by Maria Grace
“She said she had an uncle in Cheapside.” Did Mrs. Hurst realize she sounded just like a hissing cat?
“No doubt she is staying with them. I can only guess her intentions are toward continuing her pursuit.” If Mrs. Hurst was hissing, Miss Bingley was positively growling.
Cheapside? That was not very far. He could perhaps contrive to walk in that direction ... regularly. No matter if she were in the city, Miss Elizabeth would arrange to take a morning walk, somehow. She was a creature of habit.
But she would not go out alone, a maid, or perhaps her sister, or even the children would accompany her. She might walk out with the nursery maid, or she might even take the task from the maid altogether and entertain the children entirely on her own. Perhaps she would walk with them all the way to Tower Green. The little boys would no doubt enjoy the opportunity to stretch their legs in a good run.
Mother had sometimes taken him there when they stayed at Darcy House. The confinement indoors had been one of the things he least liked about their visits to town.
Tower Green was the kind of place where one might accidentally encounter any number of persons. One might even have a brief conversation, an entirely unremarkable conversation.
What might one say in such an encounter?
A contented murmur rippled through the crowd. Pantaloon placed Columbine’s hand in Harlequin’s. Cheers rose, all was now as it should be.
At least for Harlequin.
Darcy stood with Hurst and applauded, still searching the crowd for signs of Miss Elizabeth.
After a rousing chorus, to which the audience sang far too many repetitions, the players disappeared off stage. The crowd trickled out of the theater.
Miss Bingley pleaded a dislike of the crush and insisted they remain in their box until much of the theater cleared. Mrs. Hurst agreed, so there was little to be done but wait for their leisure. Perhaps, though, it would be best for him to be seen leaving alone. That could go far in clearing up misunderstandings about the company he kept today. He rose.
“Pray, Mr. Darcy, do not leave us yet.” Miss Bingley looked up at him, batting her eyes.
He knew that look far, far too well. Bingley was definitely wrong about his sister’s intentions.
“Forgive me, but I must go.” He probably should not have come in the first place.
“Wait, I beg of you. There is a matter of very great import which we must discuss.” She reached toward him.
He took half a step back. “I have no idea to what you refer.”
“Did you not see what we did, there in the audience below us? Jane Bennet.”
“I observed a young woman who looked much like Miss Bennet.”
“She did not look like Miss Bennet, she was Jane Bennet. I have no doubt whatsoever. Have you already forgotten why we insisted Charles keep to London and eschew his country house?”
In truth, for a moment, he had.
“I fear this is a most serious situation, very serious indeed. You were so integral in convincing Charles to remain in town. I beg your assistance again. We must ensure that he does not become reacquainted with Miss Bennet here in town. I am entirely certain he will not agree to yet another change of venue.”
Darcy returned to his seat. “I understand your concern, but I hardly think it likely they should meet by some chance encounter. As I understood, her aunt and uncle are not often in company, and he is in trade. How many opportunities do you have to rub shoulders with tradesmen? No, I think it quite unlikely. You have no reason for concern.”
“You underestimate Charles’s attachment to Miss Bennet. I have no doubt that should he learn of her being in the city, he will make every attempt to renew his acquaintance.”
Was Bingley so very attached? It had not seemed so. But if he was, did that change anything about the situation?
“He well knows the danger such connections might pose to your family’s standing. Surely, he could not wish for Mrs. Bennet as a mother-in-law.” A shudder snaked down Darcy’s spine. What a truly awful fate! That possibility alone should be enough to render any Bennet woman entirely undesirable. And yet ...
The Darcy name and connections were recognized, well able to withstand a ridiculous connection or two. Not at all like the fragility of the Bingley line, so newly established amongst good society.
Miss Bingley fanned her face with her handkerchief. “One would think he had the sense to realize, but I am not entirely sure. We must agree to keep this news amongst ourselves. Charles must not suspect that she might be anywhere nearby.”
“I abhor disguise—”
“I understand that, sir, and I hold your character in the greatest of respect. Consider what is at stake, though. Moreover, there is no deception being practiced here. We are merely choosing not to speak, not speaking falsehoods.” A thin smile crept over her face, and she blinked a little faster.
The line between the two was very, very fine, perhaps too fine to truly distinguish between. Deception, active or passive, was deception, and as such was an affront to the Darcy character.
So then what was he to do? Should he go out of his way to mention that he had seen Miss Bennet?
No, that would not do either.
“So long as he does not specifically ask if I have encountered Miss Bennet, I will hold my peace.” It was an uncomfortable compromise, but it was tolerable.
“I admire your principles, Mr. Darcy. I cannot imagine asking more of you. You are a good friend to my brother. We appreciate the way you are guiding him into society.”
“If that is all, then, pray excuse me. Good day.” He bowed.
Her features drooped just a mite. “Good day, sir.”
He turned and strode out as quickly as he could without breaking into a run. The sooner he left Miss Bingley’s presence, and the longer he stayed out of it, the better.
The long, winding staircase was relatively empty. A definite blessing, given his frame of mind. Having to pick through a crowd might have left him running entirely mad.
