Page 67 of Dear Friend

Chapter Twenty-Five

5th November 1811

Netherfield

Darcy

“Jane is a lovely girl,” Mrs. Hurst began after the Bennet ladies had departed and the rest of the household had settled to dinner. “But that Miss Eliza is something of a character.”

Darcy, still full from the luncheon at Colonel Forster's, had settled for little more than soup and wine. He was beginning to regret the choice, for this line of conversation resembled too many he had heard Bingley's sisters indulge in before, and he suspected he would need something considerably stronger than wine to endure it with patience.

“I thought I was the only one who noticed,” Miss Bingley said, pausing with her spoon halfway to her mouth. “Jane is certainly beautiful, I grant you, though a little unrefined, as one might expect from a girl who has spent nearly all her life in the country. As for Miss Elizabeth, she is forward, opinionated, and entirely too pleased with her own cleverness for a young woman of her connexions.”

“Her connexions are perfectly respectable,” Bingley said, setting down his spoon with rather more force than the observation required. “And since we are speaking of the Bennets, I may as well tell you both plainly what I have been meaning to say for some time. I intend to marry Jane.”

Mrs. Hurst's brows rose sharply. “Surely you are joking, Charles.”

“I am not.”

“You have scarcely known her a month!” Mrs. Hurst stared at her brother in astonishment. “The family has nothing whatever to recommend it. No connexions worth mentioning, a mother whose manners would disgrace a much lower household, and three younger sisters who behave as though they have never once been properly checked.”

“I am not marrying her mother or her sisters.” Bingley's usual good humour remained, but there was a firmness beneath it Darcy had seldom heard directed towards his sisters. “I have never met a woman I admire half so much as Jane, and I do not intend to be talked out of it over dinner. I have not proposed to her yet, nor do I mean to for a little while. I should like our courtship to continue as it has before I ask her to make anything settled between us, but my own mind is made up. I tell you now because you are my sisters, and I thought you ought to know my intentions.”

Mrs. Hurst stared at him for a long moment before turning towards Darcy. “Surely, Mr. Darcy, you will speak some sense to your friend? He will listen to you, if he will listen to no one else.”

Darcy, who had been aware of the courtship but certainly not of Bingley's intention to propose, took a sip of wine as he regarded the sisters. He was privately pleased that his friend had made up his mind without first consulting him. Bingley had always placed considerable value upon Darcy's opinion, sometimes more than Darcy thought was good for him, but of late he had begun making his own decisions without feeling it necessary to seek Darcy's approval first.

Darcy liked the change exceedingly well.

“Whom Bingley chooses to love or marry is not my business to direct,” Darcy replied, setting down his glass. “But since you ask my opinion plainly, I am inclined to support him. Miss Bennet comes from a respectable family. Her father is a sensible and well-read gentleman, and I have observed nothing in Miss Bennet herself which does not speak well of her.”

Miss Bingley's mouth curved into something between a smile and a sneer. “You appeal to the wrong man if you expect him to speak sense to Charles, Louisa. Can you not see how Mr. Darcy himself behaves whenever Miss Elizabeth is present?”

Darcy's gaze settled upon her at this. He had half expected Bingley's sisters to draw him into the argument sooner or later, and now that they had done so, he braced himself for whatever might follow.

“I begin to think Mrs. Bennet has managed matters remarkably well,” Caroline continued. “One daughter has secured Charles's attention, while another appears determined upon Mr. Darcy’s. Perhaps the Bennet ladies have simply set their sights upon both eligible gentlemen at Netherfield.”

“I do not see it that way in the least,” Darcy said, though something beneath the evenness of his voice had grown considerably colder.

“No, I do not suppose you would.” Miss Bingley's smile sharpened. “Though I confess I cannot understand what you find so remarkable in Miss Elizabeth particularly. She carries herself as though she believes herself something quite out of the common way, and yet everyone can see that she is not even the beauty of the family, whatever airs she gives herself.”

“Miss Elizabeth gives herself very few airs,” Bingley interrupted.

Miss Bingley ignored him. “I have heard, in fact, that there was once another young woman in Meryton who resembled her so closely that the two were sometimes mistaken for sisters. Julia, I believe her name was.”

Darcy's attention sharpened perceptibly.

“Julia Harding,” Mrs. Hurst supplied. “I remember someone mentioning her at Lucas Lodge.”

“Yes, that was it. Miss Harding.” Caroline took another sip of wine. “Indeed, someone at Lucas Lodge claimed that, although she and Miss Elizabeth were remarkably alike, Miss Harding was generally considered the prettier of the two

Mrs. Hurst gave a small laugh. “I cannot imagine Miss Elizabeth enjoyed the comparison.”

“Nor can I.” Caroline's smile held a trace of satisfaction. “A young woman so conscious of her own charms cannot have been delighted to find herself continually compared with a prettier friend. And then, rather conveniently, Miss Harding disappears from the neighbourhood altogether.” She lifted one shoulder. “One ought not to give too much credit to gossip, of course, but it does make one wonder whether Miss Elizabeth's jealousy had some part in the suddenness of her friend's departure. Perhaps their celebrated devotion was rather more one-sided than Meryton chooses to remember.”

Darcy's spoon stopped halfway to his mouth.

He lowered it slowly, displeasure rising with such force that he was obliged to measure his response before speaking. “I have not heard that account, and I confess I find it difficult to credit. I understand Miss Harding left Hertfordshire following a serious illness, not any quarrel with Miss Elizabeth. Surely your own sources, whatever they were, would have told you as much, had they troubled to mention the whole of it rather than the part more convenient to repeat.”