The Eldest | F. Darcy

Chapter 6: Accomplished Lady

"Oh! Certainly," cried Miss Bingley, ever eager to support Darcy's opinions, "no one can be truly esteemed accomplished unless she far surpasses what is ordinarily met with. A woman must have a thorough knowledge of music, singing, drawing, dancing, and the modern languages to deserve the word. And beyond all this, she must possess a certain something in her air and manner of walking, the tone of her voice, her address, and expressions—or else the title is but half-deserved."

"Indeed," added Darcy, "and to all this, she must yet add something more substantial—the improvement of her mind through extensive reading."

Adele arched a brow. "I am no longer surprised that you know only six accomplished women, Mr. Darcy. Rather, I wonder now that you know any at all."

Darcy tilted his head slightly, intrigued. "Are you so severe upon your own sex as to doubt the possibility of such excellence?"

"I do not doubt the possibility," Adele said coolly, "only the likelihood. I have never seen such a woman. Never have I witnessed such capacity, taste, application, and elegance as you describe, all united in a single person."

"Do not be so severe upon yourself, Miss Bennet," Bingley interjected warmly. "Your sisters—Miss Elizabeth and Miss Jane, that is—left me in no doubt as to your own accomplishments. And I daresay they were modest in their accounts."

Adele smiled wryly. "I wish they had not flattered me so unfairly. I am no great dancer—it has been four years since last I danced. Neither do I possess any particular grace in my walk, nor do I command any distinction in my tone or address. I am rather plain in those aspects."

"You are not plain, or else—" Bingley began, but his sister interrupted.

"But you are no London lady, Miss Bennet," Caroline declared, forcing a superior smile. "One has hardly any exposure in the country."

Adele's expression remained unchanged. "I lived in London for more than ten years, madam, and had a fair share of exposure."

Miss Bingley stiffened slightly. "With your aunt and uncle in Cheapside, I suppose?"

"No," Adele replied evenly. "I lived on Upper Seymour Street with my aunt's sister, Lady Ellen Marshall. My mother believed I was with my uncle, though he had sent me to her for better company and instruction."

The room stilled.

Lady Marshall was well known, a widow of great wealth who had managed her late husband's estate until her son came of age. However, following his untimely death, it was rumored that she had already selected an heir. Her estate, Marshall Mannor, was vast—larger and even more beautiful than Pemberley.

Darcy, who had until then been listening with composed interest, suddenly felt the weight of recollection. "Lady Marshall," he said slowly, his voice betraying a hint of surprise. "She resided near Derbyshire."

Adele inclined her head. "Yes. I lived with her during the autumns and winters when she was away from London."

Darcy's mind raced. Lady Marshall had been a close friend of his mother's. Her household had been one of the few he had frequently visited in his youth. He remembered Marshall Mannor vividly, the grand halls, the serene countryside... and a little girl who had both fascinated and infuriated him.

He glanced at Adele, searching for traces of that girl, but her expression was unreadable.

"I did not know," he murmured.

Adele offered a small smile, devoid of warmth. "I was allowed to roam freely and visit whom I pleased, though I kept my acquaintance limited."

Darcy nodded, though a sense of unease crept over him. Adele soon excused herself to check on Jane and retire for the night.

No sooner had the door closed behind her than Caroline let out a disdainful scoff.

"Adele Bennet," she declared, "is one of those young ladies who seek to recommend themselves to the other sex by undervaluing their own. And with many men, I daresay, it succeeds. But in my opinion, it is a paltry device, a very mean art."

Darcy's face remained impassive, but his voice was sharp when he replied, "Undoubtedly, there is meanness in all the arts which ladies sometimes condescend to employ for captivation. Whatever bears affinity to cunning is despicable."

Miss Bingley, though satisfied by his agreement, was not entirely pleased with his manner of saying it.

Adele sat beside Jane, but her thoughts were elsewhere.

So he does not remember me.

She should not have been surprised. Six years had passed, and time had changed them both. Perhaps it was deliberate on his part—perhaps he did not wish Bingley to know of his former acquaintance with a girl of lesser connections.

A bitter smile curled at her lips. If he did not care to acknowledge it, neither would she.

They had never been true friends, after all.

They had quarreled more than they had conversed, always at odds over the most trivial matters. She had delighted in provoking him; he had taken equal pleasure in exasperating her. And yet, they had shared something—an unspoken bond, a rivalry laced with something neither had understood at the time.

Would Lady Marshall have believed it if she saw him now? The boy she had doted upon, the one she had called her 'golden child'—so full of disdain for those he deemed beneath him.

Adele sighed. Her head felt heavy, and a strange chill ran through her despite the warmth of the room. She reached for Jane's hand, but before she could grasp it, the world around her blurred.

A low moan escaped her lips, and the next moment, she collapsed.

Now Darcy remembered.

Those violet eyes.

The sharp wit that had always challenged him.

The girl who had been able to unnerve him with a single comment, who had made his childhood both exasperating and unforgettable.

Adele.

The realization struck him like lightning, but before he could dwell on it, a sound reached his ears—a faint moan from Jane's chamber.

Thinking it was Jane, he called for a maid to act as a chaperone and entered.

The sight before him made his breath catch.

Adele lay collapsed on the floor, unconscious.

"Miss Bennet!" he cried, rushing to her. He turned to the maid. "Fetch Mr. Bingley at once! Tell him Miss Bennet needs urgent attention. Hurry!"

The maid fled, and Darcy lifted Adele into his arms, settling her gently onto Jane's bed.

Jane, roused by the commotion, turned her weary eyes toward them. "Mr. Darcy," she whispered hoarsely, "what happened to Adele?"

Darcy clenched his jaw. "Your sister is as foolish as she is selfless."

Jane blinked, startled.

"She walked three miles in the rain after you," he continued, anger lacing his words. "She already had a fever, yet she neglected herself to tend to you, day and night. She is—" He stopped himself, running a frustrated hand through his hair.

"The same reckless girl she always was," he muttered under his breath, unaware that Jane had heard him.

Before Jane could question him, the entire household arrived, led by Mr. Jones, the apothecary.

After a brief examination, Mr. Jones looked up with a fond smile. "Adele Bennet... always tending to others before herself. It does not surprise me."

Jane managed a weak smile. "She respects you greatly, sir."

"As well she should," he chuckled. "I have seen her heal more than one person in this town—why, she once saved the lives of Mr. and Mrs. Paron, did she not?"

Darcy stood motionless.

The reckless, infuriating girl from his past had grown into a woman loved by all.

And she had completely stolen his heart.