Posted on Tuesday, 3 October 2000
"'I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look, or the words, which laid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun.'"
"Steady to his purpose, he scarcely spoke ten words to her through the whole of Saturday, and though they were at one time left by themselves for half an hour, he adhered most conscientiously to his book, and would not even look at her."
Netherfield offered but one refuge from the shrill insinuations of Miss Bingley; Darcy sometimes spent his afternoons there sitting in the library. He sat quietly, and silently thanked his schoolmasters for instilling in him a true enjoyment of books. On this day, his mind was occupied with more pressing matters; namely, Miss Elizabeth Bennet.
One thing was clear to him. She had more to her than he had ever found in another woman. He tried to deny that her spirit and her lack of pretension attracted him, but above all he was an honest man. Darcy rose from the armchair to pace about the room. She had her merits, yes she did, but her family...
Darcy let this thought trail off. It would not do! She might be the brightest woman he had ever met, she might be handsome and unaffected where other women seemed false and scheming; oh, she might be a great many things, but she could never belong to him. He forced himself to think of the impediments, all the while feeling not insignificant guilt for considering Miss Elizabeth as a wife.
To hear her laughter ringing through the halls of Pemberley, to discuss the books they had read over breakfast, to walk through the gardens holding her hand... none of these pleasures would be his. Tradition and family honor had their dictates, and for Fitzwilliam Darcy, these things had a strong grip on him. Yes, he must find a more suitable wife. Miss Elizabeth was, above all, not suitable.
This was the awkward moment when the Unsuitable Miss Elizabeth entered the library and shut the door behind her. Darcy returned to his seat and opened his book once again, possessed by the dread of discovery. No hint of his previous thoughts must escape him now.
As Jane rested comfortably in her room, Elizabeth took a most welcome opportunity to be out of the Bingley sisters' company. Over the past few days, she had regretted more than once that she was not born a man--sitting with Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst after dinner, as they all waited for the men to return, was a terrible chore. More than concern for Jane's health, even more than the verbal battles with Mr. Darcy, dealing with the sisters snobbery had made her wish for home.
She sighed quietly as she looked through the books on Bingley's shelves, many of which concerned horses and farming. These titles must have belonged to the previous owner. She smiled as she withdrew a volume marked "Judging Proper Horseflesh." As she opened the book and read a little, she could not quite stifle her giggle at the glowing description of the ideal hind quarters and how to evaluate them.
Darcy cleared his throat; Elizabeth settled on a light novel that she believed would not provoke her to laugh again, and took a seat away from Mr. Darcy. A few minutes passed before a noise in the room caused her to look up. She couldn't identify the source of the noise, and her eyes settled on her companion. She remembered how she had scoffed at his appearance the night she first made his acquaintance, but now she could not deny that he was, indeed, very handsome: dark hair in curls, strong jaw, broad shoulders. She turned back to her book and tried to read; tried to concentrate on his appalling manners rather than his aristocratic bearing.
He was aware of the gentle sounds she made as she read: her breathing, a slight fidgeting in her chair, the pages of her book turning from time to time. He recalled her scent from memory. Lavender, wasn't it? The words on the page in front of him blurred as he imagined traveling the world with her, coming home with her, waking to the sight of her lovely face in the soft light of the early morning. He shut his eyes in an attempt to drive away thoughts of a life that would never be.
More than anything, he wanted to engage her in conversation. Anything! he thought, even to ask what she was reading, how she liked it, whether there was any hope that he could engage her affections. He bit his lower lip and kept his whim in check.
It was not fair, she mused, that a man who could be so unpleasant could be such a delight to observe. Elizabeth noticed the way he held the book in his hands, the way his fingers gripped the pages to turn. His every motion spoke of strength and restraint; She felt a bit of a flutter and noticed that her cheeks were warmer than they had been. The way he held his body told her that he was not aware that she was looking at him. Finally, something to make her thankful.
Elizabeth left her book on a table and made quick work of her exit. She closed the door behind her, then took the occasion to lean against the wall with a smile on her face as she laid a hand over her beating heart. Mr. Bingley came upon her at that very moment.
"Miss Elizabeth! Are you well? It seems that Netherfield does not agree with the Bennets after all."
Quickly making an excuse as she righted herself, she blamed her condition on standing up too quickly. "I assure you that any discomfort I may feel is entirely due to my own folly."
Mr. Bingley accepted her explanation with no consideration at all, and they walked together to the drawing room where his sisters and hers sat together.
Back in the library, Darcy allowed himself to relax as he congratulated himself on managing another close call. Too close, he thought. Sunday would take the Miss Bennets back to Longbourn, and it could not come soon enough.