Mrs. Bennet's Favorite Daughter

by Jann Rowland

  “Hurst would have danced with you,” said Mr. Darcy, his grin displaying his own amusement. “If you had asked him, he would have obliged you, though he has less interest in the dance floor than even I.”

  “Could I have escaped with the toes of my slippers intact?” asked Georgiana with some wryness.

  Mr. Darcy laughed. “It is my understanding that Hurst was light on his feet when he was a younger man. I cannot claim he is so now, but I do not think him deficient.”

  “Unlike some others, I could name,” said Elizabeth with a shaken head and a glance to one side.

  Georgiana giggled and Mr. Darcy shook his head. During the second dance of the evening, Mr. Collins had insisted on partnering Miss Bingley and had shown he was, perhaps, the worst dancer in the country. Stepping the wrong way, apologizing when he should concentrate on his steps, berating others when he had moved wrong, and lumbering up and down the line when he was actually moving according to the steps were just some of his offenses. Elizabeth was more grateful than ever that she had escaped Mr. Collins’s inept attentions. Thus far, she had avoided the parson, reprieved from the fate of dancing with him. In fact, Elizabeth did not think any Bennet sister had partnered with him. None of them repined that loss.

  After the supper hour had progressed for some time, Mr. Bingley stood to speak to the gathering, stating with enthusiasm how happy he was with the welcome the Bingley family had received. Then, after a few such words, he invited his sister to play for the company, which Miss Bingley did with a sense of pride and a sly glance in Mr. Darcy’s direction.

  “She is proficient,” observed Elizabeth after a time of listening to the lady play. “Much more than myself, in fact.”

  “Oh, Lizzy,” said Georgiana, “you are proficient too.”

  “Thank you for inflating my vanity, Georgiana, but I am not on Miss Bingley’s level. Though I am proficient, I do not take enough trouble to practice, which limits any improvement I might attain.”

  Then Elizabeth turned to Georgiana and grinned. “As I recall, I have not heard you play, my dear. Shall you grace us with a song tonight?”

  Georgiana paled and stammered, leading Elizabeth to laugh and put her hand on her friend’s arm. “Do not concern yourself, Georgiana, for I will not insist. One day, however, others will expect it of you, so it may be best to become accustomed to it in smaller groups.”

  “Georgiana is skilled enough she could do it now,” interjected Mr. Darcy, with a smile at his sister. “Her only issue is confidence.”

  “That is something which we may remedy,” replied Elizabeth. “But I do not believe now is the time to insist on it.”

  Relieved, Georgiana nodded. “Perhaps we could play together, Elizabeth. Then you shall hear me play.”

  “That would be lovely, Georgiana,” assured Elizabeth.

  By this time, Miss Bingley was nearing the end of her song. As Elizabeth looked up again to observe the performer, she noted with some curiosity that Miss Bingley was staring back at her, a heated glare impaling her where she sat.

  “What do you think offends Miss Bingley?” asked Elizabeth of her companions.

  “I suspect she does not appreciate my brother’s attention on anyone other than herself,” said Georgiana.

  With a laugh, Elizabeth could only say: “Then that is unfortunate for her, for I see nothing of your brother’s admiration for her. Thus, she must be disappointed.”

  “Indeed, she must,” murmured Mr. Darcy.

  Miss Bingley’s song came to a close and the company applauded, though their response did not seem to be as Miss Bingley wished, for she stood and swept away from the instrument, head held high but with a gleam of contempt in her eye for her guests. Mrs. Hurst succeeded her at the pianoforte, and then several others before Mary’s chance to play for them all arrived.

  Mary was also proficient, though Elizabeth had thought her sister often lacked a feeling for the music. That evening, however, Mary played well, a piece suited for her abilities and talents, and when she completed it, the company applauded enthusiastically. The blush which suffused her countenance was a testament to Mary’s pleasure and evidence she had not always received such appreciation for her efforts. It seemed their efforts to induce Mary to play to her strengths were bearing fruit.

  One who did not appear to appreciate Mary’s efforts was their hostess. Miss Bingley glared at the girl, offended the applause for Mary had been louder. That Mary did not notice was a relief to Elizabeth. Miss Bingley said nothing disparaging, which was also a relief, but there was one in attendance who was not so circumspect.

