What an evening! It was not like any ball he’d ever attended.
He’d been in the habit of attending rounds of balls during the London season from a sense of duty. He must marry in the next years and it would appear almost unnatural for a single gentleman of fortune to forgo the many invitations arriving at his door. Absenting himself from too many occasions would be the sort of thing hostesses would remark on, and none too kindly either.
He could not say he always found the activity diverting, but at least he knew what the evening had in store. A London ball of the sort he attended was a highly regulated affair. He had never encountered any sort of unpleasantness. No hostess would allow such a thing, as it would be the talk of every drawing room in town on the following day.
But here, in this place, he’d been subjected to all sorts of unpleasantness.
Darcy drained his brandy and paused the thoughts that ran through his mind. As much as he did not like to admit it, he knew perfectly well that he had caused some of the unpleasantness. At least, the unpleasantness that mattered.
It might have been unpleasant to dance with ridiculous Katherine Bennet or simpering Miss Mallory, but on the morrow he would no more remember those inconveniences than what he’d had for breakfast.
No. It was his encounters with Miss Elizabeth Bennet. He’d not been able to fathom why she had appeared so unwilling to converse with him when they’d danced. Why had she been so cool in tone when she should have been flattered? That was, until he understood that his conversation with Miss Bingley had been overheard.
Miss Bennet could not know how Miss Bingley could so easily goad a person into saying a thing they did not absolutely mean. Or, if they did mean it, never meant to say.
It might be true that the society in the neighborhood was not as elevated as he was used to. It might be true that he would eventually marry a lady from a higher sphere. That did not mean it should be said.
He had, through his own mistake, informed Miss Bennet that she was not his equal. That none of her friends were to be his equal. That was unjust. Miss Bennet was his equal in that she was a gentlewoman. It was only the sphere she traveled in that was below him.
Darcy knew himself to be placed highly in society, though certainly not at the highest level. He had no illusions about that. There were those who traveled in more elevated spheres that he had little interaction with. Such loftily titled individuals might not consider his own standing of any consequence. He wondered how it would strike him if he overheard the daughter of a duke dismissing him in such terms as he had dismissed the inhabitants of this neighborhood. For all he knew, such words had been spoken of him at some ball or other. He should be grateful he’d never overheard such remarks, as he knew very well they would sting his pride. Understanding the truth of a thing, and hearing it spoken by another, were two very different matters.
He must find a way to repair the injury he had caused. His conscience would not rest until he’d at least made some effort in that direction.
He had so unfortunately talked of his high standards and put them in the worst light possible. Fitzwilliam Darcy did have high standards for himself, but one of those standards was to avoid unnecessary cruelty.
Chapter Four
Mr. Weston had set off for Highbury early the following morning. That affable gentleman had become so well-liked in the house that all of its inhabitants were on the drive to wave him off. Even Lydia, ever sleepy after a night of too much wine, had goodhumoredly come down.
He took a packet of letters from Emma with him, she staying up nearly all the night to write to her father, Isabella and Mrs. Weston.
To her father she wrote of how uneventful the journey had been and how safe Longbourn was and how she could not be any more protected than within its confines.
To Mrs. Weston she wrote all of her observations made at the last evening’s ball, including her decided opinion that Elizabeth Bennet must be married to Mr. Bingley before too many months had passed.
To Isabella she wrote all of the things she would wish to tell Mr. Knightley, knowing that her sister would allow him to read the letter when he returned from London.
Mr. Knightley was to know she conducted herself admirably and was to be much out in society. Mr. Knightley was to know that the neighborhood was lively and Emma would not be surprised to have an invitation for every evening.
That she did not mention the likelihood of Elizabeth being married soon, or any hand she may have had in the match, was only because Mr. Knightley did not understand such things. It seemed to her, that what Mr. Knightley did not understand he must condemn. It was a narrowminded way of going on, but she supposed he could not see his own foibles. He was rather less self-reflective than Emma was herself.
Mr. Weston had sworn he would deliver the letters faithfully and let no mishap occur to them. He knew Mrs. Weston eagerly looked forward to hearing the news and he vowed he would describe every moment of the ball to her willing ears.
