One Thread Pulled: The Dance With Mr. Darcy (13 page)

“Yes, Mr. Darcy. I fear we have imposed on Mr. Bingley's hospitality long enough. Jane has recovered sufficiently to travel the distance to Longbourn, and we must return today. I have already sent for the carriage.”

Mr. Darcy's face clouded. “Have you informed Mr. Bingley of these arrangements?”

“Yesterday I told him that it was very likely that we would return to our home,” Elizabeth confirmed, “as soon as Jane was well enough.”

“And knowing that you would leave today, you came to the kennels—to say goodbye to my dog?” Darcy shook his head slightly as if to challenge her account.

Elizabeth raised her chin. “Your eyes, I believe, gave you proof, sir.”

“But my ears,” Darcy replied, “did not hear the sentiments of a fond farewell expressed. No, I would remember it if they had.”

“I was not finished.” Elizabeth countered with a raised brow. “Had you not interrupted me, you would have proof enough. Excuse me, sir, I must finish my walk now.”

Elizabeth stooped to pat Apollo one last time, making a point to say “good-bye” to the beast before she brushed past Mr. Darcy, coming closer than she would have liked, since he did not step aside to let her pass easily.

~*~

Elizabeth started her walk on the amber carpet found in the orchards, but she eventually wandered down a lane that rolled with the landscape, taking her past fields populated with lazily grazing sheep. She turned and circled back toward Netherfield, traipsing through a wooded area as she enjoyed the balmy, sunny morning. Returning to the house refreshed and cheerful, she found the rest of the household assembled in the dining room for breakfast.

She greeted them all warmly, and confirmed the news that she and Jane were to away that very morning, which they had all heard from Mr. Darcy. Miss Bingley was suddenly generous in her manners again, no doubt, Elizabeth thought to herself,
 
because
 
they were leaving.

Jane went upstairs to pack, and Elizabeth was about to assist her when the footman returned from Longbourn. The reply, written in her mother's hand, refused Elizabeth's request for the carriage. Mrs. Bennet insisted that they must trespass on Mr. Bingley's kindness for at least two more days, for the carriage could not be sent until then, and besides, Jane was not nearly well enough yet.

Elizabeth fumed at her mother's manipulation. The dispatch she had sent to Longbourn had been clear that Jane was well enough to travel. Elizabeth vowed not to submit to her mother's ill-conceived tactics to keep Jane at Netherfield under pretense.

She found Jane in her bedchamber, packing slowly and sadly. “What is wrong, Jane?” Elizabeth could not bear to see her gentle sister's countenance so stricken.

“Oh, Lizzy, surely you must know.” Jane sighed, refusing to look at her sister.

“No, Jane, you must tell me.”

““I am grieved to be leaving Mr. Bingley, Lizzy. You were in company with him these past five days, and I have had but one evening to enjoy his attentions.”

“But, Jane,” Elizabeth teased, “his manner with you last night was indeed attentive–his regard for you was spoken in each hushed word that he whispered in your pretty ears. Surely you would rather have him court you at Longbourn than here at Netherfield, with Caroline Bingley hovering about.”

“Caroline has only been kind to me, Lizzy. What do you suppose has provoked her against
 
you
?” Jane asked quietly.

“She vexes me, Jane, she baits me, and although I daily vow not to, I fear that I rise to it—I cannot contain myself.” Elizabeth colored in shame. “My opinions offend her, I know this to be so, but there is something more. I believe I have come to an understanding of her cause against me.”

“What can she hold against you, Lizzy? I am perplexed.” Jane's brow furrowed.

“Miss Bingley,” Elizabeth proclaimed, “is in love with Mr. Darcy.”

“I believe so too, but what can that have to do with you, Lizzy?” Jane asked, confused.

“Mr. Darcy has been kind to me, Jane. He was the one who counseled me to apply ice to your head when I was distraught, and he had the chaise sent to your room so that I could rest. He escorted me to the library to select the book I was reading, and Miss Bingley knew of it. I have come to believe that her feelings for Mr. Darcy consume her, and she is jealous when he speaks a word to me or even glances in my direction. When he asked me to dance, her color went so crimson that I thought she would have a fit and fall onto the pianoforte in a stupor. She could not detect, as I did, that he was merely mocking me.”

“But, Lizzy,” Jane frowned slightly, “why would Mr. Darcy mock you? That is absurd.”

“Mr. Bingley likes our country manners, as you well know, but Mr. Darcy is accustomed to the sophisticated manners of the ladies of the
ton
. We are a curiosity to him, Jane, nothing more—so he mocks us, just as we made sport of his prideful behavior at the assembly.” Elizabeth smiled cheerfully. “Enough talk of Miss Bingley and Mr. Darcy. These matters will be sorted out when we are gone. Our problems loom much larger than petty discords such as these, for Mama has refused to send the carriage.”

“Really, Lizzy?” Jane lit up. “Must we stay then?”

“No, Jane. You must apply to Mr. Bingley to borrow his carriage to take us back to Longbourn.”

“You are right, of course,” Jane said with a pout. “Although I do wish we could stay.”

“We have imposed on Mr. Bingley long enough. Besides, how is he to call on you at Longbourn if you are not at home?”

“I will ask him directly, then, to borrow his carriage, for I must be there when he calls!” Jane giggled and looked around the room. “I have finished packing now, and this is as good a reason as any other to seek him out!”

“By all means, go and find him!” Elizabeth laughed, picking up the book she had borrowed. “I must return this to the library.”