  “My cousin’s playing is adequate, I suppose,” said Mr. Collins in his superior voice. “But her modest efforts pale in comparison with the sublime efforts of Miss Bingley, for her song was the voice of an angel brought down to earth. What beauty in tone and execution! I dare say that should my patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, have learned to play, she could not have performed any better, for all that her taste is as refined as any I have ever met.”

  While Mr. Collins continued to ramble on about his patroness, Miss Bingley, interspersed with comments about Mary, Elizabeth noted Mr. Bingley looking at him with utter annoyance. He must have decided against reprimanding the man, for he shook his head and turned back to Jane, who sat by his side. Mr. Bennet, so often amused by his cousin’s antics, was glaring at the parson with unfeigned anger, and Mrs. Bennet was not hiding her disdain. It was fortunate that Mary seemed to be of the opinion that the parson’s judgment did not matter a jot, for Mary’s confidence was a fragile thing at times.

  There were some few performers after Mary, but Elizabeth did not pay much attention to them, engrossed as she was in her conversation with the Darcys. Miss Bingley flitted about the edges of Elizabeth’s vision, but the lady appeared to be attempting to avoid Mr. Collins and Mr. Wickham as much as she was intruding on her conversation. Thus, Elizabeth paid her little mind.

  A minor incident arose toward the end of supper when Lydia began carrying on and laughing in raucous tones with a pair of militia officers. While Elizabeth glared at the girl, she was not obliged to rein her in, for another filled that role.

  “Lydia, please come and sit with your father and me,” said Mrs. Bennet. “You also, Kitty.”

  Though giving a put-upon sigh, Lydia rose and followed her mother, Kitty coming behind. Colonel Fitzwilliam approached the two officers and shared a few words with them, which had them nodding their agreement. As for her youngest sisters, they sat near Elizabeth, so she could hear everything they were saying.

  “We were just having a bit of fun, Mama!”

  Elizabeth did not even need to look to know it was Lydia speaking, for her whine was distinctive.

  “Perhaps you were, my dear,” said Mrs. Bennet, “but there is a proper way to have a bit of fun and a way which is not so proper. You crossed that line.”

  Lydia huffed and sat back in her chair, glaring at all and sundry with a childish pout. Elizabeth watched her sister and shook her head, and Mrs. Bennet, though she regarded her youngest daughter with fond amusement, held firm.

  “It is clear to me, Lydia, that you are not ready for such events as this. No, I will not forbid you,” interjected Mrs. Bennet when Lydia complained, “but I believe we should exercise caution when we decide what you will and will not attend.”

  “It is not fair,” spat Lydia with a pout.

  “Perhaps it is not, my dear,” replied Mrs. Bennet. “However, embarrassing our family with your behavior is not fair either. When you prove you are ready for the responsibility, we will give you greater freedom, and not before.”

  “Excellent point, Mrs. Bennet,” said Mr. Bennet, smiling at his wife. “And with that, I believe it is time for us to depart.

  “Do not complain, Lydia,” said Mr. Bennet when Lydia did just that. “You were aware of the rules long before the evening started. Say your goodbyes to your friends, so we may depart.”

  Though with little willingness, the
two girls did as their father bid them while Mr. and Mrs. Bennet looked on. At her side, Mr. Darcy glanced at his sister, who understood his meaning in an instant.

  “Yes, I understand, Brother. I shall retire.”

  “Thank you, Georgiana,” said Mr. Darcy, kissing his sister’s forehead. “I believe you have done well tonight. There shall be many such opportunities for further amusements.”

  Having said that much, Mr. Darcy rose and moved away to speak with his cousin, leaving Elizabeth and Georgiana together. They said their farewells, arranging to meet again two days after the ball, and Elizabeth moved away to talk to her sister, assuming Georgiana would make her way above stairs. She had not counted on the determination of a man who had been watching them, and in hindsight, Elizabeth wondered if he had been waiting for an opportunity to come upon Georgiana alone.

  “Georgiana,” said Wickham, alerting Elizabeth to his presence. “Miss Darcy,” the man amended, his face screwed up in a grimace. “I apologize—my address should not have been so informal.”

