by Jan Hahn
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The date of the Whitbys’ ball coincided with Pemberley’s first crocus blooms. I know because I spent no little time awaiting their arrival in the gardens. Scattered throughout the vast beds, hidden in front of the hyacinth and daffodil bulbs, they emerged from the dark soil like soft, delicate treasures of pink, white, and lavender. The gardeners had planted them in abundance in the more prominent plots of ground, but I had discovered a hidden trove secured within a small alcove behind a brick wall at the rear of the house. It became my place of refuge.
Since overhearing Colonel Fitzwilliam’s suggestion of marriage, I had done all in my power to avoid his presence. I practically threw Georgiana into his company, suggesting all kinds of outings and errands for which she might employ her cousin.
Even though I wished to satisfy my curiosity about the fate of my father’s youngest brother, Mr. Darcy had not proved approachable. He continued his dreary silence and avoidance of me. Obviously, he had little desire for my companionship. No more riding lessons were broached, and no further forays into Pemberley’s attics were suggested. In truth, Mr. Darcy said scarcely more than was necessary at the dinner table. And each evening after dinner, he sat on a corner of the sofa like a brooding wolf, a bottle of brandy claiming much of his attention.
I did not see him at breakfast even once during the days leading up to the ball. I assumed the effects of the previous evening’s consumption of spirits diminished his enjoyment of the morning light.
We had entertained only one brief conversation during that time, and it led to harsh words. Georgiana prevailed upon him to order me a new gown for the ball, and when I refused, protesting that I would wear the gown I had brought from Longbourn, his temper flared.
“Will you not accept one paltry gown from me?” he demanded.
“Shall I shame you in the gown I wore to the Netherfield ball last year?”
“Of course not. You were lovely…but would you not like something new? It has been my experience that most women do.”
“I do not.”
We stared at each other as though waiting to see who would give in. “Very well. Attend the ball in the frock you have on, for all I care.”
He turned and stalked from the room. I felt as though he had slapped me.
And so, I spent a great portion of each day in that hidden alcove awaiting the crocuses. A stone bench sat in the shade, and it proved an agreeable haven in which to read and to think. I could not account for the change in Mr. Darcy. I knew an excess of strong drink produced adverse effects on a person’s behaviour, but what had precipitated this new habit? I had known him well over a year now and had never before seen him imbibe extravagantly. I could not rid myself of the fear that I was somehow to blame, that I had caused his aberrant conduct.
Only one other instance provided any sort of clue to the mystery. Three days before the ball, Georgiana and I walked into the hall from our social calls to hear an uproar coming from Mr. Darcy’s study. Unmistakably, the colonel and his cousin were engaged in a disagreement once again. I quickly asked Georgiana to fetch a piece of music from a large stack of songs in the music room so that I might memorize the words for that evening’s entertainment. A worried frown clouded her countenance, but she hastened to do my bidding.
I stood in the hallway where I could hear the argument without obvious eavesdropping. Indeed, the servants passing by were privy to the raised voices, reason enough to pardon my actions in my mind.
“I have told you, Fitzwilliam, Elizabeth will not accept a dowry from me. Why can you not let go of the matter? You must marry for money, and she has none!”
“You could settle her dowry on me privately at the time of the marriage. She need never know.”
“Never know? You would ask me to go behind her back, against her explicit wishes?”
“It could be a gentleman’s agreement. Wives leave matters of money to their husbands. I am sure that, with a bit of gentle persuasion, I could win her hand.”
“Do you think her daft? She knows you have little fortune. You made it clear to her last year at Rosings. Do you now believe she has lost her memory? It is insupportable. I will discuss it no further.”
“You will regret this, Darcy. She will marry some pretty boy who worms his way into her heart, and he will take her God knows where. They may settle in Scotland, for all you know, and you and Georgiana will never see her again.”
“Oh, I will see her! No matter where she goes or whom she marries, I shall always be her cousin, and she will not be lost to me. Not ever.”