~*~

Mr. Darcy, who had planned to ride that morning, did not do so. He returned to the house to find Charles and report to his friend that the Bennet sisters were to depart that very day. Bingley had taken the news badly and had even tried to plot to delay their departure, but ultimately Darcy helped him see that it was for the best that they go as planned. There was much to do to prepare for the ball, and it would not do to have the distraction of the two sisters in the house. Bingley finally agreed that, for the sake of the ball, he would not oppose their departure.

Mr. Darcy had retired to his bedchamber after speaking with Bingley, for his own feelings on the matter were not so easily resolved. To be sure, he was relieved that Elizabeth Bennet would be removed from the household—his resistance to her grew weaker daily. She could not know what she did to him, he was certain of that. Hers was not the air of a woman bent on tormenting him, yet the effect was the same—perhaps worse. Her playful manner was as natural to her as the breeze that teased her hair, and that lack of artifice in her was as potent as any liquor when it went to his head.

Yet, the thought of her leaving Netherfield depressed him. He conjured up the image of her in the kennel that morning. He had thought, until the very moment when she stood up, that although they sparkled with intelligence and good humor, her eyes were an ordinary shade of brown. Then the sun had struck them, and he witnessed an incredible transformation. Her pupils had shrunk in the sunlight, and the iris of her eye, lit as it was by the morning rays, revealed flecks of green and amber, copper and violet woven in with the brown—strands of color so extraordinary that he literally forgot to breathe for how long he knew not. This was his ongoing experience with Elizabeth Bennet. Nothing was as it seemed in a casual glance; there was always more, and more after that. The depths he dared not fathom.

He opened the parcel that lay on the table in his room. He had made the purchase several days earlier but had not yet sent the gift to Georgiana, for it was all wrong. He extracted the shawl from the package and gazed down at the beautiful garment. For Georgiana, he should have selected one of the lovely pastel shawls, but something had come over him, and he had walked away with this one instead.

The shawl he held in his hands was unsuited for his sister in every way. The silk was a deep red color, like burgundy wine, with wispy gold threads woven into the fabric that shimmered in any light. Petite pink ribbon rosettes bordered the edges, with fine silk embroidery forming a rich ivy-like pattern in satiny shades of green that linked the rosettes in a wild tangle of leaves and vines. The exquisite shawl was dearer by half again the cost of any others the widow had for sale, and yet he had purchased it. He acknowledged to himself that it was as if it were made for
her
, indeed, that the only woman of his acquaintance who could ever do it justice was Elizabeth Bennet. He could not bestow such a gift on an unrelated woman, even if the universe itself declared that Elizabeth only could don it. He would buy another for Georgiana and save this one for he knew not what—he only knew that he did not want to part with it.

~*~

Mr. Bingley, although not the cleverest of men, was no fool either. He was sorely tempted to answer Jane that his carriage was not available either, but he could not lie to her in such a way. Instead, he contrived a
 
minor
 
falsehood, declaring that of course they could use his carriage but not until nearly evening, for it was undergoing maintenance in the morning. He then sent a footman to the carriage house, ordering some minor service to rectify his deceit by making it a truth instead.

Jane was more than pleased to stay for tea in the company of Mr. Bingley and his sisters. Elizabeth, however, was not. When she learned of the hour that the carriage was to be ready, she declared to Jane that she could not wait. She graciously thanked Mr. Bingley for his hospitality, hugged her sister, and set off in the direction of Longbourn. Mr. Darcy was not seen when she departed, and she did not regret that, for her encounter with him that morning had increased her feelings of unease about the man.

~*~

If Elizabeth had known what she was to encounter when she reached her home, she may have reconsidered her decision to walk, or at least taken a more scenic route to forestall her arrival at the gate, for nothing at Netherfield could compare to the horror that sat within the parlor at Longbourn.

Chapter Fifteen

The Road to Longbourn

F
ortunately for Elizabeth, providence smiled on her and slowed her step to delay that fateful homecoming, for the road to Longbourn was an ample source of diversion and delight. Her desire to be separated from the increasing vexations at Netherfield had driven her from that house; however, no great urgency to enter the doors of her own compelled her—her normally brisk pace was reduced to what would generously be called a stroll.

The midday sun had warmed the air from cold to simply crisp, and she relished its soothing rays as she meandered along, a chorus of wintering songbirds providing a melody to accompany the rhythm of her footsteps while she imagined herself dancing with a man as suited to herself as Mr. Bingley was to Jane. In her mind he was handsome, although he remained faceless, but he was amiable too, and passionate, although in a gentlemanly way. In her mind's eye, he was tall, although she admitted to herself that this point was negotiable should a shorter man with the right blend of character and intelligence turn up. Did such a man exist? She fervently hoped so and believed that she would recognize such a man upon first introduction or soon thereafter, for he would charm and delight her—of course, he would!

She eventually found herself approaching Meryton, and as she passed the households of friends and acquaintances on the outskirts, she stopped briefly to converse, to wish them good day and to catch up on the tidbits of gossip that the townsfolk were anxious to share. With a smile, she bid goodbye to sweet little Hannah Kettle, the milliner's daughter, and had returned to the road when a harbinger of sorts caused her to stop short. Tied inside the gate of the widow Parks' cottage was a familiar black blood horse. Standing just outside the same was her canine friend, Apollo.

He barked once, as if to greet her, his tail wagging furiously, although he did not move from his place. Understanding dawned on Elizabeth immediately, for she had personally informed Mr. Darcy of the widow's industry. She glanced quickly toward the cottage door, and seeing no one, stepped swiftly to pet Apollo's head a few times and move past the house undetected, for the thought of an encounter strangely unsettled her, and she did not desire it.