  “Yes, Mr. Wickham?” asked Georgiana. Had Elizabeth not known her friend better, she might have thought Georgiana’s tone was all haughtiness.

  “I know I have no right to approach you and I do not wish to impose upon you. But I wished to apologize for my behavior in the summer.”

  “Oh?” asked Georgiana, her raised eyebrow showing both surprise and insistence he clarify his statement.

  “It was unconscionable of me and an insult to the memory of your father. There is no excuse for what I attempted to do, and I apologize for it without reservation.”

  Only her friend’s surprise prevented Elizabeth from joining her. It surprised Elizabeth herself. Mr. Wickham’s words suggested a sinister plot against Georgiana, the truth of which Elizabeth did not even wish to guess. It was fortunate, Elizabeth thought, that no one else seemed to be listening, for she did not think her friend wished anyone to know of what they were speaking.

  “Then I thank you for that, Mr. Wickham.”

  Without another word, the officer bowed and moved away, freeing Elizabeth to approach her young friend. It did not miss her notice that Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam were also hurrying to her side.

  “I apologize, Georgiana,” said Elizabeth, reaching her young friend first, “but I could not help but overhear a little of what Mr. Wickham said. Has he caused you discomfort?”

  “No,” replied Georgiana, her look and manner absent. “In fact, for the first time in his life, I believe Mr. Wickham has done something right.”

  “Georgiana, what did Wickham want?” asked Mr. Darcy as he strode up to them. His countenance was a mass of concern, his eyes searching his sister for any signs of distress. At that moment, Elizabeth thought he would find Mr. Wickham and call him out if the officer had caused any hurt to his sister.

  “To apologize,” said Georgiana, bringing the two gentlemen to a surprised halt.

  “He apologized,” echoed Colonel Fitzwilliam.

  “Yes. He claimed his behavior in the summer was unconscionable, that he insulted my father’s memory by it.”

  The gentlemen shared a glance. “At least he seems to understand that now,” muttered Mr. Darcy, to Colonel Fitzwilliam’s grim nod.

  “He said nothing else?” At Georgiana’s shaken head, Colonel Fitzwilliam said: “Then I suppose there is no need to call him out.”

  “Perhaps it would be best for you to go to bed,” said Elizabeth, gently steering Georgiana toward the door.

  The girl turned and flung her arms around Elizabeth, murmuring: “Thank you for your support, Elizabeth. Oh! You must be so confused.”

  “Do not concern yourself, Georgiana,” assured Elizabeth. “It is clear Mr. Wickham hurt you in some way. More than that I need not know.”

  Georgiana nodded and bid her goodnight, then her brother escorted her from the room, but not before Mr. Darcy gave her a grateful glance. They soon exited, leaving Elizabeth in Colonel Fitzwilliam’s company. After looking about for a moment, assuring himself that no one was near, Colonel Fitzwilliam addressed her:

  “Please allow me to add my thanks to my cousin’s, Miss Elizabeth. You have been an excellent friend and have helped her shed some of her shyness.”

  “You have a wonderful ward, Colonel Fitzwilliam,” said Elizabeth. “I would support her, regardless of the circumstances. Whatever I overheard, I assure you no one shall hear aught of it from me.”

  “Of that, I have little doubt,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam.

  After a few moments, Colonel Fitzwilliam drifted away toward several of his officers, leaving Elizabeth alone to her thoughts. While she might have been excused for considering what she had just overheard, Elizabeth made a conscious decision to turn her thoughts to other matters. Georgiana, it appeared, was growing and maturing, and Elizabeth hoped she would be in a position to continue that friendship after her friend inevitably departed from the neighborhood. The thought of asking for a correspondence entered her mind, and Elizabeth determined she would speak of it the next time they met.

  Then a low, unfriendly voice interrupted Elizabeth’s musings.

  “You seem to have become very close to dear Georgiana.”

  Turning, Elizabeth noted Miss Bingley’s presence; the woman was watching her, a half glare fixed on her. While Elizabeth assumed that Miss Bingley was unhappy because of Mr. Darcy’s recent attention to her and her friendship with Georgiana, she was not about to allow Miss Bingley to lure her into an argument.