“Indulge your foolish fancies, but you do not have a right to deny mine. I shall at least ask Miss Bennet if she will be my wife.”
“Without a suitable dowry?”
“If she says yes, I know you will not let her live in need. You cannot. It is written all over your face. You care too much for her, and you will provide for her one way or the other.”
I felt a hand on my arm. “Elizabeth?”
I looked up to see Georgiana holding the requested music. I took it quickly and asked her to accompany me to my sitting room where we might memorize the words together. I feared she had overheard too much of the conversation between her brother and cousin, but if so, she did not mention it.
After that, time passed quickly, and the date of the ball soon arrived. I had little opportunity for a thorough inspection of the crocus beds on said day, but I was pleased to snatch a few moments and note their emergence in my journal before my maid claimed me for the obligatory perfumed ablutions, the donning of my gown, and the tedious but expert attention to my hair. Georgiana glowed in a pale-pink gown of moiré silk, and suddenly, I had a moment of regret that I had not graciously accepted Mr. Darcy’s offer, for my ivory gown felt somewhat shabby next to hers.
Oh, ’tis too late now, I told myself with a sigh as I joined her in the hall.
We descended the staircase together, whereupon Colonel Fitzwilliam stepped forward and offered an arm to each of us. He escorted us toward the open door, through which I could see Mr. Darcy’s large carriage standing ready.
“With two such lovely ladies in tow, I shall be the envy of every man at the ball tonight.”
“Oh, Richard, are you certain I look acceptable?” Georgiana asked.
We both assured the girl of her loveliness as we walked across the wide hallway. The servants stood at attention, smiles on the maids’ faces, and Mrs. Reynolds bade us a pleasant evening. I looked around, wondering at Mr. Darcy’s absence, when he stepped out of the shadows just outside the door. He bowed slightly but remained silent as Georgiana and I climbed into the carriage. The colonel entered next and sat beside me. Mr. Darcy sat beside Georgiana, but his expression appeared as grim as ever. I hoped he had not already made liberal use of his newfound companionate bottle of brandy. He continued to remain mute unless directly addressed. I felt uncomfortable, as though the carriage had diminished in size. Colonel Fitzwilliam seemed to sit far too close beside me, and even though I shrank into the corner, I felt smothered. I was greatly relieved when the ride ended and we disembarked at the Whitbys’ front door.
Lights bedecked the house, and music and gaiety signalled that the festivities had already commenced. Mr. Whitby introduced me to Admiral and Mrs. Denison, and they, in turn, brought forth their children: Andrew, Maurice, Marianne, and Fanny. Maurice was by far the more handsome of the two brothers, but it was Andrew who asked me to dance.
“Miss Bennet will be glad to honour you with her company, I am sure,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam, “but she has promised the first two dances to me.”
I smiled as Mr. Denison, with an understanding glance, bowed and turned away while the colonel took my hand and led me to the floor. I had hoped at least to make my way among the crowd and acknowledge those Derbyshire folk of my acquaintance before joining the dancers, but the colonel had other plans. The first piece was a stately tune, and the colonel proved an engaging partner, maintaining a steady patter of conversation. By the e
nd of the first set, I found myself at ease and actually enjoying the ball. I had always loved dancing, and although my partner was not as expert at the art as one I recalled, he did prove agreeable.
At completion of the first hour, I allowed Colonel Fitzwilliam to escort me to the punch bowl where Miss Denison and her elder brother soon joined us. Marianne was a lovely girl with an animated spirit. I thought we might easily become friends, for she possessed that ability not only to poke gentle fun at her brother but to laugh at herself as well. I wished to know her better, but the colonel hovered about, frequently interrupting our conversation. I had never seen him so determined to put himself forward. When the music began for the next set, I welcomed Mr. Andrew Denison’s hand as he led me to the line of dancers.
“So, you are a cousin of Mr. Darcy and his sister. Is that correct?” he asked as we circled the couple next to us.
