Mr. Darcy & Elizabeth

by Alyssa Jefferson

  “Miss Bennet, Miss Elizabeth,” she said, laughing. “You are come at last! I assure you, I have never had four weeks pass so slowly before in my life.”

  The girls shook her hands and said what was proper, but Miss Whipple was almost too excited to allow them to speak. Interrupting Jane in the midst of her thanks, she said, “You will want to hear news of your trunks, I daresay. I am pleased to tell you that they have arrived. It was just this morning that they came, and I was dreadfully nervous that they would not be here in time for us to go to Mrs. Jacobson’s house. It would be scandalous if you were to come to a ball in half dress.”

  “A ball?” Jane replied. “I thought it was simply a party.”

  Miss Whipple shook her head, eyes shining. “No, no, Mrs. Jacobson never has mere dinner parties. She only has balls! It is why she is one of my dearest friends, for I long to dance and you know there are hardly any public assemblies in town nowadays.”

  Jane and Elizabeth glanced at each other, each attempting to check their smiles. What to wear, and who would attend, and if there was a pianoforte for the ladies to play, and what would be served for the meal, became topics of great interest that whiled away the next several hours of the ladies’ attention and chat.

  The ladies began to dress after an early dinner, having only one maid among the three of them to set their hair. Jane was ready first, and she went downstairs to write to Miss Watson—whom she had quite forgotten in the excitement of the day—while Elizabeth stayed upstairs in Miss Whipple’s dressing room. There, her friend expressed anew her interest in all of Jane’s affairs.

  “Mr. Pembroke is not to be at this ball,” she said, “for he does not know Mrs. Jacobson.”

  “I assure you,” Elizabeth replied, “Jane has quite forgotten him. You need not distress yourself on that account.”

  “I was not distressed,” she replied, her wide, green eyes sparkling. “I only wanted to ensure that you were not distressed. I daresay Jane was.”

  “She was not,” Elizabeth said. “She is not. You misread her.”

  “I do not know any woman who could be calm, when meeting a man whose proposals she has rejected.”

  “Jane could,” Elizabeth replied. “In any event, she has forgotten him. She does not think of him as a man whose proposal she rejected. She does not think of him at all!”

  Elizabeth knew this was untrue, but she could not stand the idea of Miss Whipple continually bringing it up, as though there was nothing else to talk about but marriage and suitors. It was as though the whole world was colluding to force the Bennet girls to marry against their will!

  Seeing Elizabeth’s displeasure more than sensing it, for Miss Whipple was not of a temperament to recognize when she had irritated somebody until they were already cross, she fell temporarily silent. In a moment, however, she revived their conversation with, “Mrs. Jacobson has many acquaintances of whom I know very little.”

  “Indeed?”

  “Yes, for I only know her through my cousins, the Flynns. They shall not be at the ball, but Mrs. Jacobson has still invited me. So very kind of her, and quite unexpected!”

  “Was it indeed?” Elizabeth said, smiling slightly. Miss Whipple may have been a rather rude young lady, but her beauty could rival Jane’s and her high spirits could rival Elizabeth’s. She had a fortune that far exceeded either girl’s, moreover, and the combined effect of these qualities, and a personality that made her always eager to have friends about her, made her the perfect party guest. Everyone who knew her, it seemed, invited her to spend time with them. The fact that Miss Whipple had been lonely in the midst of all these enjoyments was evidence of how social she was.

  “Yes, but I could not be more delighted, because I would have hated to have you with me and not be able to entertain you. Imagine, if I had brought my friends to my house and had nothing to do with you—no balls to attend, no concerts to see.”

  “I daresay we could have forgiven you,” Elizabeth said with a small smile. “Indeed, Miss Whipple, you need not make yourself uneasy on our account.”

  The lady shook her head with vigor. “Nonsense. You, of all my friends, I must work hardest to entertain!”

  “Indeed? And why is that?”

  “Why, because you are used to many better things—I know you are! There is no sense in denying it. Why, your mother’s family—”

  “My stepmother’s family?” Elizabeth said. “We are not well acquainted, as well you know.”

  “But any connection is something, my dear girl.” Miss Whipple gave Elizabeth a fond smile. “Honestly, one woman out of one hundred would not be so cavalier about her connections to nobility as you are.”

