Darcy's Spotless Reputation Read online

  Elizabeth hurried to her side. “Oh no, have you lost your voice?”

  Jane nodded. “I am so embarrassed,” she said weakly.

  “Why?” Elizabeth asked. “It is not as if you chose to become ill.” If anyone was to blame it was their mother who had insisted that Jane ride rather than take the carriage the day before. Elizabeth put her hand to Jane’s forehead and felt that it was hot. “What are you eating?” she asked, and then seeing the table to the side of the bed, nodded. “Bone broth,” she said with approval. “With that, and possibly some fruit, you will feel better soon.”

  Jane smiled, but did not speak. She silently mouthed the words “thank you.”

  Elizabeth sat beside her. She considered telling Jane about meeting Darcy, but she had feeling that Jane might not be as amused as she was. She might be scandalized. Jane had not read as many of their father’s books with their ink plates of illustrations. Jane had not seen as many drawings of classical paintings and statues as Elizabeth had.

  Elizabeth had not purposely sought out images of naked men, but they were part of her education. She had seen illustrations of Michelangelo’s famous statue of the young David and hoped that one day she would be able to see it in person. If she were a man and if Napoleon were not making Europe unsafe, she would go on the Grand Tour. She would stand in front of the Palazzo della Signoria and admire David’s majesty and artistry.

  As her father once said, “The human body is a divine work of art. There is no reason to be missish about it.”

  No indeed, but she could not help but smile to think of proud Mr. Darcy clasping the hydrangeas in front of himself.

  Elizabeth stayed by Jane’s side for the rest of the day. She had planned to return to Longbourn, but that afternoon, when Miss Bingley offered to send her home by carriage, Jane looked so unhappy that Miss Bingley then invited Elizabeth to remain at Netherfield for the present. Elizabeth gratefully agreed, and a servant was sent to Longbourn to inform her parents of her stay and to bring back a supply of clothes.

  Dinner was at six-thirty and Jane was too ill to join them, so Elizabeth went by herself. When she saw Mr. Darcy, he nodded briefly. “Miss Bennet,” he said formally. “I understand that you will be staying at Netherfield for a few days.”

  How different he looked all dressed up for the evening meal – his cravat a brilliant white, his waistcoat and jacket fitting like a glove. She had heard once that some gentlemen wanting to improve their silhouettes had their tailors add padding to their jacket shoulders or even put sawdust in their stocks to fill out their calves. But she knew from direct evidence that Mr. Darcy did not need any of those paltry arts.

  No, he could put some of the Greek statues to shame. She could imagine him as Zeus, sitting upon a throne at Mt. Olympus, eager to hurl lightning at recalcitrant humans. Or, she thought with a smile, since he seemed to like the water, perhaps he should be Poseidon.

  She bit back a smile to keep from smirking. And when she glanced at Mr. Darcy, she saw that he was frowning at her.

  Odious man.

  Mr. Darcy often had a forbidding, disagreeable countenance combined with a general air of thinking himself above his company.

  Dinner was unpleasant. Mr. Bingley was all hospitality, but his insipid sisters only pretended to care about Jane. They asked about her once, talked about how they hated being ill themselves, and then they promptly forgot her. Miss Bingley spent most of the dinner engrossed by Mr. Darcy. Mrs. Hurst admired him, too, for her husband Mr. Hurst was an indolent man who cared only for food, drink and playing cards. Once Mr. Hurst learned that Elizabeth preferred plain dish to ragout, he sniffed and had nothing more to say to her.

  As soon as dinner ended, Elizabeth returned directly to Jane, happy to escape.

  Later, when Jane was asleep, a maid appeared, inviting her to join the others for coffee. Elizabeth would have preferred to stay in her bedroom, but knew her social duty, so she left Jane and returned to the rest of the party.

  They were all seated at a table, playing silver loo. Miss Bingley asked her to join them, but Elizabeth, fearing that they might be playing too high, declined. She used Jane as her excuse and said she would read for a short while, then return to her. She picked up a book from a side table and glanced at it.

  “Do you prefer reading to cards?” Mr. Hurst asked. “That is rather singular.”

