Page 6 of What to do with Fitzwilliam Darcy?

Her heart twisted painfully as Bingley ran after Mr Darcy's retreating form. "Come now, Darcy, we are all friends here. Did I not mention that my lovely sister Lizzie was in residence? What is this all about? Where must you be? I know for certain that your business in Hertfordshire is to aid me." Then the two men drop their voices, so all she could make out was hurried whispers going back and forth.

"Did I not mention that Mr Darcy was visiting with us?" Jane said. "He is to aid Charles with the purchase of Netherfield Park. Charles required someone with a little more experience in these types of land purchases to guide him."

Elizabeth turned to look at her sister. Jane's face was pale, with two spots of colour high on her cheeks, and all at once the pieces slotted into place in Elizabeth's mind.

"You knew about this," she said, shocked. "You deceived me, Jane. You knew he would be here, and you knew it would cause me pain. Why would you..."

But she could not finish the sentence. At that moment, Bingley entered the room with Mr Darcy. Bingley's grin was wide, but his face was flushed, and he had one hand firmly on Darcy's arm. Mr Darcy himself looked like a man being dragged to the gallows.

"Now, is this not jolly?" said Bingley in a voice that suggested nothing at all was jolly about the situation. "Let me get you a glass of brandy, Darcy. I have the good French stuff. Do not ask me where I got it from." He chuckled, sending a concerned glance towards Jane.

His wife continued smoothly. "Yes, how lovely. A little drink. Elizabeth? Wine?"

"Yes, please," said Elizabeth, her eyes still on her sister's face.

She did not look directly at the man who had haunted her dreams for many months, but she noted that he took a seat as far away from her as humanly possible. She wanted to scream. She knew she had been cruel and unfair, but could he really hate her so much?

Elizabeth accepted the glass of wine from Jane with a hand that was not quite steady and drained half of it in one swallow. The warmth hit her almost at once, spreading through her chest and doing absolutely nothing to settle the wild thud of her heart. She risked one glance at Mr Darcy, saw him sitting rigidly on the other side of the room and finished the rest.

"Another, please."

✽✽✽

Elizabeth was drunk. She realised this fact somewhere between the soup and the fish course. Soused, pickled, seven sheets to the wind, absolutely ratted. She had found that the only way to deal with Mr Darcy's proximity was to keep a steady stream of wine flowing to her lips. It made her feel pleasantly numb, as though someone had wrapped a blanket around the part of her brain that was simultaneously screaming at her to run far, far away from this house and begging her to climb into his lap and wind her arms around his neck.

The table was groaning under the weight of some excellent food. Mr Bingley had been right. It was to be a very fine dinner indeed, and Elizabeth had eaten no more than two mouthfuls of it. Jane had clearly gone all out in her efforts to entertain this small party, but to what end? So she and Mr Darcy could sit opposite and glare at each other? So he could wish himself anywhere in the country rather than in her presence? She could not imagine what her sister was about. It was not in Jane's nature to be deceptive, and to be deceptive in a way which caused such cruel pain to Elizabeth felt so alien as to be impossible.

Jane now sat quietly, her gaze flickering between Elizabeth and Mr Darcy, who stared sullenly down at his chicken as though it had offended him in some very grave manner. Bingley, meanwhile, was attempting conversation with considerably more enthusiasm than success.

"Darcy, why don't you tell us about that new mare I heard you bought? Is she as fine as the rumours suggest?"

"She is doing well enough," said Mr Darcy in clipped tones, his eyes not leaving his plate.

"And Miss Elizabeth," Bingley went on, somewhat desperately, "Jane was telling me that you have started a new novel. Please, share some of the contents with us. Would you recommend it?"

Elizabeth had by now reached the point of inebriation where all of this seemed quite hilarious to her. She struggled to contain a giggle and was then surprised when a hiccup left her body instead. She clapped a hand over her mouth. Mr Darcy's eyes flashed up to meet hers, and she gave him a rather wobbly wink. He looked as though he might drop his cutlery in shock.

Elizabeth addressed Mr Bingley, attempting to adopt a serious mien. "Well, my dearest, dearest brother. Favourite brother. Man of men. Mr Bingley. Charles. I shall tell you. I am reading a very silly, silly Gothic novel about a woman who gets trapped in a castle by a beastly man." She looked directly at Mr Darcy as she repeated the word. "Beastly. Terribly beastly man. And for reasons no one can explain, she falls helplessly, head over heels in love with him. Does that sound like your sort of book, Charles? Would you enjoy it?"

"I might," Mr Bingley said, a question in his voice as his eyes widened and seemed to silently seek his wife's counsel.

"Lizzie, dearest, are you feeling quite well?" said Jane.

"Well? I have never felt better. I am here with two of my favourite people in this world and a man who hates me with every fibre of his being. It could not be lovelier. And I have made very good friends with this bottle of wine, which is absolutely delicious."

She reached over and took the bottle, filling her own glass as a footman stepped forward, clearly unsure what to do.

"And you, Mr Darcy, are you having a lovely time? You do not look like you are having a lovely time. I do not think you have looked up from your plate more than twice or said more than five words."

She failed to notice that the wine had reached the rim of her glass until some of it spilled onto the pristine white tablecloth.

"That was careless of me," she said with a gay little chuckle, allowing the footman to take the bottle from her and attempt to mop up the spill. "But back to you, Mr Darcy. Are you having a lovely time? Charles would like you to have a lovely time."

"I am having a perfectly adequate evening, Miss Elizabeth," he ground out in stiff tones. "Now, really, you appear most unwell, madam. I do think it best if you retire."

"Oh, you would love that, wouldn't you? You silly, stupid, handsome man. You come in here with your lovely face and your wondrous hair—that looks ever so soft—and your eyelashes, which most women would give their eyeteeth for, by the way. Then, you, you sir, glare at me and hate me and think Elizabeth Bennet is not fit to be in your society. Well, you shall not kick me out of my own sister's dining room!"

She lifted her glass in a mock salute to him and went to take a swig. She missed her mouth completely, and red wine sloshed all down the front of her pretty butter-yellow gown.