by Jann Rowland
“I can see nothing of it, Uncle. Mr. Darcy was both proper and solicitous as to my comfort. Your experiences with him have jaded you.”
Uncle Gardiner’s countenance darkened in anger, but Lord Arundel silenced all arguments and fixed them all—in particular his youngest daughter—with a pointed gaze which allowed for no disagreement.
“For the rest of this evening, there will be no further contact between Bennets and Darcys, and that applies to the extended Darcy family.”
“But Papa!” said Jane, perhaps the least likely to protest, “Anne de Bourgh has been friendly to us all this evening.”
“That is my decision,” said Lord Arundel. He looked around to all his family and added: “Yes, I understand some members of that family are welcoming but let us avoid any further possibility of discord. Unless I am very much mistaken, I believe Mr. Darcy is giving the same instructions to his family at this very moment, so there should be no further problems.”
It seemed her father was correct, for Mr. Darcy had gathered his family about him and was speaking to them, his demeanor as stern as that of Lord Arundel. Elizabeth caught her Mr. Darcy’s eyes and was forced to stifle a giggle at his look skyward. There seemed to be little more appetite in Mr. Darcy’s family for his instructions as there was for Lord Arundel’s, for the younger Mr. Darcy was leaning against the wall with complete indifference, while the other members of the family appeared to be showing varying degrees of irritation.
While Elizabeth was watching, she noted when Colonel Fitzwilliam said something harsh to his uncle and turned to stalk away. The elder Mr. Darcy watched him as he left, before turning back to his family and saying a few more words, punctuated with rapid hand gestures before he dismissed them.
“Am I very clear?”
Her father’s voice returned her attention to her own party, and she realized she had heard nothing he said while she had been distracted. The rest of her family gave their assent, though some with great reluctance, all except for Lydia, who stood ramrod straight, her lips forming an angry line. Knowing the girl was about to say something which would provoke her father to greater anger, Elizabeth stepped forward and grasped Lydia’s arm, fixing her father with a weak smile.
“I shall speak with Lydia, Papa.”
“It is all so unfair, Lizzy!” exclaimed Lydia as Elizabeth led her away.
For a moment Elizabeth saw red, her mouth opened with a retort to tell her sister how unfair it all was. Discretion, however, came to Elizabeth’s rescue and she swallowed the words she so wished to say.
“Perhaps it is, Lydia,” said Elizabeth instead. “There is no choice but to obey Papa. It would be best to let the anger cool for there is no call to continue to argue.”
Lydia shot her a sour look, but she did not respond. Taking her aside, Elizabeth situated herself by her sister, allowing Lydia’s anger to drain away. As Mr. Darcy had inferred, there was a swell of voices, as the story flew throughout the room on wings of gossip by who had witnessed the exchange to those who had missed it. Being the highest members of society in the district, other than the Lucas family, Elizabeth had no worry about it being to her family’s detriment; the longstanding nature of the affair meant it was often discussed regardless. That did not appease her to any great extent, for she did not appreciate being the target of the neighborhood’s gossips.
“How did you come to be dancing with Mr. Darcy?” asked Elizabeth after a few moments.
“The usual method,” responded Lydia, her anger fueling her continued shortness. “Our coming close to each other was an accident. He made a comment, I teased him in reply, and he asked me to dance. There was nothing improper about it.”
“I do not accuse you of impropriety,” said Elizabeth, though she reflected that had she possessed Lydia’s fearlessness, she might have been the first to draw their family’s ire by dancing with Mr. Darcy. In some ways, she wished she had danced with him. “There was nothing more than curiosity in my question.”
Lydia grunted and no further words passed between them. It was not long before Elizabeth realized that the incident had other consequences that were not so readily apparent. For one, though the Bennet sisters were among the most popular dance partners at most events, none of the sisters danced very much again that evening. Whether there was some concern over offending one or the other of the families, none of them enjoyed themselves, for neither Darcy brother danced again, though Colonel Fitzwilliam continued to be his jolly self. Mr. Bingley also engaged with Jane on the dance floor again, though otherwise he ignored the activity after that and stayed by her side.
