Chapter 9 - Darcy

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I could not sleep, and daydreams had infected my every hour. Never could I conceive that such a thing was possible—to be so completely pulled in by another person, but it was a truth I had to acknowledge at least to myself, for there were no other words for this sickness: Miss Elizabeth Bennet had bewitched me. I was always seeking her company—jealous of it when I had it, sulking when I did not. If she would but permit me, I would drool all over her, nibble at her soft skin, reward each round of teasing with a kiss on her lips, play with the strands of her hair, and have her all to myself for every moment of every day.

I was insufferable and could hardly stand myself—how anyone else could bear me was astonishing. Even Miss Bingley, I was sure, would soon lose patience with me and give me a hearty slap to bring me to my senses. If it would work, I would be forever grateful.

It seemed that it was a peculiar gift of the Bennet line—to choose a victim and wrap them in their web so thoroughly that there could be no escape. Had not Miss Bennet done the same to Bingley? Perhaps I should go to him and we could commiserate over our obsession with our own particular Bennet girl. No. He no doubt would see it as a gift, whereas I saw it as a curse. It was torture. And the more I struggled against it, the more tortured I was.

My only hope was for her and her sister to leave, for surely my thoughts would become my own again when I was removed from her direct influence. Regrettably, Miss Bennet was not yet well enough to depart—an undisputed intelligence I had received straight from Mr. Lamb and which Mrs. Bennet now used to the utmost, feigning concern for Bingley's benefit. Where was her concern when one of her daughters was so sick that it drove the other to tears? I despised the woman with all my heart.

"She is such a brave girl," said Mrs. Bennet, "and she did try not to worry her mama, but I saw right through it and declare her quite ill. I dare not think of taking her back to Longbourn."

"No, indeed you mustn't!" exclaimed Bingley. "Mr. Lamb has forbidden it in no uncertain terms."

They went back and forward on the subject for several minutes and I tried to bear it with the cold and unyielding patience of a rock. Unfortunately, there was nothing in the room to interest me: Mrs. Bennet had brought her two youngest girls who were silly creatures whispering by themselves, Miss Bingley tried to be attentive to the principle conversation and offer her assurances that Miss Bennet would be well taken care of here, and there was Miss Elizabeth who seemed to suffer at least half as much as I did if her face was any indication—a face, I might add, I tried very hard not to study in present circumstances.

"What a wonderful room you have here, Mr. Bingley. I dare say you could not have found a more charming house in all the country."

"I am very well pleased with it."

"And are you planning to put a good use to it and give a ball?" asked Mrs. Bennet. "I am sure in a fine house like this it would be a spectacle unequal to our imagination."

"I dare say it would be," Miss Bingley sought to remark under her breath.

"A ball?" repeated Bingley. There was nothing of displeasure in his voice. If anything, he sounded inspired. "I think it a marvelous idea!"

My eyes locked with Miss Elizabeth and she quickly looked away, no doubt remembering her promise. I was determined to hold her to it, and was uncommonly pleased about the opportunity. I was pleased even more about her carefully averted eyes; she held immense power over me—it warmed my heart that I had some power over her as well.

"Let us not be hasty, Charles," said Miss Bingley. "A ball is a grand undertaking and not everyone in the house would feel comfortable enough to participate."

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