Mr. Darcy's Diary

November

Another party. It was unavoidable, but I find I am not as ill-disposed to outings as I was. They provide a change from our usual intimate circle. Tonight’s party was at Sir William Lucas’s house, Lucas Lodge.

‘Be prepared to be bowed to every ten minutes,’ said Caroline, as we went into the house.

‘Every five minutes,’ said Louisa.

‘Sir William is a very agreeable person,’ said Bingley.

‘Dear Charles, you would think anyone agreeable if they allowed you to flirt with Miss Bennet at one of their gatherings,’ I said.

‘She is an angel,’ said Bingley, not in the least discomposed.

He soon found Miss Bennet. Mr Hurst danced with Caroline, and Louisa fell into conversation with Lady Lucas.

I noticed that Miss Elizabeth Bennet was there, talking to Colonel Forster. Without knowing what I was doing I drew close, and I could not help overhearing her conversation. There was that in her manner which rendered it playful, and when she is being playful there is a certain lustre to her eyes. I remarked it, as I remarked the flush of animation that added beauty to her cheek. Her complexion is a healthy one, and her skin is lightly bronzed. It is perhaps not as fashionable as Caroline’s pallor, but it is pleasing all the same.

She soon left Colonel Forster’s side and sought out Miss Lucas. The two of them appeared to be friends. I was about to speak to her, feeling an urge to see the sparkle in her eye once again, when the lady herself challenged me.

‘Did you not think, Mr Darcy, that I expressed myself uncommonly well just now, when I was teasing Colonel Forster to give us a ball at Meryton?’

‘With great energy,’ I replied, surprised, but not displeased, to be spoken to. ‘But it is a subject which always makes a lady energetic,’ I added.

‘You are severe on us.’

This was said with such a saucy look that I was compelled to smile. Her manners would not do in London, but there is something to be said for being in the country. One needs variety, after all.

‘It will be her turn soon to be teased,’ said Miss Lucas, turning to me. ‘I am going to open the instrument, Eliza, and you know what follows.’

She refused at first, saying that she did not want to play in front of those who must be used to hearing the very best musicians, but Miss Lucas teased her until she gave way.

Her performance was surprisingly good. Not by way of notes; I believe a great many of them were wrong. But there was a sweetness to the tone that sounded well to my ears.

I was beginning to warm towards her, indeed I was intending to continue our conversation, when she relinquished the pianoforte and by some chance – lucky or unlucky, I do not quite know which – her younger sister took her place. My smile froze on my face. I have never heard a more disastrous performance in my life, and I could not believe Miss Mary Bennet was exhibiting her lack of talent for so many people to hear. If I had had to listen to it one minute longer I believe I would have told her so.

Matters were made worse when the two youngest girls got up a dance with some of the officers. Their mother looked on, all smiles, as the youngest flirted with every officer in turn. How old is he? She does not look to be more than fifteen. She should still be in the schoolroom, not out in public where she can disgrace herself and her family.

Her behaviour banished any warm feelings I had been entertaining towards Miss Elizabeth Bennet, and I did not speak to her again.

‘What a charming amusement for young people this is, Mr Darcy!’ said Sir William Lucas, coming up beside me. ‘There is nothing like dancing, after all. I consider it one of the first refinements of polished societies.’

‘Certainly sir,’ I replied, as my gaze rested on Miss Lydia Bennet, who was dancing without the least shred of decorum, ‘and it has the advantage also of being in vogue amongst the less polished societies of the world.

Every savage can dance.’

Sir William only smiled, and tormented me with a long conversation on the subject of dancing, asking me if I had ever danced at St James’s. I replied politely enough, but I thought that if he mentioned St James’s once more, I should be tempted to strangle him with his own garter.

As my gaze travelled round the room, I saw Miss Elizabeth Bennet moving towards me. Despite her sisters’ shortcomings, I was struck once again by the grace of her movement, and I thought that, if there was one person in the room I should like to see dancing, it was she.

‘My dear Miss Eliza, why are you not dancing?’ asked Sir William, as though reading my thoughts. ‘Mr Darcy, you must allow me to present this young lady to you as a very desirable partner. You cannot refuse to dance, when so much beauty is before you.’

He took her hand, and surprised me by almost giving it to me. I had not thought of dancing with her myself, I had only thought of watching her, but I would have taken her hand if she had not surprised me by drawing back.

‘Indeed, sir, I have not the slightest intention of dancing. I entreat you not to suppose that I moved this way in order to beg for a partner,’ she said.

I found that I did not want to give up the unlookedfor treat.

‘Will you give me the honour of your hand?’ I asked, interested rather than otherwise by her reluctance to dance with me.

But again she refused.

Sir William tried to persuade her.

‘Though this gentleman dislikes the amusement in general, he can have no objection, I am sure, to oblige us for one half hour.’

A smile lit her eyes, and turning towards me, she said:

‘Mr Darcy is all politeness.’

It was a challenging smile; there was no doubt about it. Although she said that I was all politeness, she meant the reverse. I felt my desire to dance with her grow. She had set herself up as my adversary, and I felt an instinct to conquer her rise up inside me.

Why had she refused me? Because she had overheard me saying that she wasn’t handsome enough to tempt me at the Meryton ball? Of course! I found myself admiring her spirit. My ten thousand pounds a year meant nothing to her when compared with her desire to be revenged on me.

I watched her walk away from me, noticing the lightness of her step and the trimness of her figure, and trying to remember the last time I had been so well pleased.

‘I can guess the subject of your reverie,’ said Caroline, coming up beside me.

‘I should imagine not,’ I said.

‘You are considering how insupportable it would be to pass many evenings in this manner, in such society; and indeed I am quite of your opinion. I was never more annoyed! The insipidity and yet the noise; the nothingness and yet the self-importance of all these people! What would I give to hear your strictures on them!’

‘Your conjecture is totally wrong, I assure you. My mind was more agreeably engaged. I have been meditating on the very great pleasure which a pair of fine eyes in the face of a pretty woman can bestow.’

Caroline smiled.

‘And what lady has the credit of inspiring such reflections?’ she asked, turning her gaze to my face.

‘Miss Elizabeth Bennet,’ I replied, as I watched her cross the room.

‘Miss Elizabeth Bennet!’ exclaimed she. ‘I am all astonishment. How long has she been such a favourite?

And pray when am I to wish you joy?’

‘That is exactly the question which I expected you to ask,’ I told her. ‘A lady’s imagination is very rapid; it jumps from admiration to love, from love to matrimony, in a moment. I knew you would be wishing me joy.’

‘Nay, if you are so serious about it, I shall consider the matter as absolutely settled. You will have a charming mother-in-law, indeed, and of course she will be always at Pemberley with you.’

I let her speak. It is matter of perfect indifference to me what she says. If I wish to admire Miss Elizabeth Bennet, I shall do so, and not all Caroline’s sallies on fine eyes and mothers-in-law will prevent me.

Bingley and I dined with the officers this evening. There is a regiment stationed here, and they are for the most part well-educated and intelligent men. When we returned to Netherfield we found Miss Bennet at the house. Caroline and Louisa had invited her to dine. She had ridden over on horseback, and an unlucky downpour had soaked her through. Not surprisingly, she had taken a chill.

Bingley was at once alarmed, insisting she should stay the night. His sisters concurred. She retired to bed early, and Bingley was distracted for the rest of the evening.

I was reminded of the fact that he is still only three-and-twenty, and so he is still at an unsettled age. He is presently concerned for Miss Bennet’s health, and yet by Christmas he will be in London, where he will no doubt forget all about her.

Miss Bennet was still unwell this morning, and Caroline and Louisa insisted she stay at Netherfield until she is full recovered. Whether they would have insisted quite so vehemently if they had not been bored is doubtful, but as the weather is poor, and there is nothing for them to do but stay indoors, they were eager to persuade her to remain.

Bingley insisted on sending for Mr Jones, the apothecary, as soon as he knew she was no better.

‘Is it really necessary?’ I asked him. ‘Your sisters seem to think it is nothing more than a sore throat and a headache.’

‘There is no telling where a sore throat and a headache might lead,’ said Bingley.

A note was dispatched to Mr Jones, and another to Miss Bennet’s family, and we settled down to breakfast.

We were still in the breakfast parlour some time later when there was a disturbance in the hall. Caroline and Louisa looked up from their cups of chocolate, turning enquiring glances on each other and then on their brother.

‘Who would come calling at this hour, and in this weather?’ asked Caroline.

Her question was soon answered as the door opened and Miss Elizabeth Bennet was shown in. Her eyes were bright and her cheeks were flushed. Her clothes showed signs of her walk, and her stout boots were covered in mud.

‘Miss Bennet!’ exclaimed Mr Hurst, looking at her as though she were an apparition.

‘Miss Bennet!’ echoed Caroline. ‘You have not come on foot?’ she asked, appalled, staring at her boots, and at her petticoats, which were six inches deep in mud.

‘Yes,’ she said, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

‘To walk three miles so early in the day!’ said Caroline, with a horrified glance towards Louisa.

‘And in such dirty weather!’ exclaimed Louisa, returning her look.

Bingley was troubled by no such astonishment.

‘Miss Elizabeth Bennet, how good of you to come,’ he said, jumping up and shaking her by the hand. ‘Your sister is very ill, I fear.’

Caroline had by now recovered from her astonishment.

‘Really, Charles, do not distress her,’ she said. She turned to Miss Bennet. ‘It is nothing but a headache and a sore throat. She did not sleep very well, but she has risen this morning. She is feverish, though, and she is not well enough to leave her room.’

‘You must be cold and wet,’ said Bingley, glancing at Elizabeth with concern.

‘It is nothing. I often walk out in the morning. The cold and the wet do not trouble me. Where is Jane? Can I see her?’

‘Of course,’ said Bingley. ‘I will take you to her at once.’

I could not help thinking of the brilliance the exercise had given to her complexion, although I wondered whether she should have walked so far alone. If her sister had been dangerously ill, perhaps, but for a cold?

