by Massey, Beth
Elizabeth had privately cautioned her not to be too forward. She had held Lydia’s hands as she said, “I know you will not act improperly, but I fear others might judge you harshly. So much of propriety is perception.”
“Lizzy, I promise to try to moderate my exuberance, but I am so excited. I want to dance every dance with as many men in scarlet coats as possible. My goal is not to marry for money or connections the way all the newspapers write about the ton in London. Such people, like the fellow who broke Jane’s heart, are ‘takers.’ My dream is to be like Charlotte and marry an officer. They are ‘givers.’ They make tremendous sacrifices for the rest of us—and they are as close to a knight in shining armour as I will ever meet.”
The night was beautiful… pleasantly mild with just a hint of crispness. Because of John’s size, there was not room for all seven to ride in the Bennet carriage comfortably, so Lydia, Kitty and John Reynolds decided to walk. Lydia and Kitty wore their boots with the intention of changing to their dancing slippers in the cloak room. The trio arrived only minutes behind Jane, Mr Collins, Mary and Mrs Bennet and just before a very imposing looking barouche pulled up before Meryton’s assembly hall. Lydia and Kitty giggled that they were sure it must be the Netherfield party and considered standing on the steps and gawking; but in the end they decided to hurry inside and change their shoes. Lydia, in particular, wanted to begin dancing as soon as possible.
Fitzwilliam Darcy was in a carriage on his way to a country assembly—cursing his luck that his friend Charles Bingley felt the need to mix with his new neighbours—and insisting he do the same. His agreement to come to Hertfordshire had been given with the understanding that he would aid Charles in learning the workings of the estate he had leased. The commitment was to last at least a month and possibly even longer. Luckily, he had the excuse of preparing for Bethany’s fifth birthday to ensure he was back in Derbyshire by the end of November. The thought of his daughter caused him to remember, how crucial his conference with her had been in accepting Charles’ invitation. She had sent him to Hertfordshire to rid himself of his anger and to look for a wife who made him laugh. Why had he listened to a child? She knew nothing of the difficulties in finding an appropriate partner. She believed it was all about signs from above—like Lewis and Sian. Besides, tonight he was in a foul mood thanks in large part to Bingley’s sister Caroline. Despite being in agreement with her that this rural assembly’s company was bound to be intolerable, it was obvious she planned to monopolize his time this evening.
Darcy enjoyed his friend’s company. His sisters were another matter. They thrived on gossip of the ton, discussion of the latest fashions and felt themselves superior to almost everyone. The Bingleys’ wealth had come from trade, but others would never discern it when listening to the ‘superior sisters’, as Darcy had dubbed them soon after making their acquaintance. They gave off airs suggesting their ancestors had been intimates of the Tudors and had estates and titles aplenty.
Bingley’s older sister, Louisa, was married to a rather indolent man of more fashion than means. They spent most of their time in town, living at their townhouse on Grosvenor Street. Charles’ younger sister, Caroline, had been left a sizable dowry and an annuity by her father. To Darcy it seemed Miss Bengley’s dream was to buy a husband who would either increase her consequence or her wealth. The best variation was that he would do both.
Darcy’s foul mood had not dissipated since he arrived in Hertfordshire, because it had been obvious for some time that he was high on Miss Bingley’s list of prospective bridegrooms. Her overly intimate manner toward him was wearing on his nerves. Even Bethany and Lewis had seen her motives. The thought of his daughter’s “interview” of Miss Bingley brought a smile. Still, as long as they were in company, he must walk a tight rope between civility for Charles’ sake and whatever he could think to do to discourage her for his sake.
Under most circumstances, Darcy might have enjoyed being in the country in October for some sport; but this year, he had too many worries and responsibilities pulling him. Bethany’s plan for helping his sister seemed ridiculous in retrospect. Georgiana had almost been persuaded to elope with George Wickham… of all people. His childhood playmate had a decidedly bad character, and nothing to recommend him except being the son of his father’s late steward. Darcy smarted with the recollection that he had been a favourite of George Darcy. His father had died never knowing he had been fooled by that scoundrel. Now Georgiana had been charmed by him when he purposely renewed his acquaintance with her at Ramsgate.
