Page 7 of Penned By Mr Darcy
He straightened in his seat, shaking his head,trying and clear this absurd fog that had settled over him. He had seen Miss Elizabeth Bennet less than five times in their weeks in Hertfordshire. She had no right to affect him so. It was not love, he knew that. He had never been in love, and he had no intention of being so now. It was desire, nothing more. A temporary lapse of emotion that he would allow no power over him.
He set the pen to page, and began to write, determined to rid himself of these troublesome thoughts.
We have two new guests in residence at Netherfield. Miss Jane Bennet came for dinner with Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst last night, whilst Bingley and I dined out. When we returned home, we learned that she had taken ill after an ill-advised horse ride in the rain. We had seen the storm, of course. We rode ahead of it, and had arrived at Lucas Lodge when the first drops of rain began to descend. It appears that Miss Bennet was not so fortunate.
Bingley was distraught to hear of her sickness – more distraught than a man has any right to be over a woman he claims to bear no true attachment to. He thought he hid his concern, of course – in Bingley’s mind, he is an impenetrable fortress of emotion, yet even I (with what little gifts I have for understanding the inner-workings of others) can tell exactly what he is thinking.
I doubted the authenticity of Miss Bennet’s illness, it must be noted. You know, dearest diary, that I do not hold any thoughts to myself when I commit my mind to you. I must write with truth, and that includes admitting where I have been mistaken. I caught a glimpse of her this morning when she was attended to by the local doctor, and it was clear to me even from a distance that she is gravely ill. Her skin was almost grey in its colouring, her breath laboured and audible even froma distance. One can only hope the illness was truly acquired through the poor weather, and she was in perfect health when she set out from Longbourn – I cannot help my suspicions against her mother– eager as she has appeared to push her daughters on men of wealth and circumstance, for I have had many similar experiences during my time in society.
Miss Elizabeth Bennet, whose acquaintance I have previously detailed within these pages, came without delay to attend to her sister. Her concern seems to be genuine, further providing evidence to the severity of Miss Bennet’s sickness. I will not deny that I am unsettled by her presence here. I have done my best to avoid her, but now it is no good. I recall how I was unnerved by her at the Meryton Assembly, and I do not wish to repeat such an unpleasant experience.
There is no reason that I should feel this way. We have hardly spoken over two words to each other, and it is clear that she despises me. She treats others to her gentle good humour, only for her face to fall whenever I speak. It is to be expected of a girl raised in the country; she lacks gentle manners and refined breeding of a truly accomplished young woman, though when one thinks of her family and connections, this is hardly surprising. Miss Bennet is an exception to this: she is a most handsome and agreeable girl, but I still do not trust her intentions. I do not believe it to be possible for one’s family to have no influence at all over one’s character and moral standing. She must surely desire Mr Bingley, if she desires him at all, only for his connections and wealth. We are looked upon by the people of Meryton as little more than banknotes. I have heard their whispered murmurings of ‘ten thousand a year’ often enough.
He dipped the quill in ink to continue, when a soft cough from the other side of the room made him startle. A splash of blackink dripped across the desk, spattering his words and obscuring some. He turned his head, his shoulders tight, to find Miss Elizabeth standing in the doorway.
“Forgive me, sir!” she apologised at once. “I did not mean to startle you – in fact, the reason I coughed was to alert you to my presence. Please, take my handkerchief and…”
“That will not be necessary.”
He slammed the diary closed, knowing he would smudge the still wet ink of his words and the wretched splodges, rendering today’s passage unreadable. He tucked the book into the recesses of his waistcoat, standing up. Miss Elizabeth had moved closer to him, her white handkerchief held outstretched still.
“I really am sorry.”
“It is no matter. Did you need something?”
“No. I did not mean to disturb you. I did not think anyone would be in here. Jane is sleeping, and I wished to borrow a book.”
“There are many from which to choose.”
“Do you have a recommendation? You have been here for almost a month; I am sure you are already familiar with the titles on offer.”
“I have read a little. There was a history of Netherfield I found to be most interesting.”
“Would you show it to me? I confess, I know little of the true history of the place.”
He crossed to the bookshelves, trying to recall the author’s name to find the book. He looked in silence, conscious of Miss Elizabeth’s eyes on him as he searched. He found it after a minute or two, and turned to hand it to her. She had moved closer, and he was once again startled by her proximity.
“Thank you. I am sure this will make very interesting reading. Pray, do not let me keep you from your work any longer.”
He watched in silence as she departed the library, breaking his gaze only to give her a brief bow in farewell. He stood in place for several minutes afterwards, staring at the place where she had been standing, as though longing could make her reappear. He was certain of one thing.
He was in great danger from Elizabeth Bennet.
Chapter Three
Elizabeth
That evening, Lizzy left Jane to rest as she joined the rest of the household for dinner. Mercifully, their things arrived from Longbourn. She changed into a pretty, clean gown that was normally reserved for the very best occasions. Here, if she suspected correctly, every dinner was considered a very best of occasions by Miss Bingley.
When she arrived in the drawing room, she was relieved to be dressed so well. Caroline and Mrs Hurst had made every effort, even bearing feathers in their hair. Lizzy wore no such embellishments. She did not hold much affection for the current trends, thinking it made one’s hair look rather like a bird’s nest. Her own wild curls did not need any assistance onthatscore.
“Miss Eliza! How nice of you to join us,” Caroline greeted her with a smile.
She did not miss the pointed movement of Miss Bingley’s eyes up and down the length of her body.
“I thank you once more for the invitation.”
“You are my guest, Miss Elizabeth,” Mr Bingley said, a broad smile on his face. “And as long as you are here, and able to leave your sister for a time, you are to dine with us and sit with us and partake in join us for each meal and for any other activities as you that please you.”