Charles left the room with Miss Bennet. Caroline and Louisa, feeling it incumbent upon them as hostesses to go too, followed them. Bingley soon returned, leaving his sisters in the sick room.

‘We ought to be leaving,’ I said, glancing at the clock.

We had arranged to meet some of the officers for a game of billiards. I could tell that Bingley did not want to go, but I persuaded him that he would make himself ridiculous if he remained indoors because his sister’s friend had a cold. He looked as though he was about to protest, but he has a habit of listening to me and took my advice. I am glad of it. Colonel Forster would have thought it very odd if he had cancelled the engagement on so slight a pretext.

We returned home later that afternoon and at half past six we all sat down to dinner. Miss Elizabeth Bennet was one of our party. She looked tired. The colour had gone from her cheeks and her eyes were dim. But as soon as Bingley asked about her sister she became more animated.

‘How is your sister?’ Bingley asked.

‘I’m afraid she is no better.’

‘Shocking!’ said Caroline.

‘I am grieved to hear it,’ said Louisa.

Mr Hurst grunted.

‘I dislike being ill excessively,’ said Louisa.

‘So do I. There is nothing worse,’ said Caroline.

‘Is there anything I can do for her?’ asked Bingley.

‘No, thank you,’ she replied.

‘There is nothing she needs?’

‘No, she has everything.’

‘Very well, but you must let me know if there is anything I can give her which will ease her suffering.’

‘Thank you, I will,’ she said, touched.

‘You look tired. You have been sitting with her all day.

You must let me help you to a bowl of soup. I do not want you to grow ill with nursing your sister.’

She smiled at his kindness, and I blessed him. He has an ease of manner which I do not possess, and I was glad to see him use it to help her to the best of the dishes on the table.

‘I must return to Jane,’ she said, as soon as dinner was over.

I would rather she had stayed. As soon as she left, Caroline and Louisa began abusing her.

‘I shall never forget her appearance this morning. She really looked almost wild,’ said Louisa.

‘She did indeed, Louisa,’ returned Caroline.

‘I hope you saw her petticoat, six inches deep in mud,’ said Louisa.

At this Bingley exploded.

‘Her dirty petticoat quite escaped my notice,’ he said.

‘You observed it, I am sure, Mr Darcy,’ said Caroline.

‘I am afraid that this adventure has rather affected your admiration of her fine eyes.’

‘Not at all,’ I retorted. ‘They were brightened by the exercise.’

Caroline was silenced. I will not have her abusing Miss Elizabeth Bennet to me, though I am sure she will abuse her the moment my back is turned.

‘I have an excessive regard for Jane Bennet, she is really a very sweet girl, and I wish with all my heart she were well settled. But with such a father and mother, and such low connections, I am afraid there is no chance of it,’ said Louisa.

‘I think I have heard you say, that their uncle is an attorney in Meryton,’ remarked Caroline.

‘Yes; and they have another, who lives somewhere near Cheapside,’ said Louisa.

‘If they had uncles enough to fill all Cheapside, it would not make them one jot less agreeable,’ cried Bingley.

‘But it must very materially lessen their chance of marrying men of any consideration in the world,’ I remarked.

It does no harm to remind Bingley of reality. He was almost carried away last year, and nearly proposed to a young lady whose father was a baker. There is nothing wrong with bakers, but they do not belong in the family, and neither do attorneys or people who live in Cheapside.

‘How well you put it, Mr Darcy,’ said Caroline.

‘Couldn’t have put it better myself,’ chimed in Mr Hurst, rousing himself momentarily from his stupor.

‘Cheapside!’ said Louisa.

Bingley said nothing, but sank into gloom.

His sisters presently visited the sick room, and when they came down, Miss Elizabeth Bennet was with them.

‘Join us for cards?’ asked Mr Hurst.

‘No, thank you,’ she said, seeing the stakes.

To begin with, she took up a book, but by and by she walked over to the card-table and attended to the game.

Her figure was displayed to advantage as she stood behind Caroline’s chair.

‘Is Miss Darcy much grown since spring?’ asked Caroline. ‘Will she be as tall as I am?’

‘I think she will. She is now about Miss Elizabeth Bennet’s height, or rather taller.’

‘How I long to see her again! Such a countenance, such manners! And so extremely accomplished for her age!’

‘It is amazing to me how young ladies can have patience to be so very accomplished, as they all are,’ said Bingley.

‘All young ladies accomplished! My dear Charles, what do you mean?’ asked Caroline.

‘Yes, all of them, I think. They all paint tables, cover screens and net purses.’

‘Your list of the common extent of accomplishments has too much truth,’ I said, amused. I have been told that dozens of young ladies are accomplished, only to find that they can do no more than paint prettily. ‘I cannot boast of knowing more than half a dozen.’

‘Nor I, I am sure,’ said Caroline.

‘Then you must comprehend a great deal in your idea of an accomplished woman,’ said Miss Bennet.

Did I imagine it, or was she laughing at me? Perhaps, but perhaps not. I was stung to retort: ‘Yes; I do comprehend a great deal in it.’

‘Oh! certainly,’ said Caroline.

Miss Bennet was not abashed, as I had intended her to be. Indeed, as Caroline listed the accomplishments of a truly accomplished woman, I distinctly saw a smile spreading across Miss Bennet’s face. It started at her eyes, when Caroline began by saying: ‘A woman must have a thorough knowledge of music, singing, drawing, dancing and the modern languages…’ and had spread to her mouth by the time Caroline ended: ‘She must possess a certain something in her air and manner of walking, the tone of her voice, her address and expressions.’

Miss Bennet’s amusement annoyed me, and I added severely: ‘To all this she must yet add something more substantial, in the improvement of her mind by extensive reading.’

‘I am no longer surprised at your knowing only six accomplished women. I rather wonder at your knowing any,’ said Miss Bennet with a laugh.

I should have been angered by her sauciness, but somehow I felt an answering smile spring into my eyes.

It seemed absurd, all of a sudden, that I should expect so much from the opposite sex, when a pair of fine eyes was all that was needed to bestow true happiness. It is a happiness I have never felt when listening to a woman sing or play the piano, and I doubt if I ever will.

‘Are you so severe upon your own sex, as to doubt the possibility of all this?’ asked Caroline.

‘I never saw such a woman,’ Miss Bennet replied. ‘I never saw such capacity, and taste, and application, and elegance, as you describe, united.’

I began to wonder if I had ever seen it myself.

Caroline and Louisa rose to the challenge, declaring they knew many women who answered this description.

Miss Bennet bent her head, but not in acknowledgement of defeat. She did it so that they would not see the smile that was widening about her mouth.

It was only when I saw her smile that I realized they were contradicting their own earlier professions, when they had said that few such women existed. They were now saying that such women were commonplace. As I watched Miss Bennet’s smile spread to her eyes, I thought I had never liked her better, nor enjoyed a discussion more.

Mr Hurst called his wife and her sister to order, drawing their attention back to the game, and Miss Bennet returned to her sister’s sick room.

I realized that there is a strong bond of affection between her and her sister. I could not help thinking that Caroline and Louisa would not have been so eager to wait upon each other, if one of them had been ill; though they, too, are sisters, there seems to be very little affection between them. It is a pity. The affection of my sister is one of the greatest joys of my life.

‘Eliza Bennet,’ said Caroline, when Miss Bennet had left the room, ‘is one of those young ladies who seek to recommend themselves to the other sex, by undervaluing their own; and with many men, I dare say, it succeeds.

But, in my opinion, it is a paltry device, a very mean art.’

‘Undoubtedly, there is a meanness in all the arts which ladies sometimes condescend to employ for captivation.

Whatever bears affinity to cunning is despicable.’

She retired from the lists, and retreated into her game.

I returned to my room at last, feeling dissatisfied with the day. My usual peace of mind had deserted me. I found myself thinking, not of what I was going to do tomorrow, but of Elizabeth Bennet.

I have had a timely reminder of the folly of being carried away by a pair of fine eyes. Elizabeth sent a note to her mother this morning, requesting her to come and make her own judgement on Miss Bennet’s state of health.

After sitting a little while with her sick daughter, Mrs Bennet and her two younger daughters, who had accompanied her, accepted an invitation to join the rest of the party in the breakfast parlour.

‘I hope Miss Bennet is not worse than you expected,’ said Bingley.

He has been upset by the whole business, and nothing would comfort him but a constant string of instructions to the housekeeper, with the intention of increasing Miss Bennet’s comfort.

‘Indeed I have, sir,’ said Mrs Bennet. ‘She is a great deal too ill to be moved. Mr Jones says we must not think of moving her. We must trespass a little longer on your kindness.’

‘Removed!’ cried Bingley. ‘It must not be thought of.’

Caroline did not seem pleased with his remark. I think the presence of an invalid in the house is beginning to irk her. She has spent very little time with her guest, and if Elizabeth had not come, her sister would have spent a very lonely time in a house of strangers.

Caroline replied civilly enough, however, saying that Miss Bennet would receive every attention.

Mrs Bennet impressed upon us all how ill her daughter was, and then, looking about her, remarked that Bingley had chosen well in renting Netherfield.

‘You will not think of quitting it in a hurry, I hope, though you have but a short lease,’ she said.

‘Whatever I do is done in a hurry,’ he said.

This led to a discussion of character, whereupon Elizabeth confessed herself to be a student of it.

‘The country can in general supply but few subjects for such a study,’ I said.

‘But people themselves alter so much that there is something new to be observed in them for ever,’ she returned.

Talking to Elizabeth is like talking to no one else. It is not a commonplace activity; rather it is a stimulating exercise for the mind.

‘Yes, indeed,’ said Mrs Bennet, startling us all. ‘I assure you there is quite as much of that going on in the country as in the town. I cannot see that London has any great advantage over the country for my part, except the shops and public places. The country is a vast deal pleasanter, is it not, Mr Bingley?’

Bingley, as easy-going as ever, said that he was equally happy in either.

‘That is because you have the right disposition. But that gentleman,’ she said, looking at me, ‘seemed to think the country was nothing at all.’