  It was a subject that Elizabeth disliked so much that she allowed the conversation to fizzle into nothing, determinedly spending the rest of her time dressing in such dullness that erelong Miss Whipple must have assumed Elizabeth was too tired from the fatigues of her removal from Gracechurch Street to be a further source of gossip for her. She left the room, and Elizabeth congratulated herself on having escaped a topic that always made her cross.

  Her escape, however, did not last long. Evening fell, and the ladies were driven in style to Mrs. Jacobson’s house, which was on the outskirts of town and had a sprawling estate behind it. Mrs. Jacobson was the kind of woman who was known to everybody by reputation, and Elizabeth had heard her name spoken before, though she knew not where. Now, upon arriving at the party, she remembered who had named the family to her: it was her own stepmother, Lady Sarah. The earl’s family was friends with Mr. Jacobson, having a long family history of friendship cemented through a cousin’s marriage. Upon their entrance into Mrs. Jacobson’s great hall, the ladies saw none other than their cousin, the future Earl Radcliffe, James, Viscount of Norwich.

  Lord Norwich was a rakishly handsome man, with a broad, chiseled jaw and dark eyes that were rather more good-humored than his aunt’s, though there was not quite enough resemblance between them to make such a comparison fair. Whereas Lady Sarah had probably been a fine enough girl in her youth, she was no longer a beauty by anybody’s description. Domesticity did not agree with her; her sandy hair was faded, and her skin was pale. Her nephew, in contrast, had a glow of health that belied his wild habits of living. Elizabeth knew, from what she had heard her aunt describe, that her step-cousin distressed his mother and father by being irresponsible and unprincipled, while showing just enough submission and discretion to avoid their full wrath. He was a man she could not respect—but it was impossible to fail to admire his person. She could not even blame Miss Whipple for what she next said.

  “Oh—good heavens! Miss Bennet, Miss Elizabeth—do you see who is here? Upon my word, I had not the smallest idea of his coming.”

  Jane looked about her with mild eyes. “Of whose coming?”

  “Why, your cousin!” Miss Whipple answered with an affected laugh. “He is just there,” she said, gesturing with her handkerchief in her hand in a manner that she must have known would attract the man’s notice, for he looked up at once. In Miss Whipple he seemed to have very little interest, but when his eyes fell on her companions, a look of recognition sparked in his eyes, and he smiled.

  “Indeed!” Jane said, glancing at Elizabeth. “Why, it is him.” This was all she had time to say, for he was soon approaching, a gallant smile on his lips for the cousins whom he had last seen three years ago, but whom he recognized as being very pretty, fully formed versions of the girls he had admired even then.

  “Miss Bennet,” he said, bowing to Jane, “and Miss Elizabeth. I am delighted to see you both. How do you do?”

  “Very well, I thank you,” Jane said.

  “I ought to ask after my aunt, I suppose,” Lord Norwich said. “She must be in town. Is she with you tonight?”

  “No, sir,” Jane replied. “She is not in town; Elizabeth and I are staying with our friend. May I present Miss Juliana Whipple?”

  This, of course, was what Miss Whipple had wanted all along, having kno
wn for weeks that this party was likely to be attended by Lord Norwich, and her face bloomed with a pretty blush as she curtsied for the gentleman. He smiled and said what was proper, but it seemed that Miss Whipple did not pique his interest. He said, “I am glad to hear Lady Sarah is not in London, for my parents would be thoroughly angry with her for having neglected to call on them.”

  Hesitatingly—for Jane was unsure whether she and Elizabeth ought to have called, or at least written—Jane replied, “Lady Sarah would never forgo the honor of calling on her brother and sister-in-law, I am sure. We should have called ourselves, if the earl and countess had—that is, if we were all better acquainted.”

  Lord Norwich waved his hand as though to brush the idea away. “Such ceremony, always such ceremony. It shall not be so strict, so serious an office, when I am earl. Oh, there is Nieman. My friend Mr. Nieman is here. Hello!” he called across the room, and a young gentleman who appeared just as rakish as himself looked up. “Excuse me,” their cousin said, and he was off without any further conversation.