“In truth, I dare not call myself a cousin, sir. It is a somewhat complicated interrelation, but family ties oft times are, would you not agree?”
“Ah yes. I have cousins I have never seen and probably never shall unless someone dies and leaves a great inheritance. Greed has a way of uniting long-lost relations, if only until the will is read.”
“I would not have you think I visit Pemberley for that cause, sir. I am a poor relation and shall remain so.”
“Indeed? I would think Darcy would right that wrong.”
“Mr. Darcy is all kindness and generosity.”
He raised his eyebrows at my remark, and we danced several steps without further conversation. I hoped to change the subject as his questions made me irritable. Must every man I meet inquire as to my fortune or lack thereof? Of course, silly girl! What is the purpose of a ball other than to pair up possible marriage partners?
“Have you enjoyed successful sport since your move to Derbyshire, Mr. Denison?”
He held my hand as we joined the promenade. “I confess I have had little time. My father has assigned me the onerous task of supervising the removal of rubbish from Bridesgate’s attics.”
I smiled. “A delightful task I am sure.”
“Indeed. You would not believe the collection of personal mementos left by the Willoughby family. Deciding what to keep or discard has driven me to distraction. I am tempted to direct the servants to throw out the entire lot, but my father insists I retain any item that might be valuable, if only for sentimentality, until Sir Linton Willoughby arrives next week.”
“Shall you have time to complete your chore before the owner visits Bridesgate?”
“Only if I devote myself to the assignment. You see before you a harried man, Miss Bennet. That is why you must honour me with another dance this evening. ’Tis the only pleasant activity I have enjoyed since arriving in the county.”
I laughed at his exaggeration but agreed to be his partner later in the evening. With the musicians’ final note, I felt flushed from the exercise, but not without pleasure. Mr. Denison led me from the floor, bowed, and assured me he would return to claim his dance.
I looked around, hoping to find Miss Denison. With surprise—no, astonishment—I watched Mr. Darcy escort her to the head of the line of dancers. He must have found her exceedingly charming to ask her to dance, for I knew he had not honoured any other lady the entirety of the evening. I watched as he took her hand, stepped close, and inclined his head. Evidently, he did not find conversation with her as trying as he had with me last year at Netherfield. Growing uncomfortably warm, I wished I had brought a fan. The Whitbys’ fires were entirely too well tended that late in the year. I thought of having another cup of punch, but for some reason, I could not tear my eyes from the dancers and one couple in particular.
“Miss Bennet?”
I startled, as though someone had read my thoughts, and looked up to find Colonel Fitzwilliam at my side extending a refreshing cup toward me. I acknowledged his gift with gratitude, and when he suggested we step out on the balcony for a bit of air, I agreed.
“Your colour is high. I fear you have danced too close to the fireplace,” he said as he led me through the double doors.
“The night breeze is a welcome change.”
We stood next to the railing, whereupon he leaned forward and rested his forearms. “It is a beautiful night.”
I agreed and lifted my head to gaze at the multitude of stars littering the heavens.
“You are quite beautiful in that position, Miss Bennet. The fairness of your throat is luminous in the starlight. That and the turn of your countenance prove a striking combination.”
I immediately lowered my gaze and protested his remarks.
“No, I am serious. You are a lovely woman. Surely, you have been told that by numerous suitors.”
“I do not collect suitors, sir. With my lack of fortune, they hardly stand in line.”
“Mr. Denison appears smitten.”
“He simply asked me to dance.”
“Has he not requested your hand a second time?”
“That does not signify anything of consequence. If you asked me, I would dance with you a second time.”
“Indeed? And…what if I ask for your hand a third time? Now, tell me, does that signify something of consequence?”
My heart beat faster, and I was grateful for the cool air, for I could feel my cheeks burn. What was the colonel suggesting? Surely, he was not asking for my hand in marriage here at the ball. I turned toward the French doors, anxious to retreat to the safety of the throng within.
“I am sufficiently refreshed. I think we should return, sir.”
