Pemberley by Maria Grace

Author:Maria Grace [Maria Grace]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: White Soup Press
Published: 2022-12-31T00:00:00+00:00

Dinner was a dreary affair with solicitude toward the absent Miss Bennet taking up the better part of the conversation. While Bingley sounded sincere, his sisters swung from fawning to indifferent, depending on whether the little fairy dragon was whispering from her perch behind the curtains or not.

After dinner, Miss Elizabeth returned to her sister rather than accompany them to the drawing room, ending any opportunity to ask her anything directly.

The drawing room furnishings and appointments were what were to be expected of a country house of this magnitude, showing enough taste to be comfortable, but not nearly so much as to be in any way personal. A large fire crackled on one side of the drawing room. A great many candles brought light to the rest of the room. More than truly necessary. Miss Bingley was no doubt making a demonstration, probably for his benefit.

Darcy settled into a marginally comfortable chair near a table bearing a few books.

Miss Bingley perched on the overstuffed settee across from him. “I cannot say that I am disappointed in the loss of Miss Elizabeth’s company. Her manners are quite intolerable, a mixture of pride and impertinence. She has no conversation, no style, no taste, no beauty. She has nothing, in short, to recommend her, but being an excellent walker. I shall never forget her appearance this morning. She really looked almost wild. Why must she be scampering about the country, because her sister had a cold? Her hair so untidy, so blowsy!”

“Yes, and her petticoat. I hope you saw her petticoat, six inches deep in mud, I am absolutely certain.” Mrs. Hurst raised her eyebrow, the corners of her lips crooking just so.

Bingley drew a chair near his sisters. “Your picture may be very exact, Louisa, but I thought Miss Elizabeth looked remarkably well, when she came into the room this morning. Her dirty petticoat quite escaped my notice.”

“You observed it, Mr. Darcy, I am sure.” Miss Bingley turned to him with a far too familiar gaze.

He dodged it before she could meet his eyes.

“I am inclined to think that you would not wish to see your sister make such an exhibition.”

“Certainly not.”

“To walk three miles, or four miles, or five miles, or whatever it is, quite alone! What could she mean by it? It seems to me to show an abominable sort of conceited independence, a most country-town indifference to decorum.” Mrs. Hurst played with her bracelets.

“It shows an affection for her sister that is very pleasing,” Bingley said.

Miss Bingley batted her eyes. “I am afraid, Mr. Darcy, that this adventure has rather affected your admiration of her fine eyes.”

“Not at all, they were brightened by the exercise.” Darcy rose and paced the length of the room.

Silence descended.

Perhaps that would be the end of—

“I have an excessive regard for Jane Bennet.” Miss Bingley wandered to the fireplace, close to his walking path. “She is really a very sweet girl, and I wish with all my heart she were well settled. But with such a father and mother, and such low connections, I am afraid there is no chance of it.

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