  As he moved away from them, Elizabeth was vaguely aware of Miss Whipple complaining to Jane about how little their cousin had to say to her, and Jane’s offering a sweet, if not foolishly optimistic reply, but these were only happening in her periphery. Her attention was instead fixed across the room, where she could see the one person who was perhaps even less welcome to her than Mr. Pembroke. It was Mr. Darcy. Was he to be at every party Miss Whipple attended? Had not she any friends who were not also friends with him?

  Elizabeth blushed and looked away, but she could see that Mr. Darcy was observing her. He was with a group of friends, and he seemed to be inquiring something of one of them, and the friend also turned to look at Elizabeth; they were evidently discussing her. She smirked, imagining what they must be saying. Probably, they were astonished that the future Earl Radcliffe was doing himself the dishonor of talking to his cousins, though they were but in-laws and—in Mr. Darcy’s eyes—not legitimate connections at all. Elizabeth raised her head a bit higher, looking at Miss Whipple in time to hear her next complaint.

  “He could have asked how I did, at least. I think I am not so undesirable an acquaintance that he might have asked that.”

  “He was distracted,” Jane answered placatingly. “That is all. Only think how many people are vying for his attention in a place such as this.”

  It was the wrong thing to say. Miss Whipple huffed. “Is that what you say I am doing? Vying for his attention?”

  Jane blushed and shook her head. “No, of course not. I only meant—”

  “I know perfectly well what you meant,” Miss Whipple said, and she turned away in a huff to find Miss Horton, who attended her at every ball but usually found a seat near the refreshments and remained there the whole of the evening.

  “She will never find anybody to dance with her there,” Elizabeth remarked.

  Jane turned to her almost tearfully. “She is so angry with me!” she said. “I do not know—”

  “She is not angry with you,” Elizabeth assured her. “She is angry that our cousin was not interested in speaking to her, and she will soon get over it.”

  Jane opened her mouth to reply in Miss Whipple’s defense but was stopped short when she observed somebody over Elizabeth’s shoulder. Elizabeth turned around to see Mr. Darcy standing behind her, tall and graceful, with a look on his face that Elizabeth could not quite read.

  “Miss Elizabeth Bennet,” he said with a slight bow, “how do you do?”

  Elizabeth felt such strong surprise that it was difficult at first to answer. She glanced about her, rather taken aback and unsure how to reply. He had not been introduced to Jane, and Elizabeth did not think now was the proper time to do so; she was still agitated by her argument with Miss Whipple. The music was to begin soon, and the commotion of the room and the bustle of couples moving toward the dance floor made her feel suddenly anxious. With cheeks inexplicably reddening, Elizabeth answered, “I am well, I thank you,” and prepared to turn back toward Jane.

  However, Mr. Darcy then said, “Will you do me the honor of dancing the first two with me?”

  It was the last thing Elizabeth had expected to hear. She stared rather dumbly at him for a moment or two longer than was natural, and when no polite answer occurred to her, she smiled playfully and said, “You must be speaking in jest, sir. It is most unkind of you.”

  His smile did not mask his confusion as he tilted his head and said, “I—I am in earnest, madame. Why should such a question be a joke?”

  It was noisy, but Elizabeth was sure now that she had not misheard the gentleman. He truly wanted to dance with her. Being young, pretty, and well connected, it was almost a matter of course that men sought her company at balls—but why would this man, who had been so insulting toward her, suddenly seek her company? With an incredulous smile, she said, “I know not how to answer you. Last time we met at a ball, you said the power of choosing lay with you, and of refusal with me. If you did not then choose to dance with me, why should you do so now?”

  Her voice was teasing, her expression a smart, gentle smile that softened her words. He replied, “I had not known you long then. I have seen you since, and in varied company. Then, I thought you but the niece of a tradesman, and I knew of no legitimate connections to elevate you beyond that poor one. Now I see you are intimate with the Radcliffe family, and who could object to such a connection?”

  Elizabeth shook her head. “We are only connected through marriage. I have no noble blood, sir. Besides, you have long known of this connection of mine. I have heard you speak of it longer ago than you realize.”

  “Indeed?”

  “Yes, sir,” she replied. “You told Mr. Pembroke at Vauxhall Park that Jane was beneath his notice, as her connections to the Radcliffe family were only by marriage.”

  “Has he told you that I said so?”

