Cousin Emma

by Perpetua Langley

  What sort of conversation had Lady Catherine had with Mr. Darcy? Had he refuted whatever Mr. Collins had written and was even now in comfortable agreement with his aunt? Should Elizabeth even go to the ball, knowing she would encounter them both there?

  She wished she knew what Mr. Collins had written. The clergyman had sought her out as soon as he had collected his wits after seeing his great lady in the Bennet’s drawing room. He’d pressed Elizabeth on the nature of the conversation until she mentioned that it sprang from a letter he had written. Once that was known to him, he seemed not to wish to know anything further and had hurried from the room.

  It sent an icy chill down her spine to imagine seeing a look of disdain in Mr. Darcy’s eyes. For all his proclamations that he’d thrown aside his earlier opinions of rank, seeing his aunt might have reminded him of why he’d held those ideas in the first place. A visit from a relation might have had the result of waking him from a dream and back to his imagined place in the world. A man holding such opinions would be deeply affronted to have himself written of in connection to a lady below his perceived station. And written of by a clergyman, no less.

  “Lizzy,” Emma said, “you do not hear a word I say. Whatever is the matter?”

  “Oh,” Elizabeth said, startled from her thoughts, “nothing. It was only that…I find I am tired. I wonder if I should not stay at home this evening.”

  Jane stared at her, bemused. “You are never tired,” she said.

  “One may be tired, on occasion,” Elizabeth said, turning from her sister.

  Jane touched her arm. “You are not to fear Lady Catherine. Charles tells me she will not attend the ball, she does not like them.”

  Elizabeth stiffened, never liking to be perceived as being afraid of a thing. “The lady does not frighten me,” she said.

  “It is not fright that Lizzy suffers from,” Emma said. “It is her intense dislike of Mr. Darcy and sympathy for Mr. Wickham. She does not wish to risk being forced to dance with Mr. Darcy, or even worse, go into supper with him. Though I still say Mr. Darcy reminds me of Mr. Knightley and so could not be too much in the wrong on any subject.”

  Elizabeth felt the uncomfortable knowledge that her sister and her cousin believed her still to be of her earlier opinion of Mr. Darcy. How to disabuse them of it, without telling them of the letter?

  “Perhaps I do not dislike Mr. Darcy as much as I did,” Elizabeth said cautiously. “I have realized that I am not the best arbiter of such matters. Jane did doubt of Mr. Wickham’s veracity and you, Emma, do find him so like Mr. Knightley. I find I must bow to my sister and my cousin’s superior judgments and rescind my earlier condemnation. I suspect we do not know the whole of what occurred between Mr. Darcy and Mr. Wickham.”

  “Agreed,” Jane said. “Now tell me, you are not actually tired?”

  “No,” Elizabeth said ruefully, “I am never tired.”

  “Then we will go,” Emma said, “and we will have a marvelous evening, dancing the night away and viewing all the charming couples—Jane and Mr. Bingley, Mary and Mr. Collins, Charlotte and Mr. Claymore, and even Colonel Fitzwilliam and Miss Mallory, who I am sure will be engaged before too long a time. So many happy attachments!”

  Elizabeth weakly smiled. There were so many happy attachments, and she was glad for them all. That she was not so very glad for herself seemed at once sad and well-earned.

  Netherfield’s drive was lit with enough torches that it might be seen for miles in the darkness. Though Mr. Bingley had spent the majority of his time at Longbourn that day, the butler and housekeeper were clearly skilled—the house appeared thoroughly ready for a ball.

  Carriages rolled up in a line, as well as men on horseback. Mr. Bingley had invited everybody of any consequence in the neighborhood, some friends from town, and a selection of officers chosen by Colonel Forster which blessedly did not include Mr. Wickham or Mr. Denny. Lydia and Kitty had been outraged to discover that Colonel Forster himself was somehow aware of Mr. Wickham’s banning and agreeable to it.

  As they waited in their carriage for the Lucas family to disembark ahead of them, Jane said, “I feel rather nervous. Some of Charles’ friends have come from town and I feel as if I will be examined and sized up. I hope I do not strike them as too much of a country miss. When I look at this dress and think of Miss Bingley’s elegance, well…”

  “Jane!” Elizabeth said. “Anybody meeting you must see your worth.”

