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It was just as I thought. Mr. Darcy had the patience of an ogre. Did he not realize how sound carries in a room like this? Perhaps I should do something before he embarrassed himself.
“—very agreeable. Let me ask my partner to make the introduction.”
Oh no. Were they talking about me? I quickly looked about to see if Mary was anywhere near, but she was dancing. I could see where this was going. Mr. Bingley was playing the annoying younger brother—I had seen mine do it hundreds of times—and he would not let up until Mr. Darcy forced him to. I had a terrible feeling that Mr. Darcy’s method of forcing his friend to leave him alone would be quite awful. The man had already proven he could be rude when he chose to and was not bothered by the consequences.
Not wishing to hear whatever horrible thing was about to come out of Mr. Darcy’s mouth, and more sure than ever that he had a headache by the way his eyes remained squinted and the stiffness in his shoulders, I set down my punch glass and made my way over to the gentlemen. Right before I reached them, I caught my foot on a plank and fell towards Mr. Darcy’s back. He was just beginning to turn—I imagine to get a look at who Mr. Bingley was trying to pawn him off on—and instinctively reached out to catch me.
The oddness of the angle meant he could not actually catch me, but I clung to his upper arm until I straightened my feet beneath me. I saw Mr. Darcy’s eyes go wide and hoped that the flash of energy I sent him had cured his headache.
“Pardon me,” I said. “I think there is a loose board.”
“Think nothing of it,” said Mr. Bingley. “You are Miss Elizabeth, are you not?”
“Yes, we were introduced earlier.”
He bowed slightly. “I am happy to meet you. I must get back to your sister now.”
The music started up again as he rushed back to Jane and I smiled at his enthusiasm. He seemed an uncomplicated man and I was inclined to like him.
I turned back to Mr. Darcy and said, “I am sorry. Forgive me for interrupting you.” I bobbed a quick curtsey and turned to walk away without a word from Mr. Darcy of Derbyshire.
7
Darcy
Thenextday,Bingleyand I escaped the house as his sisters were discussing the garden. They intended to walk about and make plans for spring. I do not know why they bothered. Miss Bingley had continued her complaints of the neighborhood this morning. The Lucas family was lowly and brought above their station by an act of chance. The Gouldings looked like the horses they raised. There were entirely too many elderly ladies whose names she could not be bothered to learn, and the gentlemen barely warranted the word.
If that was how she felt about the neighborhood, why would she bother improving the gardens? I doubted she would last past the festive season without begging one of her brothers to take her back to civilization. Why she wanted to marry a country gentleman I could not fathom. She wanted the prestige of an estate—who did not?—but she did not enjoy actually being at one. She would do better to marry a second son who had a house in Town. They could stay with relations or what friends they had when they wished to visit the country. Not to mention that a second son was a more realistic prospect for a woman who still smelled of trade, regardless of the size of her dowry.
But Miss Bingley would never settle for such a match and would likely end up an old maid because of it. Or the wife of an impoverished gentleman who would spend her entire dowry paying his debts or repairing his estate. Though she was not likely to consider that—just as she had not considered the consequences of removing the bathing tubs—and she would marry for status over substance.
Bingley and I escaped as his sisters began discussing whether to put in a Grecian temple on the east lawn. We laughed at their terrible taste as we rode over the fields to Longbourn, looking forward to sensible, or in Bingley’s case, pretty company for a change.
We were admitted to the house by a butler who seemed more good-humored than most. I told him I was there for Mr. Bennet and was informed that the entire family was in the morning room. We were shown in and came upon a scene so idyllic I would have thought it staged were it not for the surprised looks on everyone’s faces.
“Good morning,” said Mrs. Bennet. She stood from where she was sitting on a settee with a little boy of ten or eleven years. He stood beside her and executed a correct bow.
“Forgive me, my dear,” said Mr. Bennet. “I forgot to mention that I invited Mr. Darcy for a game of chess today. It quite slipped my mind.”
“If today does not suit, I am happy to reschedule,” I said, hoping he would decline and we could have our game. Mr. Bennet had been seated at a desk writing a letter. There was a young girl sat near him with a sketch book beside her, and yet another girl on the other side of the room with a book.
“No, no, today suits very well. I only need a moment to put away my letter.”
I waited patiently as Mrs. Bennet chatted with Bingley about the weather and how he found Hertfordshire. Mr. Bennet finally picked up his letter and led me out of the room, stopping to speak with the girl near the window. “Kitty, please send tea to my bookroom. And those biscuits I like.”
“Yes, Papa.” The girl scampered off without looking our way and I was struck with how cozy they all appeared.
“Forgive our lack of formality today, Mr. Darcy. I received a letter from my eldest son this morning and we all gathered together to read it.”
“Is he away at school?” I asked as he gestured for me to sit in a chair next to a small table by the fire.
“Yes, at Harrow. It is his first year and everyone misses him heartily. Thankfully, he is a diligent correspondent. Though we shall see how long that lasts.” He chuckled and set up the pieces on the board.
We played a challenging game that ended with me winning after a protracted battle, though I suspected Mr. Bennet let me win at the end. We spoke of all sorts of things—crops, tenants, and field drainage, subjects we had studied at university, he at Oxford and me at Cambridge, and our mutual distaste for London during the Season.
By the end of the call, I felt I was well on my way to making a friend of sorts in Hertfordshire. I called back into the drawing room to find Bingley happily sitting on a sofa next to Miss Bennet, his angel from the evening before. I did not remember the other ladies’ names, but there were two different sisters present than the ones who had been here before.
“Mr. Darcy, would you care for some tea?” asked Mrs. Bennet. I said that I would and took a seat near her while she prepared a cup. Bingley still had not noticed my presence, so I steeled myself for inconsequential chatter with the ladies.