  “I agree,” Mr. Darcy said. “In society, many spend more time playing cards than reading, to their detriment.”

  “No one could say that about you,” Miss Bingley said, flattering him. “I have never met a man who is so well-read.” She turned towards Elizabeth and said, “Oh, Miss Bennet, you should see the library at Pemberley. It is perfection, itself.”

  By this comment, Miss Bingley intended to emphasize her familiarity with Darcy and his home. Elizabeth looked down, amused. Did Miss Bingley think she was competition – that she wanted Mr. Darcy for herself?

  Mr. Darcy said coolly, “I do not believe perfection is possible in this life, and certainly not for a library. By definition, it should be continually enlarged.”

  “Which you are always doing,” Miss Bingley gushed. “I don’t know how many times I have seen you buy a stack of books.”

  “Once or twice,” Darcy agreed. “I cannot comprehend the neglect of a family library in such days as these, when so many books are available.”

  Elizabeth looked at Mr. Darcy. This was the first thing he had said that she could agree with. Perhaps they had one thing in common – a love of books. She tried not to be envious that he could afford to buy whatever he wished, whereas she was limited by the amount of her allowance.

  Not for the first time, Elizabeth wished women had more opportunities to make a living. She did not want to be beholden to her father and then her future husband’s whims. But what could she do – become a governess or a companion or learn to make bonnets? None of those occupations would her do more than support her in near poverty. As much as she hated to admit it, her mother was right – the only way for a woman to have money was to marry it.

  Belatedly, after having been lost in her thoughts, Elizabeth realized that Miss Bingley was talking to Mr. Darcy about his sister Georgiana. “How I long to see her again!” Miss Bingley was saying. “I never met with anybody who delighted me so much. Such a countenance, such manners and so extremely accomplished for her age.”

  Elizabeth was amused by the excessive compliments.

  Bingley said, “It is amazing to me how young ladies can be so accomplished, as they all are.”

  “Not all, surely,” Miss Bingley argued.

  “Yes, all of them. They all paint tables, cover screens and net purses. I scarcely know of anyone who cannot do all this, and I never hear of a young lady who is not described as accomplished.”

  Mr. Darcy said, “If that is your definition of accomplished, perhaps you are correct.”

  Elizabeth said, “Do hold a stricter definition, Mr. Darcy?”

  He looked at her. “Yes. My standards are higher. I don’t think I know more than half a dozen women who are truly accomplished.”

  Elizabeth laughed. “Good heavens, you must be very particular, sir.”

  His eyes seemed intent on hers. “I am.”

  Miss Bingley said, “I agree. No woman should be called accomplished unless she has a thorough knowledge of music, singing, drawing, dancing and all the modern languages. Added to this, she should have something elegant in her air and manner of walking, the tone of her voice, her address and expressions to truly deserve the word.”

  Darcy nodded. “And to all this she must yet add something more – a mind improved by extensive reading.”

  Was that a compliment to her? Elizabeth set aside the book she was holding. “I am no longer surprised by your knowing only six accomplished women. I rather wonder now at your knowing any.”

  “Are you so severe upon your own sex?”

  “I never saw such a woman,” Elizabeth said flatly.

  “If you came to London,” Miss Bingley said with a sneer, “You would meet many such women.”

  “Perhaps,” Elizabeth acknowledged. “I do not have your experience. But as much as I would enjoy meeting these female paragons, I am more interested in meeting an accomplished man. Do they exist, I wonder?”

  Was there a hint of smile on Darcy’s lips? He said, “Then you are as particular as myself.”

  She nodded. “Yes. If men want ideal women, why should we not want ideal men?”

  Darcy leaned forward. “And what is your definition of the ideal man?”

  He sounded as if he were truly interested and not just making conversation. Elizabeth said, “He should be a man of reason and intellect, an active man who strives to better himself and the world in which he lives. Faithful to God and his family, respectful and kind to all.”

  Darcy turned to his friend. “She is describing you, Bingley.”

  That was graciously done, Elizabeth thought.

  Bingley returned the compliment. “And you as well.”

