Now, the parties to her latest effort had situated themselves perfectly. Mr. Darcy was on his own, examining the books on a shelf at the far end of the drawing room. Elizabeth was conversing with Mr. Bingley near the doors.
“Mr. Darcy,” Emma said as she approached, “are you a very great reader?”
“Not as great as I am sure I should be,” Mr. Darcy answered. “My father was a collector, but I have only made a beginning at understanding my own library.”
Emma slightly turned from Mr. Darcy and feigned a look of surprise. “Goodness,” she said.
Mr. Darcy raised his brows. “Had you expected a different account of myself, Miss Woodhouse?”
“No,” Emma said. “Heavens, no. I am no great reader myself. My attention was only pulled in another direction. I am struck by what a lively pair Miss Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Bingley make. Their temperaments seem so well-suited.”
Emma paused for dramatic effect. “I am sure I should not say…”
She suppressed a smile. No gentleman had ever failed to press her to reveal what she claimed she should not say.
“Miss Woodhouse?” Mr. Darcy said.
Emma thought that was not the most determined pressing she had ever received but it would have to do.
“It is only,” Emma said, “that Elizabeth was so admiring of how Mr. Bingley conducted himself at the assembly. Exceedingly admiring.”
Emma watched with satisfaction as Mr. Darcy examined the couple. Much to her delight, Mr. Bingley said something and Elizabeth laughed. They were a lively pair. Elizabeth might presently deny her feelings toward Mr. Bingley, but was it not always so? Did not the lady always hesitate? Did not even Miss Taylor hesitate, if only for a moment? Elizabeth and Mr. Bingley were exceptionally well-matched, and it would be Emma’s delight when her cousin saw it was so.
It gave her a small pause to observe Jane, who Emma noticed glanced at Mr. Bingley and her sister often. Poor Jane! To be so misguided in her own feelings! It was true that Jane had initially admired Mr. Bingley, but that could not hold. She would see, over time, and Emma did not think it would be too long a time, that Mr. Darcy was her match. And, as far as Mr. Darcy was concerned, he could not help but fall in love with Jane. He was inclined to seriousness and so was Jane. He was reserved and so was Jane. They really were very much alike. Further, Emma suspected from Mr. Darcy’s manner that he was inordinately concerned with appearances. Who better to grace his table than lovely Jane Bennet? Emma had only to send Jane in the direction of Mr. Darcy so that they both might discover it.
However, she could not manage two matches at once. First Elizabeth’s ball would be set to rolling down the hill, then Jane. It would be all the easier to see Mr. Darcy on his way when that gentleman observed his friend’s felicity.
Ah! And now, see how kind Mr. Bingley is—he sees poor Jane standing alone and leads Elizabeth to her so she might not feel left out. It was for the best that they converse all together, as Jane would see for herself the sort of lively repartee that might be expected between her spirited sister and cheerful Mr. Bingley. It would make plain to Jane that she would find herself more comfortable with a more sedate sort of person. A Mr. Darcy.
Emma was satisfied that she was well on the way to having Elizabeth and Jane settled. As for the other three girls, that would be a higher mountain to climb. Emma began to think that two of the officers must do for Lydia and Kitty. Mr. Wickham and Mr. Denny were likely candidates. They certainly were well-regarded by the two sisters. Emma would have to think further on that. But then, there was Mary. What in the world to do with Mary, who was just now eyeing the pianoforte like a hawk to a field mouse?
For what seemed to be the hundredth time in this God forsaken neighborhood, Darcy had felt a flush. He’d turned away from Miss Woodhouse so that she would not note it. Had Miss Bennet told Miss Woodhouse the insult she’d overheard? It must be so, otherwise, why would the lady be so pointed in her conversation? Miss Bennet exceedingly admired Bingley’s conduct. What else could it mean but Miss Bennet had compared his own conduct with Bingley’s and it was an ill-favored comparison.
