She had not seen Mr Manningham when he had called on them in Brussels to ask if the ladies had recovered from their journey, because she had risen late that morning.
‘Of course it does,’ said Elizabeth, going over to Mary’s side. ‘Which fabrics do you like, Mary?’
Mary gave her a grateful glance and, for once, Elizabeth felt a sense of kinship with her sister. Perhaps she had been too hasty in dismissing Mary as dull and prosy. Perhaps Mary, given the chance, could be a happy young lady. Indeed, Elizabeth was beginning to think she could be quite pretty, for if she wore her hair in a different style it would make a big difference to her appearance.
Mary had been gazing fondly at a rose pink silk but Mrs Bennet said, ‘I think something in brown would suit Mary very well.’
Poor Mary’s face fell.
‘Brown has never suited Mary,’ said Elizabeth. ‘I think the rose silk would look well on her.’
Mary gave Elizabeth another grateful glance.
‘Nonsense!’ said Mrs Bennet. ‘Mary has never liked pink.’
‘I agree with Elizabeth,’ said Jane. ‘I think Mary should have the pink.’
‘You are all against me,’ said Mrs Bennet peevishly. ‘It makes no matter what Mary wears, she looks ill in everything, but if you are determined for her to have the pink, then let her have it.’
This ungracious speech made Elizabeth blush for her mother. However, she and Jane helped Mary to pick out a flattering style of gown with a round neck, high waist and short, puffed sleeves and the dressmaker promised to have it ready in time.
‘It is impossible, usually, to make so many gowns so quickly,’ said the dressmaker. ‘But I for Lady Fitzwilliam’s ball I will hire extra seamstresses and I will have them ready in time. I ask only that you tell everyone where your gowns came from.’
The ladies promised and then they departed, well satisfied with their morning’s expedition.
‘It reminds me of dressing for the Netherfield ball,’ said Jane, a week later, when they were preparing for Lady Fitzwilliam’s ball.
She bit her lip as soon as she had said it and Elizabeth knew why. Jane was remembering everything that had happened at that ball. Jane had danced with Mr Bingley several times and had spent the rest of the evening in conversation with him. Indeed, Mr Bingley had had eyes for no one else. By the end of the evening, Jane had been deeply in love with Mr Bingley and it had seemed as if he was in love with her, too. But then he had left Meryton suddenly, never to return.
Elizabeth gave her sister a hug.
‘If he does not find you again then he does not deserve you,’ she said.
‘I know,’ said Jane. ‘But, oh, Lizzy, I do miss him. He is my idea of what a young man should be.’
‘I know Jane – dearest Jane,’ said Elizabeth.
She wondered whether she ought to reveal Mr Darcy’s part in the affair but she did not want to cause her sister more pain and so she said nothing.
‘But I must not feel sorry for myself,’ said Jane. ‘And now we had better finish dressing, for we do not want to be late.’
Across town, Mr Darcy, too, was dressing for the ball. He had already donned his white frilled shirt, waistcoat and breeches. Now he was tying his cravat and fastening it with a diamond tie pin. He shook out the frills at his cuffs and put his signet ring onto his little finger, then his valet helped him on with his tailcoat. He combed his dark hair, which framed his face, and then he was ready to go down.
Georgiana was already in the drawing-room, wearing a demure white silk gown. She was to join the other young people who were not yet old enough to be out, but who nevertheless needed to learn how to behave at balls and who were therefore to have their own ball downstairs. Her companion was with her, and the other young people’s companions would watch over them for the evening.
‘You look charming,’ said Mr Darcy.
‘Thank you,’ said Georgiana.
Lady Fitzwilliam swept into the room in a magnificent emerald green gown. She wore emeralds at her throat and in her ears, so that, with her red hair, she was a magnificent sight.
‘Georgiana, my dear. I want you to welcome the younger guests with Lady Clara and Lady Anna.’
‘Yes, Aunt,’ said Georgiana.
She went downstairs with her companion.
‘And Darcy, I rely on you to help me make my guests feel welcome. These are difficult times. War is brewing and it is our duty to keep up morale. I require you to dance every dance.’
‘Very well,’ said Mr Darcy.
