Miss Whipple’s face brightened with enthusiasm as she said, “I shall write to her directly! I shall not wait one moment more before I do!”
She had arisen from her sofa to go to the writing desk before either sister could do much to check her overzealous response. Elizabeth, sighing, turned to her aunt. “This is the party I mentioned yesterday, Aunt.”
Mrs. Gardiner nodded. “And pray, who is Mrs. Jackson?”
“Oh, she is a fine woman,” Miss Whipple called from her desk, where she was bent over a paper and pen. “I have known her for ages. Her mother was a friend of my mother’s growing up, and her family had property in the north. Now her husband’s estate is in Devon, but they come to town as often as they can, and whenever they arrive, they hold a party for all of their friends. Their house,” she added boastfully, “is in Piccadilly.”
Mrs. Gardiner raised her eyebrows. “Indeed? That is pretty, to be sure.”
Miss Whipple, now folding her hastily written letter, looked up at Mrs. Gardiner with eyes wide. “You should see the house. Well, you will see it, shall not you? We shall all see it on Friday. If we are very lucky, there will be musicians and we shall have a bit of dancing in the grand foyer.”
Elizabeth and Jane smiled at each other, spontaneously eliciting a laugh from Miss Whipple. “Oh, I knew how you would react! I knew you would be delighted!” She turned back to Mrs. Gardiner. “My friends, I am sure you know, love dancing! They are known all throughout the school about it; seldom do we go to any party or dinner where Miss Eliza does not suggest we dance, and Miss Bennet is quite as bad. Both of them always looking to dance, and both always having the best partners.”
This comment made the girls blush, but Elizabeth at least had enough self-command to pretend she was not embarrassed. She said, “Who else will be at the party? Will anyone we know be in attendance?”
“I know what you are thinking,” Miss Whipple said seriously, though that was unlikely, as Elizabeth had not been thinking anything in particular at that moment. “You are wondering whether Mr. Pembroke will be there, and if Miss Bennet ought to resist attending to avoid him. But you need not worry about that! I have it on good authority from one of our mutual friends that he has gone out of town, and he has no plans to return for a month, at least. He is sea-bathing, in fact! He has actually gone to the sea for a month like a real man of leisure!”
Her laughter gave Jane the opportunity to collect herself, for a deep, crimson blush had spread over her cheeks. Meanwhile, Elizabeth glanced at her aunt, perceiving that they may not be able to proceed long without telling her what had happened and the whole of the business with Mr. Pembroke. Elizabeth, at least, had no qualms about her aunt’s being privy to this knowledge, but Jane now seemed excessively embarrassed by it.
It was yet another mark of her aunt’s very good breeding and even better sense that she did not ask about it. Seeing Jane’s expression, Mrs. Gardiner instantly changed the subject. “You have been very kind, I find, to my nieces,” she said to Miss Whipple. “They are always welcome in my house, but I found they were to looking forward to being with you for the month after.”
“I assure you, they are doing me a favor,” Miss Whipple said, rising to ring the bell for the servant. “I would never survive my solitude here at home without their company!”
As Miss Whipple dispatched a servant with her note, Elizabeth said, “You have not told us who else will be at the party—only who will not be there.” Smiling at Jane, she said, “Will Mr. Lancaster be there? Or the gentleman who came to your friend Miss Downing’s party? The tall one?”
“No,” she replied, seating herself near her friend. “No, Mrs. Jackson is not acquainted with them. She is friends with many handsome gentlemen, however. You shall see for yourself, when you come.”
Elizabeth allowed this comment to close the topic, surmising enough from what she knew of Miss Whipple that the lady must not know who was attending the party. Being uncertain who would be there, she was probably eager for the Bennet sisters to come so that she could be sure of knowing somebody. Elizabeth did not mind this, for she was glad to have something in the fashionable world to do. Though her friend’s teasing had embarrassed her in front of the aunt whose approval she craved, she could not deny that she did indeed love to dance. She seldom sat down for any dances, when there were partners enough. She hoped she was not foolish about it, but she had an eagerness to be merry which, when combined with a great deal of intelligence and an occasional touch of whimsy, made her an almost irresistible dance partner. Men were always asking her to dance, though to her rather unformed mind, she hardly understood why.
