Page 13 of Transforming Mr. Darcy
The needle flashed as it dipped in and out of the sumptuous cloth. Elizabeth drew near. She admired Mildread’s handiwork even more than she had at Lucas Lodge. The gown was a brilliant blue, and the gold embroidery told an abbreviated history of the fairies. The song’s notes showered them with sparkling silver dust as they faded away, and an echo of the story rose from the golden thread of the gown to cavort around them. Elizabeth took a deep breath and smelled springtime. She saw herself strolling between ancient trees and into a meadow where sweet peas, daffodils, rhododendrons, and bluebells grew intertwined in a riot of colour. Someone was waiting for her there. Someone tall. With dark hair and a sweet, small smile. He held out his hands in welcome. She stepped forward, but as the music faded, so did he.
“You will not send Mr. Darcy away, will you?” she asked quietly.
Mildread studied her. “He is pompous, arrogant, and odious. Why do you continue to defend him when he cannot open his mouth without giving offense?”
“I do notknow,” Elizabeth pleaded. Truly, she did not. “For some reason, I think he is not as bad as he appears. He was kind to me at dinner,” she said weakly. “Promise you will not make him disappear.”
“Very well,” said Mildread reluctantly, her eyes still on Elizabeth. “I promise I shall not make him disappear.”
Chapter 6
Elizabeth spent the day worrying alternately about Jane and Mr. Darcy. By the late afternoon, her sister was on the mend, and her focus turned from the two fairy godmothers with her in Jane’s room to Mr. Darcy’s precarious position with them. Well, with one in particular. He and Mr. Bingley had left the house early to hunt, and she was relieved to have him well out of Mildread’s way.
Just as Mr. Darcy’s current occupation occurred to her, Mildread began to make the most alarming sounds of disapproval. She clucked. She grunted. She hmphed. When she pinched the bridge of her nose, Elizabeth hung her head. Something was coming. The signs were unmistakable.
“He is trying to ‘talk sense’ into Mr. Bingley about Jane,” Mildread explained while Jane slept.
“Certainly, he can have nothing to say against Jane,” Elizabeth replied, aghast. “Howcouldhe? He hardly knows her!”
“He is not insulting your sister,” Mildread replied. “He believes her a gentlewoman in every way, so I suppose he is not entirely stupid.” She sniffed. “He is, however, unimpressed by the rest of your family and your situation.”
Elizabeth glanced away. That was a different matter.
“He believes Mr. Bingley should return to London to think on what he should prefer to do.”
Well. There it was, then. Mr. Bingley would go to London, and his sisters and friend would try to keep him there. Jane could always visit Aunt and Uncle Gardiner, but to what end? They were well off, but their home was near Cheapside—in a respectable, wealthy neighbourhood to be sure, but one that was nothing to the more fashionable addresses in town. Between their children and the business, the Gardiners would not be available to escort Jane to any parties or balls where she might see Mr. Bingley. Even if they had thetime, they did not have those sorts of connections. While the men of the ton relied upon her uncle for their commerce, they did not invite him to their homes. No, they lived in very different circles than the Darcy and Bingley families. For that matter, so did the Bennets.
Elizabeth had never really expected anything to come of her strange interest in deciphering Mr. Darcy’s character. He was handsome and clever but also haughty and proud. It was a foolish inclination from beginning to end. She had thought herself more sensible, and she was determined to laugh herself out of it. No, there was no future there.
But she did have hope for Jane.
“We shall see, I suppose, how much influence his sisters and friend shall have,” Priscilla ventured to say from her seat near the window. She withdrew a little fairy dust, and Mildread shook her head. “You have overdone it, dear. Jane must return to Longbourn sometime.”
Priscilla nodded, returning the fairy dust to its silken bag, tightening the cords to secure it.
“Jane would be terribly unhappy if Mr. Bingley went away.” Elizabeth stood to stretch her back. She was sore from so many hours sitting in the sickroom.
“Would Jane truly want a man who does not know his own mind?” Mildread was distressingly unconcerned.
“Mr. Bingley relies on Mr. Darcy’s opinion because he is not entirely on his feet in society yet,” Priscilla added.
Elizabeth grasped the opportunity. “According to his sisters, Mr. Bingley was suddenly very popular last season because he had emerged from mourning but a few months earlier, just after he came into his inheritance. He is new to his position, that is all.”
“Mr. Darcy was not much older than Mr. Bingley when his father died,” Priscilla supplied from her perch near the window, where she was drawing shimmering pictures on the glass with her breath. “And he had much more to take on than Mr. Bingley.”
Elizabeth craned her neck to watch as a horse-drawn sleigh burst from the sketch on the windowpanes to circle above them. It dipped and swerved its way through lush, dense woods.
“Mr. Darcy was brought up to carry on with the family fortune—property, tenants, investments.” A strong stone house rose above a tree-covered hill, making the sleigh appear tiny in comparison. “He has a great deal of responsibility, and he was very young when it fell to him. He does have a sister, but she lives most of the year in London for hereducation. He shares her guardianship with a cousin who is in the army and often away.” Priscilla tipped her head to one side and met Elizabeth’s eye. “It must be a rather lonely life.”
Elizabeth’s heart ached a little to think of Mr. Darcy being alone with so much weighing on him, but there was nothing in the world that could excuse him should he interfere with Jane and Mr. Bingley. Should the couple themselves decide they did not suit, that was one thing, but if Mr. Darcy stooped to some disguise to separate the two, it would be unforgivable.
“Are you trying to make me feel sorry for him?” Elizabeth asked dryly.
Mildread sighed. “I believe it is your job to work on Jane and Mr. Bingley, Priscilla, and mine to see to Elizabeth.”
“And so it is, Mildread,” Priscilla said mildly. “I wish you luck.” Her eyes twinkled as she said it, and Elizabeth shuddered.
Yes, something was coming. Even Priscilla knew it.