Darcy supposed he should not be surprised that Miss Bennet admired Bingley. Though, Miss Woodhouse seemed to hint that Miss Bennet’s admiration was something more than appreciation of Bingley’s manners. He was certain she hinted at more. He had heard enough hints in London drawing rooms to know when a lady wished him to know something that she feigned too modest to say.
Was that what he’d heard now? It gave him an uncomfortable feeling to think so. It was not that he himself held Miss Bennet in such regard, it was only that…
Good Lord. It was only that he’d become so accustomed to his natural place in his friendship with Bingley. In London, out in society, it was always Darcy who was given every attention. He had become used to Bingley as a reliable gentleman accepted nearly everywhere, but perhaps not as sought after as Darcy. Without consciously knowing it, he had considered himself first and Bingley second. Now, his pride had been chastened to see that not every lady flocked to his side.
In truth, at this moment no ladies flocked to his side, other than Miss Woodhouse wishing to tell him of another lady’s preference.
Even Jane Bennet, who did not appear to have a preference for Bingley, though Bingley had danced with her twice, did not seem inclined to seek out Darcy’s company. She had that reserved manner of so many London ladies and he was used to just such a lady wishing to show that she could capture the attention of a Fitzwilliam Darcy.
Darcy put the book he had examined back on the shelf. That he would be envious of any sort of admiration of his friend was unconscionable. What was happening to him in this place?
He watched as Miss Bingley swept into the room. He assumed she had been purposely late so that she might command attention. She scanned the room with her falcon gaze and, while nodding and greeting, made her way over to him.
Darcy sighed. He had been mistaken. One lady did flock to his side. Unfortunately, it was the lady he’d rather have flock anywhere else.
Caroline had arranged the table just to her liking. There was truly no possibility of it not being an awkward seating—there were far too many females, thanks to Mrs. Bennet’s liberality in producing them. When they’d first discussed the dinner, Charles had hinted that they ought to invite some of the officers to balance things, but she’d claimed she would not sit at table with individuals whose history was not sufficiently known.
So, here they were with a preponderance of females.
The question had been, which female went where? Lady Lucas, in possession of a title such as it was, must take precedent and so was placed to Charles right. Colonel Forster, though she had little wish to talk to him, would be on her own right. Darcy must be on her left, of course. After that consideration, Caroline thought of what arrangement might suit her best.
She had noticed Charles paying marked attention to Jane Bennet. She should not be surprised, Miss Bennet was precisely the sort that always caught her brother’s eye—pretty, modest and somewhat dull. That connection was certainly not to be encouraged. It was Caroline’s dear wish that Charles might marry Georgiana as it would cement the two families together, but each time they encountered one another, it appeared less and less likely. Charles treated Georgiana as a younger sister and romance could not bloom under that circumstance.
If it was not to be Georgiana, then it must be another suitable lady who came with a fortune and a respectable place in society. She would not deny the Bennets were respectable, but only just, considering the behavior of the mother. A fortune, however, they did not have.
Miss Woodhouse did have a fortune, and a considerable one if reports were accurate. Though Caroline was loathe to give credit to any female in her vicinity, she would grant that Miss Woodhouse had pleasing features and understood how to conduct herself. Even if nothing were to come of it, placing Miss Woodhouse near her brother might go some way to dismissing any thought of Jane Bennet.
She would place Emily Mallory not too far away too, as an insurance in case Miss Woodhouse did not charm him.
As for Mr. Darcy, Caroline knew perfectly well that he found the eldest Miss Bennets acceptable. Therefore, on Darcy’s other side he would place Lydia Bennet—the one sister she suspected irked him the most.
Jane Bennet would be safely tucked away in the middle of the table between Miss Lucas and that awful Mary Bennet. Elizabeth Bennet would sit between Mr. Mallory and Katherine Bennet.
It amused her to think that the two eldest Bennets would not have any conversation they had not already had a hundred times before.