The night of the party brought twinkling starlight and a mood almost crackling with the newness and possibilities of the summer season. Entering the room with her sister and aunt, Elizabeth smiled across a candlelit foyer at a room that was indeed grander than any she had seen heretofore in London—besides, of course, her stepmother’s family home—and that she had only seen once as a girl. This was quite another thing.
Miss Whipple was standing in a small crowd, and Elizabeth caught her eye right away—for she had been watching the door to spot her friends. The ladies walked toward her, and only when they were nearly beside her did Elizabeth recognize, standing just beside Miss Whipple, a face that was perfectly familiar to her. It was none other than the gentleman whom she had seen at Vauxhall on the concert day—the one who had insulted her and her sister. Elizabeth, on recognizing the young man whom she had found rather handsome before she had heard him speak, felt a flush overtake her cheeks. She turned to look at Jane to see how she bore it, but evidently her sister either did not notice the man or failed to recollect him. Having been so preoccupied by meeting Mr. Pembroke at Vauxhall, she had not spared much more than a glance for his friends. She now waved to Miss Whipple, smiled, and hurried over, leaving her sister and aunt to follow. Elizabeth, for her part, was mortified at having no gentleman to escort her into the room—though it was not technically a ball and a servant had let them in most properly. She felt a wish to impress the gentleman who had insulted her—felt it almost in spite of herself. She did not want anybody’s approval, but then again, she usually had everybody’s. Now she walked beside her aunt feeling like her dress must be all wrong, and her hair fixed to look very ugly indeed, and her shoes atrocious.
“You are here at last!” Miss Whipple cried, and she embraced the girls with such gusto that it might be imagined they had not met in weeks, instead of having called on them only the day before. “Mrs. Jackson said to tell her as soon as you came, that she might meet you at last. Come along, then!”
The little group was off together across the room almost as soon as they had been united, but not so soon that Elizabeth could fail to see the rude gentleman looking at her—looking and remembering, she observed, exactly who she was.
“Miss Whipple,” Elizabeth whispered to her friend as they walked in search of Mrs. Jackson. “Who is the gentleman you were talking to before?”
“Which gentleman?” she asked absently, turning back and forth her head as she scanned the room.
“The one standing to your left when we came,” Elizabeth answered softly. “The tall one.”
“Oh!” Miss Whipple turned and gave Elizabeth a rather victorious smile. “That is a cousin of my mother’s. He is handsome, is he not? He is friends with many of the same set as I am, so I see him everywhere when I am in London for the summer. Of course, he is only here in season. Quite a man of the world.” She paused. “He is quite the eligible bachelor, I assure you.” Then she raised her eyebrows. “Ladies are just wild for him.”
Elizabeth, annoyed from the first with the presumption that she was asking out of admiration, and further propelled to stronger dislike by the notion that other young ladies spoilt him with their attention, said, “I merely wanted his name.”
“Darcy,” Miss Whipple said, still distracted enough that her friend’s annoyance was mostly imperceptible to her. “Fitzwilli
am Darcy, of Pemberley.”
She looked at Elizabeth expectantly, and when it became clear that some answer was wanted, Elizabeth at last said, “I have met him before. Or, we did not meet, but I have seen him. He is acquainted with Mr. Pembroke.”
Miss Whipple raised her eyebrows. “Ah!” she said. “Yes, I suppose he is!” And then, in a calmer voice, she glanced at Jane and repeated, “Ah. Well, I do not know what you may have heard about him, but I can assure you—” But she was cut short by the appearance of the long-sought after friend, and Mrs. Jackson hurried over in such a bustle that the conversation was forgotten.
“Hello there!” Mrs. Jackson said as she approached. “Do introduce us, Juliana, for I have heard so much about your beautiful friends!”
Elizabeth and Jane were presented, as was their aunt Gardiner, who had been all but forgotten by everybody as she stood just behind her nieces.