Elizabeth had the goodness to blush, and tell her mother she was quite mistaken, but I was forcibly reminded of the fact that no amount of blushes, however pleasing, can overcome the disadvantage of such a mother.

Mrs Bennet grew worse and worse, praising Sir William Lucas’s manners, and making veiled references to ‘persons who find themselves very important and never open their mouths’ by which, I suppose, she meant me.

Worse was to come. The youngest girl stepped forward and begged Bingley for a ball. He is so goodhumoured that he readily agreed, after which Mrs Bennet and her two youngest daughters departed. Elizabeth returned to her sister’s sick room.

Caroline was merciless once she had left.

‘They dine with four-and-twenty families!’ she said. ‘I don’t know how I stopped myself from laughing! And the poor woman thinks that is a varied society.’

‘I never heard anything more ridiculous in all my life,’ said Louisa.

‘Or vulgar,’ said Caroline. ‘And the youngest girl! Begging for a ball. I cannot believe you encouraged her, Charles.’

‘But I like giving balls,’ protested Bingley.

‘You should not have rewarded her impertinence,’ said Louisa.

‘No, indeed. You will only make her worse. Though how she could become any worse I do not know. Kitty was dreadful enough, but the youngest girl – what was her name?’

‘Lydia,’ supplied Louisa.

‘Lydia! Of course, that was it! To be so forward. You would not like your sister to be so forward, I am persuaded, Mr Darcy.’

‘No, I would not,’ I said, ill pleased.

To compare Georgiana to such a girl was beyond anything I could tolerate.

‘And yet they are the same age,’ went on Caroline. ‘It is incredible how two girls can be so different, the one so elegant and refined, and the other so brash and noisy.’

‘It is their upbringing,’ said Louisa. ‘With such a low mother, how could Lydia be anything but vulgar?’

‘Those poor girls,’ said Caroline, shaking her head.

‘They are all touched with the same vulgarity, I fear.’

‘Not Miss Bennet!’ protested Bingley. ‘You said yourself she was a sweet girl.’

‘And so she is. Perhaps you are right. Perhaps she has escaped the taint of mixing with such people. But Elizabeth Bennet is inclined to be pert, even though she does have fine eyes,’ said Caroline, turning her gaze towards me.

I had been about to dismiss Elizabeth from my thoughts, but I changed my mind. I will not do so to please Miss Bingley, however satirical she may be.

In the evening, Elizabeth joined us in the drawing-room. I took care to say no more than a brief, ‘Good evening’, and then I took up a pen and began writing to Georgiana. Elizabeth, I noticed, took up some needlework at the far side of the room.

I had hardly begun my letter, however, when Caroline began to compliment me on the evenness of my handwriting and the length of my letter. I did my best to ignore her, but she was not to be dissuaded and continued to praise me at every turn. Flattery is all very well, but a man may tire of it as soon as curses. I said nothing, however, as I did not wish to offend Bingley.

‘How delighted Miss Darcy will be to receive such a letter!’ Caroline said.

I ignored her.

‘You write uncommonly fast.’

I was unwise enough to retaliate with, ‘You are mistaken. I write rather slowly.’

‘Pray tell your sister that I long to see her.’

‘I have already told her so once, by your desire.’

‘How can you contrive to write so even?’ she asked.

I swallowed my frustration and resumed my silence. A wet evening in the country is one of the worst evils I know, especially in restricted company, and if I replied I feared I would be rude.

‘Tell your sister I am delighted to hear of her improvement on the harp…’

Pray, whose letter is it? I nearly retorted, but stopped myself just in time.

‘... and pray let her know that I am quite in raptures with her beautiful little design for a table, and I think it infinitely superior to Miss Grantley’s.’

‘Will you give me leave to defer your raptures till I write again? At present I have not room to do them justice.’

I saw Elizabeth smile at this, and bury her head in her needlework. She smiles readily, and I am beginning to find it infectious. I was almost tempted to smile myself.

Caroline, however, was not to be quelled.

‘Do you always write such charming long letters to her, Mr Darcy?’

‘They are generally long,’ I replied, not being able to avoid answering her question. ‘But whether always charming, it is not for me to determine.’

‘It is a rule with me, that a person who can write a long letter, with ease, cannot write ill,’ she said.

‘That will not do for a compliment to Darcy,’ broke in Bingley,‘ because he does not write with ease. He studies too much for words of four syllables. Do you not, Darcy?’

‘My style of writing is very different from yours,’ I agreed.

‘My ideas flow so rapidly that I have not time to express them, by which means my letters sometimes convey no ideas at all to my correspondents,’ said Bingley.

‘Your humility must disarm reproof,’ said Elizabeth, laying her needlework aside.

‘Nothing is more deceitful than the appearance of humility,’ I said, laughing at Bingley’s comments, but underneath I was conscious of a slight irritation that she was praising him. ‘It is often only carelessness of opinion, and sometimes an indirect boast.’

‘And which of the two do you call my little recent piece of modesty?’ asked Bingley.

‘The indirect boast,’ I said with a smile. ‘The power of doing anything with quickness is always much prized by the possessor, and often without any attention to the imperfection of performance. When you told Mrs Bennet this morning that if you ever resolved on quitting Netherfield you should be gone in five minutes, you meant it to be a sort of compliment to yourself, but I am by no means convinced. If, as you were mounting your horse, a friend were to say, “Bingley, you had better stay till next week,” you would probably do it.’

‘You have only proved by this that Mr Bingley did not do justice to his own disposition. You have shown him off now much more than he did himself,’ said Elizabeth with a laugh.

‘I am exceedingly gratified by your converting what my friend says into a compliment on the sweetness of my temper,’ said Bingley merrily.

I smiled, but I was not so gratified, though why this should be I do not know. I am sure I like Bingley very well, and I am always pleased when other people value him, too.

‘But Darcy would think the better of me, if under such a circumstance I were to give a flat denial, and ride off as fast as I could!’ he added.

‘Would Mr Darcy then consider the rashness of your original intention as atoned for by your obstinacy in adhering to it?’ asked Elizabeth playfully.

‘Upon my word, I cannot explain the matter. Darcy must speak for himself.’

I laid down my quill, all thoughts of my letter forgotten.

‘You expect me to account for opinions which you choose to call mine, but which I have never acknowledged,’ I said with a smile.

‘To yield readily to the persuasion of a friend is no merit with you,’ said Elizabeth.

Despite myself, I was drawn into her banter.

‘To yield without conviction is no compliment to the understanding of either,’ I returned.

‘You appear to me, Mr Darcy, to allow nothing for the influence of friendship and affection.’

I saw Caroline looking horrified at our exchange, but I was enjoying Elizabeth’s stimulating conversation.

‘Will it not be advisable to arrange the degree of intimacy subsisting between the parties before we decide?’ I asked her.

‘By all means,’ cried Bingley. ‘Let us have all the particulars, not forgetting their comparative height and size, for I assure you that if Darcy were not such a great tall fellow I should not pay him half so much deference. I declare I do not know a more awful object than Darcy, at his own house especially, and of a Sunday evening when he has nothing to do.’

I smiled, but I was offended nonetheless. I feared there was a grain of truth in what Bingley said, and I did not want Elizabeth to know it.

Elizabeth looked as though she would like to laugh, but did not. I hope she is not afraid of me. But no. If she was afraid of me, she would not laugh at me so much!

‘I see your design, Bingley,’ I said, turning his remark aside. ‘You dislike an argument, and want to silence this.’

‘Perhaps I do,’ Bingley admitted.

The liveliness had gone out of the conversation, and an awkwardness prevailed. Elizabeth returned to her needlework, and I returned to my letter. The clock ticked on the mantelpiece. I finished my letter and put it aside.

The silence continued.

To break it, I asked the ladies to favour us with some music. Caroline and Louisa sang, and I found my gaze wandering to Elizabeth. She is like no woman I have ever met before. She is not beautiful, and yet I find I would rather look at her face than any other. She is not gracious, and yet her manners please me better than any I have met with. She is not learned, and yet she has an intelligence that makes her a lively debater, and renders her conversation stimulating. It is a long time since I have had to fence with words, indeed I am not sure I have ever done it before, and yet with her I am frequently engaged in a duel of wits.

Caroline began to play a lively Scotch air, and moved by a sudden impulse I said, ‘Do not you feel a great inclination, Miss Bennet, to seize such an opportunity of dancing a reel?’

She smiled, but did not answer. I found her silence enigmatic. Is she a sphinx, sent to torment me? She must be, for my thoughts are not usually so poetic.

Instead of disgusting me, however, her silence only inflamed me more, and I repeated my question.

‘Oh,’ she said, ‘I heard you before; but could not immediately determine what to say in reply. You wanted me, I know, to say “Yes”, that you might have the pleasure of despising my taste; but I always delight in overthrowing those kind of schemes. I have therefore made up my mind to tell you, that I do not want to dance a reel at all – and now despise me if you dare.’

Did I really seem so perverse to her? I wondered. And yet I could not help smiling at her sally, and her bravery in uttering it.

‘Indeed I do not dare,’ I said.

She looked surprised, as though she had expected a cutting retort, and I was glad to have surprised her, the more so because she is forever surprising me.

I find her quite bewitching, and if it were not for the inferiority of her station in life I believe I might be in some danger, for I have never been so captivated by a woman in my life.

It was Caroline’s intervention that broke my train of thought and prevented me from saying something I might later have regretted.

‘I hope your sister is not feeling too poorly,’ said Caroline. ‘I think I must go up to her room and see how she does.’

‘I will come with you,’ said Elizabeth. ‘Poor Jane. I have left her alone too long.’

They went upstairs, and I was left to wonder whether Caroline had turned Elizabeth’s attention to her sister deliberately, and to think how close I had come to betraying my feelings.

It was a fine morning, and Caroline and I took a walk in the shrubbery.

‘I wish you very happy in your marriage,’ she said as we strolled along the path.

I wish she would leave the subject, but I fear there is little chance of that. She has been teasing me about my supposed marriage for days.