Outside, he gulped the cooler, crisp air, exactly the balm he needed for Miss Bingley’s attentions. Now, to find the coach.
Excellent! His coachman had the carriage waiting exactly where it should be, and he climbed in. Purple hat and feathers had observed his hasty exit from the theater and followed him at a discreet distance. She kept looking over her shoulder, as though she expected to find Miss Bingley trailing after him, or even more dramatic, left somewhere, crying bitter tears in the wake of his rejection.
What a truly vile creature!
Even the possibility of seeing or meeting with Miss Elizabeth hardly outweighed the risk of being subjected to that harpy. He needed to return to Pemberley soon, before the surveillance of the gossips drove him barmy.
But to do so without seeing Miss Elizabeth? That was hardly more acceptable.
He had several more social engagements demanding his presence. Leaving before those would cause more problems than it would solve. Surely he could find out whether Miss Elizabeth was in town during that time.
He would; and then he would leave and be done with the intrigues of the ton.
Meryton
The Gardiners departed with Jane early the following morning. The departure of so much good sense and level-headedness immediately made itself felt upon Elizabeth. Papa must have felt it, too. He ensconced himself in his study the whole of the day, only emerging when their departure for the Kings’ for a dinner party was imminent.
Mama swept downstairs and into the vestibule, dressed in her best dinner gown and cape, all the while declaring it quite shocking that they should so openly celebrate the death that led to Mary King’s inheritance with a dinner party. Papa insisted they were but returning the invitations that had been exchanged earlier in the holiday season. That it happened to coincide with their daughter’s good fortune was entirely coincidental.
“You may think that all you like, Mr. Bennet, but I shall not be moved. They mean to remind us all that their daughter
is an heiress. I am quite certain they intend to make sure all the attention is upon her. That will only hurt our own girls, you know. How will you like to see their hearts broken when none of the officers pay them any more mind.” She dabbed her cheeks with her creased handkerchief.
“I think it very unlikely that any hearts shall be broken, Mrs. Bennet. If they are, then it was a matter of foolishness that they were so attached in the first place. All will be better off for the exercise. Now, to the carriage, unless you would rather stay at home and discuss the point further.”
“Oh, Mr. Bennet!” Mama tossed her head and brushed past him on the way out of the front door.
He clutched his forehead and ushered his daughters out.
Lizzy slid into the seat facing Mama. Mary had already established herself near the window. Sitting in the middle was not nearly so trying as sitting knee to knee with Mama.
“You look quite well tonight, Lizzy, but I fear it will do no good. I do not know what has caused such bad luck to befall us, but I fear we are in the thick of it now.” Mama reached over to adjust the ribbons on Kitty’s skirt.
“Then perhaps, you shall not grumble when we prepare for New Year’s Eve.” Papa looked just a little too smug. How long had he been waiting to say just that?
“I do not see how that has anything to do with—”
“If we have indeed been plagued with bad luck—and I am by no means agreeing we have—then what better way to usher out the bad luck than by properly observing tradition? A fortuitous first footer on New Year’s Day is just the thing we need to turn our fortunes back to good.”
Mama huffed and fluffed her feathers, settling into the squabs like broody hen on her nest. “If you insist, I suppose it will do no harm.”
“I am most glad to hear you say so. I expect then, you will not feel the need to comment—” He meant complain. “—so vociferously at the necessary efforts.”
She huffed again.
“Please, Papa, let us hire another girl to help with the cleaning. You insist on ever so much work to be done.” Lydia slumped against the carriage side and threw her head back.
“The effort builds character. If you fear you will be too spent from tonight for the exertion, then return home immediately. Surely this dinner will require too much of you. Perhaps it would be in the interest of good luck for all of us to return home and send the Kings our regrets.”
Mama would have sprung to her feet had they not been confined in the carriage. As it was she knocked her knees painfully into Elizabeth’s.
“Do not be ridiculous, Mr. Bennet. We can by no means turn around now. How humiliating! How much talk would there be! Surely the Kings would be offended. That might take months to resolve. Lydia, you will be quite well to do whatever your father requires tomorrow, all you girls shall.” Her glower added ‘is that understood?’
“Yes, Mama.” Lydia pouted.
Kitty mirrored the expression.
Mary opened her mouth to speak but the pressure of Elizabeth’s shoulder against hers seemed sufficient to quell the urge. Cold silence descended within. Elizabeth pulled her pelisse a little tighter around her neck. The carriage lurched in a deep rut in the road and nearly pitched her into Mama’s lap.
“And you, Lizzy, you must be on your best and brightest behavior tonight. It would not do to have you lose Mr. Wickham’s attentions—”
“Oh no! Mama, do not say that! It is not fair that she keeps him to herself. She must let us have our time with him as well,” Kitty mumbled into the side glass.
“Indeed, she is right. You must tell her to share him with the rest of us.” Lydia stamped and nearly came down on Mary’s foot.
“I have no interest in him. She may well have my share of his favors.” Mary glared at Lydia.