To make matters worse, the companion he had engaged for his sister, Mrs Younge, had been instrumental in Wickham’s plot to take advantage of Miss Darcy. The young widow had known George, and she had agreed to scheme with him to bring Georgiana into his company—perhaps even before he had hired her. Try as he would, he could not quell either his fury or his guilt. Colonel Fitzwilliam, on leave after being wounded in Spain and who shared guardianship of Georgiana with him, had chastised him for imprudently accepting Mrs Younge’s references without speaking personally with the writers of the letters. His inability to defend himself against Richard’s criticisms only made his guilt more acute. How could he tell Richard that he had hired the widow five years earlier as a travel companion for—how should he identify her—as Bethany’s mother? That was the last thing he wanted to discuss with his war-fatigued cousin. Mrs Watson had left to marry and he needed to find a replacement. It had been his belief that the widow’s conduct had been discreet and above reproach during that journey from Pemberley to London. With that in mind, he had hired her quickly when she applied.
Darcy noticed they were almost to their destination. Just before he turned his thoughts to the evening ahead, he contemplated what a despicable thing Mrs Younge had done. His sister had been but fifteen; and she had been hired to look out for her welfare. It was just one more example of those from the lower classes not being honourable in their obligations. They cared more about monetary gain than honour.
Suddenly, Darcy shivered with an attack of déjà vu. He noticed out the window, three young people hurrying up the stairs. The trio consisted of two young women and one tall and powerfully built young man. One of the ladies was wearing a red cloak with a hood. The giant looked vaguely familiar, but it was the red cloak that shot an image through his mind of the young woman who had travelled with Mrs Younge. His mind became filled with haunted eyes, a child dementedly quoting Shakespeare, shod in slippers walking to Cheapside in the rain. He thought he had shut the door on the enigma of that day.
As he entered the vestibule of the assembly hall, Darcy struggled to banish thoughts of that woman. But as though to thwart his effort, he noticed that the scent of lavender lingered in the air. For a brief moment, doubt was replaced by a strong sense of longing. There had been three in his life that smelled of lavender. The first was his mother. Of the remaining two, one had imitated the other. Bethany’s mother had shared her fragrance with Anne because of its calming benefit. He had a flash of memory of holding his wife in his arms and smelling the fragrance in her hair. He missed their intimacy. Perhaps someday he would have that again; but maybe this time he would find more than convenience. The other woman who smelled of lavender forced herself back into his thoughts accompanied by a wave of guilt. She had become the secret fantasy image he used when his body insisted he indulge.
He noticed that the room had more men than usual, and many in attendance wore red coats. That meant fewer ladies without partners, so his usual practice of dancing very little might be less noticeable. Charles would probably still harass him to participate, but perhaps his friend could be persuaded to allow him to spend his time observing rather than mingling.
He took one look at the young ladies assembled and realized he could hardly be expected to find an appropriate wife among these rustics. He needed a woman with impeccable family ties—who would love him and his children and not his income and position. Besides, these ladies would have abominable countr
y manners, and none of the elegance and accomplishments of women of the ton.
The room started buzzing the minute the Bingley party arrived. Darcy could hear the snatches of conversation… five thousand a year… ten thousand a year… a great estate in Derbyshire… both single. All of his fears as to the nature of the company were confirmed in the first ten minutes. He was subjected to knowing smiles and greedy glances inspecting him from his head to his toes and back up again. He felt like he was the fox and they were the dogs. In his misery, he gravitated to the side of the room. Caroline Bingley joined him a short while later to bid him know her empathy with his predicament.