  “No,” Darcy said. “I have too many flaws.”

  “You are too modest,” Miss Bingley protested. “I have known you for years, Mr. Darcy, and you meet everything on that list.”

  Darcy shook his head, but did not comment.

  Elizabeth added, “But that is not all. My ideal man would also need a sense of humour.” She knew Mr. Darcy did not have that. “And I would like him to be athletic.”

  “A sportsman?” Darcy asked. “Someone who races curricles or boxes with Gentleman Jackson?”

  “Not exactly,” Elizabeth said. “But I would like him to be active.”

  “Darcy and I used to foot race,” Bingley said. “Years ago, but I am afraid I fell out of the habit. He swims, though, nearl
y every morning, no matter what the weather. I find it astonishing.”

  Elizabeth could not help but meet Mr. Darcy’s eyes at this comment. His eyes narrowed, as if bracing himself for her response.

  She smiled at him and said coolly, “How singular.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Darcy did not know how he was going to survive having Miss Elizabeth Bennet in the same household for several days. She was too beautiful, too clever and too distracting. Darcy wondered if, like a soldier wounded by cupid’s arrow, he should retreat and leave the field to her.

  After their conversion, Miss Elizabeth left the room to see to Jane. As soon as the door closed, Miss Bingley said, “I dare say that Miss Elizabeth will be disappointed.”

  Darcy turned to her. “In what way?”

  “She is too particular. A young woman with such a small dowry cannot afford to be so hard to please. She will be fortunate to find anyone to take her at all, what with her Trade connections.”

  Mrs. Hurst nodded. “Sad but true. She should not set her sights too high.”

  Darcy found this conversation ironic, considering the fact that Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst’s grandfather had been in Trade.

  Bingley frowned. “I disagree,” he said staunchly. “Miss Elizabeth is a fine girl of superior wit. Any man of sense would be glad to marry her.”

  Darcy looked at his friend narrowly. Had Bingley switched his affections from Miss Bennet to her younger sister? Had absence made his heart grow fonder for someone else?

  “Remember she and Jane have an uncle in Meryton,” Miss Bingley said. “And an uncle in Cheapside.” It was a warning to her brother.

  Bingley would have none of it. “If they had uncles enough to fill all of Cheapside, it would not make them one jot less agreeable.”

  Darcy said, “But it must very materially lessen their chance of marrying men of any consideration in the world.” He could not marry into the Bennet family.

  “Any man who would ignore Jane Bennet because of her family is a fool.”

  “Do you want Mrs. Bennet as a mother-in-law?” Darcy demanded. “You would never have a moment’s peace.”

  Miss Bingley smiled, pleased with his argument. “It is too early to speak of marriage,” she reminded diplomatically. “You hardly know Miss Bennet, Charles.”

  “I know what I like,” he said defensively.

  At this moment, Elizabeth returned to the sitting room and Darcy wondered if she had overheard some of their conversation. She said that Jane was worse so she would not be joining them for supper. Bingley recommended sending a servant to Mr. Jones immediately.

  “Or perhaps an express to a physician in Town,” Darcy suggested, suddenly concerned. His mother had died from complications with a cold and if Jane Bennet were truly ill, he would want her to have the best possible care.

  Elizabeth said, “No, thank you, I don’t think her situation is that dire. But it would be good for her to see the apothecary.”

  “Immediately?” Bingley asked.

  “No,” Elizabeth said. “Tomorrow morning will be soon enough. But I will be sitting with her.”

  “I hope she gets better soon,” Darcy said sincerely.

  She looked at him for a moment before leaving, as if surprised by his sentiment. “Thank you.”

  * * *

  Elizabeth spent the majority of the evening in Jane’s room, caring for her, and in the morning, she requested that a note be sent to their mother. She thought that Jane was improving, but she wanted their mother’s judgment as well.

  Mrs. Bennet arrived an hour later, accompanied by Lydia and Kitty. She visited with Jane briefly, determined that her illness was not alarming, but declared that she was certainly not well enough to come home. The apothecary Mr. Jones agreed.