“Welcome, welcome,” Mrs. Jackson said. She beamed, as any young woman would probably do who had such a beautiful home to share with her friends and acquaintances. Her great room, in which they now stood, was decorated in the modern style—elegant but quite crowded, with vases and tables everywhere, each displaying some gift or treasure that had been a gift from somebody. Mrs. Jackson was the kind of woman whose good graces could be purchased; that evening alone, she had received gifts from three of her guests, and she could not take her new friends about the room—as she now did—without describing each trinket as they passed it.
“These candlesticks I was given by Count Donato, who is a friend of my husband’s—hello, Miss Llewellyn, how do you do?—and that picture, too, was a gift from his cousin Mrs. Stalt.” She shook another guest’s hand, then turned back to the Bennet girls. “I understand,” she said in a softer tone, “that you are the young lady to blame for the heartbreak recently suffered by my very dear friend, Mr. Pembroke.”
Jane had been smiling and in most delightful spirits, and this statement caught her so off-guard that she began to cough, and while her eyes were still watering from discomfort and surprise, Elizabeth said, “Whatever else has been said on the subject, I am very sure there was no heartbreak in the case.”
Mrs. Jackson laughed. “Oh, I do not mean to make you uneasy! I know at least three young ladies who have turned down marriage proposals from him in the last eighteen months alone. The man is simply wild to marry—he is wild for it! Cannot bear to be by himself, that man.” With a concerned look toward Jane, she said, “Miss Bennet, I do apologize. I should never joke—my husband, God bless him, tells me I should not make such jokes. Billings, a glass of wine for Miss Bennet and her friends, if you please!” Turning to a servant, then back to the ladies, she said, “Oh, Juliana, what shall your friends think of me now?”
“Whatever they think is just what you deserve!” Miss Whipple answered laughingly, then added to Jane, “She is only joking, my dear Miss Bennet. She is always joking, which is why I like her so much!”
Elizabeth liked a joke herself, when it was not made at her sister’s expense. As it was, she could think of very little to say that was civil, and so said nothing. A simple look toward her aunt showed her that her thoughts were similarly engaged. It was lucky, then, that the next person to speak was a gentleman whom the ladies had not met, who approached Mrs. Jackson with such familiarity that Elizabeth knew he must be her husband. He whispered something in her ear, and she turned at once with delight in her eyes.
“Oh! Hello, everybody!” she called into her crowded great room. “The musicians are ready. Shall we have dancing?”
This was met with cries and whoops of delight and, being the principal people in their own house and a great many other houses, too, Mrs. Jackson and her husband led the other couples onto the dance floor.
It was most unpleasant to be at a party where there was to be dancing, but to know nobody to dance with. Elizabeth stood instinctively closer to Miss Whipple, who said, “Oh, I shall get you a partner.” Looking around the room, her eyes fell at once on Mr. Darcy, and having forgotten the lack of enthusiasm with which Elizabeth had seen him earlier, said, “There—I shall introduce you to Darcy. He is not dancing, and I know you saw him earlier—and you did not dislike what you saw!”
Elizabeth attempted to detain her, but in vain. Already, she had run off toward her cousin, with Elizabeth’s hand tucked into her arm. “Darcy,” she said, smiling sweetly. “Darcy, my cousin, you must allow me to present my friend, Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Miss Eliza is at school with me, and she and her sister are so admired wherever we go about town that nobody even looks at anybody else!”
This was far from true, at least where Elizabeth was concerned. She was, as were most other girls, admirable and pretty enough, but a mere shadow next to the light that was Jane. Even now, two gentleman who had never seen Jane before in their lives were approaching her, each evidently with his heart set on having her first dance. Elizabeth was looking at her sister and smiling to herself at Jane’s good fortune when she heard Mr. Darcy audibly whisper to his cousin, “I will thank you not to find me dance partners, Juliana. I am perfectly capable of finding my own, when I wish to dance.”
Elizabeth’s eyes widened with surprise, but Miss Whipple merely laughed. “Oh, you get on about the silliest things, Darcy. Who says I wanted a partner for you? I am looking for a partner for my friend, for she asked about you earlier, and I am sure she would not mind standing up with you.”
