it in a large wing chair by the window. A moment later, she heard the library door open and close. She jumped up, ran to the door, and peered each way down the corridor. A tall figure walking away from her was just turning the corner. With that height and broad shoulders, it was unmistakably Mr Darcy.

Well.

She walked to the chair he must have abandoned and found a copy of The Lady of the Lake. Having heard of the work but not seen it even in her father’s book-room, she eagerly sat down to read the poem.

If Mr Darcy returns, I shall surrender it to him. But otherwise, I will believe it forsaken for now.

The day passed as slowly as any Darcy could remember. He spent some of it regretting the rudeness shown to Miss Elizabeth in the gardens and another part of it ensuring his absence from any rooms and corridors in which she might be. He met with success until she appeared in the library, where he had been contentedly re-reading Robinson Crusoe. The book was an adventure he had enjoyed years earlier and had hoped it would help relieve his mind of any guilt he felt in evading Miss Elizabeth and abandoning his hosts. Scott’s most recent volume of poetry had not held his attention and sat discarded beside him.

Chased from his lair by Miss Elizabeth’s arrival, he wondered whether she realised it was he who had slipped through the door. When she paid him no notice at dinner, he wondered whether she was avenging his earlier avoidance of her or was perhaps irritated with the lot of them after the incident in the garden. She made little effort to speak, replying briefly to Bingley’s eager questions about Miss Bennet and pretending not to notice Miss Bingley's occasional barbs. The guilt that had hung over him all day weighed heavily when she rose to go to her sister and he saw the tightness in her expression.

The arrival of Miss Bennet changed the atmosphere in the drawing room. Bingley bobbed about like a young rabbit, enquiring as to her health, her comfort, her meals, her contentment with the furnishings of her room, and the brightness of her candles. When all that could be learnt of the lady had been canvassed and she was able to sip her coffee, now undoubtedly cool, Darcy determined he would ask Miss Elizabeth whether she, too, had been comfortable and entertained here at Netherfield. He was trying to choose the best words, ones that might provoke a teasing reply, when Miss Bingley spoke.

“The weather will turn tomorrow evening and leave us with mud and wet paths. Does it always rain so in Hertfordshire? You had best return to Longbourn with your family after services lest your little trunk need replenishing for an even longer confinement with us.” She tittered, but it did nothing to deflect that she clearly wished the Bennet sisters to leave Netherfield.

“As we plan to do, for nothing could dismay us more than imposing our company upon you further when we are so keen to return to our own estate,” Miss Elizabeth replied with what Darcy perceived as a sweet coating on her choice of words. “Our familiar chairs and beds and sewing baskets will welcome us almost as much as our family will, and our servants—whom we have long known and respected—will see to Jane’s well-being, particularly.”

The glance at Bingley that accompanied her final words seemed to impart some underlying meaning. Surely she did not imply that Bingley had not ensured Netherfield provided comfort to Miss Bennet or that the servants had not ensured her well-being? Although Darcy could not take her meaning, only Miss Bingley appeared put out by any of it. Miss Bennet only smiled. If not the picture of full health, she had colour in her cheeks and a steadiness she had lacked three days earlier.

Soon enough, the Bennet sisters went upstairs, and the drawing room filled with Miss Bingley’s biting comments. It was wearisome to listen to her tirades. Against the protests of his hosts, Darcy decided it was time to retire to his chamber for the night. Reaching the top of the stair, he heard a door open and, both hoping and fearing it might be Miss Elizabeth, moved more quickly. The effort was for naught. The corridors to both the family wing and guest wings were empty. Sighing, he opened his door and nodded for his valet, Burke, to help him with his boots, jacket, and cravat before dismissing him for the night. He wished to be alone with his thoughts—his muddled, dissatisfied thoughts.

As he paced the carpet, tossing his clothing here and there without his usual care, Darcy hardly knew whether to congratulate himself for evading Miss Elizabeth’s notice or chastise himself for not conversing with her and learning more of her amusing opinions. He reluctantly acknowledged, however, that she had made no attempts to garner his attention. She had not shown him the least awareness—never a glance or comment—and it vexed him more than he wished to admit. After pulling on his nightshirt, he stretched out on his bed, thinking about her behaviour before finally understanding her position. She had perceived his determined aloofness and, realising he could not pay her the attention she desired, had saved her pride by responding with her own coolness—extending it even towards Bingley.

