by Anne Morris
7
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Elizabeth & Darcy Dance
Mr. Bennet mulled over the fact that he had been lax on the entire subject of his children's future. His daughters had a paltry inheritance, there was only the five thousand pounds settled on them via the marriage articles. They sat before him, his five daughters, as they enjoyed a quiet family meal though his wife was there talking. He had long ago learned to ignore his wife's chatter. For sixteen—or was it seventeen years?—his house, estate and everything he owned, had been entailed away to a distant and despised, cousin. And he, Mr. Thomas Bennet, had not cared enough to do much about it. Well, he had cared, but not enough to have challenged the entail; he had not cared enough to have left his library to actually do anything about it.
But his late-in-life son had inspired economies and inspired him to get that very Mrs. Bennet, who was now at the table chattering away, to be mostly quiet and accepting when he had implemented those economies. She had initially not taken those economies to heart and protested vociferously, but she too, along with most of those daughters sitting before him, had profited from the arrival of one of the benefits of those savings: Miss Simnel. The governess had been young when she arrived, only twenty years of age and largely inexperienced, but she somehow brought a balance to their household of now six children that Mrs. Bennet had never been able to impose.
Some of those implemented economies went to pay for that governess which brought an order and harmony to his life he never thought possible before that son had been born. He wondered, sometimes, on the miracle of that tiny birth. That it had stopped the future threat, as Mrs. Bennet so often had worried, of her and the children landing in the hedgerows on the day after his unfortunate death, but it had done so much more. Due to Mrs. Bennet's long confinement—the necessity of Miss Simnel's arrival, meant his daughters received so much more than a book education, more discipline, more attention, more accomplishments than they would ever have received under Mrs. Bennet's tutelage. He pondered what changes had occurred in his household, and how different his daughters' future would have looked, but for the birth of that son.
He was working to save a little more money to be able to increase his daughters' dowries, though it would not mean a drastic difference to any of them. Mostly, Mr. Bennet considered how different in character they were due to the influence of that governess. They still had the love and guidance of their mother, but the education and discipline offered by their governess seemed to affect them more, and he thought that might make more of a difference in their future prospects, especially in their marriages.
• • •
Aunt Philips had invited them to tea, and there was a lot of talk about the prospect of a ball at Netherfield. Elizabeth could not believe Lydia's audacity to suggest such a thing, but apparently, Mr. Bingley had taken the suggestion to heart and was planning that very activity. Mr. Bingley's housekeeper had confirmed it to their aunt, who was relating the fact then to the various nieces who were visiting that morning.
Their aunt was especially interested in the prospect of Jane and Mr. Bingley. She discussed how quickly she thought Jane could get Mr. Bingley, and despite Mrs. Bennet's assurances about the match, Mrs. Philips thought his age was against him. He was a little young, so though she was optimistic, she was by no means assured of the match. Aunt Philips was cautious and concerned, and turned to her oldest niece.
"Elizabeth, dear, you are going to be quite past it soon. You really need to capture some young man's eyes that you might be settled and set an example for the others," said Mrs. Philips.
"It is not for want of trying," assured her niece, though Elizabeth also thought she probably did not try in the manner that her aunt or mother would wish.
"I wonder that you do not admire Mr. Bingley's friend, Mr. Darcy," continued the aunt. "He is an odd duck, to be sure, a cool and even tempered man—which might be a good thing—quite a logical one." Mrs. Philips paused as she conjured an image of the man in her head. "He has not really made himself well-liked hereabouts though, has he? Perhaps he is not such a good catch; you might need more fire and passion." Elizabeth looked quizzically at her aunt, who continued, "On reflection, make sure you do not fall in love with him."
"I believe, ma'am, I can promise you that!" assured Elizabeth, who smiled.
Charlotte was visiting Philips' House that afternoon as well. She had come to get away from the uproar in her own home. Mr. Legget, the curate from Stevenage, had made an offer to her sister Maria. There was not much money between the two of them, though there was affection, and both sides were attempting to figure out how to allow them to come to the altar to marry. It did not seem likely that they would be able to marry in a hurry or even anytime soon.
