Bingley, of course, was delighted to see his dancing partner again. Miss Jane Bennet was the eldest of the Miss Bennets. She, too, appeared to advantage in the daytime, and her smiles were just as prevalent as before, although there was also an undeniable sincerity and sweetness about her. Darcy saw with tolerant amusement that his friend was well on his way to being in love again. Bingley danced attendance on her like the Earth around the Sun. There were three other Bennet daughters, as well: younger, less well-featured, less well-mannered, and a great deal less worthy of notice. The two youngest, especially, seemed scarcely more than children; Darcy wondered at their being out in Society at such a young age. After half-an-hour in their company, he heartily wished that they were not.
But if the youngest were immodest and impertinent, the mother strained the bounds of credulity; surely Darcy had never met any one with such a wonderful lack of understanding. If mention was made of some event of the day, she was sure to be ignorant of it; if some one essayed a witticism, she was sure to miss its meaning; it seemed almost as if she was engaging in an elaborate prank—no one could have an understanding so little developed. Her own conversation was composed of nothing but fulsome compliments for Bingley, his house, and his sisters, and thinly veiled attempts to assess the value of each and every article that passed beneath her eye. She fairly bubbled over with admiration for all that Bingley said and possessed; yet towards Darcy, she was markedly different: strangely abrupt and even cold. Given her conversational skills he felt his good fortune, but it was a curious circumstance. Her entire character was a puzzle, but not one Darcy felt any inclination to delve into.
When the Bennets left, Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst, as was their habit, proceeded to gleefully and mercilessly shred their new friends’ characters, manners, dress, and wit. When they broached the subject of Miss Elizabeth Bennet, Miss Bingley said laughingly, “I was absolutely non plus when she was introduced to me at the assembly, for Sir William Lucas had mentioned her as one of the leading beauties of the neighbourhood. Upon my honour, I believed him to have been making a jest at my expense, and I very nearly said so; but then he is not, perhaps, as we now know, the most discerning of men. What do you think, Mr. Darcy? Would you say Miss Elizabeth Bennet is a beauty worthy of note?”
Darcy, having been ignored by the lady in question, annoyed by her younger sisters, and quite astounded by her mother, revenged himself on them collectively by observing wryly: “She a beauty? I would sooner call her mother a wit.” Miss Bingley laughed immoderately at this, as did her sister; even Hurst gave a chuckle and nod in Darcy’s direction, which for him was unbridled hilarity.
Nevertheless, the ladies declared the two elder Bennet sisters to be worthy of a closer acquaintance, and therefore returned the visit two days later, on a dark, overcast Saturday morning. Longbourn, the estate of Mr. Bennet, was three miles distant on the other side of Meryton. The ladies were attended on this visit by their brother, who, as Darcy had foreseen almost from their first dance together, was much smitten by Miss Bennet. The excuse given by Bingley for his accompanying the ladies was the need to see how his coach performed in the weather after receiving some slight repairs in the village. To this Darcy offered no challenge, though the repairs had been complete for a week without Bingley expressing any interest in them; he knew full well why his friend wished to visit the Bennets. Darcy was unconcerned by this display of partiality, however, having seen it run its course in his friend before; he was also mindful of his trespass on Bingley’s privileges only a fortnight prior, and therefore spoke no word of caution to his friend.
During the ensuing days, Darcy and Miss Elizabeth Bennet were thrown into each other’s company several times. They dined together in company the Monday following their introduction at Netherfield, and now were met again on Wednesday evening at a large party. He had begun his observations of her when he was in a mood to be pleased by no one, and on a second viewing he yet remained proof against her charms, but by the third he found himself following her every where with his eyes. He was forced to admit to himself that, while not at all fashionable, her clothes were well-suited to her figure; and that, even though he had withstood the allures of women whose features were unquestionably superior to hers, the expressiveness of her eyes and the pleasing curve of her mouth when she smiled caught his attention to an unprecedented degree. He admitted this to himself, however, only to the degree of congratulating himself on having found at least one point of moderate interest amongst his new acquaintance in Hertfordshire.
Their host of the evening on this, their fourth rencontre, Sir William Lucas, was a man whose fortune had been made in trade and whose elevation to rank had occurred some ten years prior. As a result of his late acquisition of a courtly title, Sir William was perhaps overly scrupulous in his observation of those courtesies he felt to be attendant on rank, from the desire to appear that he had held that privilege throughout the entirety of his life. Aside from this tendency he was an unassuming man, good-natured and desirous of seeing all around him comfortable and easy. He was therefore fond of entertainments, and, being as well pleased to give them as to attend them, was known throughout the neighbourhood as an excellent host.