‘I hope, though, that you will give your mother-inlaw a few hints, when this desirable event takes place, as to the advantage of holding her tongue; and if you can compass it, do cure the younger girls of running after the officers.’

I smiled, but I was annoyed. She had hit on the very reason I could not pursue my feelings. I could never have Mrs Bennet for a mother-in-law. It would be insupportable. And as for the younger girls, to make them sisters to Georgiana – no, it could not be done.

‘Have you anything else to propose for my domestic felicity?’ I asked, not letting her see my irritation, for it would only make her worse.

‘Do let the portraits of your uncle and aunt Philips be placed in the gallery at Pemberley. As for your Elizabeth’s picture, you must not attempt to have it taken, for what painter could do justice to those beautiful eyes?’ she said in a droll voice.

I ignored her drollery, and imagined a portrait of Elizabeth hanging at Pemberley. I imagined another portrait hanging next to it, of Elizabeth and myself. The thought was pleasing to me and I smiled.

‘It would not be easy, indeed, to catch their expression, but their colour and shape, and the eyelashes, so remarkably fine, might be copied,’ I mused.

Caroline was not pleased, and I found that I was glad to have vexed her. She was about to reply, when we were met from another walk by Louisa and Elizabeth herself.

Caroline was embarrassed, and well she might be. I, too, was uncomfortable. I did not think Elizabeth had overheard Caroline, but even if she had, it would not have disturbed her. She had not been perturbed when she had heard an uncharitable remark from me at the assembly.

As I looked at her, I was suddenly conscious of the fact that she was a guest in the house. I had been so busy thinking of her in another way that I had forgotten that she was staying with Bingley. I felt an uncomfortable pang as I realized that she had not met with any warmth or friendship during her stay. To be sure, she had met with politeness to her face, but even politeness had been lacking as soon as her back was turned. I had never felt so out of sympathy with Caroline…or in sympathy with Louisa, for she at least had taken the trouble to ask Elizabeth if she cared for a walk, which I had not. I berated myself for it. I was not averse to admiring her eyes, but I had done little to make her stay at Netherfield more enjoyable.

Louisa’s next words undid my charitable feelings towards her, however. Saying: ‘You used us abominably ill in running away without telling us that you were coming out,’ she took my free arm and left Elizabeth to stand alone.

I was mortified, and said at once: ‘The walk is not wide enough for our party. We had better go into the avenue.’

But Elizabeth, who was not in the least mortified at being used so ill, merely smiled mischievously and said that we looked so well together the group would be spoilt by a fourth. Then wishing us goodbye she ran off gaily, like a child who suddenly finds herself free of the schoolroom. As I watched her run, I felt my spirits lift. I felt as though I, too, was suddenly free, free of the trammelled dignity of my life, and I longed to run after her.

‘Miss Eliza Bennet behaves as badly as her younger sisters,’ said Caroline mockingly.

‘She does not behave as badly as we do, however,’ I returned, annoyed. ‘She is a guest in your brother’s house, and as such she is entitled to our respect. She should not have to suffer our neglect, nor suffer our abuse the minute her back is turned.’

Caroline looked astonished and then displeased, but my expression was so forbidding that she fell silent. Bingley might complain about my awful expressions, but they have their uses.

I turned back to look at Elizabeth, but she had already passed out of sight. I did not see her again until dinnertime. She disappeared immediately afterwards, to see to her sister, but when Bingley and I joined the ladies in the drawing-room we found her with them.

Caroline’s eyes turned to me straight away. I could see that she was apprehensive. I had spoken to her sharply earlier in the day, and had not said a word to her since. I gave her a cool glance and then turned my attention to Miss Bennet, who was well enough to be downstairs, and who was sitting next to her sister.

Bingley was delighted to see that Miss Bennet was feeling better. He fussed around her, making sure the fire was high enough and that she was not in a draught. My expression softened. I could feel it doing so. He was treating her with all the care and attention she deserved, and I was reminded of why I like him so much and am happy to call him a friend. His manners might be so easy-going as to make him a target for anyone who wishes to sway him, but those same compliant manners make him an agreeable companion and a warm host. It was evident that Elizabeth thought so, too. I felt that, after our sparring, we had found common ground.

Caroline pretended to pay attention to the invalid, but in fact was more interested in my book, which I had taken up when we had decided not to play cards.

‘I declare there is no enjoyment like reading a book!’ she said, ignoring her own in favour of mine.

I did not reply. I was out of sympathy with her. Instead, I studiously applied myself to my book; which was a pity, as I would have liked to watch Elizabeth. The firelight playing on her skin was a sight I found mesmerizing.

Discovering that she could not make me talk, Caroline then disturbed her brother with talk of his ball, before taking a turn around the room. She was restless, and longing for attention. I, however, did not give it to her. She had offended me, and I was not ready to forgive her her offence.

‘Miss Eliza Bennet, let me persuade you to follow my example, and take a turn about the room.’

I could not help myself. I looked up. I saw a look of surprise cross Elizabeth’s face, and I wondered if my words to Caroline had affected her behaviour, pricking her conscience about her treatment of her brother’s guest.

But no such thing. She simply wanted my attention, and she had been clever enough to realize that this was the way to achieve it. Unconsciously, I closed my book.

‘Mr Darcy, will you not join us?’ said Caroline.

I declined.

‘There are only two reasons why you would wish to walk together, and my presence would interfere with both,’ I said.

My smile was not directed at Caroline, but at Elizabeth.

‘What can you mean?’ asked Caroline, amazed. ‘Miss Eliza Bennet, do you know?’

‘Not at all,’ was her answer. ‘But depend upon it, he means to be severe on us, and our surest way of disappointing him, will be to ask nothing about it.’

I felt my blood stir. She was fencing with me, even though she was speaking to Caroline, and I was enjoying the experience.

Caroline, however, could not fence. Caroline could only say: ‘I must know what he means. Come, Mr Darcy, explain yourself.’

‘Very well. You are either in each other’s confidence and have secret affairs to discuss, or you are conscious that your figures appear to the greatest advantage in walking; if the first, I should be completely in your way; and if the second, I can admire you much better as I sit by the fire.’

‘Oh, shocking!’ exclaimed Caroline. ‘How shall we punish him for such a speech?’

‘Nothing so easy, if you have but the inclination,’ said Elizabeth with a gleam in her eye. ‘Tease him – laugh at him. Intimate as you are, you must know how it is to be done.’

‘Tease calmness of temper and presence of mind! And as to laughter, we will not expose ourselves, if you please, by attempting to laugh without a subject. Mr Darcy may hug himself.’

‘Mr Darcy is not to be laughed at!’ cried Elizabeth.

‘That is an uncommon advantage. I dearly love a laugh.’

And so do I. But I do not like to be laughed at. I could not say so, however.

‘Miss Bingley has given me credit for more than can be,’ I said. ‘The wisest of men may be rendered ridiculous by a person whose first object in life is a joke.’

‘I hope I never ridicule what is wise or good,’ she returned. ‘Follies and nonsense do divert me, but these, I suppose, are precisely what you are without.’

‘Perhaps that is not possible for anyone. But it has been the study of my life to avoid those weaknesses which often expose a strong understanding to ridicule.’

‘Such as vanity and pride.’

‘Vanity, yes. But where there is a real superiority of mind, pride will always be under good regulation,’ I said.

Elizabeth turned away to hide a smile.

I did not know why it should be, but her smile hurt me. I believe it made me short-tempered, for when she said: ‘Mr Darcy has no defect. He owns it himself without disguise,’ I was stung to reply: ‘I have faults enough, but they are not, I hope, of understanding. My temper I dare not vouch for. It would perhaps be called resentful.

My good opinion once lost is lost for ever.’

As I spoke, I thought of George Wickham.

‘That is a failing indeed,’ said Elizabeth. ‘Implacable resentment is a shade in a character. But you have chosen your fault well. I really cannot laugh at it. You are safe from me.’

But I am not safe from you, I thought.

‘Do let us have a little music,’ said Caroline, tired of having no part in the conversation.

The pianoforte was opened, and she begged Elizabeth to play.

I was annoyed with her at the time, but after a few minutes I began to be glad of it.

I am paying Elizabeth far too much attention. She beguiles me. And yet it would be folly to find myself falling in love with her. I mean to marry quite a different sort of woman, one whose fortune and ancestry match my own. I will pay Elizabeth no more attention.

Bingley and I rode to the east this morning and examined more of the estate. He was pleased with everything he saw and pronounced it all capital. I pointed out that the fences were broken and the land needed draining, but he said only: ‘Yes, I suppose it does. ’ I know he has an easy nature, but there was something more than his usual compliance in his manner. I suspected he was not really paying attention, but was worried about Miss Bennet. It is unfortunate that she should have been taken ill whilst visiting his sisters. It has set the household by the ears. It has also brought me too much into contact with Elizabeth.

True to my resolve, I paid Elizabeth no notice when she walked into the drawing-room with her sister later this morning, when Bingley and I had returned from our ride. After greetings had been exchanged, Miss Bennet begged the loan of Bingley’s carriage.

‘My mother cannot spare our carriage until Tuesday, but I am much recovered and we cannot trespass on your hospitality any longer,’ she said.

I felt a mixture of emotions: relief that Elizabeth would soon be removing from Netherfield, and regret that I would not be able to talk to her any longer.

Bingley did not share Miss Bennet’s view.

‘It is too soon!’ he cried. ‘You might seem better when you are sitting by the fire, but you are not yet well enough to withstand the journey. Caroline, tell Miss Bennet that she must stay.’

‘Dear Jane, of course you must stay,’ said Caroline. I detected a coolness in her voice, and was not surprised when she added: ‘We cannot think of letting you leave before tomorrow.’

A stay of more than one extra day did not please her.

Bingley looked surprised, but Miss Bennet agreed to this suggestion.

‘Even tomorrow is far too soon,’ protested Bingley.

‘It is very kind of you, but we really must leave then,’ said Miss Bennet.

She is a sweet girl but she can also be firm, and nothing Bingley could say would shake her resolve.

