by Jann Rowland
“Miss Bennet,” said he as he bowed to her. “Might I solicit your hand for the next dance, if you are not already engaged?”
Something in Elizabeth trembled at this man’s earnest entreaty for her hand.
“I am engaged for the next, sir,” said Elizabeth, wishing with sudden irrationality that the young man who had requested it had found someone else instead. “But my next dance after that is still free.”
“Then I shall await it with much anticipation.”
Then, bowing, Mr. Darcy stepped away from her to allow her next partner to approach. It was fortunate Elizabeth was so familiar with the steps of the dance, for she had not a hint of attention to spare to her feet. Her partner fared little better, as though he appeared to be an amiable man and he spoke to her with congenial interest, Elizabeth could not keep her focus on him. She must have responded in an appropriate manner to his words, for he seemed content, at the very least, with their interactions.
Soon the set was complete, and Mr. Darcy approached to claim Elizabeth’s hand. She bestowed it willingly, attempting not to give in to the embarrassment which spread over her, its source nothing that Elizabeth could define. The man himself was graceful on the dance floor, moving through the forms with precision and flair. Elizabeth had never danced with such a fine dancer as Mr. Darcy.
In the first few moments, nothing was said between them. Elizabeth was feeling unaccountably bashful in his company, not a comfortable feeling for a normally self-assured woman. For Mr. Darcy’s part, he was either cognizant of Elizabeth’s feelings and determined to allow her the opportunity to collect herself or taking the opportunity to inspect her. The very thought that the man was scrutinizing her with such intensity ultimately caused Elizabeth to break the silence between them.
“I can see that Miss Bingley was, indeed, correct about you, Mr. Darcy.”
It seemed like Mr. Darcy caught Elizabeth’s playful tone, for he raised an eyebrow and said: “That is interesting, Miss Bennet, for to be honest, I am not at all well acquainted with the lady.”
Elizabeth feigned astonishment. “Truly? She spoke of you and your sister as if you were the most intimate of acquaintances.”
“I am quite close with her brother,” replied Mr. Darcy. “But though I have often met with his sisters, I would not say that I know them well. That might have been different had I been at liberty to travel to his estate last autumn. I am curious as to what knowledge of me my friend’s sister possesses.”
“Only that you dance exquisitely, sir,” replied Elizabeth.
“Dancing is a subject of which many young ladies love to wax poetic,” observed Mr. Darcy.
“Many ladies do, indeed. But in this instance she was entirely correct. But I must own that your friend gave you a more flaming character.”
“Oh?”
Elizabeth could not determine if Mr. Darcy was amused or offended at this observation, but her impression of him as a reserved, yet amiable man, gave her the courage to continue speaking.
“He claimed that you almost never dance, sir. And yet your civility in requesting my hand suggests that Mr. Bingley exaggerated.”
A fleeting smile passed over Mr. Darcy’s countenance. “How well Bingley knows me.”
“So you own to it?” asked Elizabeth.
“I do, but not to the extent that Bingley insinuated. I will confess that I rarely dance twice with a young lady at one event, and I often prefer to converse with friends, rather than attending young ladies on the dance floor.”
“That is shocking, sir!” exclaimed Elizabeth. “Should I feel offended for the sake of young ladies everywhere?”
“I think not. In fact, it is simply because I do not feel comfortable in company I do not know and wish to refrain from raising the hopes of young ladies. I am much more at ease when I am particularly acquainted with my partner.”
“Ah, then I suppose you are not at ease with me! We are not well acquainted.”
“No, we are not. But I find that I am quite comfortable, Miss Bennet.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes. Perhaps it is because you have spoken of my friend with such familiarity.”
“Perhaps that is it,” replied Elizabeth.
Their conversation, carried on in fits and starts due to the demands of the dance, was interrupted by a long interlude in which the steps took them away from each other. Mr. Darcy was nothing like Elizabeth would have expected, and given Miss Bingley’s description of him, Elizabeth might have been prepared to dislike him.
But Elizabeth had long known that Miss Bingley was not to be trusted, and her professions of intimacy with the Darcys had been disproven with her meeting with Georgiana. Furthermore, Elizabeth had long known of Miss Bingley’s pretensions and ambitions toward high society, and the woman’s words had rung with the faint tones of desperation. Either way, Elizabeth would not judge the man by the brush strokes Miss Bingley had used to paint his likeness.
As they came together again, Elizabeth chanced to notice a cluster of young ladies, and she was startled to see the eyes of Lady Emily watching them as they danced. It was difficult to discern what the woman was thinking, but Elizabeth wondered at her scrutiny, as for several moments it never wavered, even when the woman saw Elizabeth watching her. Perhaps she was thinking that Elizabeth was reaching above herself, given her newness to the neighborhood and relative position in life.
But then Mr. Darcy was once again before Elizabeth, and she decided she must make a disclosure before the man discovered the matter for himself.
“I must inform you, Mr. Darcy,” said she, feeling her former nervousness return, “that the incident from earlier this evening was made known to those in attendance due to a careless remark I made myself.”
The man’s eyes bored into her, and Elizabeth began to feel even more uncomfortable. “You are referring to the fact that the Drummond carriage became mired in the mud?”
