To Capture Mr. Darcy Chapter 2

The dining table of Netherfield Park glowed in exquisite candlelight. An abundance of fresh rose displays filled the table between candelabras and the air with the musky sweetness of the flower’s bouquet. Place settings rested near each chair as if twelve people would indeed partake of the four-course meal when only six diners sat on one end.

Elizabeth Bennet chewed her roast duck thoughtfully as across the table Miss Bingley yapped incessantly to poor Mr. Darcy while the gentleman did nothing but stare in her direction.

Such examination made Elizabeth uncomfortable, and she began to lose confidence in her impeccable table manners as she suspected he glared to find something amiss.

“You say your sister is very nearly well and plans to join us this evening?” Mr. Bingley eagerly engaged Elizabeth sitting to his right.

“Indeed,” Elizabeth paused to stab a candied carrot and held the bite in mid-air before continuing to answer, “she has sworn me to assist her and wishes to thank you and Miss Bingley for the generous hospitality you have offered us both.” Greedily, she devoured the carrot in hopes of discouraging further inquiries on the topic of her sister.

“We are the lucky ones, are we not Caroline, to enjoy such fine visitors to our home!” Mr. Bingley beamed with pride, a young man’s exuberance over his first home and impromptu house party shining in his eyes.

“Charles, I do not think Miss Bennet and Miss Eliza would revel in visiting under such circumstances.”

Miss Bingley shuddered, drawing attention to her lower neckline that Elizabeth swore stuck out with greater prominence once she had finished shimmying. As Miss Bingley gave a sidelong glance at Mr. Darcy to see if he noticed, which he had not as he was still watching Elizabeth most intently, she scowled.

The play acting was nearly too much for Elizabeth and she hastily ate another bite of food to keep from giggling at the dinner table.

Mr. Bingley’s face faded to a frown. Dinner continued and by the third course, Elizabeth began to pity Mr. Darcy. Feeling bold, she decided to attract Miss Bingley’s barbs. The woman was no match for Elizabeth’s patience, as the London woman’s manners and behavior lent her no credit in Elizabeth’s book.

“Miss Bingley, I wish to thank you for ordering roses for my pleasure tonight. I did not know confessing my favorite bloom would inspire such changes to the decor. I am happy the hothouses at Netherfield are still under good management.”

“Miss Eliza, you are not the only person present with an affection for roses. As you said yourself, it is a common favorite, and just so happens to be my favorite flower, also.” She beamed at Mr. Darcy, who coughed.

“But I thought you loved orchids. We had to order so many specifically at your request when we arrived . . .” Mr. Bingley began to say until his sister glared at him with the fury of a thousand angry hornets.

“Everyone knows orchids are in fashion, but my true love has always been roses.” Miss Bingley glanced again at Mr. Darcy on her right, who continued to stare straight ahead.

“Hrmph, when’s the next course?” Mr. Hurst grumbled.

“Dear, the fowl just arrived, but the parsnips should be as you prefer them.” Louisa Hurst placated her husband and took another sip of her wine. Mr. Hurst belched and squirmed, forcing Elizabeth to look down quickly at her plate before she lost her placid expression to a fit of laughter.

Dinner continued with more scraping of plates and silverware and as conversation swirled around her, Elizabeth imagined a melody of dinnertime symphony, brought to an audience by hundreds of patrons merely eating their meal.

When Mrs. Hurst placed a gentle hand on Elizabeth’s arm, she looked up trying to hide her confusion.

“I beg your pardon,” she frantically looked to find who had spoken to her. Mr. Darcy wiped his mouth with his napkin.

“I asked if you travel very often, Miss Elizabeth?” Mr. Darcy’s eyes were soft and genuine as he focused only on her.

Elizabeth Bennet wrinkled up her nose and smiled, intrigued to see a small smile creep on the taciturn Mr. Darcy’s face. “I’m afraid not. My sister and I often go to London to visit our aunt and uncle. But I confess my father is not very keen on travel you see, so that is the extent of my knowledge of our country.”

“But you would desire to see more?” he asked, bringing Elizabeth’s gaze to his own, his husky voice making the simple inquiry sound so much more personal to her ears.

“Ye-yes, I would dearly love to travel and see more of the world I have only read about in books.” Elizabeth blushed slightly and hastily reached for her glass of wine, wishing dearly she was not alone with these mere acquaintances.

“Tell us about your aunt and uncle, dear Miss Eliza? Is this the barrister and his wife or the ones in trade?” Miss Bingley asked sweetly while her brother dropped his fork with a clatter at his sister’s impertinence.

“Caroline!”

“No, ’tis quite alright Mr. Bingley, I am not ashamed of my relations. My Aunt and Uncle Gardiner reside in Cheapside and my uncle is an importer of fine luxury goods.”

“A lucrative and risky business these days thanks to the puffed up egos on the Continent,” Mr. Hurst added.

Elizabeth nodded and began to feel peppered from all sides. In the battle of the dinner table, she sat surrounded by foes with not a friend in sight. Until a deep baritone voice again joined the fray.

“For myself, I find men and women with roots in a trade always to have the most sense. My father and Bingley’s father were good friends as my estate’s wool fed his weavers. I abhor the airs and arts of snobbery.” Mr. Darcy raised his wine glass in a minor toast to Elizabeth’s relations, again making the poor woman blush.

So conflicted in her thoughts and feelings, Elizabeth looked down at her hands in her lap and wondered what to say. Meanwhile, a vegetable course arrived, and Miss Bingley began a new topic of conversation centered on balls and theaters they had all attended, save Elizabeth, in London during the last Season.

With a deep breath, Elizabeth continued to eat her meal and by the time the last course arrived, she finally felt brave enough to glance up at Mr. Darcy with a face full of gratitude.

To Fitzwilliam Darcy, the sight of Miss Elizabeth’s bright eyes and wine-kissed lips formed in a tender smile directed at him intensified the romantic glow of the dwindling tapers. The sight arrested his heart so violently; the pain nearly made him react. Was this the throes of passion the poets talked of when they spoke of pangs and strains of one’s heartstrings?

Not trusting himself, he quickly looked down to inspect the remnants of his meal and practiced taking metered breaths. Soon the sexes would separate and with any luck, he would clear his head of the beautiful and charming woman sitting across from him.

Frantically, he tried to devise a way to retire early, but finding none, resolved he could keep his emotions under a good regulation for another hour. He had no choice in the matter.

Later that evening, after they all joined for an hour’s visit in the parlor, Jane’s energy began to wane. Elizabeth helped her sister upstairs, but as they reached the hall, she felt another tug on her conscience.

“Do you mind terribly waiting right here? I won’t be but a moment, I need a new novel to read.” Elizabeth asked her elder sister earnestly. Jane laughed at Elizabeth’s insatiable love of books and agreed to wait while she dashed into the library so long as she would be quick.

The library held a few candles burning in their holders, and it appeared the servants had set up a tray of cigars and brandy for the gentlemen before they retired for the evening. Elizabeth tiptoed to the large, darkened window, watching her eery reflection grow smaller and smaller as she neared the table and the chessboard.