I was conscious of a need to be on my guard during this last day. I had paid Elizabeth too much attention during her stay, and I was belatedly aware that it could have given rise to expectations. I resolved to crush them, if any such expectations had been formed. I scarcely spoke ten words to her throughout the course of the day, and when I was unfortunately left alone with her for half an hour, I applied myself to my book and did not look up once.

We all attended morning service, and then the Miss Bennets took their leave.

‘Dear Jane, the only thing that can resign me to your leaving is the knowledge that you are well at last,’ said Caroline, taking an affectionate leave of her friend.

‘I am a selfish man. If it were not for the fact that you had suffered, I would almost have been glad that you had a cold,’ said Bingley warmly, clasping Jane’s hand. ‘It has allowed me to be with you every day for almost a week.’

He, at least, has made her stay agreeable, and has taken the trouble to entertain her whenever she was downstairs. It is easy to see why Bingley has made her his flirt. She has a sweetness and openness of manner that makes her agreeable, whilst her feelings are not the sort to be deeply touched. No matter how charming or lively Bingley is, he need have no fear of his intentions being misunderstood.

‘And Miss Eliza Bennet,’ said Caroline, with a wide smile. ‘It has been so…charming to have you here.’

Elizabeth noticed the hesitation and her eyes sparkled with mirth. She replied politely enough, however.

‘Miss Bingley. It has been good of you to have me here.’

To Bingley, she gave a warmer farewell.

‘Thank you for all you have done for Jane,’ she said. ‘It made a great difference to me to see that she was so well cared for. Nothing could have been kinder than your banking up of the fires, or your moving of screens to prevent draughts, or your instructing your housekeeper to make some tasty dishes to tempt Jane to eat.’

‘I was only sorry I could not do more,’ he said. ‘I hope we will soon see you at Netherfield again.’

‘I hope so, too.’

She turned to me.

‘Miss Bennet,’ I said, making her a cold bow.

She looked surprised for a moment, then a smile appeared in her eyes, and she dropped me a curtsy, replying in stately tones: ‘Mr Darcy.’

She almost tempted me to smile. But I schooled my countenance into an expression of severity and turned away.

The party then broke up. Bingley escorted the two young ladies to the carriage and helped them inside. My coldness had not damped Elizabeth’s spirits for one minute. I was glad of it – before reminding myself that Elizabeth’s spirits were not my concern.

We returned to the drawing-room.

‘Well!’ said Caroline. ‘They have gone.’

I made no reply.

She turned to Louisa and immediately began talking of household matters, forgetting all about her supposed friend.

As I write this, I find I am glad that Elizabeth has gone. Now, perhaps I can think of her as Miss Elizabeth Bennet again. I mean to indulge in more rational thoughts, and I will not have to suffer any more of Caroline’s teasing.

At last, a rational day. Bingley and I examined the south corner of his land. He seems interested in purchasing the estate, and says he is ready to settle. However, he has not been here very long and I shall not believe his intentions are fixed until he has spent a winter here. If he likes it after that, I believe it might be the place for him.

Caroline was charming this evening. Without Miss Elizabeth Bennet in the house she did not tease me, and we passed a pleasant evening playing at cards. I did not miss Elizabeth at all. I believe I scarcely thought of her half a dozen times all day.

‘I think we should ride round the rest of the estate today,’

I said to Bingley this morning.

‘Later, perhaps,’ he said. ‘I mean to ride over to Longbourn this morning to ask after Miss Bennet’s health.’

‘You saw her only the day before yesterday,’ I remarked with a smile; Bingley in the grip of one of his flirtations is most amusing.

‘Which means I did not see her yesterday. It is time I made up for my neglect!’ he replied, matching my tone.

‘Will you come with me?’

‘Very well,’ I said.

A moment later I regretted it, but I was then annoyed with myself for my cowardice. I can surely sit with Miss Elizabeth Bennet for ten minutes without falling prey to a certain attraction, and besides, there is no certainty that I will see her. She might very well be from home.

We rode out after breakfast. Our way took us through Meryton, and we saw the object of our ride in the main street. Miss Bennet was taking the air with her sisters. On hearing our horses’ hoofs she looked up.

‘I was riding over to see how you did, but I can see you are much better. I am glad of it,’ said Bingley, touching his hat.

‘Thank you,’ she said, with a charming, easy smile.

‘You have lost your paleness, and have some colour in your cheeks.’

‘The fresh air has done me good,’ she said.

‘You walked into Meryton?’ he asked.

‘Yes.’

‘You have not tired yourself, I hope?’ he added with a frown.

‘No, thank you, the exercise was beneficial. I have spent so much time indoors that I am glad to be outside again.’

‘My feelings are exactly the same. If ever I am ill, I cannot wait to be out of doors as soon as I am well enough.’

Whilst they went on in this manner, with Bingley looking as happy as though Miss Bennet had escaped the clutches of typhus rather than a trifling cold, I studiously avoided looking at Elizabeth. I let my eyes drift over the rest of the group instead. I saw the three younger Bennet girls, one of them carrying a book of sermons and the other two giggling together, and a heavy young man whom I had not seen before. By his dress he was a clergyman, and he appeared to be in attendance on the ladies. I was just reflecting that perhaps his presence explained why Miss Mary Bennet was clutching a book of sermons when I received an unwelcome surprise, nay a terrible shock. At the edge of the group there were two further gentlemen. One was Mr Denny, an officer whom Bingley and I had already met. The other was George Wickham.

George Wickham! That odious man, who betrayed my father’s belief in him and almost ruined my sister! To be forced to meet him again, at such a time and in such a place. …It was abominable.

I thought I had done with him. I thought I would never have to see him again. But there he was, talking to Denny as though he had not a care in the world. And I suppose he had not, for he has never cared about anything in his life, unless it is himself.

He turned his head towards me. I felt myself grow white, and saw him grow red. Our eyes met. Anger, disgust and contempt shot from mine. But, recovering himself quickly, a damnable impertinence shot from his. He had the audacity to touch his hat. To touch his hat! To me! I would have turned away, but I had too much pride to create a scene, and I forced myself to return his salute.

My courtesy was for nothing, however. Catching a glimpse of Miss Elizabeth Bennet out of the corner of my eye, I saw that she had noticed our meeting, and she was not deceived for an instant. She knew that something was badly wrong between us.

‘But we must not keep you,’ I heard Bingley saying.

I felt, rather than saw, him turn towards me.

‘Come, Darcy, we must be getting on.’

I was only too willing to fall in with his suggestion.

We bade the ladies goodbye and rode on.

‘She is feeling much better, and believes herself to be quite well again,’ said Bingley.

I did not reply.

‘She looked well, I thought,’ said Bingley.

Again, I did not reply.

‘Is something wrong?’ asked Bingley, at last catching my mood.

‘No, nothing,’ I said shortly.

‘Nay, Darcy, this will not do. Something has troubled you.’

But I would not be drawn. Bingley knows nothing of the trouble I had with Wickham over the summer, and I do not want to enlighten him. Georgiana’s foolishness would cast a shadow over her reputation if it was known, and I am determined Bingley shall never hear of it.

I rode out early this morning, without asking Bingley if he chose to go with me, for I wanted to be on my own.

George Wickham, in Meryton!

It has robbed my visit of its pleasure. Even worse, I am haunted by a glimpse of memory, something so slight I can hardly be sure if it is real. But it will not leave me, and fills my dreams. It is this: when I rode up to the ladies yesterday, I thought I saw an expression of admiration on Elizabeth’s face as she looked at Wickham.

Surely she cannot prefer him to me!

What am I saying? Her feelings for me are unimportant. As are her feelings for George Wickham. If she wishes to admire him, it is her concern.

I cannot believe she will still admire him when she finds him out, and find him out she will. He has not changed. He is still the wastrel he has always been, and she is too intelligent to be deceived for long.

And yet he has a handsome face. The ladies have always admired it. And he has an ease of manner and style of address which make him well liked amongst those who do not know him, whereas I…

I cannot believe I am comparing myself to George Wickham! I must be mad. And yet if Elizabeth…I must not think of her as Elizabeth.

If she chooses to compare us, then so be it. It will prove she is beneath my notice, and I will no longer be troubled by thoughts of her.

Bingley declared his intention of going to Longbourn to give the Bennets an invitation to his ball. Caroline and Louisa eagerly agreed to go with him, but I declined, saying I had some letters to write. Caroline immediately declared that she had some letters to write, too, but Bingley told her they could wait until she returned. I was pleased. I did not want company today. I cannot keep my thoughts from George Wickham. From the local talk, I gather he is thinking of joining the regiment. No doubt he thinks he will look well in a scarlet coat.

Worse still, Bingley has included all the officers in his invitation to Netherfield, and I fear Wickham might join them. I have no wish to see him, and yet I will not avoid the ball. It is not up to me to avoid him. He is a scoundrel and a villain but I will not upset Bingley by refusing to attend his ball.

A wet day. I was able to ride out with Bingley this morning, but then the rain poured down and we were obliged to stay indoors. We whiled away the time by talking of the estate and Bingley’s plans for it. His sisters gave us the benefit of their views on necessary alterations to the house and the time passed pleasantly enough, though I missed Elizabeth’s lively company.

Another wet day. Caroline was in a provoking mood. I am glad Elizabeth was not here, or she would have surely borne the brunt of Caroline’s ill-humour. Bingley and I retired to the billiard-room. It is a good thing the house possesses one, or I believe we should have been terribly bored.

I received a letter from Georgiana this morning. She is doing well with her studies, and is happy. She is beginning a new concerto with her music master, a man who I am happy to say is almost in his dotage, and she is enjoying herself.

The rain continued. Caroline and Louisa amused themselves by deciding what they will wear for the ball, whilst Bingley and I discussed the war. I am beginning to find the country tiresome. At home, at Pemberley, I have plenty to occupy me, but here there is little to do beyond reading or playing billiards when the weather is poor.

I will be interested to see if this spell of wet weather dissuades Bingley from buying Netherfield. A country estate in the sunshine is a very different thing from a country estate in the rain.