  “Did you not, yourself, laud her as an exquisite woman?” Miss Bingley made no response, and Elizabeth added: “In this, I must agree with you, Miss Bingley, for I like Georgiana very well.”

  “I am gratified you see her the way I do,” said Miss Bingley. “If Mr. Darcy and his sister were not visiting here, it is possible you would not see them. Good manners induce Mr. Darcy to attend local events, for he can be reclusive in other places. He is careful of the society to which he keeps.”

  Amused, Elizabeth nodded. “Yes, I can see why a man of Mr. Darcy’s consequence would prefer to choose his friends with great care, Miss Bingley.”

  Nodding, the woman leaned toward Elizabeth and said with great deliberation: “If I were you, Miss Elizabeth, I would refrain from seeing anything in Mr. Darcy’s civility other than a true, generous courtesy. Many before you have hoped to induce a . . . a closer relationship with him and failed.”

  “I assure you, Miss Bingley, that I have no expectations for Mr. Darcy. I count Georgiana as an excellent friend and esteem Mr. Darcy. The gentleman may do as he pleases, and there is little I can or wish to do to direct him. I am content with friendship.”

  The way Miss Bingley searched her eyes, Elizabeth thought the woman did not believe her. Given what she understood of Miss Bingley’s character, Elizabeth knew this was because Miss Bingley was doing everything in her power to attract the gentleman and could not understand another not doing the same. After a moment of this, she sniffed.

  “You should also know that many others have tried—and failed—to use . . . underhanded means to attract the gentleman.”

  “That, Miss Bingley, is the furthest from my mind,” said Elizabeth, doing everything she could not to laugh. “We Bennets are not a family given to such behavior. I would never dream of trying to force Mr. Darcy’s hand.”

  With satisfaction that Elizabeth had heard and accepted her point, Miss Bingley opened her mouth to speak again when they were interrupted.

  “Miss Bingley! Miss Bingley!”

  The sound of Mr. Collins’s voice rising over those assembled whitened the woman’s countenance. Without excusing herself, she slipped away and out a door into another room, Mr. Collins rushing past Elizabeth to follow her a few moments later. When they were both gone, Elizabeth shook her head and looked about, her eyes resting on the person of Mr. Wickham, who appeared to be laughing at the scene. Elizabeth did not trust him, particularly not given the additional information she had gleaned that evening. But she
was curious.

  “It is interesting to see you laughing at Miss Bingley’s distress, Mr. Wickham. I would have thought you would be angry, for are you not also eager to pay court to her?”

  “Miss Bingley’s distress does not amuse me, Miss Elizabeth,” contradicted the officer. “It is the antics of Mr. Collins which cause my mirth. Who would not laugh at such a ridiculous man?”

  “Who, indeed?” replied Elizabeth. “Then you have no concern for his interest in her?”

  “Should I?” asked Mr. Wickham. The officer smirked and added: “There is little to suggest that Miss Bingley would ever accept an offer from a man such as Mr. Collins. Given that fact, I believe I have little to concern myself. I suspect Mr. Collins will offer his hand before long, but I am convinced she will reject him.”

  “Do you think it more likely she will accept a proposal from you?”

  Mr. Wickham turned to regard Elizabeth, something more pensive in his mood now. “You are disposed to think she will not?”

  Elizabeth laughed. “You do not misunderstand her interest in Mr. Darcy, do you?”

  “No. But Darcy offering for her is even less likely that Miss Bingley accepting a proposal from Mr. Collins.”

  “That does not mean she will accept a proposal from you.”

  “No, I suppose it does not. However, I have confidence that Miss Bingley, when she comes to know me better, will see me in the correct light, and when she does, I believe my chances are as good as anyone else’.”

  There was something in the way he phrased his words that Elizabeth did not like, though she could not say what it was. Mr. Wickham, Elizabeth thought, was a dangerous man, a ruthless one. Even if she had not had Mr. Darcy’s warning, she did not think she ever would have trusted him.

  “Excuse me, Miss Elizabeth,” said the man. “Unless I am mistaken, I believe you overheard my conversation with Miss Darcy a few moments ago?”

  “I did,” confirmed Elizabeth.