This did not mean the end of the hostilities between the Darcy and Bennet families, however, and if Elizabeth had thought on the matter at all, she would have understood it was inevitable. Though no open disagreements erupted between them, and the earl, standing as stern watch over them all warned against any misbehavior, little digs occurred with regularity. Elizabeth found herself near enough on one occasion to overhear Lady Catherine referring to her as an “outspoken girl, rattling on about things she knew nothing at all.” That was not the worst of the little snide comments, but they did not bother her at all.
Kitty, being much more sensitive, was brought to tears when Lady Catherine made a similar comment in her hearing. It was the pattern that suggested Lady Catherine was attempting to make her sentiments known, for the possibility of multiple instances of another overhearing were beyond belief.
“Do not concern yourself, Kitty,” said Elizabeth when her sister approached her with tears in her eyes. “She is an overbearing, conceited, ignorant sort of woman. We need not care for her opinion.”
As Lady Catherine was nearby and Elizabeth had made her comments with the intention of her overhearing them, she was not surprised when the lady whirled on them, her eyes blazing with anger.
“What are the Bennets but a jumped-up house far too proud for their own good? I knew your father when he was a young man—it seems to me the weakness of character traits in him are manifest in his daughters.”
“And I have also heard of the insolent harpy intent upon pushing her opinion upon all and sundry,” snapped Elizabeth in return. “Your opinions mean nothing, Lady Catherine, and I would appreciate it if you would refrain from sharing them and insulting my sister who has done you no harm.”
The lady’s face took on the hue of a ripened tomato. Had Mr. Darcy not arrived to coax his aunt away from them, Elizabeth might have thought the woman’s shrieking voice might carry throughout the hall. The apologetic look he shot her told Elizabeth he had heard everything his aunt had said, and Elizabeth nodded in response, informing him she did not hold him at fault.
The misbehavior did not exclude the Bennets, however, for Elizabeth witnessed more than one instance of sniping back and forth between the families. After dinner Lady Charlotte led the way to the pianoforte, performed for the company, and then invited others to display their own talents. Some few ladies did before Mary took to the instrument.
Mary was proficient, but if she exchanged some of her technical skill for more feeling, her playing would be more enjoyable. But she acquitted herself well, blushing from the applause which greeted her performance. When she stepped away from the pianoforte, however, a single voice rose in disdainful commentary.
“If Lord Arundel has paid a substantial amount of money for his master, he should fire the man, for Miss Mary does not have the taste Anne possesses. My niece, Georgiana is skilled, so we are in for a treat. Of course, had I ever learned, I should be the most talented performer in the company!”
It was clear to Elizabeth that Lady Catherine’s words had offended Lady Margaret so much that she seethed during Miss Darcy’s performance. So fixed was her attention on the performer, she did not notice when the earl stepped up to Lady Catherine and informed her, in a voice harsh and carrying, that he would have her removed if she persisted. Lady Catherine did not like the set down she received, but Elizabeth noticed she made no further comments.
When Georgiana completed her piece, Elizabeth applauded along with the rest of the company. Unfortunately, her mother, not to be outdone by Lady Catherine, sneered at the young girl and said in a loud voice: “Miss Darcy’s playing is adequate, I suppose. But it is not beautiful enough to tempt me to applaud.” Lady Margaret turned to Elizabeth and gestured toward the instrument. “You should perform, Lizzy. Then we would all hear the true measure of talent and skill.”
By this time the disgust Elizabeth felt for them all was so great, nothing would induce her to perform for such unworthy people. Lady Margaret, it seemed, did not repine the lack of her performance, for she patted Elizabeth’s hand.
“I understand, my dear. It is to your credit you do not wish to outshine them all, for you are such a good and modest girl. Perhaps, instead, I may ask Kitty to perform.”
