Page 14 of Transforming Mr. Darcy
Darcy lifteda forkful of partridge to his mouth and tried not to stare at Miss Elizabeth. It had become his routine whenever they were in the same room. He normally prided himself on his discipline, but without even trying, Miss Elizabeth was ruining all his vaunted self-control.
The meat was sharp, gamey, and made worse by the mealy texture. He coughed a bit, then swallowed and reached for his wine to wash the rancid taste from his tongue. As he recovered, he noticed that Miss Elizabeth was pushing her food around on her plate to make it appear as though she was eating it. Everyone else appeared to be enjoying their meal.
Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst first inquired about the ruins where the men had been hunting. Once he mentioned it was more picturesque than good grounds for hunting, Mrs. Hurst opined that they all might visit as it was not so very far off. When the suggestion was met with tepid replies, she and her sister continued an extensive conversation mentioning several of their friends from town, behaving as though Miss Elizabeth was either an imposition or not present at all. It would bother Darcy more if Miss Elizabeth had given any sign of noticing. Hurst was only too happy to consume her share in the meal as well as his own.
It was more than that, though. Miss Elizabeth startled when Bingley spoke gently to her. She gasped quietly when the footmen reached from behind to fill her glass. Even her colour was off. He hoped she was not sickening. She had spent nearly all of her few days here closed up in her sister’s room, and Cartwright had mentioned she had stayed up quite late seeing to her sister’s comfort. It was admirable, and what Darcy had come to expect of her. Despite the odd encounter in Bingley’s study, she had clearly not come to put herself in his way. Still, such devotion might be unhealthy, for if she had not contracted Miss Bennet’s illness herself, then the lack of fresh air, exercise, and rest might have made her unwell.
This was not right. He should not be anxious for Miss Elizabeth’s health. She was not his relation, nor did he have any claim on her.
He snuck another glance and found that she was watching him surreptitiously, with an expression both wary and mournful. He could not look away.
Suddenly, he felt a bit warm. More than a bit, as if a summer sun was beating down on him. He took another sip of his wine and tried not to recall a similar feeling at the assembly.
As the end of dinner approached, Darcy’s attention wandered away from Miss Elizabeth and fixed on his aching head. A small tickle began in his nose, and all over his body, his skin began to itch. It was torture not to be able to scratch at it.
This was too much. Was he illagain? Or still?
That settled it. He would leave Netherfield with Bingley and remain in London even were his friend to return.
Town might be generally considered less healthful than the country, but Hertfordshire was proving an exception to the prevailing wisdom. Removing to town would also serve to separate him from Miss Elizabeth. She was possessed of everything he wished for in a wife: wit, compassion, integrity, beauty. Everything but wealthy and well connected.
He was in danger with her. If he returned to London, he would not have to examine why his reasonable objections to a marriage between Bingley and Miss Bennet did not apply to Miss Elizabeth. Because theydidapply. He was simply beginning not to care.
Darcy touched his napkin to the corner of his mouth. He had to care.
His parents had been happy with one another, this he knew, but their marriage had not been about love. In his father’s final days, the older man had grown introspective. “Your mother and I were very fond of one another,” he had said to Darcy. “She had a title, I hada fortune, and together we improved the position of the family in society. Find yourself a woman you can admire and respect, Fitzwilliam, and you will be better off. Be careful, though, not to look for her where you should not.”
Hertfordshire was a place he should not look. Against his sadly weakened will, Darcy’s eyes moved again to Miss Elizabeth. This time, she was staring directly back at him. Could she see his intentions to leave her behind? Her eyes were not admiring, but afraid. It made him shudder to see it.
There was something wispy and white in his cuff. He dropped his hand beneath the table and plucked out a small plume, allowing it to drift to the floor. He would have to speak to Cartwright about the state of his clothing. It was unlike his valet to miss something so obvious. Darcy’s irritation was soon superseded by a scratchy feeling on the back of his neck, beneath his cravat. He stretched his neck a bit but found no relief.
What next? He tossed a rueful glance at Bingley and then addressed Miss Bingley. “I thank you for the excellent meal.” It probablyhadbeen good—everyone else had eaten. Other than Miss Elizabeth, at any rate. He stood. “I find I must retire.”
“Of course,” Bingley replied, all affability as he rose, though his gaze was assessing. “Please do not wait on Hurst and me.”
“Thank you,” Darcy replied. His voice, which had not entirely recovered its normal pitch, came out a little brighter, a little brasher than it ought. “I bid you good night.” This time it was worse.
Darcy swallowed and shook his head. This was growing very tiresome.
Elizabeth staredat Mr. Darcy with a rapidly growing sense of horror. Her breath came a little faster and her head swam when she spied the downy feather that was protruding from his shirt sleeve. He hid his arm under the table, his eyes narrowing as he glared at it.
Mildread was behind this. What she was about, Elizabeth did not know. But whatever it was would happen right here, at dinner, in front of two of the worst gossips Elizabeth had ever met.
He stood graciously and begged to be excused, but his words came out in a . . . was that a honk?
Mr. Bingley stood to bid his friend a good night, his expression of alarm quicklymasked.
Mr. Darcy spoke again. The trumpeting sound was muted but distinctive. He stepped around the table but stopped to honk again. It was more of a cough-honk, and it was right in her face. Mrs. Hurst laughed aloud, but Elizabeth could not have cared any less—there was panic in that honk. She watched the door close behind him.
No. No. No.
After Mr. Darcy had been gone for less than a minute, Elizabeth offered Miss Bingley a weak smile and stood. “I would return to my sister if you will excuse me.”
Miss Bingley waved her away with the back of one elegant hand, but Elizabeth did not stop to feel the slight.
She burst into the hall, which was strangely devoid of servants, though she could hear them coming up the stairs from the kitchen. There was a broken line of white feathers trailing away from the dining room. Swiftly, she scooped them up as she followed the path to a small dark hall off to the left of the family stairs.
“Mr. Darcy,” she hissed. “Are you here? Mr. Darcy!”
