resigned to his lot, he crossed his arms closely over his chest and trained his gaze on the vicar’s face.
Providentially, Mr. Stanley was a vigorous sermonizer, catching Darcy’s interest well enough to allow him to disregard, for the most part, the discomfort of his constricted limbs and his tense awareness of the maddening female on his left. However, when the service concluded and the last hymn was sung, he was more than ready to rise and seek in the outdoors an opportunity to work the stiffness out of his back and the lady out of his mind. “Mr. Darcy” came two voices, one from either side of him.
“Miss Bingley, Miss Elizabeth?” He waited, curious to see who would defer to whom for his attention.
“Please, Miss Bingley, you were before me.” Elizabeth curtsied and moved away to link her arm with that of Squire Justin, assuring him as she did so of her sister’s full recovery to health. Unreasonably disappointed, Darcy turned to Miss Bingley and asked how he could be of service. Smiling triumphantly, she took his arm, giving Darcy no choice but to escort her down the crowded aisle.
“No foot warmers, Mr. Darcy, in
“As you will, Miss Bingley,” he replied, distracted by a flurry of movement in the section of pews reserved for servants.
“Perhaps Charles should demand the sexton do something about it. How
“Hmm,” Darcy replied, only half-listening. Mildly curious, he searched through the crowd of servants until he found the locus of the disturbance and then was shocked to see at its center his own valet.
“What the d ——!”
“Mr. Darcy!” exclaimed Miss Bingley. “Whatever can be the matter?” Receiving no response, she followed Darcy’s rigid stare into the face of his valet, who with a hand resting protectively on the arm of a young woman, returned his regard with a flustered hauteur the equal of his own. Behind them stood a rather tall, solid-looking footman possessed of a glower that could likely kindle a blaze at twenty paces.
“Is that not your valet?” Miss Bingley demanded. Darcy choked out an affirmative, his jaw clenching and unclenching dangerously. Caught between two dangers, Fletcher dropped his eyes in deference to his master, whose look in reply promised a future reckoning. The footman, seeing himself caught out in his loutish behavior by a gentleman, backed away from Fletcher and the girl, and exited the church in the opposite direction.
Darcy resumed his way down the aisle, Miss Bingley, now silent, on his arm. “Your valet…he has been with you long?” she inquired finally.
“Quite,” Darcy replied stiffly.
“He serves you well? No freaks of distemper or problems with color?”
“Certainly not! At least…” Darcy paused, considering what he had just witnessed. “He is usually completely reliable. I wonder what could be your interest in my valet, madam?”
“Oh, merely idle curiosity, sir. But tell me, have you ever known him to mistake green for gray?”
After handing Miss Bingley into the carriage outside Meryton Church, Darcy went to Hurst’s conveyance and returned to Netherfield as he had come. The ladies were mounting the stairs to their rooms by the time he laid aside his hat and gloves and shrugged off his greatcoat in Netherfield’s entrance hall. Talk of the Bennet sisters’ imminent return to Longbourn drifted down upon him as he paused and, with concern, observed the wistful way Bingley gazed after them.
“If you cared to offer me something warm to drink, old man, I daresay I would agree to it,” Darcy proposed carefully.
Bingley came back to himself and, with an apologetic shake of his head, replied that of course he would order something up immediately. Would chocolate be agreeable?
“Excellent! In the library? You must hear the account I read yesterday of the breaching of the walls of Badajoz.” Bingley weakly smiled his assent and wandered off to request the desired refreshments while Darcy headed for the library, eager to be absent from any public room that might attract Bingley’s sisters or, more particularly, their departing guests. His prolonged nearness to Elizabeth in church had unsettled him and certainly thwarted his plan to stay aloof from her until her departure. This little time remaining, he knew, must be put to good use. His best course lay in safeguarding himself from any contact with her until propriety demanded his presence. If his plan required Bingley’s distraction from the eldest Miss Bennet, so much the better.
They spent a companionable hour “taking” Badajoz from the comfort of chairs set before the library’s hearth. The author’s suspenseful narrative, coupled with Darcy’s talent for infusing the account with a sense of immediacy and heroism, quite captured Bingley’s attention. Looking up from his text, Darcy was pleased to see his friend’s countenance gradually change from that of polite interest to eager anticipation so that, by the time Stevenson apprised them that the Misses Bennet were about to take their leave, he congratulated himself upon detecting in Bingley a momentary disappointment for the interruption.
Accompanying his friend to the front hall, Darcy was careful to remain in the background and kept his gaze traveling indifferently among the participants in their farewells. Miss Bingley’s relief at the ladies’ departure was almost palpable, her sister’s scarcely less so. Hurst had wandered out of the hall as soon as was decently possible, leaving Bingley alone to express a sincere sense of loss for the ladies’ company. Coming forward at last, Darcy bowed briefly to Miss Jane Bennet and wished her a pleasant journey home and continuing good health. He then turned to her sister with similar words at the ready but was almost startled out of his studied gravity by the intense examination he met in her eyes.
“Miss Elizabeth?” he questioned.
“Mr. Darcy,” she responded in a voice that necessitated he take a step closer to hear her better. “Mr. Darcy, I assure you that I have no desire to intrude into your domestic affairs or embroil you in local matters.” She paused in obvious discomfort but, gathering herself, plunged on. “I fear that you will find this an intolerable sort of imposition, but please allow me to acquaint you with the great service your man performed this morning for little Annie Garlick.”
“Mr. Fletcher is quite aware of the behavior I expect of those in my employ,” he replied haughtily, yet curious about her interest in the incident.
“Oh, I am so pleased to hear it, Mr. Darcy!” was her disjunctive rejoinder.
“How is that, Miss Elizabeth?”
“Why, knowing that he had your complete support and your high expectations to bolster him, he did what none in the servant class was willing to do, nor any of the local gentlemen were pleased to do.”
Darcy decided against obtuseness. “The hulking footman,” he supplied.
“Yes” — she smiled up at him — “he has been pressing poor Annie in a most inappropriate manner. Your man was a knight in shining armor to her.”
The impression of Fletcher, so clad and accoutred, presented itself for Darcy’s inspection and threatened to send him into a state of amusement he had rarely enjoyed at a lady’s instigation. He masked his laughter by clearing his throat. “Hmm, a knight! Well, I shall keep your words in mind when next I speak to him.” He bowed with slow grace before her. “Good day.”
“Mr. Darcy.” She curtsied and was gone.
Later, when Fletcher quietly entered his master’s rooms to prepare him for dinner, Darcy greeted his arrival with far more interest than he imagined the man desired. “Fletcher, I wish to speak to you about this morning,” he began.
“Yes, sir, one moment, sir,” the valet replied and disappeared into the dressing room. Darcy paused, quirking an eyebrow in surprise. When Fletcher did not reappear after a few moments, Darcy started toward the dressing room door, only to collide with the man, causing him to drop the black evening breeches in his arms. As Darcy quick-stepped, Fletcher swooped down to retrieve them, only to catch them under his master’s boot, nearly tripping him as he tugged. The sound of ripping fabric rent the air, causing both men to cease their movements. “Mr. Darcy, sir. Your breeches!” Fletcher cried. The horror-stricken look on Fletcher’s face contrasted so ironically with the heroic image conjured earlier by Elizabeth’s words that Darcy’s lips began to twitch. Soon a grin pulled at