I am glad of the ball. At least, if we have another wet day tomorrow, we will have something to occupy us.

The morning was wet, and I spent it writing letters. This afternoon, Bingley and his sisters were involved in final preparations for the ball. I had little to do and was vexed to find myself thinking of Miss Elizabeth Bennet, so much so that when the party from Longbourn arrived this evening I found myself looking for her. I thought I had put her out of my mind, but I am not as impervious to her as I had supposed.

‘Jane looks charming,’ said Caroline, as her brother moved forward to greet Miss Bennet.

‘It is a pity the same cannot be said for her sister,’ said Louisa. ‘What is Miss Elizabeth Bennet wearing?’

Caroline regarded her with a droll eye.

‘Miss Eliza Bennet scorns fashion, and is wearing a dress that is three inches too long and uses a great deal too much lace. Do you not think so, Mr Darcy?’

‘I know nothing about ladies’ fashions,’ I said, ‘but she looks very well to me.’

Caroline was silenced, but only for a moment.

‘I wonder who she can be looking for. She is certainly looking for someone.’

‘She is probably looking for the officers,’ said Louisa.

‘Then she is not as quick as her sisters, for they have already found them,’ said Caroline.

The younger girls had run noisily across the ballroom, and were greeting the officers with laughs and squeals.

‘If they move any closer to Mr Denny, they will suffocate him!’ remarked Louisa.

‘You would not like to see your sister behaving in such a way with the officers, I am persuaded,’ said Caroline, turning to me.

She did not mean to wound me, and yet her remark could not have been less well chosen. It sent my thoughts to Georgiana, and from thence to Wickham, who was to don a red coat. No, I would not like to see it, but I was uncomfortably aware that if I had not arrived in Ramsgate without warning, it could almost have come to pass.

Caroline looked alarmed as my face went white, but I managed to reply coolly enough: ‘Are you comparing my sister to Lydia Bennet?’

‘They are the same age!’ said Louisa, with a trill of laughter.

‘No, of course not,’ said Caroline quickly, realizing she had made a mistake. ‘There can be no comparison. I meant only that the Bennet girls are allowed to run wild.’

I gave a cool nod and then moved away from her, hoping that Elizabeth’s glances round the room had been for me. As I drew close to the officers, I heard Denny saying to Miss Lydia Bennet that Wickham was not there as he had been forced to go out of town for a few days.

‘Oh!’ she said, her face dropping.

Elizabeth had joined them and she, too, looked disappointed. I remembered the look she had bestowed on Wickham in Meryton and I felt my hands clench as I realized with an unpleasant shock that when she had entered the ballroom she had been looking for Wickham, and not for me.

‘I do not imagine his business would have called him away just now if he had not wished to avoid a certain gentleman here,’ I overheard Mr Denny saying.

So he had turned coward, had he? I could not wonder at it. Courage was never a part of Wickham’s character. Imposing on the gullible, deceiving the innocent and seducing young girls, that was his strength.

But surely Elizabeth was not gullible? No. She was not to be so easily taken in. She might not have found him out yet, but I was confident she would do so. In the meantime, I did not want to miss the opportunity of speaking to her.

I continued walking towards her.

‘I am glad to see you here. I hope you had a pleasant journey?’ I asked. ‘This time, I hope you did not have to walk!’

‘No, I thank you,’ she said stiffly. ‘I came in the carriage.’

I wondered if I had offended her. Perhaps she felt I had meant my remark as a slight on her family’s inability to keep horses purely for their carriage. I tried to repair the damage of my first remark.

‘You are looking forward to the ball?’

She turned and looked at me directly.

‘It is the company that makes a ball, Mr Darcy. I enjoy any entertainment at which my friends are present.’

‘Then I am sure you will enjoy your evening here,’ I said.

She turned away with a degree of ill-humour that shocked me. She did not even manage to overcome it when speaking to Bingley, and I resolved I had done with her. Let her turn her shoulder when I spoke to her. Let her prefer Wickham to me. I wanted nothing more to do with her.

She left her sisters and crossed the room to speak to her friend, Miss Lucas, and then her hand was sought by the heavy young clergyman I had seen with her at Meryton. Despite my anger, I could not help but feel sorry for her. I had never seen a display of more mortifying dancing in my life. From her expression, I could tell she felt the same. He went left when he should have gone right.

He went back when he should have gone forward. And yet she danced as well as if she had had an expert partner.

When I saw her leaving the floor, I was moved to ask for the next dance. I was frustrated in this by her dancing with one of the officers, but then I moved forward and asked for the next dance. She looked surprised, and I felt it, for as soon as I had asked for her hand I wondered what I was about. Had I not decided to take no further notice of her? But it was done. I had spoken, and I could not unspeak my offer.

She accepted, though out of surprise more than anything else, I think. I could find nothing to say to her, and walked away, determined to spend my time with more rational people until it was time for the dance to begin.

We went out on to the floor. There were looks of amazement all around us, though I am sure I do not know why.

I might not have chosen to dance at the assembly, but that is a very different situation from a private ball.

I tried to think of something to say, but I found that I was speechless. It surprised me. I have never been at a loss before. To be sure, I do not always find it easy to talk to those I do not know very well, but I can generally think of at least a pleasantry. I believe the hostility I felt coming from Elizabeth robbed me of my sense.

At last she said: ‘This is an agreeable dance.’

Coming from a woman whose wit and liveliness delight me, it was a dry remark, and I made no reply.

After a few minutes, she said: ‘It is your turn to say something now, Mr Darcy. I talked about the dance, and you ought to make some kind of remark on the size of the room, or the number of couples.’

This was more like Elizabeth.

‘I will say whatever you wish me to say,’ I returned.

‘Very well. That reply will do for the present. Perhaps by and by I may observe that private balls are much pleasanter than public ones. But now we may be silent.’

‘Do you talk by rule then, while you are dancing?’ I asked.

‘Sometimes. One must speak a little, you know, and yet for the advantage of some, conversation ought to be so arranged as that they may have the trouble of saying as little as possible.’

‘Are you consulting your own feelings in the present case, or do you imagine that you are gratifying mine?’

‘Both,’ she replied archly.

I could not help smiling. It is that archness that draws me. It is provocative without being impertinent, and I have never come across it in any woman before. She lifts her face in just such a way when she makes one of her playful comments that I am seized with an overwhelming urge to kiss her. Not that I would give in to such an impulse, but it is there all the same.

‘I have always seen a great similarity in the turn of our minds,’ she went on. ‘We are each of an unsocial, taciturn disposition, unwilling to speak, unless we expect to say something that will amaze the whole room, and be handed down to posterity with all the éclat of a proverb.’

I was uneasy, not sure whether to laugh or feel concerned. If it was part of her playfulness, then I found it amusing, but if she thought it was the truth? Had I been so taciturn when I had been with her? I thought back to the Meryton assembly, and the early days at Netherfield.

I had perhaps not set out to charm her, but then I never did. I had, perhaps, been abrupt to begin with, but I thought I had repaired matters towards the end of her stay at Netherfield. Until the last day. I remembered my silence, and my determination not to speak to her. I remembered congratulating myself on not saying more than ten words to her, and remaining determinedly silent when I was left alone with her for half an hour, pretending to be absorbed in my book.

I had been right to remain silent, I thought. Then immediately afterwards I thought I had been wrong. I had been both right and wrong: right if I wished to crush any expectations that might have arisen during the course of her visit, but wrong if I wished to win her favour, or to be polite. I am not used to being so confused. I never was, before I met Elizabeth.

I became aware of the fact that again I was silent, and I knew I must say something if I was not to confirm her in the suspicion that I was deliberately taciturn.

‘This is no very striking resemblance of your own character, I am sure,’ I said, my uneasiness reflected in my tone of voice, for I did not know whether to be amused or hurt. ‘How near it may be to mine, I cannot pretend to say. You think it a faithful portrait, undoubtedly.’

‘I must not decide on my own performance.’

We lapsed into an uneasy silence. Did she judge me?

Did she despise me? Or was she playing with me? I could not decide.

At length, I spoke to her about her trip to Meryton, and she replied that she and her sisters had made a new acquaintance there.

I froze. I knew whom she meant. Wickham! And the way she spoke of him! Not with contempt, but with liking. I feared she meant to go on, but something in my manner must have kept her silent.

I knew I should ignore the matter. I did not have to explain myself to her. And yet I found myself saying: ‘Mr Wickham is blessed with such happy manners as may ensure his making friends. Whether he may be equally capable of retaining them is less certain.’

‘He has been so unlucky as to lose your friendship, and in a manner which he is likely to suffer from all his life.’

What has he said to her? What has he told her? I longed to tell her the truth of the matter, but I could not do so for fear of hurting Georgiana.

Once more a silence fell. We were rescued from it by Sir William Lucas who let slip a remark that drove Wickham out of my mind. For that, at least, I must thank him.

He complimented us on our dancing, and then, glancing at Miss Bennet and Bingley, he said he hoped to have the pleasure of seeing it often repeated when a certain desirable event took place.

I was startled. But there could be no mistaking his meaning. He thought it possible, nay certain, that Miss Bennet and Bingley would wed. I watched them dancing, but I could see nothing in the demeanour of either to lead to this conclusion. Yet if it was being talked of then I knew the matter was serious. I could not let Bingley jeopardize a woman’s reputation, no matter how agreeable his flirtation. Recovering myself, I asked Elizabeth what we had been talking about.

She replied, ‘Nothing at all.’

I began to talk to her of books. She would not admit that we might share the same tastes, so I declared that then, at least, we would have something to talk about.

She claimed she could not talk of books in a ballroom, but I thought that was not what was troubling her. The trouble was that her mind was elsewhere.

Suddenly she said to me, ‘I remember hearing you once say, Mr Darcy, that you hardly ever forgave, that your resentment once created was unappeasable. You are very cautious, I suppose, as to its being created?’

Was she thinking of Wickham? Had he told her of the coldness between us? She seemed genuinely anxious to hear my answer, and I reassured her.