‘I hear a carriage. Our guests are arriving,’ she said. ‘Your uncle and I will receive them. Then you and your cousins must attend to them in the ballroom.’
Mr Darcy made her a bow and went through into the splendid ballroom. He knew his duty and he meant to do it.
And the one thing he wanted to do above all others was dance with Elizabeth Bennet.
An hour later, the ballroom was filling up. The Bennet party had arrived but Mr Darcy had been kept busy entertaining his aunt’s guests and he had not been able to dance with Elizabeth. She had had plenty of partners and he was not surprised. She was looking particularly charming in a lemon silk gown which flared at the hem and was ornamented with flowers. She wore matching flowers in her hair. They set off her lightly tanned complexion and beautiful eyes, making them dance.
‘Mr Darcy. We meet again,’ came a voice at his side.
It was Colonel Forster. The two men had met in Meryton and Mr Darcy had dined with Colonel Forster on several occasions. They bowed and exchanged greetings and then they talked of their acquaintance in Meryton.
Mr Darcy wanted to ask about Elizabeth and find out how soon after she returned from Rosings Park she had married Mr Wickham – if she had married him.
Did I drive her into his arms or did I not? he asked himself.
He could not ask about Elizabeth but he could ask about Mr Wickham.
‘I heat Mr Wickham is married,’ he said. ‘When did the wedding take place?’
Colonel Forster looked surprised.
‘Is he married? I did not know that.’
Mr Darcy felt his hopes rise. But he had to be sure.
‘He and Miss Elizabeth Bennet . . .’ he began.
‘You have been misinformed,’ said Colonel Forster. ‘Miss Elizabeth is still Miss Elizabeth Bennet.’
‘Ah.’
Mr Darcy made his voice sound casual but inside he was rejoicing.
He had not driven her into Wickham’s arms! She had not married the scoundrel!
But then he sobered. She might not have married him, but she had been allowing his embrace.
He frowned. It did not make sense. Elizabeth was a well brought up young lady. Why would she allow such a thing? Was she in love with him or was there some other explanation? He had to find out.
The dance came to an end and he saw Elizabeth return to her aunt and uncle. Seizing the moment he crossed the crowded ballroom and asked for her hand.
She blushed, and he knew that she was remembering the time when he had asked for her hand before: not as a dancing partner, but as a wife.
There was an awkward moment. Then she collected herself and inclined her head.
He felt a wave of relief. For one awful moment he had thought she might refuse to dance with him, even though it would have been the height of bad manners. But he could hardly have criticised her, for he himself had committed a similar breach of etiquette when they first met by refusing to ask her to dance.
But Elizabeth was better than he was. She had not lost her manners. She had accepted his hand.
They made their way out on to the floor. They took their places facing each other, in a long line of couples, and the musicians played the opening chords. He bowed and she curtseyed. Then the dance began.
To begin with, they danced in silence. He did not know how to break it. He made some slight observation on the dance. She did not reply. He did not know how to make her speak to him. Then he remembered th
eir conversation at the Netherfield ball and he said, ‘It is your turn to say something now, Miss Elizabeth.’
It was clear she remembered that evening, too, for she replied mischievously, ‘Do you talk by rule, then, while you are dancing?’
‘Sometimes. One must speak a little, you know.’
She nodded in agreement, but her sparkling eyes showed she recognised the conversation and delighted in the humour of hearing it the other way around.
The steps of the dance parted them and then they came together again.
‘You are looking at me very closely, Mr Darcy,’ she said.
‘Am I? Yes, perhaps I am. I am trying to make you out.’
‘In what way?’ she asked.
‘I cannot understand you,’ he said. ‘When I saw you on the ship with Mr Wickham—’
Her face, which had been alight with laughter as she heard him repeat her words from the Netherfield ball, now clouded.
He cursed himself inwardly but the words had popped out before he could help himself and now they had gone beyond recall. He waited with bated breath for what she was going to say. He did not hear the music. He did not see the other dancers. He heard and saw only Elizabeth. He felt as though, on her next words, his whole future depended.
‘Ah, yes. It was a most unfortunate stumble,’ she said. ‘The ship was pitching and I could not help myself.’