The general conversation at Sir William’s party was, to Darcy’s mind, no more than what one would expect in the country: weather, roads, and stale gossip from London. With such a limited field for discourse of interest to himself, Darcy several times found opportunity to position himself at vantage points where he might hear Miss Elizabeth Bennet when she was speaking with others. It was a method he had used before to discover the true thoughts and nature of a lady of his acquaintance. He had often found their conversations with himself to be contrived and artificial, intended solely to elicit his approbation, and little reflected the speaker’s true character; but that by observation of them while they were engaged with others he would come to a more complete understanding of them. Not that he was given to prying into the secret affairs of others: only that, while not engaged in conversation himself, he would attend to those around him.
This brought him his first insight into Miss Elizabeth Bennet’s character, for she observed his attention and quickly gave him notice of it. He had listened to her while she attempted to persuade Colonel Forster of the ––shire Militia, which was then quartered in Meryton, to hold a ball for his officers and the families of the neighbourhood. Her own wit was rather quicker than that of the Colonel, and Darcy smiled once or twice when she managed to outflank his more slowly moving thoughts; she was considerate enough, however, to release him from the trap into which she had put him without ever letting him know he was caught. Caroline Bingley, Darcy observed to himself, would not have been so generous; she would have enjoyed her victory too much to let it go unacknowledged.
She had then turned away from Colonel Forster to speak to her intimate friend, Miss Charlotte Lucas, Sir William’s eldest daughter. Darcy had already discovered that the conversation of these two was of particular use in revealing her thoughts and opinions. He therefore moved in the direction they were standing, only to be thus addressed by the lady as he drew near: “Did not you think, Mr. Darcy, that I expressed myself uncommonly well just now, when I was teazing Colonel Forster to give us a ball at Meryton?”
There was a hint of challenge in her tone but her smile was completely charming, and Darcy was pleased by her notice. He stopt politely and responded in a manner that he hoped would draw her into further exchange: “With great energy,” he replied, and, matching the tone of her challenge with his own, he added, “but it is a subject which always makes a lady energetic.”
“You are severe on us.” She met his eye with an arched brow and drew breath to speak further, but her thoughts remained unsaid. “It will be her turn soon to be teazed,” Miss Lucas intervened quickly, for she sensed a contentious spirit in her friend and did not wish her to dispute with a man of Mr. Darcy’s standing. “I am going to open the instrument, Eliza, and you know what follows.”
“But, Lizzy—please? Every one so loves to hear you play,” Miss Lucas said persuasively. Turning to Darcy she said, “Miss Elizabeth Bennet is a capital performer, for all she protests. I am sure you would rather listen to her play than to discuss the merits of a ball.”
Darcy certainly was not inclined to argue that point, and looked at Miss Elizabeth Bennet with polite expectation. The lady relented. “Very well; if it must be so, it must,” said she. Assuming an air of resignation and turning to Mr. Darcy, she told him: “There is a fine old saying, which every body here is of course familiar with: ‘Keep your breath to cool your porridge’; and I shall keep mine to swell my song.”
Her playing was unaffected and pleasing, her voice warm and true, though perhaps the partiality of her friend had somewhat overstated her abilities. But still, Darcy was well pleased to listen to her and even better pleased to have the opportunity to observe her attentively without discourtesy. The face and figure that he had slighted on first sight were now become the only things he could see in a crowded room. And as of this evening he knew her pet name: Lizzy. He liked it: quick and darting on the tongue, it suited her; but he liked her full Christian name better still.
He also reflected with pleasure on the manner in which she had begun their first real exchange: she had fairly accosted him for having listened in on her conversation with Colonel Forster. It had been little less than that; yet there was an adorable allure to the manner in which she had confronted him, rather like being attacked by a kitten. No, not a kitten; there was nothing kittenish about Miss Elizabeth Bennet; she had less coquetry about her than any other woman he knew. Darcy was also persuaded that she was possessed of a strong intelligence, which, appearing most often as a display of playful wit, could easily be passed over by the unobservant. He found her conversation enchanting, and began to think what he might do to direct it towards himself. These and other similarly pleasant thoughts occupied him while she continued her song, and, after a gracious protestation in favour of the other ladies present, acquiesced to playing another. After her second piece one of her sisters sat down to play, and all pleasure ended. Where Miss Elizabeth Bennet had made music, even if in a simple style, her sister merely strung notes together; though hers was a more complex piece, her playing had no more spirit than a metronome. Her first selection was plodding and pedantic, and she thereafter gave in to the request of her youngest sister to play dances and reels. This ended all conversation in the room; Darcy could do no more than glare at the Bennet girl playing.
