The Art of Apology (Happiness in Marriage)

Chapter 17

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

T he following Monday, Jane received an invitation to spend the day and take dinner with Mrs Hurst and Miss Bingley; the gentlemen would not be there, having received their own invitation from Colonel Forster. Elizabeth was happy for her, because Jane liked the ladies; she was also glad the invitation had not included her , because she did not, although she could not explain why. Then again, with her thoughts full of Mr Darcy, she had not tried to understand, particularly as she found her occupation increasingly less frustrating and more pleasurable.

“It is too bad you will not see Mr Bingley,” Mrs Bennet said when Jane raised the possibility of accepting at breakfast. “I have had an excellent notion! It is sure to rain, and if you ride, Miss Bingley will have to ask you to stay the night, and then you will see him.”

“No, my dear wife, Jane most certainly will not ride to Netherfield in some sort of plot to speak to Mr Bingley for a few minutes,” Mr Bennet said with exaggerated patience.

What followed was akin to scenes of an unfamiliar play. Her father calmly shook his head while her mother pleaded the case for her proposed scheme. A month ago, Elizabeth would have expected him to roll his eyes and let his wife arrange matters however she liked. She was developing a strong preference for this version of her father, and she prayed he would not go back to his old ways.

He turned to Jane and asked, “Do you wish to go?”

“Yes, but…but only if I may have the carriage.” Jane glanced at Mrs Bennet, her cheeks pink, telling Elizabeth she was conscious of disappointing her. “I am sure I shall see Mr Bingley soon.”

Mrs Bennet sighed heavily but made no argument. Jane went to Netherfield Park soon after breakfast and was safely returned to Longbourn before it began to rain heavily.

Darcy had found the evening with the officers agreeable. He had refrained from spending every minute thinking of Miss Elizabeth, though he had collected a number of diverting anecdotes to share with her and imagined the sound of her laughter and how her eyes would dance with mirth when he did. The colonel was a decent chap, interesting enough to have a conversation with during dinner, and some of his officers were likewise amiable. Apart from knowing the evening would give him an easy subject to discuss with a certain lady whose company he wanted much more of, what Darcy most enjoyed was the return to ease between himself and Bingley. It was not in his friend’s nature to cling to resentment and anger; thus it was not a surprise that he gave every appearance of having forgotten his recent disappointment with Darcy. That alone was one reason he valued Bingley’s friendship; he was caring and loyal, and, having been betrayed again and again by his former close companion—George Wickham—Darcy greatly desired having people about him that he could trust.

At Netherfield, they found Mrs Hurst and Miss Bingley in the drawing room. Hurst immediately poured himself a large glass of wine and went to sit with his wife.

As Bingley prepared drinks for himself and Darcy, he asked his sisters how they had spent the afternoon. “Did you ask anyone to visit you?”

He had previously suggested that they do so to establish connexions in the neighbourhood. Bingley believed their recent excursion to St Albans had improved his sisters’ opinion of his having leased Netherfield. Darcy suspected it would take more than that, given their longstanding fondness for everything they considered fashionable—especially people—and disdain for what was not.

Exchanging a look with her sister, Miss Bingley said, “Jane Bennet was here for a few hours. We gave her a fine dinner and sent her back to Longbourn.”

“Miss Bennet was here?” Bingley said with a touch more enthusiasm than he had displayed since they entered the room. “Did any of her sisters accompany her?”

“Which one would we invite? Really, Charles, think about it. The youngest three should not be out in society, and Miss Eliza is intolerable,” Miss Bingley said, glancing at Darcy.

“I like Miss Elizabeth,” Bingley said, his tone sharp. “She is amusing, kind, and excellent company. What I do not like is you speaking meanly of our neighbours.”

This led to a short argument between Bingley and his sisters during which Hurst rubbed his forehead and Darcy counted the number of yellow flowers in a large painting.

“Enough,” Mrs Hurst stated. “Our opinions of Miss Eliza will never be the same. You are free to converse with her as much as you like, Charles, but Caroline and I are equally free to find her disagreeable.”

“She has a conceited independence that is disgusting to me,” Miss Bingley added.

“How can you say that?” Bingley interjected. “I have hardly ever seen you speak to her?—”

“But I have heard her talking to others. It is enough for me,” Miss Bingley asserted. “Miss Jane Bennet is sweet, I grant you, if a little…too accustomed to life in the country. But her family! Brother, you cannot have failed to notice that the Bennets are not the most respectable people.”

“How so?” Darcy enquired, the sound of his voice surprising himself as much as anyone else.

Miss Bingley regarded him as though uncertain she had understood the question, leaving Mrs Hurst to respond. “I cannot criticise Miss Bennet, but the behaviour of her sisters and mother is deplorable, and Mrs Bennet’s connexions are all in trade. Her brother-in-law is the town’s attorney! Need I say more?”