‘I am,’ I said firmly.

More questions followed, until I asked where these questions tended.

‘Merely to the illustration of your character,’ said she, trying to shake off her gravity. ‘I am trying to make it out.’

Then she was not thinking of Wickham. I was grateful.

‘And what is your success?’ I could not help asking.

She shook her head. ‘I do not get on at all. I hear such different accounts of you as puzzle me exceedingly.’

‘I can readily believe it,’ I said, thinking with a sinking feeling of Wickham. I added on impulse, ‘I could wish that you were not to sketch my character at the present moment, as there is reason to fear that the performance would reflect no credit on either.’

‘But if I do not take your likeness now, I may never have another opportunity.’

I had begged for clemency. I would not beg again. I replied coldly, stiffly: ‘I would by no means suspend any pleasure of yours.’

We finished the dance as we had begun it, in silence.

But I could not be angry with her for long. She had been told something by George Wickham, that much was clear, and as he was incapable of telling the truth, she had no doubt been subjected to a host of lies. As we left the floor, I had forgiven Elizabeth, and turned my anger towards Wickham instead.

What had he told her? I wondered. And how far had it damaged me in her esteem?

I was saved from these unsettling reflections by the sight of a heavy young man bowing in front of me and begging me to forgive him for introducing himself. I was about to turn away when I remembered having seen him with Elizabeth, and I found myself curious as to what he might have to say.

‘It is not amongst the established forms of ceremony amongst the laity to introduce themselves, I am well aware, but I flatter myself that the rules governing the clergy are quite different, indeed I consider the clerical office as equal in point of dignity with the highest rank in the kingdom, and so I have come to introduce myself to you, an introduction which, I am persuaded, will not be deemed impertinent when you learn that my noble benefactor, the lady who has graciously bestowed on me a munificent living, is none other than your estimable aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh. It was she who preferred me to the valuable rectory of Hunsford, where it is my duty, nay my pleasure, to perform the ceremonies that must, by their very nature, devolve upon the incumbent,’ he assured me with an obsequious smile.

I looked at him in astonishment, wondering if he could be quite sane. It seemed that he did indeed believe a clergyman to be the equal of the King of England, though not of my aunt, for his speech was littered with effusions of gratitude and praise of her nobility and condescension. I found him an oddity; but my aunt, however, had evidently found him worthy of the living, and as she knew him far better than I did I could only suppose he had virtues I knew nothing of.

‘I am certain my aunt could never bestow a favour unworthily,’ I said politely, but with enough coldness to prevent him saying anything further. He was not deterred, however, and began a second speech which was even lengthier and more involved than the first. As he opened his mouth to draw breath, I made him a bow and walked away. Absurdity has its place, but I was not in the mood to be diverted by it, so soon after quitting Elizabeth.

‘I see you have met the estimable Mr Collins,’ said Caroline to me as we went into supper. ‘He is another of the Bennet relatives. Really, they seem to have the most extraordinary collection. I think this one surpasses even the uncle in Cheapside. What do you think, Mr Darcy?’

‘We may all have relatives we are not proud of,’ I said.

It gave Caroline pause. She likes to forget that her father made his fortune in trade.

‘Very true,’ she answered. I thought she had acquired some sense, but a moment later she said, ‘I have just been speaking to Eliza Bennet. She seems to have developed the most extraordinary liking for George Wickham. I do not know if you realized, but he is to attach himself to the militia here. It is of all things the most vexing, that you should be plagued with a man like George Wickham. My brother did not wish to invite him, I know, but he felt he could not make an exception of him when inviting the other officers.’

‘It would have looked particular,’ I conceded.

Bingley could not be blamed for the situation.

‘I know that Charles was very pleased when Wickham took himself out of the way. Charles would not wish to disconcert you in any way. Knowing Wickham was not a man to be trusted, I warned Eliza Bennet against him, telling her that I knew he had behaved infamously to you, though I did not have all the particulars…’

She paused, but if she was expecting me to enlighten her, she was to be disappointed. My dealings with Wickham will never be made public, nor told to anyone who does not already know of them.

‘…but she ignored my warning and leapt to his defence in the wildest way.’

I was about to put an end to her conversation, as it was causing me no small degree of pain, when another voice penetrated the chatter. I recognized the strident tones at once. They were those of Mrs Bennet. I had no wish to listen to her conversation, but it was impossible not to hear what she was saying.

‘Ah! She is so beautiful I knew she could not be so beautiful for nothing. My lovely Jane. And Mr Bingley!

What a handsome man. What an air of fashion. And such pleasing manners. And then, of course, there is Netherfield. It is just the right distance from us, for she will not like to be too close, not with her own establishment to see to, and yet it will take no time at all for her to come and visit us in the carriage. I dare say she will have a very fine carriage. Probably two fine carriages. Or perhaps three. The cost of a carriage is nothing to a man with five thousand pounds a year.’

I found myself growing rigid as I listened to her running on.

‘And then his sisters are so fond of her.’

I was glad that Caroline’s attention had been claimed by a young man to her left, and that she did not hear. Her fondness for Jane would evaporate in a moment if she knew where Mrs Bennet’s thoughts were tending. But it was not just Mrs Bennet’s thoughts. Sir William’s thoughts had been running in the same direction.

I looked along the table, and saw Bingley talking to Miss Bennet. His manner was as open as ever, but I thought I detected something of more than usual regard.

In fact, the longer I watched him, the more I became sure that his feelings were engaged. I watched Miss Bennet, and although I could tell that she was pleased to talk to him, she gave no signs that her feelings were in any way attached. I breathed more easily. If I could but remove Bingley from the neighbourhood, I felt sure that he would soon forget her, and she would forget him.

If it had only been a matter of Miss Bennet, I might not have been so concerned at the thought of Bingley marrying her, but it was not only a matter of Miss Bennet, it was a matter of her mother, who was an unbridled gossip, and her indolent father, and her three younger sisters who were either fools or common flirts, and her uncle in Cheapside, and her uncle the attorney, and on top of all this, her strange connection, the obsequious clergyman….

As I listened to Mrs Bennet, I felt the time was fast approaching when I must take a hand. I could not abandon my friend to such a fate, when a little effort on my part would extricate him from his predicament.

I was sure that with a few weeks in London, he would soon find a new flirt.

‘I only hope you may be so fortunate, Lady Lucas,’ Mrs Bennet continued, though evidently believing there was no chance of her neighbour sharing her fortune. ‘To have a daughter so well settled – what a wonderful thing!’

Supper was over. It was followed by a display from Mary Bennet, whose singing was as bad as her playing.

To make matters worse, when her father finally removed her from the pianoforte, he did so in such a way as to make any decent person blush.

‘That will do extremely well, child. You have delighted us long enough. Let the other young ladies have time to exhibit.’

Was there ever a more ill-judged speech?

The evening could not be over too soon, but by some coincidence or contrivance, I know not which, the Bennet carriage was the last to arrive.

‘Lord, how tired I am!’ exclaimed Lydia Bennet, giving a violent yawn that set Caroline and Louisa exchanging satirical glances.

Mrs Bennet would not be quiet, and talked incessantly. Mr Bennet made no effort to check her, and it was one of the most uncomfortable quarter-hours of my life.

To save Bingley from such company became uppermost in my mind.

‘You will come to a family dinner with us, I hope, Mr Bingley?’ said Mrs Bennet.

‘Nothing would give me greater pleasure,’ he said. ‘I have some business to attend to in London, but I will wait upon you as soon as I return.’

The knowledge delighted me. It means I will not have to think of a way of removing him from the neighbourhood, for if he happens to remain in London, then the contact with Miss Bennet will be broken and he will not think of her any more.

I intend to speak to Caroline, to make sure that Jane’s affections are not engaged, and if I find, as I suspect, that they are not, then I shall suggest that we remove to London with Bingley and persuade him to remain there. A winter in town will cure him of his affections, and leave him free to bestow them on a more deserving object.

Bingley left for London today.

‘Caroline, I wish to speak to you,’ I said, when he had departed.

Caroline looked up from her book and smiled.

‘I am at your disposal.’

‘It is about Miss Bennet that I wish to speak.’

Her smile dropped, and I felt I was right in thinking that her affection for her friend was on the wane.

‘There were several allusions made at the ball, suggesting that some of Bingley’s new neighbours were expecting a marriage to take place between him and Miss Bennet.’

‘What!’ cried Caroline.

‘I thought it would distress you. I can see nothing in Miss Bennet’s manner that makes me think she is in love, but I want your advice. You know her better than I do.

You have been in her confidence. Does she entertain tender feelings for your brother? Because, if so, those feelings must not be trifled with.’

‘She has none at all,’ said Caroline, setting my mind at rest.

‘You are sure of this?’

‘I am indeed. She has talked of my brother a number of times, but only in the terms she uses for every other young man of her acquaintance. Why, I am sure she has never thought of Charles in that light. She knows he does not mean to settle at Netherfield, and she is simply amusing herself whilst he is here.’

‘It is as I thought. But Bingley’s feelings are in a fair way to being engaged.’

‘I have had the same fear. If he should be foolish enough to ally himself with that family, he will regret it for ever.’

‘He will. I think we must separate them, before their behaviour gives rise to even more expectations. If it does, there will come a time when those expectations must be fulfilled, or the lady’s reputation will suffer irreparable harm.’

‘You are quite right. We must not damage dear Jane’s reputation. She is such a sweet girl. Louisa and I quite dote on her. She must not be harmed.’

Mr Hurst interrupted us at that moment.

‘Coming to dine with the officers?’ he asked. ‘They invited me to go along. Sure you’d be welcome.’

‘No,’ I said. I wanted to finish my conversation with Caroline.

Hurst managed an idle shrug and called for the carriage.

‘I propose we follow Bingley to London. If we stay with him there, he will have no reason to return,’ I said.

‘An excellent plan. I will write to Jane tomorrow. I will say nothing out of the ordinary, but I will let her know that Charles will not be returning this winter, and I will wish her enjoyment of her many beaux this Christmas.’