Mr. Bennet shook hands heartily with Mr. Weston and said he was welcome at Longbourn any time he liked. Mr. Weston said that was well, as he was charged to return for Emma in six weeks’ time.
After Mr. Weston’s departure, the family had a merry breakfast talking of what an affable gentleman he was and how they would all be very glad to see him again.
It would have been Elizabeth and Jane’s usual habit to retire to the drawing room afterward, but Emma had a great wish to visit the shops in Meryton. Despite Elizabeth’s warnings that they could not be any more interesting than the shops in Highbury, Emma looked upon the trip as an adventure into an unknown land of ribbons never before seen.
They had taken the carriage and had a pleasant morning visiting this shop and that. Before setting off for home again, they had chanced to encounter Mr. Denny, who in turn introduced them to Mr. Wickham.
Mr. Claymore had described Mr. Wickham as genial, and Elizabeth could only agree with the assessment. In truth, aside from Mr. Claymore, he was one of the more gentlemanly officers of the regiment. He was friendly, but not too familiar, and had the smooth manners of one used to navigating polite society.
Mr. Wickham had seemed equally pleased to make the acquaintance and Elizabeth was cheered to think that he was now to be a part of their neighborhood.
Now, Emma walked with Elizabeth and Jane through Longbourn’s garden. “Emma,” Jane said, “do tell us of Miss Smith and Mr. Elton. We were left in suspense with your last letter—it seemed likely that Mr. Elton would propose very soon.”
Elizabeth was surprised to see Emma turn her head and blush furiously.
“As it turns out,” Emma said slowly, “Mr. Elton deceived us all. He paid the most marked attention to dear Miss Smith and then he…”
“Goodness,” Elizabeth said. “What on earth did Mr. Elton do?”
Emma took a deep breath and said, “He very suddenly proposed. To me.”
Before either Elizabeth or Jane could express their surprise, Emma hurried on. “It was a terrible thing, I can assure you. All that time he went on about Miss Smith, and all the things he did to indicate his preference! He took Harriet’s portrait to London to have it framed, he was so struck by the likeness. He wrote her a charming charade. He was always about, mooning over her. There really was no hint that his plans lay in another direction.”
Emma turned to Jane and clasped her hands. “You see, Jane? We spoke of this sort of thing last night, and now you know the whole of it.”
“Indeed, I do see,” Jane said quietly.
For herself, Elizabeth did not see at all. “Emma, knowing you refused Mr. Elton, what happened after that? Poor Miss Smith must have taken it badly.”
“She was very bad, for a time,” Emma said. “I believe she has recovered. She has hinted to me that her affections are lately turned in another direction, but she will not say more.”
“And Mr. Elton?” Elizabeth asked.
Emma stared off into the distance and said, “Mr. Elton went away and
then had the audacity to bring home a particularly awful wife.”
Jane appeared taken aback. “He courted Miss Smith, then he proposed to you, and now he is already married?”
“My shock at his behavior was indescribable,” Emma said, sadly shaking her head.
Elizabeth was not quite as shocked, as she imagined she could see what had really occurred with Mr. Elton. “Does his lady by chance come with a deal of money?” she asked.
“I have heard that she does,” Emma said.
“And so, I suspect that Mr. Elton was never really interested in Miss Smith. Mr. Elton was interested in your fortune, and then again interested in his new wife’s fortune. It is unpleasant to think of, but empty-pocketed gentlemen do have practicalities to consider.”
“Perhaps you are right on that score, Lizzy,” Emma said. “Though the sad thing in all this is my theory could not be more confirmed—gentlemen often misdirect their real interest. Mr. Elton was quite convincing as Miss Smith’s suitor, until he suddenly revealed himself to be my suitor. It is a very bad way of going on, but it is so.”
Jane nodded, appearing resigned. Elizabeth thought her sister was entirely in agreement with Emma. She could not quite believe it, though. It seemed to Elizabeth too strange that Mr. Bingley would feign interest in Jane when he was in truth interested in another. She supposed only time would tell.
