Charlotte thought the scene reflected badly on everyone. “The purpose of this gathering was to have Mr. Bingley, and now his friend, see us at our best. But our behavior is such that it does not reflect well on any of us.”
Lizzy agreed that Mr. Darcy was besieged, but was not the pursuit of a husband very much like going into battle, all rules being swept aside with the sound of the first shot or, in this case, that tinny bell. “Charlotte, it is an old adage, but it is true nonetheless: All is fair in love and war.”
“Whoever said that must have experienced something similar to what is happening here tonight to Mr. Darcy.”
“It was probably Shakespeare who said it. If it is not in the Book of Common Prayer, I attribute any quote to either Shakespeare or Samuel Johnson, and I almost always get it right, and if I do not, no one corrects me.”
“Do be serious, Lizzy. It is not fair what is happening to you.”
“Charlotte, I refuse to be serious on such a night. Look at Mr. Bingley and Jane. They are thoroughly enjoying themselves,” she said as she glanced at the happy couple. “As for Mr. Darcy, he will soon be back in London amongst his equals, free of the pesky Meryton maidens and their mothers. As for you, my dear friend, you did not come to the card party to be my minder, so mingle, that being the word of the evening. I can turn my own pages.”
* * *
A mass of curiosity seekers encircling him was not what Darcy had imagined when he had agreed to accompany Bingley to Hertfordshire. At the start of the evening, Sir William Lucas had outlined a logical order of progression. In theory, Bingley would stay at the card table so that his neighbors would come to him, but the plan immediately went awry when Bingley insisted that Miss Bennet remain his partner for the second set and then the third. With those changes, the whole scheme had suffered a fracture from which it could not recover. The blame for the plan’s early demise rested with Charles Bingley and his attraction to Miss Bennet.
When Bingley had spoken of his “angel,” Darcy had thought it hyperbole. How was it possible for someone to fall in love with a woman with whom he had spent a total of ten minutes—if that? Although rational thought declared it impossible, Darcy’s eyes were telling him something different. With his faraway look, reserved for moments when he was not staring at Miss Bennet, Bingley reminded him of a calf at Pemberley that had been struck by lightning. Instead of clinging to its mother, it had formed a bond with one of the herd dogs, and the two had become inseparable.
By the start of the third set, Darcy sensed a change in the atmospherics of the ballroom. With Bingley mooning over Miss Bennet, the center of gravity had shifted, pulling all females under the age of thirty away from Bingley and toward him. Soon after being dragged away from Miss Elizabeth by Miss King, at least a dozen women had gathered around him, demanding his attention and a good deal of information. He was asked questions about Pemberley, his house in London, his carriage, his thoughts on Hertfordshire and Netherfield Park, and, the strangest of all, if he liked cats! It had never occurred to him to have an opinion on felines one way or the other. Cats chased mice. What else was there to say? The one person whom he wished was tugging at his sleeve was Miss Elizabeth Bennet, and from all appearances, she was chained to the piano bench.
Determined to break free of the mob of admirers engulfing him, Darcy politely answered all questions while waiting for Mrs. Darlington to ring her bell—a truly irritating sound but one that would signal his liberation. Once freed, it was his intention to continue his conversation with Miss Elizabeth.
* * *
All this fingering was fatiguing, and despite Lydia’s insistent pleas that she play The Barley Mow, Lizzy had had enough for one evening. Let others exhibit so that I might visit. As she moved away from the instrument, she saw Mr. Darcy walking toward her, his head bent, so as not to catch the eye of any of his followers. As soon as he approached Lizzy, he declared that he was in need of assistance.
“How may I help, sir?”
“Would you be so kind as to join me in the alcove? It is a small enough space that I do not see how anyone can squeeze in between us, that is, unless you have been hired for the evening to play on the pianoforte.”
“I was pressed into service by our hostess.” Lizzy said, and with a hint of mischief, looked about her and whispered, “but I have gone over the side and have made my escape.” Lizzy wiggled her tired fingers, demonstrating the reason for her desertion.
“I believe you are safe as there are no constables about.”