“Yes, sir,” replied Elizabeth. “I had no intention to speak of it, but when I made an oblique reference, several of our new acquaintances would not rest until they knew the whole of the matter. I apologize, sir, for I understand your wish to maintain your privacy.”
“My privacy is, indeed, something I treasure.” Mr. Darcy’s expression softened. “But it does not follow that I blame you for it. The matter is, after all, something which occurred in your presence, and I doubt you possessed any ulterior motives in making it known. It likely would become known anyway, as I plan to speak with several others about that stretch of road, for it has become something of a hazard to those of us who use it frequently.”
Relief settled over Elizabeth and she inclined her head. “Thank you, Mr. Darcy, for granting me clemency. I assure you that I am not one who is prone to gossip.”
“Miss Bennet, I hardly think clemency is mine to grant. Come, shall we speak of other things?”
“Certainly, sir. But do not be surprised if I tease you on the subject of your gallantry in the future. It is not a matter nearly so inconsequential as you would have me believe, and I am afraid I will be required to remind you of it in the future.”
Mr. Darcy laughed at Elizabeth’s sally, and shook his head. “I believe being teased by you, Miss Bennet, would be an exhilarating experience. I look forward to it.”
Thus, was Elizabeth’s opinion of the man reinforced, and when they separated after the dance was finished, she found her head to be full of him. It was, perhaps, not the most sensible thing to espouse such feelings for a man of Mr. Darcy’s stature, but she could not help it. And she felt certain that the future would prove him to be even more amiable than he had hitherto shown himself to be.
Chapter IX
Anthony Fitzwilliam sat at the table of the breakfast parlor at Pemberley vastly amused. Though his cousin had often given him reason to be amused—mostly it was because of his reticence and ability to offend without trying—Fitzwilliam thought he had never enjoyed himself quite so much
as he was now. For though Darcy was often focused to a fault and had often been referred to as a force of nature when pursuing some objective, he ate his breakfast that morning with a distracted air, often pausing between bites or staring at something only he could see.
“The assembly last night was a success, was it not?”
It seemed like his cousin had forgotten that he was even there, for he started a little. “It went well enough, though we were not there for the first half of the evening.”
“I think that suited you very well, indeed, Cousin.”
Rather than give Fitzwilliam any further reason to make sport with him, Darcy only grunted and returned to his sausage.
“You must have felt the loss of half the evening keenly,” said Fitzwilliam, still attempting to provoke his cousin to respond. “I dare say that you have never danced so much as you did last night.”
But Darcy only shrugged. “I behaved much as I ever would.”
“I disagree, Darcy. There was Miss Pearce and Miss Dawson and Lady Emily. And of course, Miss Drummond and Miss Bennet. How can you account for such liveliness?”
“You forget their situations, Cousin. Miss Pearce is betrothed and Miss Dawson is all but engaged. As for Lady Emily, she is her father’s only child, and her sons are set to inherit the earldom. She has no need of my money and no interest in me at all.”
Though Fitzwilliam privately thought Darcy was mistaken about the earl’s daughter, he ignored her for the moment. “And Miss Drummond and Miss Bennet?”
“Miss Drummond is only just out in society and not looking for a wealthy husband. Miss Bennet is quite engaging and does not give the impression of being a fortune hunter.”
“I will certainly not disagree with you on that front, though I will say that many ladies are able to hide their designs behind fluttering eyelashes, or even wit, if it comes to that. But I will do you the favor of agreeing with you—I also found Miss Bennet to be quite delightful, so I will not say anything against her.”
That prompted a response, as Fitzwilliam had known it would. Darcy turned a level gaze on him, his eyes questioning, quite obviously trying to ferret out Fitzwilliam’s own level of interest in Miss Bennet, interest that Fitzwilliam was convinced that his cousin possessed in large measure. Fitzwilliam decided to twist the knife just a little.
“In fact, I am quite certain that she would make an excellent wife, and as you know, I am quite independent.”
“You have only met the woman twice, Fitzwilliam.”
There was the infamous Darcy displeasure. Fitzwilliam was delighted.
“Twice is more than enough. Do not mistake me, Cousin—I know she would make a good wife; I do not know if she would make a good wife for me.”
“Then you mean to court her?”
“That is premature.” Fitzwilliam paused, looking at his cousin. “With this inquisition, I might have thought you have some interest in the lady yourself.”
Darcy scowled and turned his menacing glare on Fitzwilliam. Had he not already had many years to become used to his cousin’s humors, Fitzwilliam thought that he might be intimidated.
“You do not need to say anything, Darcy, for your response betrays you. I have no particular interest in Miss Bennet, other than as a pleasant young lady with whom it is a pleasure to converse.”
“Then why do you speak in such a manner?”
“To see if I can provoke a response, old man. And you have not disappointed.”
“Perhaps you should keep your clever remarks to yourself.”
“Perhaps I should. If you do decide to pursue the lovely Miss Bennet, you will have no competition from me. But what of Lady Emily?”
Nonplussed, Darcy stared back at Fitzwilliam. “What of her?”