At that moment, Lady Charlotte called for a return to the ballroom, diffusing the situation. The whispers and glances her family, along with the Darcys, were receiving as those present exited the dining room, informed Elizabeth that they had given them all more about which to gossip. The entire night was a disaster for them all, in Elizabeth’s opinion, for they had shown themselves to be unruly school children rather than families of standing and wealth.
“Lady Charlotte,” said Elizabeth, as she approached her friend later that evening, showing her deference with a low curtsey. “You have my apologies for the behavior of us all. I should think you wish to be rid of the lot of us, for none have acquitted ourselves well tonight.”
“Dearest Lizzy,” said Lady Charlotte, engulfing Elizabeth in a warm embrace. “Please do not take the misbehavior of others upon your head. This evening has turned out more . . . interesting than I might have expected or wished. But I do not believe any of it is your fault.”
Elizabeth gave her friend a weak laugh. “Perhaps it is not. But I feel the shame of it, nonetheless.”
“It will turn out well, I dare say,” said Lady Charlotte. “You need to have faith.”
Faith, however, was a commodity in short supply at present. Despite her friend’s encouraging words, Elizabeth could not feel other than that her family had been proud, ridiculous, absurd, and mortifying that evening. And given their behavior, the gulf between Darcy and Bennet was wider than it had ever been before. How could they recover; how could she obtain her happiness after events such as these?
Chapter XXII
Given the evening that had just occurred, Darcy found he could not find sleep that night. In fact, he did not even make the attempt. Thoughts of the ball, the behavior of his family together with that of the Bennets plagued him when he returned to his home, and the most he could accomplish was to throw his jacket over a chair before the fireplace while he sank into its mate to stare with moody annoyance at the smoldering embers in the bottom of the grate. There was not even enough motivation in him to add a log or stir the embers to provide more heat.
After his family’s performance, Darcy wondered that Miss Elizabeth still thought well of him. That her family had behaved little better Darcy knew, but considering his desire for the woman of his heart to think well of him, he pushed all thought of the other Bennets from his mind. In particular, Lady Catherine’s incessant comments designed to insult after the earl had already made his wishes known galled Darcy, for not only had the woman stated her ridiculous opinions incessantly, but she had insulted Elizabeth herself on no less than three occasions that Darcy had overheard. Had he possessed less discretion, he might have cheered when Miss Elizabeth set her down, calling her an insolent harpy. It was nothing less than the truth.
The final indignity, however, had come when they entered the family home, for his father had reiterated his words at the ball. Anyone associated with the Darcys were to avoid the Bennets at all costs; he would tolerate no objections. Well, his father had received more than he had bargained, for one of those in attendance was not in the mood to listen.
“Much though I respect you, Uncle,” Fitzwilliam had said, glaring at the elder Darcy, “I am not your son, nor will I endure being ordered to comply with your commands.”
“You are a guest at my house,” replied Mr. Darcy. “Thus, you will obey my rules.”
“If you wish me to leave because of my defiance, that is your prerogative. But you shall not coerce me into behaving in a manner which I consider ridiculous. My future wife is not only close to the Bennet sisters, but I consider this entire matter to be nothing less than a farce. I am a Fitzwilliam, and I will do as I see fit.”
The Darcy patriarch glared at Fitzwilliam, but he was not intimidated. When they had attempted to stare each other down for several moments, Fitzwilliam shook his head and stood to retreat from the room.
“If you wish me gone, please inform me in the morning,” said Fitzwilliam. “I have other friends in the neighborhood with whom I can stay if need be. For now, I shall bid you all good night.”
The bow Fitzwilliam offered upon departing the room was as curt as it was perfunctory, surprising to many in the party who could not think of their relation as anything other than a genial man. To Darcy, however, Fitzwilliam’s refusal was not unexpected, for he knew his cousin better than any other man and knew of Fitzwilliam’s will of iron. And Darcy could not be more in agreement.
“You may as well let him have it, Father,” said Alexander. Upon entering the room, his brother had thrown himself into a chair with little elegance, seeming bored with the proceedings. His words bordered on insolent. “I agree with him. This dispute is beyond silly.”