Once seated in chairs placed near a window overlooking the garden, Lizzy expressed her sympathy for the situation Mr. Darcy found himself in. In their awe of someone of Mr. Darcy’s superior rank walking amongst them, societal norms had been jettisoned by nearly everyone, and the man was in danger of being crushed by his admirers.
“I do not understand what I have done to merit such attention. Your friends do not know me, and if they did, they might very well be disappointed,” Darcy said with a laugh. “I am not that interesting.”
Lizzy doubted that very much. But even if he did not open his mouth, he was a sight to behold: tall, dark hair, gray-green eyes, a firm chin, broad shoulders, and those calves!
“Unfortunately, sir, you are a victim of economics. In order for a woman to have any financial stability, she must marry. Our neighborhood suffers from an imbalance in the population: too many females.”
“Economics, you say. But what of romance?”
“Romance is a luxury few of us can afford. Unlike Jane, who is very much a romantic, I am of a practical nature as dictated by the reality of my circumstances. As I have no fortune, I must get by of my wit and charms.”
“Of which you are amply blessed, to say nothing of your beauty.”
Lizzy felt the heat rise in her face and wished that she had not left her fan on the pianoforte.
“What if your circumstances were different? What if money was not an impediment?” Darcy asked. “Would you then consider yourself a romantic?”
“I have no idea what it means to be romantic. My only association with such notions comes from novels, poems, sonnets, and plays, and although the words are beautiful and inspiring, I believe those sentiments are greatly exaggerated.”
Darcy sat back in his chair. “It is the same for me—not that I read novels—as I do not,” Darcy said emphatically. “From observation, I believe passion is frequently mistaken for love—or at least that was my opinion before coming to Hertfordshire. But after seeing Bingley with your sister, I confess I must give more thought to the matter. He has the look of a man in love.”
“I understand perfectly what you are saying. It is beyond my understanding as well, but the proof is right there in front of us. We cannot deny that they have formed an attachment. I wonder if there is some hidden force that brings two people, two strangers, together?”
“You mean something along the line of Dr. Mesmer’s theory of animal magnetism?”
“I have never heard of Dr. Mesmer nor his theory,” Lizzy said, laughing at her ignorance. “I would prefer to think of it as something heaven sent.”
Darcy smiled. “Bingley refers to your sister as his angel and insists that Miss Bennet is a gift from heaven.”
“Oh my!” Lizzy said, placing her hand over her heart. “Such sentiments could not be bestowed on a more deserving person. If this bud blossoms, Mr. Bingley will be a very fortunate man, indeed, as Jane is all that is good and kind.”
“I understand as I have a very high opinion of Bingley. The man is generous to a fault. Tolerant of foibles and weaknesses. A friend to all. He is a particular favorite of my sister because he makes her laugh. As for me, he is my opposite and frequently challenges me.”
Prior to meeting Bingley, Darcy would never have agreed to attend a gathering where he knew nary a soul. Because of his aversion to such situations, he had looked for an excuse not to come to Hertfordshire, but Bingley had prevailed.
“My sister Georgiana, who has frequentl
y declared that I am too serious, supported Bingley in his efforts to have me come to the card party. She is only sixteen but wise beyond her years.”
Darcy would have wished to continue the conversation, but the bell—that damnable bell—had signaled that he must move on. Both Lizzy and Darcy were of the opinion that as the evening had progressed, the time between sets had shortened considerably. It was as if Mrs. Darlington wished to hasten the evening’s end.
Before moving on, Darcy asked that Lizzy honor him with a dance. “And while I mingle, I would appreciate it if you would relieve Mrs. Darlington of that bell. I would be deeply in your debt if you succeed.”
* * *
While Lizzy and Darcy had been enjoying each other’s company, Charlotte had stood watch, successfully repelling several attempts to breach the intimacy of their conversation. As she waited for Mr. Darcy to leave Lizzy’s side, Charlotte was eager to hear from her friend as to what had been discussed. But that conversation would be delayed as the gentleman surprised her by asking her to dance. Ideally, it should have been Lizzy, but she would not say no.