All that their father, Sir William, could give any of the Lucas daughters was about five hundred pounds. Mr. Legget had work as a curate, but not enough to support a wife, and it seemed he had hopes of her father assisting him in finding a living with a more permanent source of income. Maria and Charlotte's father could not purchase him a living, but Sir William might use his influence and some of his former business connections to find Mr. Legget a living on merit. In the meantime, Mr. Legget and Maria Lucas would simply have to wait to marry, which might be six months, or may be two or three years.
Charlotte shared all of this with her friend while they had tea with Mrs. Philips and talked, indifferently, about the prospects of a ball at Netherfield. Charlotte was not inclined to go, as she would not be likely to dance, and Elizabeth was now concerned for their governess, Miss Simnel, who she knew had admired Mr. Legget. It was not likely that a governess would be invited to a private ball. Elizabeth thought Miss Simnel might be upset and planned to concentrate on helping in the nursery over the next few days, if she could.
• • •
On Tuesday evening, after greeting the Bingley family, they all proceeded into the Netherfield drawing room where a number of the guests had assembled. Catherine and Lydia would have flown off across the room to where a group of officers were assembled, but Elizabeth cleared her throat, and the two turned with frowns at their eldest sister, but then set off at a more sedate and ladylike pace. Elizabeth and Mary moved at an even slower one, stopping to greet Reverend Mead. Elizabeth wondered if Mary had a tendre for him, as Mary enjoyed reading moral and religious texts and was most attentive on a Sunday to his sermons; she left Mary with the vicar and moved farther into the room.
Mr. Denny was speaking to a new young man; one who was sporting a red coat. His face was everything a young lady would require in male beauty, his form well-balanced, his manners pleasing and welcoming, as Mr. Denny introduced her to Mr. Wickham, who had joined the militia but two days before. Catherine, Lydia, and the two Harrington sisters were there in the group, openly admiring this new officer.
"I am almost sorry we met up in London, and I encouraged you to join," said Mr. Denny as he looked at the young ladies assembled around them, and spied the two Martin sisters making their way with determined footsteps towards the group.
"Are you old friends?" Elizabeth inquired of Mr. Denny.
"Acquaintance; I ran into Wickham when I had to go to London about a week ago. We renewed some ties we had, and since he was at sea, and needed employment, he decided to join up," explained Denny. "I convinced him that the society to be had here was worth it."
"And so right he was, with such attractive ladies in the area," said Wickham as the Martin sisters came up and curtsied before him moving in quite close. "I know I shall have my fill of society, amusements, and dancing this evening." His sincerity was evident in his posture, and the tone of his voice, and Elizabeth thought all the girls were about to swoon at the idea of dancing with such a handsome and fetching man.
"Let us go see how our sisters fare," said Elizabeth, and called her two reluctant youngest sisters away from the attentions of the two lieutenants. Catherine and Lydia's feet moved as though weighted with lead, though Lydia was still motivated by h
er exemplar behavior being witnessed by Mr. Bennet.
• • •
Darcy had had misgivings about the ball since it was first mentioned. He had hoped Bingley would have tired, by now, of this venture to the country; they were so close to London—but half a day's ride—that to quit the house and return to Town could so easily be accomplished. The social invitations had, at least, waned of late, and the men had enjoyed more sport, and Darcy had books or his own instrument to entertain him. He could also find no fault in the wine cellar Bingley had laid in when he had come to Netherfield.
He was not part of the family—just a guest—so Darcy did not have to wait through the tedium of greeting the guests as they arrived, but could stand apart and watch as the crowd grew. The room filled as families or couples arrived, and then the militia officers arrived all in a bunch, and a face among them stood out and caught his eye: George Wickham.
George was dressed in regimentals so he presumably had joined the militia, though he had not been a part of the Monmouthshire regiment two or three weeks ago when Darcy, Bingley, and Hurst had dined with Forster and his officers. Darcy wondered if Wickham knew Darcy was in residence at Netherfield Hall when he had decided to join up. Wickham probably did not, but that mongrel would not likely let Darcy's presence stop him from doing what he wished. Wickham disparaged him both to his face and behind his back. He wrote letters to his uncle, the Earl, and spoke to innkeeper's wives about the supposedly audacious, evil, and prideful Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy; all in pursuit of money. It was Wickham's sole purpose in life.