‘Ah!’
He felt a huge rush of relief. So she had not been welcoming, or even allowing, Mr Wickham’s advances.
Mr Darcy could now afford to laugh at himself, even if the laughter was rueful. He had been so blinded by jealousy that he had not thought of the most obvious explanation for what he had seen, and now he was ashamed of what his thoughts had been.
‘I would never welcome the attentions of a man who had caused so much pain,’ she said in a low voice.
He felt jubilation rising in his breast. So she was not in love with George Wickham! She did not like the man! But just as he was congratulating himself, the full purport of her words began to sink in. Did she mean she would not welcome Mr Wickham’s attentions – or did she mean that she would not welcome Mr Darcy’s attentions, since he had cause her sister so much pain?
The dance ended at that precise moment and he was forced to relinquish her to her next partner.
He was left to contemplate her enigmatical words, and to be ashamed of the pain his behaviour towards Miss Jane Bennet had caused.
The last time the subject had arisen he had made excuses for himself. But now he made no more excuses. He had caused two young people a lot of pain, for Mr Bingley had not been his usual self lately and Mr Darcy trusted Elizabeth’s opinion of her sister.
Then, as he had caused the pain, he must be the one to ease it.
He must put matters to rights.
Chapter Nine
The next morning, the ladies met to talk over the ball. This was a custom they always practised in Meryton and it was no less necessary here, since Lydia was not staying with the rest of the family.
Lydia and Kitty had thought the ball a great success because they had danced every dance, and they were young enough to want nothing else from a ball.
Mary had thought it a success since she had, for the first time ever, enjoyed herself at a ball. Mr Manningham had been there and he had danced with her twice. Then he had taken her into supper. He had complimented her on her gown and told her she looked charming.
Mrs Stacey had been impressed by his attentions. She knew the family and said that he was a very eligible gentleman. Several ladies had set their caps at him but he had eluded their grasp, saying he found them frivolous. In Mary he seemed to have found a young lady more to his tastes.
Mrs Bennet was astonished, saying, ‘Mary? A young man is interested in Mary? And he is an eligible gentleman, you say?’
But on being assured that it was so she quickly changed her tune, for she was not slow to accept any compliment towards one of her girls. She said that Mary must have another new gown.
Elizabeth and Jane did not share their true feelings with the rest of the family. They said only that it had been very agreeable. But, alone, they talked it over in all its detail. Elizabeth told Jane all about her dance with Mr Darcy and Jane said, ‘I think he is in love with you, Lizzy.’
Elizabeth was not so certain.
‘I am not sure if he has forgiven me,’ she said. ‘His manner was distant, at least to begin with.’
‘It is not surprising, if he had seen you with Mr Wickham.’
‘He made no mention of seeing me again.’
‘Perhaps he knows it is inevitable, now that you are both in Brussels,’ said Jane.
‘Perhaps,’ said Elizabeth.
A meeting took place sooner than she expected, for on the next morning, when she and her family went sightseeing with Mrs Stacey, she saw Mr Darcy as they entered one of the museums. He was there with Colonel Fitzwilliam. Both gentlemen bowed and the ladies curtseyed in return.
Elizabeth was not sure what to expect, but it soon became apparent that Mr Darcy intended to please. He was polite to Mr and Mrs Gardiner, expressing an interest in everything they had to say. He was patient with Mrs Bennet, and when she began on her old, familiar grievance, saying that Mr Bingley had quit Netherfield very suddenly, Mr Darcy surprised them all by saying, ‘He did. But he is on his way to Brussels and I know that Lady Fitzwilliam would be delighted if you would come to tea so that you can meet him. Mr Bingley will be here on Thursday and it will be a chance to meet old friends.’
They were all astonished, but Mrs Bennet managed to say they would be delighted and Mr Darcy bowed in reply.
‘What can this mean?’ Elizabeth asked Jane in an undertone, as she clung to her sister’s arm.