Her sneering tone, her words, or a combination of both made something intangible shift inside Darcy. A month ago, he would have agreed with her at once, but at present, having been forced to confront his arrogance and having learnt more about Mr Bennet, spent time with Miss Elizabeth, and heard her speak of her mother and sisters, he was uncomfortable and even felt vaguely sick to hear Mrs Hurst disparage the Bennets. Briefly, he debated whether he should remain silent; but what did it say of him if he did not defend them, and was that better or worse than possibly quarrelling with Bingley’s sisters?

The image of Miss Elizabeth on their recent walk—her eyes bright, cheeks rosy, and lips turned up in pleasure as they spoke of poetry—made the choice easy.

“I like the Bennets. I hope to know them better while I remain here, and especially that I can earn their forgiveness for my rude behaviour last month. Mr Bennet and my cousin Frederick were friends in their younger years, and my cousin writes highly of him. That is good enough for me.”

“Well said, Darcy!” Bingley cried, while his sisters’ countenances reflected their disapproval.

“Your cousin and Mr Bennet, you said?” Hurst asked.

Darcy nodded and explained the connexion further. Fortunately, neither lady added to the discussion, but he noticed them yet again exchanging looks. He held such wordless conversations with his two male cousins that were closest in age to him—Viscount Bramwell and Colonel Fitzwilliam, the children of his uncle the earl—and knew it was the result of knowing them so intimately that you always understood how they would view various situations.

“We ought to entertain,” Bingley said, shifting the topic. “Other than having callers and you asking Miss Bennet here today, we have not hosted our neighbours yet. Caroline, you ought to be eager to do so. You spoke about it as a benefit of living with me in the country. What ideas do you have?”

Darcy bit his lips together to avoid laughing at the expression that flashed across Miss Bingley’s countenance. Bingley could be credulous to the point of naivety; probably he truly believed his sister would leap at the chance to welcome their neighbours to Netherfield despite her dislike of them. Possibly, Bingley simply believed that if he refused to acknowledge his sister’s mean-spirited sentiments, she would keep them to herself. Unfortunately, she did not.

“All the fuss and money for those people?”

“Caroline,” Bingley admonished.

Mrs Hurst, who Darcy had noticed was usually protective of her younger sister, said to Bingley, “I suppose it is necessary since you are intent on making connexions here. Be sure you are not making the wrong sorts of connexions, however.”

“What do you mean by that?” Bingley asked.

Darcy finished his drink and wished he had another; he believed he could guess how Mrs Hurst would answer, and his friend would not appreciate it.

“Everyone can see that you favour Miss Bennet,” she said.

“I do,” Bingley agreed. “I like her a great deal.”

Miss Bingley sighed loudly, and Mrs Hurst said, “She would not be a suitable wife?—”

“Oh, good Lord, Louisa,” Bingley interjected. “First, she is a gentleman’s daughter, so yes, she would.”

“The situation of her mother’s people—” Miss Bingley began to say, but her brother was quick to interrupt her.

“Is not unlike our own. I shall not speak of it again. And before you say she has no dowry, I happen to have more than enough money. I do not care about adding to my fortune. I never have, as you know. Enough about Miss Bennet. I have not known her a month, and it is too soon to think of marriage. Finally, I shall remind you that whom I marry is a matter for me to decide, not either of you. Now, let us return to the topic of how we shall thank our neighbours for their warm welcome.”

Darcy wanted to applaud. Too often, Bingley had let his sisters do and say whatever they liked, even if he privately admitted to Darcy how much he disagreed or disapproved.

Miss Bingley’s lips pursed in evident disgust, and after a brief pause, she said, “Very well. A card party. That is easy enough.”

Bingley’s features twisted into doubt, and he shook his head. “No, it should be something grander than that. I was thinking of a ball. ”

“What?” Miss Bingley exclaimed, while Mrs Hurst said, “A ball?”

Bingley nodded eagerly. “I was speaking to some of the ladies when we were at Lucas Lodge, and they told me that Netherfield’s owners used to host balls regularly. It is the only house hereabouts with a ballroom. It will be wonderful! We can even ask some of our friends from town. I can hardly wait!”

It took some insistence—and a long enough discussion that Darcy almost fell asleep—but finally it was agreed. The Bingleys would host a ball at Netherfield before the end of the month.

To Darcy’s astonishment, his first thought was that he longed to talk to Miss Elizabeth about it. He wanted to see her delight, and—even more astonishing—he wanted to ask her for a set. It is only right. It will be the dance we ought to have shared last month. In his heart, he knew it was more than a duty; he, who hated to dance, desired, even longed, to stand up with Miss Elizabeth Bennet.

Before retiring a while later, Bingley announced that he planned to call at Longbourn the next day. He did not say it was to see Miss Bennet, but anyone who thought otherwise was a fool.

“I shall go with you, if you do not mind,” Darcy said. “I wish to talk to Mr Bennet about my cousin’s letter.”

Bingley grinned and assured him that his company would be most welcome.