Wickham was always and forever about money. He was the sort who spent a maximum amount of time thinking how to spend as little time and effort in actually getting the biggest profit in any venture. Hence, his selling his legacy back to Darcy for three thousand pounds, and his wishes—expressed since the day Wickham left for school at Darcy's father's expense—that he find the richest heiress possible to marry. Nothing short of thirty thousand pounds would do for him. Darcy had always thought Wickham must be mentally unstable that George thought nothing of being the penniless son of a steward, and yet, attracting and securing the attentions of a lady and heiress worth that much.
It had been five years since he had seen Wickham—five years since his honored father had died. Darcy's father had always liked and valued George Wickham, and George had hidden his vicious and sinful side from the older Mr. Darcy though he never hid it from the son. The father had left George Wickham a little money and recommended to his son that George be given a living should Wickham go into the church, but Wickham had only wanted money for that legacy he—under no circumstances—had wanted to have to work for any money, let alone be a clergyman! Darcy had acquiesced to the request and saw no more of him, though Darcy did hear that Wickham had run through that windfall in less than two years. Last year, when the incumbent had died, George had asked for the living, and Darcy had refused him. Wickham had to have been in dire circumstances as he actually took the time to write a scathing letter to Darcy in return when he had been refused.
Somehow or other, Wickham had, like a cat—a cursed black cat though—landed on his feet, and here he was sharing the same space, the same room, as Fitzwilliam Darcy. All of the militia's officers had been invited and Darcy could not have asked his friend, Bingley, to exclude any one of them even if he had known Wickham was among them. He would simply need to keep an eye on this old acquaintance—or was that adversary—and he would need to begin to press Bingley about leaving Hertfordshire and to return to London that Darcy would have an excuse to absence himself from Wickham's presence if Wickham was taking up residence in Meryton.
• • •
Elizabeth turned to watch the dance floor as she heard the musician's tuning their instruments. That drawing room had been made to work for dancing, despite Miss Bingley's concern, and was sufficient for sixteen couples, doing the job remarkably well. Two officers approached their little group, one applied for Catherine' hand, the other for Elizabeth's, leaving Lydia by herself. Elizabeth had misgivings about leaving her youngest sister alone, but had been determined to dance that evening to prove to her two sisters that she was not yet on the shelf. She was distracted speaking and dancing with her captain, but did eventually notice Lydia on the dance floor on the arm of Phillip Lucas. Lydia's form and face spoke volumes at her delight to be dancing, and she danced with far more spirit than was, perhaps, called for though Phillip did not seem to mind.
Elizabeth's second set of dances was with John Lucas who was always a good partner and such an old acquaintance—he was of the exact age as Elizabeth—that there was always easy conversation between them. Elizabeth noticed that Jane was again on the arm of Mr. Bingley who had opened the dance with her in that position as well. Mrs. Bennet would be proclaiming her great pleasure to anyone and everyone at such an honor, such a display of affection for her second daughter. Elizabeth could see her mother speaking with great animation to a group of uninterested matrons.
During the break, she went to speak to Charlotte Lucas and had her hand solicited in readiness for the next set by Colonel Forster as she approached her friend. She thanked him and moved on to Miss Lucas.
"Your sister Jane has certainly had a delightful evening, Eliza," said Charlotte.
"Two dances in a row!" cried Elizabeth. "My mother is no doubt speaking of wedding clothes and settlements!" They turned to look at Mrs. Bennet who stood by Mrs. Long with such a sparkle to her eyes that they could envision no other topic on Mrs. Bennet's mind. Even her poultry or a three-course supper could not have her so animated.
"You have enjoyed your time so far?" asked Miss Lucas. "You have not wanted for partners, I see."
"And have you, yourself, not danced yet Charlotte?" asked Elizabeth.