While Charlotte stepped lively with Mr. Darcy, Lizzy made her way over to her sister Jane who, for the first time that evening, was not brushing elbows with Mr. Bingley.
“Do you realize you are alone, Jane—that Mr. Bingley is not by your side?”
“At the moment, Mr. Bingley is dancing with Miss King,” Jane answered in a monotone.
“I did not realize how very determined a person Miss King is, especially where Mr. Darcy is concerned. A little thing like a private conversation was no impediment for Mary.” When Jane did not respond, Lizzy studied her sister and realized that something was amiss. “You look unhappy, Jane. Are you missing Mr. Bingley?”
“Lizzy, please.”
“What is wrong?” Lizzy could see tears forming in her sister’s eyes.
“Mama is what is wrong,” Jane said, her voice cracking. “Did you not hear her raising her voice to me because I had let Mr. Bingley get away?’”
Lizzy had not heard, tucked away as she was in an alcove with Mr. Darcy.
Jane had been flattered when Mr. Bingley had asked that she remain as his partner at the card table for the second set and then for the third. But when the bell was rung a fourth time, Jane encouraged Mr. Bingley to change venues or she would invite the enmity of the others who wished to make his acquaintance. He had reluctantly agreed but indicated that when he returned, he would ask that she accompany him to the dance floor.
“Mama did not hear Mr. Bingley ask me to dance. All she knew was that Mr. Bingley had ‘got away.’ After the to-do on High Street, I thought nothing ever again would embarrass me to such a degree, but I was wrong.”
“’Where is Mama?” Lizzy asked, looking around the room and found her mother conversing with a coterie of Meryton gossips.
“I imagine she is complaining about me to anyone who will listen.”
“Oh, never mind Mama,” Lizzy said, dismissing their mother with a wave of her hand. “Tell me what you think of Mr. Bingley.”
“Mr. Bingley. He is…he is just what a young man ought to be: sensible, good humored, lively, and I never saw such happy manners!” Jane provided several examples of the gentleman’s good humor, most of it at his own expense.
“Does Mr. Bingley have wings because he sounds heavenly?”
Jane smiled. “It is funny that you should say that as he called me ‘his angel.’”
“Because you are an angel. And, frankly, I resent it as you make everyone else look bad.”
“Nonsense, Lizzy! And enough about me,” Jane said, some sense of equanimity having been restored. “What have you been doing all evening?”
“This and that, but mostly playing the pianoforte, so much so that Mr. Darcy asked if I had been ‘hired’ for the evening. Did Mr. Bingley say anything about his friend?”
“It was difficult to have a conversation with others sitting at the table, but Mr. Bingley did indicate that Mr. Darcy is an excellent fellow. What did you think of Mr. Darcy?”
“Mr. Darcy is—”
Lizzy was prevented from continuing by the sounding of the bell, and she was happy for it as she had yet to form a full opinion of the gentleman. What she did know was that she had never thought of a man in quite the same way as she was thinking of Mr. Darcy.
* * *
It was late in the evening when Lizzy had her first dance, and her partner was Mr. Bingley. As the dance was a lively air, conversation was limited, and when his words did manage to climb over the notes of the pianoforte, she repeatedly heard “Miss Bennet.” Although she strained to hear what Mr. Bingley was saying about her sister, she had no such difficulty in hearing her mother’s voice as she proclaimed the night a great success for her Jane, declaring Mr. Bingley to be smitten and predicting that great things would come of it.
As soon as the music stopped, Lizzy quickly made her way over to her mother in hopes of silencing her but was intercepted by Mr. Darcy who asked for the next dance.
“I apologize, Mr. Darcy, but my mother is in need of me.”
Darcy followed Lizzy eyes as they crossed the distance to Mrs. Bennet.
“That lady is your mother?”
“Yes.” Lizzy made a bow, her eyes averting Mr. Darcy’s probing look. “Please excuse me.”
Lizzy plowed through the group of ladies surrounding her mother and asked to speak to her in private and did not mince words: “You are embarrassing Jane as you embarrassed her on High Street when Mr. Bingley first came to Meryton.”