  “No, I heard you myself,” she answered. Smiling, she added, “And next I saw you, you did not wish to become acquainted with me. And when I saw you after that, you spoke only to criticize my taste.”

  “Why do you smile?”

  Laughing slightly with discomfort, she shook her head. “Because it is amusing, sir. Why you should have had such a grievance against a young lady you did not know was perfectly incomprehensible to me. It makes me laugh, as all ridiculous things tend to do.”

  This made him bristle. He turned away from the dancing, which had now just begun in the center of the room and spoke lower so only she could hear him. “I had no grievance against you. You were never meant to hear my words at Vauxhall.”

  “An insult spoken not to be heard is no less insulting.”

  “Nay, madame,” he replied, “the listener must at all times be considered. My words were meant for Mr. Pembroke alone. He, who was smarting under the injury your sister inflicted upon him.” Elizabeth scoffed, but Mr. Darcy continued. “I said to him what was apparent to me about your situations, knowing what little I did, that was most likely to provide him with comfort.”

  “He did not need comfort,” Elizabeth said dismissively. “I am sure he has proposed marriage to at least two ladies since then, besides.”

  “You are wrong,” Mr. Darcy said. “He is spoken of as a man whose affection is for anybody, I know, but he never loved any woman the way he loved your sister, and he was truly angry with her—truly hurt—when she revealed her feelings toward him.”

  “Her true feelings,” Elizabeth emphasized, though her heart did feel a small pang from learning that Jane’s former suitor had been more in love than she realized. “She acted in a way that showed principle and honesty. She has been above reproach, even if he was injured, and she deserves no mockery.”

  Mr. Darcy frowned and glanced around the room. Elizabeth could not resist smiling to herself, for it was clear that the gentleman was beginning to wish he had solicited a different dancing partner. “I did not intend any offense with what I said then, madame.”

  Elizabet
h raised her eyebrows. “What did you intend?”

  “I said nothing unreasonable,” he replied. “I said nothing untrue. I merely warned my friend against becoming too disappointed over failing to marry a woman whose connections and fortune were by no means a loss to him.”

  “You said what you knew very little about. You assumed, because their fortune was made in trade, that my aunt and uncle are not respectable. Yet they are educated; they are Christians, with good principles. I do not know anybody more respectable than they are, though they have worked much harder for what they have.” Throughout this speech, Elizabeth never raised her voice. Her spirited convictions were expressed primarily through the arch look in her eye. Mr. Darcy was so arrested by her calm manner that he stood looking at her as though he did not quite believe what he saw.

  The dancing was now well underway, and Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth were among the only young people not dancing. Jane, for her part, had of course been asked by somebody known to her through another school friend, and Miss Whipple had also overcome her disappointment in Lord Norwich to dance with a suitable partner.

  “We shall miss the dancing,” Mr. Darcy said at last, following the lady’s gaze into the room, and Elizabeth was so surprised that she laughed.

  “I am sure you shall dance again sometime or other, Mr. Darcy. You need not feel uneasy about missing this once.”

  The gentleman seemed still unable to believe that her refusal was in earnest. “We can join in,” Mr. Darcy replied, “at the bottom.”

  Elizabeth shook her head. “I simply cannot allow you to compromise your ideals by dancing with me, sir.” Her mischievous smile—for she could not misbehave without amusing herself—made Mr. Darcy unsure what to make of her. Her teasing provoked him, but not more than it intrigued him.

  “I assure you that I do not consider any compromise in the case. High and low connections alike are everybody’s lot,” he said.

  “Our ideas of high and low are different.” Glancing up to see that she was not overheard, she spied her cousin across the room, dancing with a buxom, giggling young lady with ribbons on her dress and long, luxurious curls in her hair. Yes, that would be the kind of partner he would choose. Turning her gaze again to Mr. Darcy, Elizabeth said, “I appreciate that you are now willing to converse with me due to my connection to the Radcliffe family—but for my part, any favor done for me on such terms may as well be left undone. I do not want friends whose attention is purchased by that connection, for it is nothing to me. You may as well continue to think of me as you did before—that I am but the niece of a tradesman, and the daughter of a widower who can give her no dowry. There, you see? You can have no wish to dance with me—and I would vastly prefer a person who would dance with me despite all my connections.”