Darcy sat at table, attempting to keep himself from glaring. He should have known that Caroline Bingley would be spiteful in her placements. To seat him between herself and Lydia Bennet spoke volumes. She no doubt thought that having such a foil as Lydia Bennet, she would gain the majority of Darcy’s attention. Bingley was situated far better and would at least have the company of Miss Woodhouse. He speculated that Miss Woodhouse had dropped the same hints to Caroline regarding Miss Elizabeth Bennet’s inclination toward her brother. He assumed Caroline kept Elizabeth Bennet far away from her brother by design—Miss Bingley shot higher for her family than the Bennets.
Darcy had hoped to be seated next to Miss Elizabeth Bennet himself and find some natural time to apologize for his rude remark at the assembly, but that was not to be. He would have to attempt some sort of conversation in the drawing room after this blasted dinner was over.
“Mr. Darcy,” Lydia said loudly, “you really ought to have a ball.”
Careful to keep the aspersion from his voice, he said, “My house is rather too far from here to arrange it.”
“Here, Mr. Darcy,” Lydia went boldly on. “Talk to Mr. Bingley about having a ball here. I shan’t rest until it is arranged. And, you must invite the officers.”
“Must I,” Mr. Darcy said. He turned to Miss Bingley, who he really did not wish to engage in conversation. However, it was to be the lesser of two evils. He had never considered that there might be a more unpleasant way to pass an evening than captured by Miss Bingley. But that was before he’d had the honor of becoming acquainted with Lydia Bennet.
Have a ball, indeed.
Chapter Five
Glancing the length of Netherfield’s table, Elizabeth was both relieved and exasperated. Relieved, that she would not find herself forced to carry on a conversation through a long dinner with Mr. Darcy, or if she had been seated nearby Mr. Bingley, find herself under Emma’s watchful gaze. Exasperated, as she was seated between Kitty, from whom no sense was likely to be heard, and Mr. Mallory, who would speak to her of farming all evening. She was well-accustomed to his various diatribes on cost efficiencies and whether one ought to have tenants or farm the land oneself.
All of Mr. Mallory’s theories centered on how the most money could be wrung from an estate. It was tedious, though she recognized that the Bennets themselves might be better off had they bothered to follow his various precepts. Emily Mallory had certainly benefitted from her father’s management of his estate. And, of course, she was the only child which made things ever so much easier. Still, benefit or no, Elizabeth would not hear anything she had not heard before from Mr. Mallory.
It would be the sort of evening that Elizabeth likened to a poorly-made bread pudding—hunger would be abated by the end of it, but it would be soon forgotten.
Emma could not be more pleased by the seating arrangements. It was as if Miss Bingley herself was in on the campaign to bring Mr. Bingley and Lizzy together. Of course, it might seem to a person less experienced in these matters that the ideal situation would be for Elizabeth to be by Mr. Bingley’s side, rather than halfway down the table. Emma knew, however, that the ground was still to be tilled. One must prepare the earth if a seed will be expected to grow, and so it was with love.
Now, she would have a long dinner to drop hints in Mr. Bingley’s direction like breadcrumbs he might follow.
“Mr. Bingley,” Emma said, “does she not look well this evening?”
Mr. Bingley charmingly reddened and said, “Very well. She always looks exceedingly well.”
“Exceedingly, you say,” Emma said. “In the usual way of things, a lady might look well, but when one has been dubbed exceedingly well, that is singular.”
“Is it?” Mr. Bingley asked.
“I am not surprised, Mr. Bingley,” Emma said, “I truly am not.”
“You are not?”
“Goodness, no,” Emma said. “The lady is so lively and full of spirits.”
“Is she?” Mr. Bingley asked.
“Indeed,” Emma said. “I dare say…”
Emma paused for dramatic effect. She stared down at her plate and said softly, “No, I really should not say…”
“Say what, Miss Woodhouse,” Mr. Bingley asked, leaning forward.
Emma smiled. “It is only that the lady we speak of may be found to admire a certain individual recently introduced.” Emma shook a scolding finger at Mr. Bingley and said, “There. That is all I will say about it.”