“I would have you hold your tongue, Alexander,” growled his father. “It was your actions that led to much of the hostility this evening.”
“Yes, yes, it was all my fault,” said Alexander, springing to his feet. “I am sure the kingdom will go to war because I danced with Miss Lydia Bennet, a young woman who does not deserve to be treated with disdain by anyone in this family. She is sixteen! What manner of lunacy is this that we treat such people as less than the dirt on our boots?”
“That is enough!” bellowed their father. “Though Fitzwilliam may defy me if he chooses, you are my son and you will obey.” Mr. Darcy’s harsh gaze found Georgiana and the de Bourghs, and he stated in a voice which allowed for no disagreement: “That goes for anyone who lives in my house. There will be no more contact with any member of the Bennet family. If you cannot obey my dictates, you may depart.”
Cowed by her father’s implacable tone, Georgiana nodded with vigorous agreement. Alexander shrugged, while Darcy avoided saying anything. It was Lady Catherine whose words ended the night in further acrimony.
“The Bennets are nothing more than ruffians,” huffed Lady Catherine. “Be assured that Anne and I have little desire for congress with them.”
The elder Darcy nodded, though Darcy saw what he did not—Anne rolled her eyes. Those eyes contained a hint of a mutinous glint, one Darcy thought was much more in alignment with Alexander and Fitzwilliam’s opinions. Lady Catherine, however, was not finished speaking.
“Given the events of the evening and the artfulness of the Bennet family, I believe the time has come to solemnize Darcy’s engagement with Anne.”
“Be silent, Lady Catherine!” hissed Darcy, much to his aunt’s shock. “The Bennets can have nothing to do with your insistence on promoting this fantasy of yours. I will not marry Anne and she will not have me. Do not speak on this subject again!”
Lady Catherine’s countenance darkened and she opened her mouth to retort, but Darcy cut her off. “Of all of those who were to blame for this evening’s debacle, I consider you to be the worst! Not only did you take every opportunity to belittle and insult, even after the earl instructed us all to desist, but you would not stop though you were told several more times to do so. It is my opinion that Miss Elizabeth’s accusation concerning your character could not be more correct!”
Turning on his heel, Darcy stalked from the room to the sound of his aunt’s shouted protests. Darcy did not listen,
though he thought he heard his father silencing his aunt as he departed. With any luck, his father would order her from the house. Lady Catherine was too much to endure at the best of times, and this was far from the best!
The memory of those events provoked Darcy’s ire once again, and he rose to stalk about his room, his pacing akin to the caged lion he had seen at the London menagerie. Darcy had always considered himself to be a dutiful son. The respect he held for his father was unshakable, and he had always followed his father’s instructions to the letter.
Obedience was not possible—not now. How was he to convince himself to avoid Miss Elizabeth? He could not! It was in every way unfathomable. Darcy could no more shun the woman who held his heart than he could forget his name. He would not do it.
For a moment, Darcy toyed with the notion of informing his father of his actions and declaring his intention to marry Miss Elizabeth, for he had tired of hiding it and feeling more than a little guilty. That he had not yet spoken of the matter with Elizabeth stayed his hand; his father’s present mood firmed his conviction that now would be a poor time to make such an announcement. Lady Catherine would only further the pandemonium, should she learn once and for all of the failure of her schemes.
On a sudden impulse, Darcy grasped his jacket from the chair and slung it over his shoulders again. Walking to the door, Darcy opened it with great care, peering both directions down the hall for any sign of activity. There was none—not a soul moved in the house. Moving back into his room, Darcy went to his dressing room and found a pair of knee-high boots—they did not match his evening ball attire, but at this point Darcy cared little for his fashionable appearance.
A few moments later Darcy left his room, crept down the stairs and out of the house, making his way toward the stables. Zeus, his horse, eyed him when he entered the stall, the animal’s eyes blinking away sleep. In no time, Darcy had gathered a saddle and slung it over the beast, tightening the cinch underneath before taking the bit and bridle and preparing for departure. Then he led the horse from the stables, along the length of the house toward a path leading south.