“And what of Mr. Frank Churchill?” Jane asked. “When last you wrote on the subject, you were despairing of him ever turning up. I did not like to inquire while Mr. Weston was here, as I know you were deeply concerned for his feelings on the subject.”
“Ah,” Emma said, “Frank Churchill has come and gone and come and gone away again. His benefactress is a sickly sort of lady who requires his everlasting attention. There is some talk of his returning soon, but we shall see.”
“And was he as handsome as you predicted he must be?” Elizabeth asked.
“Oh, I suppose he is,” Emma said, pensively. “Though I did think him rather more handsome upon our first meeting than I did upon further acquaintance. I believe I was almost in love with the idea of Frank Churchill, but rather less so with the man himself.”
As they turned back on the path, Mrs. Bennet charged toward them like a bull broken out of a paddock.
“Girls!” she said, waving a paper over her head. “It is a dinner! A dinner at Netherfield! Tuesday next. A dinner!”
Predictably, Mrs. Bennet experienced a high state of nerves over the invitation to dine at Netherfield. That lady had made it her business to canvas the neighborhood to discover who had been invited and who had not. The Lucas family, of course, though Mrs. Bennet lamented that poor Charlotte would not look well next to the Bennet girls. The Mallory family, which was received by Mrs. Bennet with a dearth of enthusiasm. And finally, Colonel Forster. This last piece of the puzzle was met with various complaints from Lydia and Kitty—why should it only be the Colonel when there were so many interesting officers about?
Elizabeth could not be happy with the small size of the dinner. She had rather hoped it would be a large party and there would be little time to interact with Mr. Darcy. As well, though she would not admit it to be true, she shared some of Lydia and Kitty’s disappointment over the lack of officers that were to attend. It would have been exceedingly pleasant to hear that Mr. Wickham would make one of the party.
Once it was apparent who was to attend the dinner, the leading ladies of the neighborhood met to strategize their campaign. Mrs. Bennet, Lady Lucas and Mrs. Mallory would all issue their own invitations to dine and it was of the highest importance that they did not choose the same day. There was some spirited debate regarding who ought to have the first dinner following Netherfield. Lady Lucas made the case for rank and title, Mrs. Mallory argued that she’d got the largest dining room, and Mrs. Bennet simply dug in her heels until she won the point.
While various battles over menus raged between the three mamas, the days that followed passed peaceably for Elizabeth, Jane and Emma. They reveled in cozy talks in the drawing room and walks to Lucas Lodge and wanderings down the small lanes near the estate.
While Mrs. Bennet directed her silver be polished as if those items were the weapons of a well-trained military, Elizabeth was perfectly happy to live quietly and enjoy her cousin’s company.
Netherfield was in an uproar. Darcy never could understand why it must always be so. It was the same at Pemberley—the act of giving a dinner seemed to throw every last servant topsy-turvy. Why? Why must it seem as if providing dinner was akin to setting off for the new world?
He dodged a maid wielding a feather duster, the girl attacking the furniture with all the strength of a hardened soldier intent on killing enemy combatants.
Darcy found a quiet corner in the drawing room and unfolded a letter from his cousin.
Darcy—
I received your suggestion that Georgiana and I travel to Hertfordshire. I am in favor and she is in favor and so we set off in a fortnight.
Fitzwilliam.
Darcy sighed and laid the letter on a table. He’d not expected a long missive, as his cousin always sent rather short and cryptic communications, but it might have been considerate to at least include a line on how his sister did or if they would bring Mrs. Annesley or how the house got on or why they did not set off until a fortnight. He supposed he’d find out when they arrived.
Darcy very much wished he’d not agreed to the scheme. If Georgiana and Fitzwilliam had determined they would remain at Pemberley, he would have had every excuse to have his trunk packed and be off to meet them. As it was, he was trapped at Netherfield.
Still, it would be cowardly to run off at this particular moment. There was a wrong to be righted. He would right it, and then do his best to insulate himself from the local society.