  Mr. Bennet smiled and said, “You have nothing to fear, Jane. I was assured by Mr. Bingley that had you refused him he would have thrown himself off a bridge. If he does have such friends as you fear, he will not keep them long. I suspect he does not, with the exception of Mr. Darcy, who appears to take himself very seriously.”

  “I would not say Mr. Darcy takes himself so very seriously,” Elizabeth said.

  “Heigh-ho!” Mr. Bennet said. “What’s this? Our Lizzy has taken to defending Mr. Darcy?”

  “Perhaps some gentleman wishes to throw himself off of a bridge for me,” Lydia said. “I would not be surprised.”

  Mr. Bennet turned to Lydia. “If there is some silly fellow who wishes to do so, inform him that he is to appear in my library first.”

  Lydia turned her face to the window. Elizabeth said, “I am not defending Mr. Darcy. I am only questioning my earlier opinion.”

  Mercifully, Elizabeth was not pressed further as the doors to the carriage were opened.

  Elizabeth looked warily around the ballroom, seeking out Lady Catherine. Though Mr. Bingley had been confident that she would not appear, Elizabeth feared she might. The lady had insulted her to such a degree in her own drawing room that there was likely little she would not dare.

  She did not see Lady Catherine, though she did see Mr. Darcy striding determinedly toward her.

  “Miss Bennet,” he said.

  “Mr. Darcy,” she answered. She knew she must speak of the letter, and she supposed she must speak of Lady Catherine too. Only, how to begin such an extraordinary conversation?

  “I wonder, Miss Bennet,” Mr. Darcy said, “if you would take a turn around the room?”

  Elizabeth put out her arm gratefully and they began to walk the perimeter of the long ballroom.

  “I understand her majesty paid you a visit,” Mr. Darcy said.

  Elizabeth nearly froze, it being apparent that Lady Catherine had communicated her lack of reserve at their meeting. No, that was too kind a description. It had not been a lack of reserve; it had been a childish outburst.

  Mr. Darcy laughed, and it was the first time she had ever heard him laugh. “You need not appear regretful of the moniker,” he said, “it is only what everybody else has been thinking.”

  “I do regret it,” Elizabeth said, “as others are far more admirable for only thinking what they do not say.”

  “Perhaps,” Darcy said. “I have often said what should only be thought, and I can lay claim to an even worse crime—that of saying what should not be thought at all.”

  “I suppose I ought to apologize to the lady. At least, for that remark.”

  “That will be impossible, Miss Bennet. I have packed her off to an inn.”

  “Packed her off to an inn? Lady Catherine is not here?” Elizabeth asked in wonder.

  “Certainly not,” Darcy said. “I know from her own words that she insulted you and so she cannot be welcome. Her majesty is either barreling back to Kent or giving some poor innkeeper the time of his life.”

  Elizabeth was silent, taking in what Mr. Darcy had said. He had ejected his own aunt from the house on account of an insult to herself. Certainly, that must be some mark of regard? It appeared as if Lady Catherine had communicated the whole of their conversation and, rather than be welcomed, had been sent away.

  Elizabeth recalled herself from that train of thought, remembering that it was not only Lady Catherine they must speak of.

  “The letter, Mr. Darcy,” she said.

  “You read it,” Mr. Darcy said.
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  “I did,” Elizabeth said. “I found myself deeply ashamed to have misjudged the situation…to have misjudged you.”

  “Overturning that opinion was my sole aim,” Darcy said.

  “I was left to wonder at my own naiveté,” Elizabeth said. “I could not fathom that anybody would make up such a story as he did, never mind be guilty of what he actually had done. My sister Jane suspected him from the beginning, and I should have been guided by that. As a habit, Jane suspects nobody. It was so unusual that she would do so that it should have alerted me to the real danger.”

  “George Wickham is a practiced prevaricator,” Darcy said. “I would guess your sister found herself immune to his charms and that gave her a clearer vision.”

  Elizabeth flushed to think that she had not been immune to Mr. Wickham’s very shallow charms.

  They were interrupted by a handsome man of medium build who Elizabeth did not know. He stood in front of them, halting their progress.