The crowd was indeed assessing the party. Mrs Bennet, her sister Mrs Phillips and her neighbours, Mrs Long and Lady Lucas, were some of the most important matrons in this neighbourhood. They dominated the conversation among the married ladies and were quite indiscreet in their evaluation of the Netherfield visitors. Most of these ladies had unmarried daughters or nieces, and their major concern in life was their futures. A successful marriage for those in their charge meant added consequence in the neighbourhood, and the competition was fierce.
Mr Bingley was considered good-looking and gentlemanlike by Mrs Bennet. Mrs Long thought he had a pleasant countenance and easy unaffected manners. All the women thought his sisters were elegant ladies and were in awe of their gowns. They knew them to be the latest London fashion, and noticed the daring new necklines that exposed so much more flesh. All the women silently resolved to make adjustments to the gowns of their daughters and nieces so as not to appear unfashionable in their presence. Mr Bingley’s brother-in-law, Mr Hurst, looked very gentlemanly, but Mr Darcy, amidst the rumours of his wealth, drew their minute scrutiny. He was a fine, tall person, with handsome features and a noble mien. They were excited by the report from Lady Lucas of his having ten thousand a year. She had smugly imparted the news within minutes of his entrance.
Sir William Lucas was the only member of the neighbourhood with a knighthood. With the assumption that this fashionable group from London would feel more comfortable being greeted by a man who had spent time at St James, he had assumed the role of welcoming the Netherfield party to Meryton society. Thus Lady Lucas believed her family the most prominent—despite the fact that Sir William did not own an estate, and had made his fortune through trade. Similarly, Mrs Bennet took issue with that family’s supposed standing. Since Sir Walter Trent—a baronet and her husband’s best friend since childhood—had been forced to abandon Netherfield and move to Bath in the interest of economy, Mrs Bennet, who was the wife of an established gentleman, considered herself to have the highest consequence.
The ladies set aside their differences and declared Mr Darcy to be much handsomer than Mr Bingley, and in the early part of the evening, he was looked upon with great admiration. Soon though, his aloofness was noted, and the favourable impression of his manners gave way to disgust, which turned the tide of his popularity. It was determined he was proud, thinking himself above his company, unable to be pleased by any but his own party; and despite his large estate in Derbyshire, he was judged to have a most forbidding, disagreeable countenance. With universal aversion, the group next decided he was unworthy to be compared with his friend.
Miss Bingley, prior to coming to console Mr Darcy, had joined her brother as Sir William Lucas introduced him to all the principal people in the room. She had come to the assembly prepared to know any potential competition, by having her maid ferret out information about the families in the neighbourhood from the staff at Netherfield. Since arriving, she had gleaned a bit more information and overheard some gossip about the assembled society. She hoped she could provide some amusement for Mr Darcy and increase her standing with him. He had been in such a foul mood since he had arrived in Hertfordshire.
“Mr Darcy, there is a dispute in this neighbourhood over which family is the most prominent.” She snickered with supercilious glee. “You remember that tiresome man who came to Netherfield to make Charles’ acquaintance, Sir William Lucas. Lady Lucas believes being a knight’s wife makes her most important despite his having been in trade.”
Caroline thought she perceived distaste creep into Darcy’s eyes and was encouraged to continue her story. “Lady Lucas is in competition with the wife of the owner of an estate. It is nothing like Pemberley—quite small, and only brings in two thousand a year—but it is the largest next to Netherfield. Longbourn, as it is called, is owned by a man named Bennet and is entailed on the male line.” Once again, she checked Mr Darcy’s interest. It was difficult to read his reaction, but the best part of her gossip was still to be revealed. “This man had the great misfortune to only have daughters—five of them. They are, however, considered by the local populace to be great beauties.” Miss Bingley’s face reflected her contempt that a country bumpkin could be considered handsome.
When Mr Darcy said nothing, she decided to add to her information. “I will have to admit that the Bennet daughter dancing with Charles is quite pretty.” She pointed out the couple.