“Why do we not allow the poor man to choose as he will? Unless, of course, he has come to you, Mrs. Bennet, asking for your assistance in managing his social engagements.” Papa peered over his glasses at her, eyebrows raised.
Mama’s remark, which would no doubt have been tart and sharp, was cut off by their arrival at the Kings’.
The driver opened the carriage door, and Mama led her daughters out.
“I hope, Lizzy, your mother’s ill-humor has not endangered your enjoyment of the evening.” Papa straightened his hat.
“No, sir. I am determined to have my share in the fun and frivolity of it.”
“That is my girl. Do not worry about your sisters. I have no doubt that such silly girls shall rarely be in want of attention.”
Elizabeth swallowed hard. “Of that I am quite sure, sir.”
Of course, that attention might not be gracious in its estimation of them, or the family they came from. Pray let there be no opportunity for Mary to play or Lydia to dance tonight.
The liveried butler led them up to the drawing room where Mrs. King pulled herself away from Mama to greet them. She looked a little relieved for the excuse to withdraw. Mama could be a little overwhelming at times.
“Mr. Bennet, Miss Elizabeth, we are so happy you could join us tonight.” Mrs. King curtsied. She was a stout, little woman in a voluminous blue print gown many seasons out of style. Still, it was fine quality and complimented Mrs. King’s blonde hair and porcelain complexion well. Mama criticized her for her freckles, but they were actually rather pretty, scattered across her nose.
“Your invitation was most propitious. All our company has left us. My wife has found herself quite at loose ends with nothing to distract her.” Papa bowed.
Poor Mrs. King, she looked so confused. She never had been well equipped to deal with Papa’s sense of humor.
“I am only sorry that my sister Jane has already gone away to London and is not able to join us.”
“Her company will surely be missed. Ah, you will forgive me, the officers have arrived.” She slipped away.
“Officers? I had thought your mother exaggerating when she bemoaned their attentions going to Miss King. I thought surely the Kings would not have found their company desirable, apart from that of Colonel Forster, of course.”
“Why ever would you think that? They are the most sought after guests this season, at least since the Bingleys have departed.” Elizabeth glanced over her shoulder at the milling crowd.
“Not everyone finds the company of the militia desirable. Not all commanders keep their officers in check as Colonel Forster appears to. Pray excuse me. Mr. King is in need of rescue from too much enthusiastic conversation. Why do you not go and join your friends?” He nodded sharply and wandered toward the far side of the room.
Elizabeth shrugged. The sooner the men could have the dining room to themselves, with cigars and port, the happier Papa would be.
Mr. Wickham strode away from Mrs. King and scanned the room. At least she would not want for agreeable company.
She moved toward him. “Good evening, Mr. Wickham.”
“Miss Elizabeth, how very charming to see you this evening. How lonely your house must be with all your recent company gone away.” He smiled broadly, but his gaze darted about the parlor.
Who was he searching for?
“The house seems very quiet now. We will have to count on the company of our friends to see us through these dark days.”
“I cannot imagine how a house filled with so many pretty young ladies could ever encounter dark days. I am entirely certain that Denny and Sanderson shall rise to the occasion quite willingly.” He looked over his shoulder. “I think they may have already undertaken the endeavor.”
Denny and Sanderson stood in a little knot, with Lydia and Kitty, Maria Lucas and several others, surrounding Mary King. Her white gown made her look paler, even a touch sickly. Ginger girls with freckles were not complimented by white muslin.
“What think you of Miss King?” Wickham took a half step toward that group.
“She is a good sort of girl, I think. I have hardly heard a cross word from her in all the time I have known her. She is well-liked among us.”
“But you find her dull?”
“I said no such thing.” Elizabeth pressed a hand to her chest.
“But the praise you offered her was of the sort that implied exactly that.” His eyebrows flashed up.
“You wound me sir. I would by no means offer such censure.” Her cheeks heated. Pray no one was looking, or worse, listening in their direction.
“Of course not, you are far too polite. But to praise in so mild terms—what else might I assume?” His right eye twitched in a scant wink.
“That I mean what I say sir, nothing more and surely nothing less.” He was being exceptionally playful tonight, but perhaps a touch impolitic, even a little unlike himself.
“That is entirely impossible. Who among us is so plain spoken that they would speak so directly? Shall we join them that I may see for myself this woman whom you condemn with faint praise?” He gestured toward the group of young people in the far corner of the room.
Perhaps it would be best to join them. Staying close to Lydia and Kitty might better keep them in check.
They dodged around chairs and tables, polished and cleaned for the occasion. Perhaps a few too many furnishings had been brought into the room—it was crowded and difficult to navigate. Her toes were trod upon no less than three times before they attained their goal.
The group fell into peals of laughter.
“Such stories, Lt. Denny! I do not think you should be telling such things in polite company.” Miss King tittered behind her fan. She was the spit and image of her mother, only tall and slender like her father. But her face, her voice, even the way she misunderstood humor was her mother.
“Oh, but what would the fun in that be?” Lydia leaned her shoulder into Denny’s almost as though to remind him she were there.
“A fine question to be sure, Miss Lydia.” Wickham intruded half a step into the group.