  After a few minutes, Miss Bingley invited everyone, except Jane, into the breakfast parlour, and Mrs. Bennet happily followed, eager to speak with Mr. Bingley.

  Elizabeth was reassured about Jane’s condition, but she was appalled to watch her mother tease Mr. Bingley, telling him how wonderful Jane was – “She has the sweetest temper in the world” – and complementing him on his home. “Netherfield has always been one of my favourite homes and I was so glad to learn that you had rented it.” She looked about the breakfast parlour as if imagining Jane as its mistress. “You have a sweet room, here, Mr. Bingley, and a charming prospect over that gravel walk. Is that a pond I see?” she asked as she glanced out the large window.

  Mr. Darcy choked and disguised it by a cough.

  “Are you all right?” Miss Bingley asked.

  “I am fine,” he said. “A tickle in my throat, nothing more.”

  Elizabeth glanced at him, noticing the high colour in his face.

  Miss Bingley said, “Mr. Darcy, I hope you have not caught Miss Bennet’s cold.”

  “Oh, no,” Mrs. Bennet assured her hostess. “I am certain my daughter would not share her cold with Mr. Darcy. If he is ill, he obtained it from someone else.”

  Elizabeth was hardly listening to her. Instead, she walked over to the window and glanced outside. The banks of the pond were not visible for those seated at the dining table, but if one stood by the window, one could vaguely see some of it, as well as two of the stone benches, although not in detail.

  Mr. Darcy joined her by the window. “I did not know,” he said quietly. “I thought the pond was not visible from the house or I never would have gone swimming.”

  “I suggest that you adjust your behaviour accordingly.”

  “I will. But do you promise to keep our meeting secret?”

  Elizabeth looked at him sharply. Was he so vain that he thought she had nothing better to do than to gossip about him? But then, she remembered, she had told all her friends about how he had refused to dance with her. “Of course, I do. Why would I tell anyone? Believe me, I want to forget that it ever happened.”

  “I also. And I apologize again for the mishap.”

  Mrs. Bennet heard the word mishap and said loudly, “What’s this, Lizzy? Did you break something?”

  “No, Mama,” Elizabeth said, embarrassed, and turned away from the window and Mr. Darcy. When she was younger, she had broken a clock and a vase in the course of one week, and her mother had never let her forget it.

  Lydia spoke up. “Mr. Bingley, you promised the other day to give a ball. It will be the most shameful thing in the world if you do not keep your promise.”

  Elizabeth saw the look of derision that Miss Bingley gave Mr. Darcy. Darcy looked annoyed.

  But if Mr. Bingley was startled by the change in conversation, he was polite enough not to show it. He said, “I am perfectly ready, I assure you, to have a ball as soon as your sister is recovered. I will let you choose the day.”

  Lydia was pleased. “Thank you.”

  “You are too kind,” Mrs. Bennet said, and after a few more minutes of civilities, she and the two younger girls left.

  Elizabeth hastened upstairs to see Jane. She did not want to overhear whatever negative things Caroline Bingley would say about her family.

  * * *

  That evening, Darcy wrote a letter to his sister Georgiana while Miss Bingley repeatedly interrupted him, giving him messages for his sister. Darcy began to regret the impulse to write. He should have written later in his room. If they had played cards this evening, at least Caroline’s attention would have been distracted by the game.

  Elizabeth sat a few feet away, busied with some needlework. Her sister Jane was still too ill to join the rest of the company, but he had been pleased to hear that she was improving.

  Elizabeth was lovely in a gown of pale rose, her hair drawn up in a simple bun. There was a tantalizing, wispy tendril that fell to her shoulder behind her ear. He admired the delicate line of her throat and the curve of her bosom.

  He forced himself to return to his letter.

  Miss Bingley said, “How delighted Miss Darcy will be to receive such a letter.”

  He made no answer.

  “You write uncommonly fast.”

  Darcy took a deep breath. It took all his patience to be civil to Caroline. He did not know how Charles managed to stay sane with his sister talking every evening. He said, “You are mistaken. I write rather slowly.”

  ‘How many letters you must have occasion to write in the course of a year! Letters of business too. How odious I should think them.”