Emma turned to Sir William, confident that her work had found success. From the expression on Mr. Bingley’s features when she hinted that Elizabeth was admiring, Emma knew all. Mr. Bingley had a special regard for Lizzy and only wanted some encouragement. Emma had pushed the ball down the hill and one could now hope that things on Mr. Bingley’s side of the slope might proceed unassisted. Should there be occasion to nudge the ball further, she would not hesitate to lend herself to the effort, though she thought she might safely turn her attention to Lizzy’s side of the mountain. Once that was in motion, she could think of Jane and Mr. Darcy.
Netherfield’s drawing room was charmingly lit with good wax candles and the French doors at the far end thrown open to allow in the cool night air. What was perhaps less charming than the aspect of the room was Mary’s playing. Despite Mr. Bennet making every attempt, there had been no practical way to keep her from it. It was the usual lumbering performance, Mary determinedly seeking out every key as if she would murder it.
Sir William, Colonel Forster, Mrs. Mallory and Mrs. Bennet made up one table for cards, while Mr. Bennet, Lady Lucas, Miss Bingley and Charlotte made up a second.
Kitty and Lydia sat together, appearing bored with the evening and occasionally glaring at Mary.
Emma was just now trapped in conversation with Mr. Mallory and Elizabeth knew she was hearing about the proper care of pigs or the ideal feed for chickens. Poor Mr. Mallory, it was all for naught. Emma Woodhouse was unlikely to ever involve herself in any sort of farming scheme.
Mr. Darcy had settled into a corner with a book, and Elizabeth thought Miss Bingley had appeared singularly put out when he’d declined a place at cards.
Elizabeth stood at the doors leading to the veranda, satisfied to observe Mr. Bingley just now showing Jane a book, in which she was certain neither of them were remotely interested in.
Despite dear Emma’s decided opinion, Elizabeth thought Jane and Mr. Bingley were very well-suited. Mr. Bingley was ever-cheerful and while Jane was not an always laughing sort of person, she did have an inherent lightness of spirit. It was Jane who looked kindly upon all the world and Jane who took all of their mother’s various complaints in high good humour and Jane who made peace between Kitty and Lydia when they would fight over some small matter. Jane kept her shoes firmly planted on the sunny side of the road and it appeared Mr. Bingley did the same.
Further, when the parties had arrived that evening, Elizabeth had a lovely conversation with Mr. Bingley that had centered entirely on Jane. Her sister looked very well, Mr. Bingley had noted. Elizabeth had readily agreed and mentioned that Jane generally did look very well. Mr. Bingley had then made her laugh by styling a convoluted compliment that was something along the lines of: ‘Yes, one who looks very well will always look very well. As a general rule. Looking very well. As they are prone to do.’ She had been thoroughly delighted with him.
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br /> Elizabeth stepped onto the veranda to take in the night air. The cool, soft breezes that were the harbingers of fall brushed against her cheeks. She was at once loathe to bid goodbye to summer and eager to welcome a new season. Fall, with all its crispness and brightly colored leaves, eventually giving way to winter with its snug fires and holidays, giving way to the freshness of spring, and then back to the heat and lazing bees of summer. It seemed to Elizabeth there was always something to anticipate in the changing of the seasons.
“Miss Bennet.”
Elizabeth was startled and turned to find Mr. Darcy standing before her. She thought it inconsiderate that he should have moved, as he had been safely ensconced in a chair with a book the last she’d looked.
“Mr. Darcy,” she said.
“It is a fine evening,” Mr. Darcy said.
“Indeed,” Elizabeth said. Had she been speaking with another, she might have waxed poetic about her recent thoughts of the changing seasons, but she did not think Mr. Darcy would be particularly interested in her mental wanderings.
“Miss Bennet,” Darcy began, “I believe I have wronged you. I believe you may have overheard a statement from myself that was not altogether understood for what it was.”
Elizabeth did not speak, though she was surprised that Mr. Darcy should reference those words he had spoken at the assembly. She was further surprised that he should think that she did not understand them. There was not much to understand in the idea that Mr. Darcy did not consider her, or anybody else nearby, to be up to his high standards.
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