The thought was odd, but overall, Darcy was pleased to have gained a deeper understanding of the lady’s cleverness. Finally, content that he had unravelled the mystery of Elizabeth Bennet’s behaviour and exhausted by his day-long effort to ignore her, he slipped under the counterpane and fell asleep.

CHAPTER 4

To a Man

Jane looked back wistfully at Netherfield Park’s gates before turning to Elizabeth. “Lizzy, I know you have missed Longbourn, but you have seemed so displeased these past few days. Are you unhappy with me?”

“Unhappy with you? Never. I simply anticipate returning to the noisy, less-ordered confines of our own home. I am better able to manage Lydia and Kitty’s arguments than the Bingley sisters’ compliments.”

Or their insincere smiles.

Elizabeth breathed in the crisp November air. Relief swept through her. She had got Jane out of Netherfield and away from the Bingleys without any suspicion from Mr Bingley that he had exposed his secret to her. Nor, of course, did Jane have any hint of his true character. It had been terrible to see the moon-eyed look he directed at Jane as he helped her into the carriage. If her sister was to be swayed from a man unfit for her admiration, it must be done while they were not under the same roof.

“I know Miss Bingley is not your favourite,” said Jane. “Mama suspects she is suffering some unhappiness as she approaches her third Season, and I believe she might have felt some envy of the notice Mr Darcy has given you.” She gave Elizabeth a knowing look.

“Notice? He left rooms when I entered them or adhered to his book.”

“Much as he has elsewhere, he watched you during coffee last evening.”

Elizabeth bit back a joking reply about Jane discerning anything but Mr Bingley. Encouraging her sister’s feelings, feelings she concealed under a serene expression, would have been unwise. “If Mr Darcy looked at me, it was only to find fault,” she replied, thinking that, in this way, he was rather like Miss Bingley. He tolerates his friend’s indiscretions and his hostess’s incivility yet watches me as if I have warts and speak in tongues!

Mr Darcy was not her concern, particularly once they had returned to Longbourn, where she discovered that Mr Bingley was only one of the troublesome men admiring Jane. Mr Collins, their cousin and the heir to Longbourn, had arrived.

While Elizabeth did her best to tolerate and elude her share of the attentions of the unctuous Mr Collins, she was equally careful to censor herself near Jane. Her beloved sister was delicate in her feelings, still reluctant to reveal her heart to anyone, but oh, how well she thought of the wicked Mr Bingley! Distressing as it was to Elizabeth, her mother’s loud boasts of Mr Bingley’s interest in Jane proved useful in thwarting Mr Collins’s ambitions for Longbourn’s prettiest daughter. Having his cloying attentions transferred to herself was the price to pay for peace of mind. Elizabeth was willing to suffer her cousin’s ingratiating compliments and inane comments to protect Jane from him, but how was she to protect her from Mr Bingley?

Fortunately, the Netherfield party was too occupied with preparations for their forthcoming ball and other social obligations to call at Longbourn. The two households were made to suffer only a brief encounter two days later on Meryton’s High Street, during which Mr Bingley was the spokesman and Jane his principal object. He spoke charmingly, grinned, and was all things agreeable as he told them he had been on his way to Longbourn to enquire after her health. He was, if Elizabeth were perfectly honest, quite comparable in manner to their new acquaintance, Mr Wickham, a lieutenant in the local militia, who stood quietly and amiably as Mr Bingley rattled on. Both men appeared completely charming and could claim a fine countenance, a good figure, and very pleasing address, as well as a happy readiness of conversation.

The painful truth was known to Elizabeth alone. She had only just met Mr Wickham and, based on those few minutes of acquaintance, thought him a good sort of man. Of course, she had been similarly impressed with Mr Bingley and, chastened, would set aside her judgment on the lieutenant until further interactions.

How is one to distinguish a good, honourable man from one of weak character?

As the group conversed, something—she could not say what it was—caused her to look at Mr Darcy. She found him staring darkly at Mr Wickham, who swallowed and touched his hat. It was a salutation Mr Darcy barely deigned to return before turning away. No one else appeared to notice the odd exchange. Mr Darcy’s confusing manners vexed her. He is friendly to one man I can no longer respect and almost threatening to one I scarcely know.

The following evening, the Bennets gathered with their neighbours in the comfortable confines of her aunt Philips’s parlour. A smile from Mr Wickham induced her to begin a friendly conversation with him. When the lieutenant almost immediately raised Mr Darcy’s name and asked after their acquaintance, Elizabeth was as curious as she was wary.