Mr Darcy saw a stately, serene, pale-haired woman with a lovely figure. He thought to himself that she would qualify as a beauty, even in the highest circles. The name Bennet was vaguely familiar, but he could recall none of his acquaintances with that surname—and to his knowledge, he knew no one in Hertfordshire. Darcy came back to the present and realized Caroline was continuing to prattle.
She lowered her voice as she prepared to impart a juicy titbit she had gleaned. “The other sisters present are barely tolerable—hardly worthy of their reputation. One sister is not here. She is a recluse and does not attend balls or assemblies.” This topic seemed to pique his interest. She pointed toward the group of matrons who had been assessing their party. “Her mother is the loud and vulgar woman over there; the one I saw you reacting to when she was gaining so much pleasure discussing your income.”
Mr Darcy was uncomfortable with this topic. He struggled to keep his mask in place and nodded his head to Miss Bingley, but did not comment on the common mother of the supposedly beautiful daughters.
Miss Bingley continued with what she considered to be her most delicious news. “The Bennet sister who is not in attendance is a real mystery. She is an heiress who was away from home for an extended period about six years ago. No one in the neighbourhood knows how much or from whom she got the inheritance. It is even rumoured that her parents do not know the particulars. Upon her return, she refused to be out saying she never intends to wed. To this day, she attends no social events but the house parties of her neighbours.” Caroline’s voice rose and she tittered behind her fan at the young woman’s plight. “I am of the opinion that despite all the rumours of inheritance—she probably is not out because she, unlike her sisters, is not in the least handsome and fears being slighted by men.” Her companion seemed particularly unsettled by her disclosure.
Darcy wanted to be done with this conversation. There was something about her tale that troubled him. Experience had taught him that the best way to end Miss Bingley’s words was to agree with her. What could it hurt? It was not as if he knew any of these people. “I am certain you are correct. Even with an inheritance to ensure her security, there would be no reason other than lack of countenance to shun the pleasure of spending time with others.” He felt slightly hypocritical at his remark. He did not enjoy spending time with his circle, and rarely participated in events of the Season. But certainly his reasons bore no similarity to those of the pathetic young lady Miss Bingley had been mocking.
Mr Darcy asked Caroline for a set. It was a ploy to keep Charles from chastising him for not participating. His plan for the remainder of the evening was to dance with both of Bingley’s sisters, walk around the room a bit, and then come back to his wall. His fondest wish was to be home with his children.
While he danced, he pondered his stay at Netherfield, and Bethany and Lewis’ list of requirements for a mother. Even if there was anyone worth considering here, how would he be able to
tell in a gathering such as this whether anyone was good at telling stories or walking? He remembered that the trio who had arrived just before their party seemed to have walked and one of those young ladies had smelled of lavender… another necessary attribute was to smell good. A very exuberant young woman had danced every dance with one officer after another. He was quite sure she was one of the ladies who had walked—but she seemed entirely too forward to be a mother to his children.
26 OH, WHAT A NIGHT!
Miss Bingley’s disclosure to Mr Darcy and his indiscreet reply were overheard by one who had been walking by. Colonel Forster’s wife, the former Charlotte Lucas, was an intimate friend of both Jane and Elizabeth Bennet. She was incensed at Miss Bingley and Mr Darcy’s lack of civility, gossiping about people they did not know. The source of her biggest displeasure was that they had decided with such assurance, the reason for her beloved Lizzy’s choices in life. Charlotte did not know why her friend had decided not to marry, but she did know Elizabeth Bennet was more than tolerably attractive. She quickly sought out Jane to reveal their cruel words. She was with her sister, Lydia, and Charlotte’s sister, Maria—talking with her husband and a group of his men not far from where Mr Darcy and Miss Bingley were dancing. Charlotte pointed out the offenders and told what she had overheard. Jane and Lydia left almost immediately in the wake of Charlotte’s news to find their other sisters and their mother.