  “Darcy?” the man said enquiringly.

  A flicker of irritation crossed Darcy’s features. He said, “Miss Bennet, may I present Sir Harry Hastings.”

  Elizabeth curtsied.

  “Miss Bennet,” Sir Harry said. “I am exceedingly cross with Bingley and Darcy. They allowed far too much time to pass before alerting their friends to the charms of the countryside.” He bowed low and said, “Very charming, indeed.”

  Elizabeth only smiled. Sir Harry, she could see, was an incorrigible flirt. While she might be amused at another time, she dearly wished he would go away.

  Sir Harry peered at the dance card in her hand. Mr. Darcy gently took it from her and said to Sir Harry, “Not before I put in my own name.”

  Sir Harry sighed and waited for Darcy to finish, before putting in his own name. “I see you’ve taken the best spots, Darcy,” he said, handing the card back to Elizabeth. “I will have to see who I can convince to dance the first with me. I do not suppose that lovely lady would do?” he asked, his eyes traveling across the room to Jane.

  “She will not,” Darcy said, “That is Miss Jane Bennet.”

  “Ah!” Sir Harry cried. “The lady who has captured Mr. Bingley’s heart. I’d best go and get myself acquainted.”

  Sir Harry had appeared ready to set off across the ballroom floor, but he suddenly stopped. “Good lord, I will delay my introduction until a later time in the evening. Just now, I spy Miss Bingley on the hunt and I have no intention of becoming her prey.”

  At that, Sir Harry strode in the opposite direction.

  Elizabeth suppressed her laughter but, much to her surprise, Mr. Darcy did not. Recovering himself, he said, “I ought to be offended that one of my friends has insulted another of my friend’s sister,” Darcy said, “but as with my aunt, the description has been too well-earned.”

  The music struck up. Elizabeth would wish to continue their conversation further, but it was not to be. There would be too many ears nearby to be able to confidentially speak of the letter or Lady Catherine’s visit.

  Elizabeth glanced at her card and saw that Mr. Darcy had taken the first and the dance before supper. Where once the thought of being taken into supper by Mr. Darcy vexed, now it was most welcome. It was also welcome that he had taken the first. They might not have a confidential conversation during it, but they could converse all the same.

  As they took their places, Elizabeth was amused to see that Sir Harry escorted Kitty. Kitty, for once, appeared a proper young lady. Elizabeth could only speculate that she showed herself more demure from fright—it was one thing to laugh and joke with officers, but another to be so casual with a sophisticated gentleman from London.

  To make conversation, Elizabeth said, “I see my sister lining up with Sir Harry, tell me of him.”

  Mr. Darcy did not appear to welcome the invitation to discuss Sir Harry. He only said, “He is the eldest son of the Earl of Huntingdon.”

  “Goodness,” Elizabeth said. “Poor Kitty would no doubt faint if she comprehended it.”

  “But you do not care for such things, Miss Bennet? You are not impressed by his title?” Mr. Darcy said, a strange earnestness in his voice.

  “I do not care a fig for such things, Mr. Darcy. Sir Harry might be an heir to the throne or the local farrier for all it signifies.”

  Mr. Darcy’s demeanor changed to a more easy stance and the dance began. As he led her through the changes, Darcy said, “I do not believe I have mentioned Pemberley’s park.”

  “You have not,” Elizabeth said.

  “It is very good for walking, I think,” he said.

  “Indeed?” Elizabeth said, remembering their first conversation on the subject. “Have you been in the regular habit of walking, Mr. Darcy?”

  “I have not,” Darcy admitted. “But then, one may take up a habit, might they not?”

  “Of course they might,” Elizabeth said. “If it seems a genial activity.”

  “In particular, it might be genial with a companion. To go walking.”

  “Walking is always better in twos, I find,” Elizabeth answered. “One might converse on wide-ranging subjects as one goes on.”

  “Yes. Wide-ranging subjects. As well, Georgiana might find walking pleasant,” Darcy said.

  “Perhaps Mrs. Annesley might broach the idea?”

  “Mrs.—no, that would not do. It ought to be with someone in the habit.”

  “Of walking?”

  “Yes.”