Elizabeth could not understand why the Bennet household must always devolve into near chaos before setting off anywhere. They were only going to a dinner, after all. Why must Lydia and Kitty run up and down the halls between each other’s rooms, vowing to wear a particular gown and then despairing of a torn hem and then fighting like cats over a ribbon that neither of them owned, as it happened to be Jane’s?
They’d finally got everybody out of the house and into a carriage, which had been more complicated than usual. Even if Mr. Bennet were to take his horse, they were now seven that must be transported by carriage. Lady Lucas had kindly offered to take two of the party and Elizabeth had gratefully led Emma to her carriage as it rolled to a stop at Longbourn’s door. The conversation would be far more sensible with the Lucas family, as she knew Lydia would dominate the Bennet’s carriage with ridiculous statements all the way to Netherfield.
At least, Elizabeth had hoped the conversation would be more sensible. During the journey, Emma had made all sorts of hints about Elizabeth and Mr. Bingley and Charlotte and Mr. Claymore. Elizabeth had already determined that she had not the slightest interest in Mr. Bingley, regardless of Emma’s thoughts on the matter. But, Charlotte and Mr. Claymore? No, it was too absurd. While Elizabeth found Mr. Claymore and his stories of the regiment vastly amusing, Charlotte found the gentleman’s disposition flippant and lacking in substance.
Elizabeth could not think of a man less suited to Charlotte Lucas than the always-laughing Mr. Claymore. She noted that Charlotte had blushed and turned away at the mention of Mr. Claymore, but Sir William and Lady Lucas had seemed enchanted with the notion. There was not much known of his estate, but he did have an estate. That was a good deal more than most of the officers.
Poor Charlotte. She would no doubt be quizzed by her parents in a private moment. Elizabeth did not think she would have anything at all encouraging to say regarding Mr. Claymore.
Though she had not particularly looked forward to the evening, Elizabeth was greatly relieved when the carriage rolled to a stop in front of Netherfield’s doors.
The parties had gathered in Netherfield’s drawing room, the dinner having not yet been announced and
Colonel Forster’s arrival still pending. Miss Bingley had also not yet made an appearance, which Emma thought was rather rude for a hostess. She supposed Miss Bingley wished to communicate her superiority by not being found waiting when her guests arrived.
Emma could not like it—however one was placed in society, one must always give due consideration to others. Particularly those who were not as well-placed as oneself. Those individuals ought to receive even more courteous attention than one’s equals. She had learned that hard lesson during a long and hot day on Box Hill and very much doubted she would ever forget it. Miss Bingley should know that, while she was very rich and very elegant, it did not do her credit to assume superiority.
Emma turned her thoughts away from Miss Bingley. She had far more important matters to consider.
As she had done so many times before, Emma patiently waited for her opportunities. It was always a task to drop a hint that might set things in motion when so many curious ears were about. It was perhaps more of a task this evening, as Miss Mallory seemed intent on being by her side. Emma did not know what to think of it. When they had met at the assembly, Miss Mallory had not had much to say to her.
Finally, Charlotte joined them and Emma was able to find a moment when she might escape and speak to Mr. Darcy without being overheard. It was a good first step—she would hint to the gentleman’s friend and allow the friend to inform the gentleman in question, in this case Mr. Bingley, that his attentions would not be rebuffed.
She had done just such a thing with Mr. Weston. That poor man had clearly been admiring of Miss Taylor and yet had made no discernible attempt to express that admiration. Emma had suspected that Mr. Weston did not have confidence that he would be well received, or that he even feared that such attention might be taken as an impertinence.
One fortunate day in Highbury, while Miss Taylor was inside a shop, Emma had encountered Mr. Weston’s old friend, Mr. Wainwright. She’d steered the conversation to Mr. Weston and then it had been the work of a moment to hint that Miss Taylor found Mr. Weston’s manners pleasing. Miss Taylor emerged from the shop and Emma repeated the sentiment to the good effect of Miss Taylor’s blushes. That had been enough, and Emma likened it very much to rolling a ball down a hill—one must just give it the slightest push and off it would go without further inducement.
Cousin Emma Page 5