Caroline’s letter was written and sent this morning, shortly before we departed for London.

‘Heard the damnedest thing in Meryton last night,’ said Mr Hurst as the coach rattled along on its way to London.

I did not pay much attention, but on his continuing I found myself attending to him.

‘The Bennet girl – what was her name?’

‘Jane,’ supplied Louisa.

‘No, not her, the other one. The one with the petticoat.’

‘Ah, you mean Elizabeth.’

‘That’s the one. Had an offer from the clergyman.’

‘An offer? From the clergyman? What do you mean?’ asked Caroline and Louisa together.

‘An offer of marriage. Collins. That was his name.’

‘Mr Collins! How delicious!’ said Louisa.

‘It seems that Mr Collins is another admirer of fine eyes,’ said Caroline, looking at me satirically. ‘I think they will deal well together. One is all impertinence, and the other is all imbecility.’

I had not known, till I heard this, how far my feelings had gone. The idea of Elizabeth marrying Mr Collins was mortifying, and painful in a way I had not imagined. I quickly rallied. Hurst must be mistaken. She could not lower herself so far. To be tied to that clod for the rest of her life…

‘You must be mistaken,’ I said.

‘Not mistaken at all,’ said Hurst. ‘Had it from Denny.’

‘It is not a bad match,’ said Louisa, considering. ‘In fact, it is a good one. There are five daughters, all unmarried, and their estate is entailed, I believe.’

‘Entailed on Collins,’ said Mr Hurst.

‘All the better,’ said Louisa. ‘Miss Eliza Bennet will not have to leave her home, and her sisters will have somewhere to live when her father dies.’

‘And so will her mother,’ said Caroline gaily. ‘How charming to be confined with Mrs Bennet for the rest of their lives!’

I had never liked Caroline less. I would not wish such a fate on anyone, and certainly not on Elizabeth. She suffers for her mother. I have seen it. She blushes every time her mother reveals her foolishness. To be forced to endure such humiliation for the rest of her life…

‘But I wonder why he did not ask Jane,’ said Louisa.

‘Jane?’ enquired Caroline.

‘Yes. She is the eldest.’

Caroline looked at me. I knew what she was thinking.

Mr Collins had not asked Jane, because Mrs Bennet had led him to believe that Jane was shortly to be married to Bingley.

‘I dare say, with the estate entailed, he thought he could have his choice,’ Caroline said. ‘Miss Eliza Bennet’s pertness must have appealed to him, though I am not sure she will make a suitable wife for a clergyman. What say you, Mr Darcy?’

I said nothing, for fear of saying something I should regret. I could not possibly allow myself to admire Elizabeth, so what did it matter if another man did? But I found that my hands were clenched and, looking down, perceived my knuckles had grown white.

She looked at me, expecting an answer, however, and at last I said, more to satisfy my own feelings than hers:

‘It might come to nothing. Denny might be mistaken.’

‘I do not see how,’ said Caroline. ‘He is as thick as thieves with Lydia. He knows everything that goes on in that household I dare say.’

‘Lydia is a child, and might have been wrong,’ I heard myself saying.

‘Denny did not have it from Lydia,’ said Mr Hurst.

‘Had it from the aunt. Aunt lives in Meryton. Told Denny herself. Whole house was in an uproar, she said. First Mr Collins offers for Elizabeth, then Elizabeth tells him she will not have him.’

‘Will not have him?’

I heard the hope in my voice.

‘Refused him. Mother in hysterics. Father on her side,’ said Mr Hurst.

God bless Mr Bennet! I thought, prepared to forgive him every other instance of neglect.

‘If she doesn’t change her mind and have him, he will have the Lucas girl,’ said Mr Hurst.

‘How do you know?’ asked Caroline in surprise.

‘Aunt said so. “If Lizzy doesn’t look sharp, Charlotte will have him,” she said. “He has to marry, his patroness has told him so, and one girl is as good as another in the end. ”’

I breathed again. It was only when I did so that I realized how deeply I had been attracted by Elizabeth. It was a good thing I was going to London. I had saved Bingley from an imprudent match, I could do no less for myself.

Once out of Elizabeth’s neighbourhood, I would cease to think about her. I would engage in rational conversation with rational women, and think no more of her saucy wit.

We arrived in London in good time. Bingley was surprised to see us.

‘We did not want you to be alone here, and to have to spend your free hours in a comfortless hotel,’ said Caroline.

‘But my business will only take a few days!’ he said in surprise.

‘I hope you will not go before seeing Georgiana,’ I said. ‘I know she would like to see you.’

‘Dear Georgiana,’ said Caroline. ‘Do say we can stay in town for a week, Charles.’

‘I do not know why I should not stay an extra day or two,’ he conceded. ‘I should like to see Georgiana myself.

Tell me, Darcy, is she much grown?’

‘You would not recognize her,’ I said. ‘She is no longer a girl. She is well on the way to becoming a woman.’

‘But still young enough to enjoy Christmas?’ Caroline asked.

I smiled. ‘I believe so. You must stay and celebrate it with us.’

‘We will not be staying so long,’ said Bingley.

‘What, and miss Christmas with Darcy and Georgiana?’ asked Caroline.

‘But I promised to dine with the Bennets,’ he said.

‘Mrs Bennet asked me particularly, and in the kindest manner.’

‘Are you to abandon old friends for new?’ cried Caroline. ‘Mrs Bennet said you could dine with her family at any time. I heard her say so myself. The Bennets will still be there after Christmas.’

Bingley looked uncertain, but then he said: ‘Very well.

We will stay in town for Christmas. ’ He began to look more cheerful. ‘I dare say it will be good fun. It is always better to celebrate Christmas when there are children in the house.’

This did not bode well for his feelings towards Georgiana, but I comforted myself with the fact that he had not seen her for a long time, and that although she might have seemed like a child the last time they met, she was now clearly becoming a young woman.

‘And once it is over, we will go to Hertfordshire for the New Year,’ he said. ‘I will write to Miss Bennet and tell her of our plans.’

‘There is no need for that,’ said Caroline. ‘I will be writing to her today. I will tell her so myself.’

‘Send her my best wishes,’ said Bingley.

‘Indeed I will.’

‘And tell her we will be in Hertfordshire in January.’

‘I will make sure I do so.’

‘Commend me to her family.’

‘Of course.’

He would have gone on, but I broke in with: ‘Then it is settled.’

Caroline left the room in order to write her letter.

Louisa and her husband went, too, and Bingley and I were left alone.

‘A Christmas to look forward to, and a New Year to look forward to even more,’ said Bingley.

‘You like Miss Bennet,’ I observed.

‘I have never met a girl I liked half so well.’

I sat down, and Bingley sat down opposite me.

‘And yet I am not sure she would make you a good wife,’ I said pensively.

‘What do you mean?’ he asked, surprised.

‘Her low connections –’

‘I do not intend to marry her connections!’ said Bingley with a laugh.

‘An uncle who is an attorney, another who lives in Cheapside. They can add nothing to your consequence, and will, in the end, diminish it.’

Bingley’s smile faded.

‘I cannot see that it matters. What need have I of consequence?’

‘Every gentleman needs consequence. And then there are the sisters.’

‘Miss Elizabeth is a charming girl.’

He had hit me at my weakest spot, but I was firm with myself and rallied.

‘Her sisters are, for the most part, ignorant and vulgar.

The youngest is a hardened flirt.’

‘There will be no need for us to see them,’ said Bingley.

‘My dear Bingley, you cannot live at Netherfield and not see them. They will always be there. So will her mother.’

‘Then we will not live at Netherfield. I have not yet bought the estate. It is only rented. We will settle elsewhere.’

‘But would Jane consent to it?’

His face fell.

‘If she felt a strong attachment to you, perhaps she might be persuaded to leave her neighbourhood,’ I said.

‘You think she does not feel it?’ asked Bingley uncertainly.

‘She is a delightful girl, but she showed no more pleasure in your company than in any other man’s.’

He chewed his lip.

‘I thought…she seemed pleased to talk to me…seemed pleased to dance with me…I rather thought she seemed more pleased with me than any other man. When we danced together –’

‘You danced but twice at each ball, and she danced twice with other men.’

‘She did,’ he admitted, ‘but I thought that was just because it would have been rude to refuse.’

‘Perhaps it would have been rude of her to refuse you.’

‘You think she only danced with me to be polite?’ he asked in consternation.

‘I would not go so far. I think she enjoyed dancing with you, and talking to you, and flirting with you. But I think she enjoyed it no more than with other men, and now that you are not in Hertfordshire –’

‘I must go back,’ he said, standing up. ‘I knew it.’

‘But if she is indifferent, you will only give yourself pain.’

‘If she is indifferent. You do not know that she is.’

‘No, I do not know it, but I observed her closely, and I could see no sign of particular regard.’

‘You observed her?’ he asked in surprise.

‘Your singling her out was beginning to attract attention. Others had noticed besides myself. If it had been gone on much longer, you would have been obliged to have made her an offer.’

‘I would have liked to have made her an offer,’ he corrected me, then faltered. ‘Do you think she would have accepted?’

‘Of course. It would have been a good match for her.

You have a considerable income, and a beautiful house.

She would have been settled near her family. There is no question of her refusing. But should you like to be married for those reasons?’

He looked doubtful.

‘I would rather be married for myself,’ he conceded.

‘And so you will be, one day.’

He sat down again.

‘She was too good for me,’ he said morosely.

‘Hardly that, but if her affections are not engaged, what is the point of marriage? You will meet another girl, as sweet as Miss Bennet, but one who can return your feelings in full measure. London is full of young ladies.’

‘But I have no interest in other young ladies.’

‘In time, you will have.’

Bingley said nothing, but I was easy in my mind. He will have forgotten her before the winter is over.

I am pleased he has expressed a desire to see Georgiana again. He has known her very much longer than he has known Miss Bennet, and a new acquaintance cannot be expected to hold the same place in his affections as an old, particularly when he sees how much Georgiana has grown. The match would be welcome on both sides, and I flatter myself that it would be a happy one.