She remembered her conversation with Mr Darcy at the ball, particularly their last exchange. She said that she would never welcome the attentions of a man who had caused so much pain. She meant Mr Wickham, and, at the time, she had thought Mr Darcy had taken her meaning. Except, a moment later, she had seen his brow furrow and now she knew what it meant. He had thought that, perhaps, that she had been referring to him separating Jane and Mr Bingley.
And so he had set out to put matters right. What a kind and honourable gesture! What a truly noble act.
A smile of pure happiness beamed out of her and she turned towards Mr Darcy. As he saw her smile, a warm, tender smile spread over his own face. It came from inside him and lightened every feature. It came from his soul.
When Elizabeth could tear her eyes away from him she said to her sister, ‘It means that Mr Darcy has seen the error of his ways. He means to reunite you.’
‘Mr Bingley likes Mr Darcy, I know, but even Mr Darcy cannot order someone to love,’ said Jane in a low voice.
Elizabeth knew she must tell Jane the truth. She would not do it here, in public, but as soon as they were alone she would tell her.
They had by this time walked around the museum and examined its treasures. After some polite conversation about the exhibits they bowed and curtseyed in preparation for leaving each other. Then Mr Darcy said, ‘I wonder if I might have the honour of presenting my sister to you?’
Elizabeth smiled and said, ‘Thank you. I would like that.’
‘Then she will join us for tea,’ he said.
He bowed over her hand. Colonel Fitzwilliam did likewise. And then the gentlemen took their leave.
‘Well. This is proving an interesting holiday,’ said Mrs Gardiner, with a perceptive look at Elizabeth.
‘Yes,’ said Elizabeth with a smile. ‘It is indeed.’
After the delights of the morning, Elizabeth found the afternoon much more difficult to bear. She told Jane about Mr Darcy’s interference in her affairs.
‘He thought you were not in love with his friend and so he did not realise how much hurt he was causing,’ Elizabeth finished.
‘Poor Charles!’ said Jane.
It was typical of her good nature to think of othe
rs. She did not feel bitter towards Mr Darcy, nor sorry for herself. Instead, she felt sorry for Mr Bingley, who had been persuaded to believe that she did not care for him.
‘Poor Charles will be amply rewarded for his pains next week, I think?’ asked Elizabeth. ‘You do love him, don’t you Jane?’
‘Yes,’ said Jane. ‘I do. But I wonder . . .’ She faltered.
‘You wonder if he loves you?’
‘Yes,’ Jane admitted.
‘I am sure of it,’ said Elizabeth. ‘No one who had seen him with you could doubt it. But you do not need to take my word for it. You will find out for yourself soon enough.’
‘It will seem a long week,’ said Jane.
‘It will soon pass,’ Elizabeth said. ‘Meanwhile, we have many more places to see and interesting things to do. Brussels is a fascinating city.’
‘Yes, it is,’ said Jane. ‘You are right, Lizzy. We are lucky to be here. How many young ladies have a chance to travel as we have done? Very few.’
The young ladies made the most of their stay. They saw the sights and shopped in the Rue des Anglais. They had dress fittings and walked in the parks and soaked up the atmosphere. The city was full of people of every nationality. There were Austrian archdukes and Russian princes and Prussians galore. There were colonels and generals, dressed in uniforms of every hue. There was the sound of bugles and the beating of drums and fashionable people everywhere.
Lydia confided to Kitty that Mr Wickham had asked her to elope with him. He had run up large gambling debts and decided to abandon his plan of joining the regular army. He intended to go to America and wanted a companion for the journey.
‘La! What a joke it would be, to run away with him and then write a letter to Mama, signing myself Lydia Wickham! But one of the Austrian dukes keeps sending me nosegays and there is a Russian prince who says I am the most beautiful girl in the world, and I would rather be a duchess or a princess than a plain Mrs. So I told Wickham he must find someone else to run away with him!’
Mary continued to see Mr Manningham. He was polite and attentive, and Mary blossomed. She had her hair styled in a different way, with soft curls framing her face. Together with her new clothes, she looked like a different person. She had always looked like a dowdy schoolgirl, but she was not in fact so young. She was nineteen years old and she now looked her age. So improved was she that more than one head turned to look at her as she walked past.
Darcy and Elizabeth What If? Collection 3 Page 24