  They fell into silence. Though they had only talked of walking, it seemed to Elizabeth that they had talked of far more. Her face flushed as she thought of Mr. Darcy considering her walking in his park, for surely that was what he hinted at. And why should she be walking in his park if she did not have a particular reason to be there? What particular reason could there be, other than she belonged there?

  Chapter Sixteen

  The music had ended and before Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy could have any more interesting conversation on walking. In moments, Sir Harry was before her.

  Darcy bowed and left her with the gentleman. Elizabeth watched with interest as he went, wondering on whose card Mr. Darcy had placed his name for the second dance. She smiled to herself as she saw him step out on the balcony.

  As they waited for the other couples to arrange themselves, Elizabeth viewed the room.

  Georgiana was paired with another of Mr. Bingley’s friends, a fellow well-suited to her as he did not seem to be too much older than Miss Darcy. He had that fresh face and lively looks that spoke of one only recently come into manhood. Miss Darcy looked delighted with him.

  Colonel Fitzwilliam and Emily Mallory had their heads together and Elizabeth believed Emma right—it would not be too long a time before there was an engagement.

  Mr. Claymore had danced the first with Charlotte and daringly taken the second too, as only an engaged man might do. Mr. Bingley had done the same and, as far as Elizabeth could tell, her sister and Mr. Bingley were happily unaware of anybody else being in the room.

  Kitty was paired with an officer of the regiment that she was already acquainted with and seemed more like herself, laughing at one of his jokes.

  Miss Bingley was led to the floor by an unknown gentleman, presumably one of Mr. Bingley’s friends. Miss Bingley smiled, while the man appeared stoic.

  One person Elizabeth did not see was Lydia. It was odd, as Lydia was never one to miss a dance. She would never be found at a card table or sitting out. Where had she gone?

  The music started and Sir Harry said, “Hah! Poor old Wainwright has been caught by Miss Bingley. He is to be a marquess someday and so of course must be in her sights. She would have only reluctantly passed over Jameson, who just now dances with Miss Darcy. He is to be a duke, but is unfortunately far too young. He’s barely out of the schoolroom.”

  “Come now,” Elizabeth said, laughing, “you do not really believe what you say.”

  “I more than believe it,” Sir Harry said. “I know it.”

  “I see,”
Elizabeth said, “and do you accuse any other lady present of being in possession of such a cold and calculating eye?”

  “I do not,” Sir Harry said, “though should we all be instantly transported to London, I might point them out all the day long.”

  “Heavens,” Elizabeth said. “It must be uncomfortable to feel that one is being hunted down for one’s title.”

  Sir Harry grew serious. “It is, Miss Bennet. I must admit, I did not thoroughly comprehend how much of a discomfort it has been before coming to this neighborhood and feeling the lack of it. One does worry over making a mistake and finding one has been married for position and pounds.”

  “That is a terrible picture you paint,” Elizabeth said. “I pray you are careful, however you proceed.”

  Sir Harry nodded. “I attempt carefulness, though I often find myself foolish. Earlier, I was able to convince your sister, Miss Katherine Bennet, to take me on for the first. She’s very pretty and so, in a moment of manly stupidity, I thought to impress her. I told her I’d be an earl someday. She was decidedly not struck by the information. She instantly turned the subject to cards. I was both dejected and delighted.”

  Elizabeth did not answer, but could well imagine how poor Kitty had got on. She would have been nervous dancing with this gentleman and cards were one subject she knew quite a lot about. She did not tarry on the subject of Sir Harry’s earldom because she knew little about such things, and rather turned the conversation to a topic she felt herself the master of.

  “Still,” Sir Harry went on, “for all her boredom with my prospects, your sister agreed to allow me to take her into supper. I will work to better entertain her when the time comes.”

  Elizabeth had gone through the dances before supper in an anxious state. Though she would hurry the whole thing along, the musicians would take their time, the dancers would dance every dance. Conversation had to be made with a variety of partners. Fortunately, her partners had quite a lot to say and so she was not overburdened with talking.

  Mr. Bingley, having torn himself from Jane, found it convenient to talk of Jane. After all, if one cannot be by the side of one’s beloved, one might as well wax poetic on the subject of one’s beloved. Death by bridge was mentioned once or twice, in the happy knowledge that it had not been necessary.