"I have not had that privilege, no," answered Charlotte. Mr. Darcy appeared then on the outside of their circle as he sometimes did. She had thought she understood him a little better after staying those days at Netherfield, but still could not account for his observing her and her friend at times. His eyes seemed more on her friend this evening, and Elizabeth wondered if he was to play the host and ask Charlotte Lucas to dance. He approached them then, and with a bow, said his greetings but turned to Elizabeth to request her hand. She had to explain that the next set was engaged but then she looked pointedly at Charlotte and back to Mr. Darcy. He did not take her hint.
"Might I engage you for the set after the next then?" he asked, again with a little bow. As she had no real way of objecting, she agreed, and he walked away.
"How rude!" Elizabeth cried when he was out of earshot. "He could have engaged you while he waited to dance with me. I wish I could have thought of a way to reject his request!"
"See it as the compliment it is, Eliza, that he should single you out. He has not yet danced this evening—not even with Mr. Bingley's sisters. Notice from so great a man is something to prize."
"I have never wished or desired his good opinion, Charlotte," answered Elizabeth.
"Perhaps he admires you?" pressed Charlotte.
"What a notion! I have never heard of such a lover, a brooding, silent, even glaring man one argues with all of the time. No, no, no! Do not suggest such a thing, Charlotte," cried Elizabeth.
"I dare say you will find him an agreeable partner," said her friend.
"Heaven forbid I do, that would be a great misfortune. Why should I wish to find a man agreeable when I am at such pains to hate him? Do not ask such a thing of me."
When the dancing recommenced, Colonel Forster came to claim her hand, and they had an agreeable half-hour speaking on a variety of topics. Mr. Wickham was mentioned, and the colonel said he was universally liked in the regiment and, so far, Colonel Forster had been pleased with the new officer though it had been only a couple of days.
When those dances were completed, Mr. Darcy made his appearance, and Elizabeth looked over to see Charlotte nodding her head to encourage her behavior with this illustrious and noble gentleman. Elizabe
th wondered if this was how her younger sisters felt whenever Elizabeth chastised them about their own recalcitrant behavior. She took her place in the set opposite Mr. Darcy and could see on her neighbor's faces their amazement at the honor of such a paring.
• • •
Charlotte Lucas watched her friend join the dance with Mr. Darcy. She often wondered about Elizabeth and why she had yet to marry. She was a beautiful woman. Jane Bennet was described as the beauty of the five Bennet daughters, and yet, that was about all that recommended Jane with her quiet and reserved temperament. It created a creature that men, like her brother John, admired with wide eyes from afar, but a creature from whom they always kept a distance. A statue to be admired, a delicate rose to be sheltered, but never a woman to speak to—with a mind of her own and opinions—let alone one to approach. There were times when this beauty was even in want of a dance partner, actually, as Jane's pretty face was often far too intimidating for a young man to approach and to ask her to dance.
Elizabeth Bennet was congenial—had played with her brothers as well as with Charlotte and her sisters when they were all younger. Elizabeth's appeal ran beyond the beauty of her face to her very nature and openness, to the risks she took as a child in those games, to her willingness to speak to new children in the neighborhood, to her playfulness in teasing them, but understanding the limits of that teasing. She could get it wrong and take a joke, perhaps, a little too far, but Charlotte thought Elizabeth had learned to temper that playfulness, especially these past years as she had begun to nurture her younger sisters as they left the nursery and entered society.
Charlotte worried sometimes that Elizabeth was too much of a mother figure to her younger siblings and becoming a mini version of Mrs. Bennet—far too interested in seeing her sisters marry well that she could not consider her own marriage prospects or happiness. It had long been known how much her brother John had admired Jane Bennet, but he had finally admitted that as being a schoolboy crush, and in the past year he realized how intelligent and worthy Elizabeth Bennet was, and had been making some efforts to court her, but Elizabeth seemed blind to his attentions. Charlotte did not think it was because her friend thought the match unworthy; John, as oldest son, would do the best out of all of them. No, Charlotte thought that Elizabeth seemed to have blinders when it came to men who admired her. Captain Carter was a naturally gregarious fellow, but Charlotte had seen how he lit up whenever Eliza was present, though she supposed he could not have serious designs on her as any military man's pay was notoriously poor.
