Page 23 of The Heroic Mr Darcy's Bad Manners
Elizabeth felt a piece of fabric graze her bare shoulder. Someone or something was standing directly behind her. She leapt in her seat and shut her book with a resonating thump.
“I beg your pardon for startling you. I was only curious to see what book kept you so engrossed that you did not even notice me coming.”
The velvety baritone unsettled her, and the book shook in her hands. She dared not turn and meet his stormy blue eyes because that might compel her to say something she would live to regret. She was far from recovered from her imprudent infatuation given that her entire being was immediately on high alert.
“It is Meditations by the Roman emperor and philosopher Marcus Aurelius,” she informed him with the appearance of calm.
“You would not want your sister to read gentlemen’s literature,” Miss Bingley snickered. “Miss Eliza has a quaint taste.”
“You are mistaken. I condone any lady who reads to extend her mind.”
To say Elizabeth was shocked would be an understatement, though the Mr Darcy from the Argyll Rooms would have agreed. She had come to think of them as two separate people. Perhaps there was a good and an evil twin? She opened her book on a random page and read: …see distinctly what kind of thing it is in its substance, in its nudity…She hastily turned the page with heat rising in her cheeks. It would not do if Mr Darcy happened to be reading over her shoulder that he should see anything that reminded him of a certain sojourn to the pond.Body, soul, intelligence. To the body belong sensation, to the soul appetites, to the intelligence principles.She belatedly grasped the meaning ofsensation andturned yet again.The best way of avenging thyself is to not become like the wrongdoer.That was a sentiment for which she would not blush.
“Does your father approve of your unfashionable reading habits?” Miss Bingley wanted a part in the conversation.
“It is not my book. I borrowed it from my sister Mary. It was a gift from our uncle, who wanted my sister to expand her mind from her usual religious texts.”
“Was that the uncle who is the attorney in Meryton or the uncle who has a London shop?”
Elizabeth glanced at Miss Bingley, who smirked at Mrs Hurst.
“Neither. It was a gift from Uncle Henry, who is not strictly my uncle but my father’s. He is my grandmother’s brother.”
She hoped, by omitting Uncle Henry’s title, that Mr Darcy would not be reminded of the masquerade ball. It was too late to rekindle the flame that had been irrevocably doused at the Meryton assembly.
“Do you find it interesting?” Mr Darcy hastened to enquire before Miss Bingley continued her tirade.
“Yes, though I do not agree on all accounts. I do not believe that you should not be vexed and simply turn away from the arrogant, deceitful, and unsocial.”
Was not that exactly what she had done? Cowardly running away and striving to avoid encountering Mr Darcy. It was of an insignificant comfort in this instance to have abided by the strictures of Marcus Aurelius.
“Mr Darcy, do join us. Mr Hurst is playing me abominably and keeps winning every game. I need your prowess to beat him.”
Elizabeth recognised the ugly feeling of jealousy that shone from Miss Bingley’s eyes, regardless of how misplaced the sentiment was. She could not stand for a moment without garnering all the attention, and particularly the notice of Mr Darcy. The gentleman released a barely audible sigh and sat down next to Elizabeth on the sofa.
Elizabeth was on her feet within the blink of an eye and promptly excused herself. She declared to have neglected her sister for far too long, which was true. That she could not bear to be so close to Mr Darcy had nothing to do with her hasty escape.
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Elizabeth spent the chief of the night in her sister’s room, and by morning she wished to send a note to Longbourn. She desired for her mother to come and judge the situation. Mr Bingley dispatched the note expeditiously. Mrs Bennet complied and arrived with her two youngest daughters soon after breakfast.
Had Jane’s ailment been dire, Mrs Bennet’s misery would have been great indeed, but finding nothing alarming in her condition, she saw no need for an immediate recovery. After half an hour in Jane’s chamber, Miss Bingley invited Mrs Bennet and her three healthy daughters to join her in the parlour, where Mr Bingley was eagerly awaiting news. Mrs Bennet, of course, pronounced her daughter to be very ill indeed and not to be moved, with which Mr Bingley heartily agreed.
“You have a very sweet room here, Mr Bingley,” Mrs Bennet gushed. “And a charming prospect over the gravel walk. Netherfield does not have its equal in the country. I hope you are not thinking about quitting it any time soon. Though I know you have a short lease.”
Elizabeth stiffened. The last thing she needed was for her mother to mention the owner of the estate and bring back memories of a night best forgotten.
“Whatever I do, it is done in a hurry,” Mr Bingley replied. “Therefore, if I decide to quit Netherfield, I would be out in five minutes. However, I am quite fixed here at the moment.”
Elizabeth could not laugh at his quip because if there was truth to his boast, Jane’s heart was at risk of breaking as much as her own. With her sister’s disposition, heartache would affect Jane much more than herself. It was quite possible she would never recover…
“The country is a vast deal more pleasant than town, is it not, Mr Bingley?” Mrs Bennet was not one to take no for an answer.
“They each have their advantages. I would be happy in either,” Mr Bingley replied indifferently.
“Aye. That is because you have the right disposition. Whilst that gentleman”—Mrs Bennet looked directly at Mr Darcy, and Elizabeth felt a surge of dread run through her veins—“looks down upon the country as if it is nothing at all. Our neighbourhood is quite large, and we dine with four-and-twenty families. And Uncle Henry—”
Elizabeth could not allow her mother, no matter how well deserved her set-down would be, to continue. The Bingley sisters were snickering, and even the agreeable Mr Bingley could hardly keep his countenance. If the suspicions she harboured were true, it was best for all concerned that Miss Bingley were not apprised about their illustrious connections. She interrupted her mother’s speech with the first thought that entered her mind.