“And look at what that got her,” Mrs. Bennet said with a smug smile. “From the time Mr. Bingley entered the ballroom, his eyes have been on Jane, and for most of the evening, they have been inseparable.”
Lizzy had to agree as there was no mistaking the gentleman’s interest, but she warned her mother that any premature statements could put everything at risk.
“Say what you will, Lizzy, I know what I am doing.” As proof, Mrs. Bennet directed Lizzy’s attention to the area of the ballroom where Mr. Bingley and Jane were dancing. It was as if they had the ballroom all to themselves.
Realizing there was nothing to be gained by further argument, Lizzy walked away, clearly irritated by her mother’s lack of decorum. Her perturbation was so great that she thought she might burst into tears, and when she saw Mr. Darcy walking toward her, she turned away, blinking back tears of frustration.
“Are you avoiding me, Miss Elizabeth?” Mr. Darcy asked.
“No, sir. Why would I do that?”
“Because, earlier, I asked you to dance, but when you saw me, you turned away.” Darcy studied Lizzy. She was clearly distressed by something her mother had said to her and guessed at the reason for her unhappiness.
“Before departing for Hertfordshire, my sister and I had a discussion about ladies in general. Georgiana contended that the desires of ladies were the same regardless of where they lived or their social status. It was her opinion that a girl attending her first assembly in the country was no different than a girl attending a ball hosted by one of London’s elite. I disagreed, but now I see that I was wrong. The setting may be different, the finery may differ, but in all other essentials, everything is the same: girls in pursuit of husbands and men in pursuit of brides, and behind all the machinations that go into such things are fathers and mothers pursuing the most advantageous matches for their children.”
Lizzy smiled in gratitude at Mr. Darcy’s attempt to provide an excuse for her mother’s behavior, but there was no ignoring the fact that Mama was already anticipating an offer of marriage for Jane from Mr. Bingley and sharing her opinion with everyone.
“That may be true, but some mothers are more assertive than others.”
“I have been told that there is a lady in London who has four daughters, all unmarried, and I have heard her efforts on behalf of her children described as something akin to a military campaign with no quarter given.”
Again, Lizzy smiled, and
feeling better, she reminded Mr. Darcy of his request for a dance.
“Rather than dancing, I would like to continue our discussion.”
“Our discussion?” Lizzy’s brow furrowed. “I apologize, Mr. Darcy, but of what were we speaking?”
“We were speaking of romance.”
With that remark, Mr. Darcy succeeded in chasing away all unhappy thoughts of her mother, and Darcy and Lizzy returned to the alcove, only to find that the chairs had been commandeered for use elsewhere.
“If you do not mind, Miss Elizabeth, perhaps we can step behind the curtain so that we will not be seen. There is a certain lady who demands a good deal of attention, and I would really like to speak to you uninterrupted.”
As the pair moved behind the curtain, Darcy realized that Miss Elizabeth was at such a height that she would fit perfectly under his chin.
“As I said earlier, Mr. Darcy, I am ill qualified to discuss romance.”
“Yes, I remember what you said, so while you were speaking to your mother, I had time to reflect on that topic. I think the difficulty lies in that neither of us has experienced a practical application for the concept of romance. Any theory must be tested, and that has not happened to either of us.”
Lizzy could not help but laugh at Mr. Darcy viewing romance as a scientific experiment. “That is the most unromantic thing I have ever heard. Sir, you must do better.”
“Then how would you describe, not romance, but love?” a slightly embarrassed Darcy asked.
“How would I describe love?” Lizzy thought of Jane’s word—a stirring—but at that moment, what she was thinking had nothing to do with a cup of tea, especially in light of the intimacy of their shared space. “I think of it as a stirring within that defies explanation.”
“A stirring?” Darcy puzzled over that for a moment. “Would you describe it as a sense of warmth and well-being?”
“Well-being, yes, but not warmth. Warmth is familial, familiar. Love is a step into the unknown.”
“Yes,” Darcy said, nodding in agreement. “Trusting your heart to another is definitely a step into the unknown. And this stirring you speak of, does it feel like a fire burning within you? A flame touching your soul?” Darcy asked, inching closer to Lizzy.
The Bell Page 8