He caught my hand before I could reach the door. “Will you do me the honour of being my partner for the last dance, Elizabeth?”
“I…do not think—” I could not conjure up a reason to refuse him. “Yes…if it is your desire, sir. Thank you.”
“It is most assuredly my desire,” he murmured as he brought my hand to his lips. The look in his eyes filled me with dread, and I quickly excused myself and hurried into the ballroom.
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I sat between Marianne and Andrew Denison at dinner. Mr. Darcy sat on Marianne’s left, and Colonel Fitzwilliam sat directly across from me. I was relieved that the colonel did not act with any peculiarity or pay particular attention to me during the meal. There were no stares or long, meaningful looks into my eyes. One would never guess we had engaged in a significant moment earlier in the evening. He proved an engaging guest and entertained Mrs. Whitby with tales of his military exploits. From the vacant stare in her eyes, I doubt she knew much of the exotic places he mentioned, but he spoke with such animation that he amused everyone at the table within hearing.
Mr. Whitby asked Georgiana to play for us near the close of the meal, and although she was nervous, she agreed and performed in an excellent manner. After Marianne performed and two sisters played a duet, Mr. Whitby extended the invitation for me to play and sing, but I demurred. Obviously, I did not possess the talent already exhibited. I would not think of shaming myself or the Darcys as my sister Mary had done at the Netherfield Ball.
Mr. Darcy said little during the entirety of the feast, but I noted he kept the waiter busy refilling his wine glass. Without a doubt, I thought, he would not drink more than he could handle. I had never seen him lose control in a public assembly and could not fathom why he took such chances that evening.
Mr. Andrew Denison requested the first dance after dinner, during which he said our discussion of the Bridesgate attics caused him to recall a certain painting. He asked whether he might call upon me the following day and bring the picture, for he thought I would find it of great interest. I agreed, of course, but when I asked why, he refused to reveal his reasons.
“You must wait and see for yourself, Miss Bennet,” he said with a sly smile. His blue eyes twinkled, and I decided that, although he might not be as handsome as his brother, Maurice, I did not find his appearance unappealing by any means.
After that, I danced with several other gentlemen; indeed, I se
ldom sat the entire evening. Once I did find myself without a partner, I witnessed Mr. Darcy ask Marianne to dance a second time. I decided I had made a mistake earlier, thinking she and I might be friends. Of a sudden, I decided that she smiled too much. It became clear we would not suit each other at all.
As the evening drew to a close, Colonel Fitzwilliam arrived to claim the last dance. Andrew Denison accompanied him and reminded me that he would call on the morrow. We had just concluded our conversation, and when he turned to leave, I saw Mr. Darcy approach.
“The last dance, is it not?” he said. “Will you do me the honour, Elizabeth?”
“Darcy!” Colonel Fitzwilliam hissed in a low voice. “Miss Bennet has already promised me.”
“You have presumed upon her time more than enough this night. Elizabeth?”
He brushed past the colonel and took my hand firmly in his, steering me toward the dance floor without a backward glance.
“Sir…it is not done!” I whispered. “I…I beg you, do not make a scene.”
He drew closer and spoke in my ear. “It is not I who would make the scene, Elizabeth. No one but you and I know our true connection. Will it not appear unnatural if I do not ask my cousin to dance at least once? Take your place in line.”
The first notes sounded, and I recognized the song as a newer romantic air that called for greater contact among partners than any previous dance of the evening. I held my breath as Mr. Darcy stepped forward and encircled my waist with his arm. The position thrust our faces close, and he met my gaze with a dark, piercing stare. Was it my imagination, or did his hand linger longer than necessary about my body? Did he step nearer than he should when we clasped hands and danced forward? And why did my hand tremble so when I placed it upon his shoulder?
I cleared my throat and attempted to lighten the mood with conversation. His only response to my remark was a steady reading of my face. I saw his eyes travel down to my mouth, and I found myself blushing. Frantically, I searched for something harmless of which to speak.
