Page 63 of The Briar Bargain
Silence followed, broken only by the sound of Mrs. Hurst stirring her tea.
The word "genuine" echoed in Elizabeth’s mind, carrying with it implications she was not certain she wished to examine. It struck her strangely, and she was not altogether pleased by how her pulse responded to the possibility that his words might have been intended for her ears more than Miss Bingley’s.
The colour in Miss Bingley’s cheeks had heightened, whether from anger or mortification, Elizabeth could not determine. She even felt a little pity for the woman who had made her so miserable, for all her hopes must be draining away before her.
Mrs. Hurst glanced between her sister and Darcy, then looked away but remained silent. That was remarkable. Mrs. Hurst always followed hersister's lead in matters of conversation, offering support with the reliability of an echo. But now, it appeared, she had stepped to the side.
The realisation struck Elizabeth with sudden clarity: the tide had turned, and Miss Bingley, though she fought valiantly to keep her feet, was not a strong swimmer. The thought brought with it a surge of satisfaction that Elizabeth was not proud to acknowledge. She had never liked Miss Bingley, but she had also recognised her as a woman facing the same sort of societal expectations the Bennet women did. Of course, she had the benefit of a fortune and the added detriment of that fortune having been made through trade.
Yet even now, a small voice in the back of her mind whispered caution. Miss Bingley was not a woman to accept defeat without protest, and Elizabeth suspected that this apparent retreat might be nothing more than a temporary withdrawal.
Mr. Darcy had returned to his book, though Elizabeth suspected his attention was not fully engaged with its contents. Several times she caught him glancing up when he thought himself unobserved, his gaze moving between the various members of the party.
When the party dispersed to prepare for a walk to the garden, Mr. Bingley having declared the weather too fine to waste indoors, Elizabeth lingered in the hall, ostensibly to examine a portrait that had caught her fancy, but in truth to watch the behaviour of the others as they departed.
Mr. Bingley and Jane had moved to the stairs, engaged in conversation. The Hursts followed, Mrs. Hurst’s arm on her husband’s. Mr. Darcy followed at a discreet distance, though his attention seemed divided between the hall ahead and something behind him.
It was then that she glanced behind her and saw Miss Bingley standing half turned away, one hand pressed to her temple as though a headache threatened. For a moment, her careful composure had slipped entirely,and Elizabeth saw her not as the confident mistress of Netherfield's social sphere, but as a woman suddenly and starkly aware that the room no longer turned with her.
But she did not remain so for long. Miss Bingley straightened quickly, leaving Elizabeth to wonder whether she had imagined the entire episode.
As she made her own way upstairs to prepare for the proposed walk, Elizabeth found herself reflecting on the morning's events. This latest encounter with Miss Bingley in the parlour had left her with the curious impression that she had witnessed something significant: Miss Bingley backed into a corner. And she worried that this woman might prove more formidable than the one who was confident of her supremacy.
The thought followed her as she changed into her walking dress and gathered her pelisse and bonnet. For the first time since arriving at Netherfield, Elizabeth found herself wondering not what Miss Bingley might do next, but of what she might be capable.
Outside her window, the autumn sunshine continued to pour down with deceptive warmth, and the grounds of Netherfield spread out in all their soggy, manicured perfection. It was a beautiful day for a walk, and Elizabeth was determined to enjoy it. But she could not quite shake the feeling that yesterday’s apparent victory might prove to have been nothing more than the calm before a far more dangerous storm.
Chapter Twenty-One
Darcy found himself in the peculiar position of studying the autumn landscape from his chamber window while his thoughts remained entirely occupied with the woman who would form part of the party for their proposed walk. Hurst's revelations last evening had left him with an uneasiness he could not quite define. News of Miss Bingley's increasingly desperate manoeuvres were troubling enough, but it was Miss Elizabeth's reaction to them that concerned him most, for he had seen the way she carried herself in the parlour earlier, the careful awareness of a woman braced for battle.
The sound of voices below drew his attention, and he looked down to see Miss Elizabeth emerging from the house with Miss Bennet. Even from this distance, he could observe the easy confidence of her movements, the animated gestures as she spoke to her sister. She was wearing the walking dress in which she had arrived at Netherfield, a deep blue that complemented her colouring admirably, and her bonnet was tied with a yellow ribbon that caught the morning light.
But it was not her appearance that held his attention; it was the way she paused, her head tilted as though listening for something, her expression alert in a manner that spoke of continued vigilance.
"Harrison," he called, not turning from the window.
His valet appeared with his customary efficiency. "Sir?"
"Has there been any unusual activity in the house this morning? Any consultations between Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst that might have attracted notice?"
Harrison's expression remained professionally neutral, though Darcy caught the slight tightening around his eyes that suggested interesting intelligence. "I am told, sir, that Miss Bingley was in earnest conference with her chambermaid very early this morning. The woman appeared distressed by whatever instructions she received."
"Distressed how?"
"She was heard to say that she would not be party to any mischief, sir."
Darcy turned from the window, his attention now fully engaged. "Did Mrs. Nicholls intervene?"
"Indeed, sir. I did not witness this myself, you understand.”
Darcy nodded.
“The word among the servants is that Miss Bingley requested that Susanrearrangecertain items in Miss Elizabeth's chamber. When the girl refused, Miss Bingley became rather insistent. Mrs. Nicholls made it clear to all the maids that such requests were never to be entertained, no matter who made them."
The cold anger in Darcy's chest intensified. "What manner of rearrangement?" he asked, his voice carefully controlled.
"The girl was not specific, sir, but she appeared quite relieved when Mrs. Nicholls refused to permit it." Harrison paused, then added carefully, "I believe young Susan fears for her position."