“She would be an excellent match, the kind of match not even Aunt Catherine could speak against. She has beauty, accomplishments, dowry, and your firstborn would be an earl. Have you considered her?”
Darcy shrugged. “I have not. She is an intelligent woman, but she does not have that spark which intrigues me. Furthermore, I do not think she considers me in such a light.”
He turned back to his breakfast, indicating the conversation was over, and Fitzwilliam regarded him for several moments. Perhaps Darcy did not think Lady Emily considered him in such a fashion, but Fitzwilliam was certain his cousin was wrong.
The trouble with Darcy, mused he, was that he was adept at spotting a fortune hunter, but when it came to a predatory woman who was not motivated by social advancement or fortune, it seemed he was blind. From what Fitzwilliam had seen the previous evening, he was certain that Lady Emily had been anything but indifferent to Darcy as a potential mate, and given the way her gaze had stayed on Miss Bennet, he did not think the lady was inclined to be defeated by a young woman of little standing.
Thus, it was up to Fitzwilliam to see to his cousin’s interest. Contrary to others in his family—and Aunt Catherine in particular—the only hope he had with respect to Darcy’s future was to see his cousin happy. Happiness had often been in short supply in Fitzwilliam Darcy’s life. But the right companion would change that, and if Miss Bennet held the key to Darcy’s happiness, Fitzwilliam would do everything in his power to see that his suit was successful.
The morning after the assembly was an opportunity for young ladies to discuss the night before, speak of the gowns of the ladies attending, the handsome countenances of the gentlemen, the dances and the conversations, and to relive once again the magic to which they had been introduced. Elizabeth had often engaged in such conversations with her sisters, but primarily with Jane and Charlotte, her two closest friends. Had Olivia not been full of vigor, eager to speak of what she had seen and done, Elizabeth might have found herself quite lonely for Meryton.
As it had been her first time in society, Olivia more than made up for the lack of Elizabeth’s dearest friends, for from the time they arose and began their daily tasks until that evening, her mind was full of nothing but the assembly, a never-ending stream of words falling from her mouth. Elizabeth thought that she might have been rather fatigued by it all, were she not so amused.
“It seemed to me that you were the author of many conquests, Lizzy,” said Olivia after they had sat for some time at the pianoforte. Ostensibly they had been practicing, but in reality, there had been little practice as Olivia’s tongue had not stilled for two minutes together.
“I know nothing about conquests, Olivia,” said Elizabeth. “I welcomed the amusement, especially since it is quite different from the assemblies in Meryton.”
Olivia was taken aback by the statement. “Surely it resembles them. They cannot be much different.”
“Of course,” replied Elizabeth. “But there are differences. For one, there were many more people in attendance than one would see in Meryton. Also, Meryton does not have a vast array of situations as I saw last night.”
“Situations?” asked Olivia, cocking her head to the side.
“A disparity of wealth,” said Elizabeth. “Near Meryton, the only large estate does not begin to compare with Pemberley, and almost all the rest are smaller than Longbourn, my father’s estate.”
“Oh. So there are no earl’s daughters or ladies of Miss Darcy’s station?”
“No. The Bennets are one of the foremost families in the district, though we are naught but minor gentry. In this neighborhood, there are several families of like circumstances, but there are also many of much more wealth.”
“Foremost families!”
The words, spoken with such force and contempt as to leave those hearing them with no doubt as to their meaning, startled both girls, and they turned as one to see Mrs. Drummond standing in the doorway, arms akimbo, glaring at them.
“Though your father might wallow in his fantasy world, content to imagine that he has upheld the honor and credit of the family, I know the truth. The Bennets have fallen far. You would do well to remember that.”
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��Considering how you have not visited Longbourn in my memory, I cannot imagine to what you refer,” said Elizabeth, her offense overriding her desire to refrain from being at odds with her aunt. “I hardly believe you are in any position to judge the state of my family’s respectability.”
“You may believe that, if you wish,” was Mrs. Drummond’s frosty reply. “But however you wish to think of your family, it is not that which has prompted me to speak to you today. It is your own conduct—behavior which provides proof of my assertions—of which I wish to speak today.”
“My conduct? I cannot imagine of what you speak.”
“I am certain you do,” said Mrs. Drummond. “To whit, your shameless manners, the way you flirted with every man in attendance, the way you threw yourself at Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam. I will not have this shameless behavior in my home.”
“Mama!” cried Olivia.
“Aunt Claire,” said Elizabeth at the same time, stiff with affront, “my behavior in no way resembles the charges you have laid at my door. I have done nothing improper.”
“Of course, you would feel that way,” said her aunt, her tone a sneer. “Given the example you have been given, it is not to be wondered at.”
“My father does not take issue with my behavior, and neither does your husband. I have no idea what you consider to be good behavior, but whatever it is, I cannot think there are many who agree with you.”
“With this impertinence, I am not surprised you see nothing wrong with the way you act. It was a mistake to bring you here. I knew it from the start.”
“If you think it was so,” said Elizabeth, clenching her fists to keep her temper, “then I will return to my home at any time convenient. It is clear that at least one member of this family does not wish for me to be here, and I will not stay where I am the subject of baseless attacks.”