“It is not for her to decide, however,” Mr. Darcy replied. “The power of refusal lies with woman, but the power of choosing lies with man. I will thank you to let me keep what power I have.”
Elizabeth, shocked and mortified, took several steps away from her friend, that she might hear nothing else to provoke her. This motion, though unnoticed by Miss Whipple as she continued to tease her cousin, was seen by another gentleman. Across the room, a man just as handsome but not quite so tall as Mr. Darcy had noticed Miss Whipple’s fair friend, and he came at once to ask to be introduced. The man, Elizabeth learned, was Mrs. Jackson’s brother, and though his dress and manners signaled to Elizabeth that he was not particularly rich, still his attention to her was proper enough that she was not at all reluctant to be introduced.
Miss Whipple, not envious of Elizabeth’s beauty and popularity so long as her own fairly rivaled it, laughed out loud and said, “I will certainly introduce you, sir. You see, Miss Eliza, I told you I would find you a partner. I knew how it would be!” and before much time had passed, Elizabeth was dancing with that gentleman—though her mind was still fixed most disagreeably on the other.
It was not until the dance was over, however, that Miss Whipple acquainted her with the full reputation of the gentleman who had made such a negative impression on her. Elizabeth was seated, catching her breath, when Miss Whipple approached with her usual abruptness to say, “Do not think anything of Darcy’s ridiculous behavior, Miss Eliza, truly. He is a man who is so little merry nowadays, so very reluctant to be friendly or chivalrous, as makes him quite disagreeable to everybody. He is not always so ill-tempered, however. He is quite polite to those of us who know him.”
“Indeed?” Elizabeth asked coldly. She was still cross with Miss Whipple for so badly misinterpreting her interest in her cousin before.
Oblivious, Miss Whipple lowered her voice and said, “Yes, for he has suffered a most terrible loss recently.” Elizabeth looked up at her friend and met her eyes as she said the words, “His father.”
Having lost a parent herself, Elizabeth was sympathetic to grief of that kind. In spite of her anger, she glanced toward where he stood, just out of range of hearing, and said to Miss Whipple, “I am sorry to hear it.”
“It is unfortunate in many respects, but for Darcy it is quite fortunate in one.”
Elizabeth raised her eyebrows in question.
“He has now inherited his father’s property—and he was an eldest son! The house at Pemberley is the finest you ever saw; this house is nothing to it! His income, too—quite as
tonishing!”
“Indeed,” Elizabeth said. “How much is it?” She was merely curious, not particularly because Darcy interested her but rather because her friend had set up the amount with such suspense. It was unfortunate, therefore, that at the very moment she said these words, Mr. Darcy himself walked up behind her, evidently having heard the last part of the conversation—certainly, having heard her question quite plainly. Elizabeth’s cheeks colored, while Miss Whipple only smiled.
“There, my cousin, you see?” she said. “Miss Eliza is quite sought after by the gentlemen here—and will you not dance with her, as well?”
Before Mr. Darcy could answer, Elizabeth shook her head. “Oh, I cannot dance,” she said. When her friend looked at her to learn why, her lips spilled out the first excuse she could think of. “I believe I may be coming ill. I have a dreadful headache all of a sudden.”
“My dear girl!” Miss Whipple cried. “Why did you not say so sooner? You must not dance, and you must not even be disturbed by the music. There is a parlor where you can sit, just beyond the card room.”
Elizabeth was practically dragged to Mrs. Jackson, that permission to sit alone there might be obtained, and then her aunt and sister were informed, and the disagreeable result of the whole was that Elizabeth was not to dance again the rest of the night, nor to dine with the others. She was quarantined with her aunt to the parlor, where they sat together and talked companionably—until supper was served and Mrs. Gardiner was encouraged to go to it by her niece, who was really perfectly well and who hated to deprive her aunt of nourishment and pleasantness on her account.
Then, she was alone with her thoughts—and what cross thoughts they were!
CHAPTER 8
Mr. Darcy & Elizabeth Page 8
