Page 5 of Mr. Darcy and the Mysterious "Miss B"
Chapter 2
Elizabeth
The stairs at Longbourn creaked under Elizabeth’s feet as she climbed towards her mother’s bedchamber. The scent of lavender water and camphor hung in the air—Mama’s nightly ritual to ward off headaches and what she called ‘attacks upon her nerves’.’ Tonight, Elizabeth suspected, would require double the usual dose.
Due to her ongoing mourning, Mrs Bennet had left them in the care of Aunt Phillips—and given they were sisters, it had been almost as if their mother had accompanied them. Mrs Phillips had a tendency towards histrionics, same as their mother and about as much decorum.
However, Elizabeth had appreciated their aunt’s company. And now, she knew, their mother would aspire to live vicariously through them. One of the few joys she had these days as she had not been quite the same since her husband’s death.
While she had left her bedchamber after refusing to do so for several weeks, she was often half the woman she used to be. On Sundays, when they went to church, she would return to her old self. She would smile, converse, and even engage in gossip now and then but the moment they returned home, she would sink into melancholy.
It was painful to see her boisterous mother so diminished in both spirit and circumstance. For, while Uncle Morton had hired a steward, it had been made clear to them that the estatewas in dire straits and they had been forced to tighten their purses.
Jane and Elizabeth had kept this from their mother as much as possible, but she had sussed them out—though after one conversation regarding the estate, she had decided to ignore any troubles in that department. “Uncle Morton will see to it” she had concluded and refused to speak of the matter again.
“Girls! Girls, come to me at once!” Mrs Bennet’s voice echoed down the corridor, drawing her from her reverie. “I must hear everything—every single detail of this evening. Jane, my dearest Jane, come and tell me of your triumph!”
Elizabeth paused outside the door to see Jane ascending the stairs with Mary and Kitty close behind her. Jane’s cheeks still held a faint blush from the evening’s dancing, whilst Mary carried her usual expression of solemn resignation.
“Where is Lydia?” Elizabeth asked.
“She went straight to her room,” Mary replied. “She barely spoke during the carriage ride home.”
Elizabeth’s concern deepened. Before Papa’s death, Lydia would have been the first to burst into Mama’s room with tales of her conquests on the dance floor.
“Come, come!” Mrs Bennet called again, and the four sisters entered the chamber together.
Mrs Bennet sat propped against her pillows, her nightcap slightly askew and her eyes bright with anticipation. A tray of tea and biscuits sat on the table beside her bed—Hill’s attempt to settle her mistress’s excitement, no doubt.
“My dear girls, sit down immediately and tell me everything,” Mrs Bennet commanded, patting the space beside her on the bed. “Jane, you must begin. Was Mr Bingley there? Aunt Phillips told me how he tended to you at the bookshop.”
Jane perched on the edge of the bed; her hands folded in her lap. “Mr Bingley was very agreeable, Mama. Most courteous and well-mannered.”
“Agreeable! Courteous!” Mrs Bennet threw her hands up in exasperation. “Jane, my dear, sweet child, you must give me more than that. Did he dance with you? How many times? What did he say? Did he compliment your appearance?”
A genuine smile crossed Jane’s features—the first Elizabeth had seen from her in months. “He danced with me twice, Mama. The first and the fifth sets. And yes, he was most complimentary. He said I looked very well in lavender.”
“Twice!” Mrs Bennet clasped her hands together. “Oh, my dear Jane, this is promising indeed. Very promising. And what of his friend? Mr—what was his name?”
“Mr Darcy,” Elizabeth supplied, unable to keep the distaste from her voice.
Mrs Bennet’s attention swivelled to her second daughter like a hawk spotting prey. “Ah yes, Mr Darcy. And did you dance with this gentleman, Lizzy?”
Elizabeth settled into the chair beside the bed and shook her head. “No, Mama. Mr Darcy does not dance at country assemblies.”
“Does not dance?” Mrs Bennet’s voice rose to a pitch that made Mary wince. “What do you mean he does not dance? What sort of gentleman attends a ball and refuses to dance?”
“The proud sort,” Elizabeth replied, thinking of Darcy’s dismissive appearance when Mrs Phillips had suggested their introduction. “He made it quite clear that he considered the company beneath his notice.”
Mrs Bennet’s face flushed red. “Beneath his notice! The impudence! Who does he think he is? I never heard of such rudeness in my life. Jane, tell me this Mr Darcy was not discourteous to you as well?”
“Oh no, Mama,” Jane said. “Mr Darcy was perfectly polite to me. Though I confess he seemed rather reserved.”
“Reserved,” Mrs Bennet huffed. “That is a charitable way to describe such behaviour. Lizzy, what exactly did this man say to you?”
Elizabeth hesitated. The full truth would send her mother into hysterics, but a partial account might suffice. “He declined to dance and made it clear he preferred the company he had brought with him.”
“Abominable man!” Mrs Bennet declared. “To think such a person exists in civilised society. Jane, you must tell Mr Bingley that his friend’s behaviour was most offensive. Perhaps Mr Bingley might speak to him about proper manners.”