While standing apart and silently castigating the stomping and laughing young people who were dancing, amongst whom he was pained to see his friend Bingley, Darcy was approached by Sir William. That gentleman greeted him with a bow of great deference, and opened a conversation with him by making a pleasant observation on the civilised nature of dance. This did little to soothe Darcy’s injured sensibilities: the topic was one he abhorred, and he found Sir William’s conversation in general tame and tinged with absurdity, centred as it was around the rights and responsibilities of rank, and his own introduction to that set. Darcy met his conversational sorties with desultory replies until the moment that Miss Elizabeth Bennet happened to walk past them.
“My dear Miss Eliza, why are not you dancing?” cried Sir William, stopping her. “Mr. Darcy, you must allow me to present this young lady to you as a very desirable partner. You cannot refuse to dance, I am sure, when so much beauty is before you.”
Darcy suddenly found himself with much more benevolent feelings towards Sir William. What a capital old fellow, he thought. What nice ideas he has—so eager that every one should enjoy themselves. Yet when Sir William took her hand to offer it to Darcy, she withdrew hers with a rapidity that quite surprised Darcy, and hastily said to Sir William with evident sincerity, “Indeed, Sir, I have not the least intention of dancing. I entreat you not to suppose that I moved this way in order to beg for a partner.”
Darcy instantly understood: she was too proud to wish to appear as if she were spelling for his attention. Darcy tried to overcome her reticence, saying in his most polished manner, “Miss Elizabeth Bennet, I should be honoured to have your hand for this dance, truly.”
Her dignity was unshaken; to Darcy it seemed that she was more determined to resist Sir William’s overly-familiar attack and carry her point, than to refrain from dancing, as she said, “I thank you, Sir, but I have no wish to dance this evening.”
Sir William persisted: “You excel so much in the dance, Miss Eliza, that it is cruel to deny me the happiness of seeing you; and though this gentleman dislikes the amusement in general, he can have no objection, I am sure, to oblige us for one half-hour.”
“Mr. Darcy is all politeness,” said she. She favoured Darcy with a faint smile. He was unsure of the meaning of that smile; was she apologising to him for having to turn him down? But there seemed to be an air of mockery in her eyes. Was it for him, or did she have Sir William’s well-meaning impertinence in view? Then again, perhaps she thought he was only playing the gallant. Did she think him merely a Society coxcomb, then?
“He is indeed,” Sir William was continuing, “but considering the inducement, my dear Miss Eliza, we cannot wonder at his complaisance—for who would object to such a partner?” At this Miss Bennet only smiled again and arched an eyebrow in Darcy’s direction before turning from them with a murmured excuse. She stopped before her friend, Miss Lucas, and began a conversation while still wearing that lovely smile. Then, almost as if she had known he was waiting to see it, her eyes, sparkling with gaiety, travelled back to meet his for a moment before returning to her friend.
Darcy was lifted by this further notice, yet still he wondered at her refusal to dance; he perfectly understood her initial reticence, but why, after he had pressed her, had she continued her refusal? Was she being careful of his tastes, knowing how little he liked to dance? That was certainly possible. Or might it be that she shared his general disdain for the exercise? No, no, she had obviously enjoyed dancing at the assembly. He continued his musings while his eyes followed her, hoping that she might once again reward him with a glance.
“I can guess the subject of your reverie.” He turned to see Miss Bingley standing at his shoulder.
Darcy was inwardly amused at the idea of Miss Bingley’s reaction to his thoughts, should they be known to her. “I should imagine not,” he replied, turning his gaze back in the direction of Elizabeth.
“You are considering how insupportable it would be to pass many evenings in this manner, in such society,” she said with that affectation of bored martyrdom so much in vogue among London’s fashionable set. “And indeed I am quite of your opinion. I was never more annoyed! The insipidity, and yet the noise—the nothingness, and yet the self-importance of all those people! What would I give to hear your strictures on them!”
“Your conjecture is totally wrong, I assure you.” He decided to indulge in a mild bit of wickedness, and actually tell her what he was thinking. “My mind was more agreeably engaged. I have been meditating on the very great pleasure which a pair of fine eyes in the face of a pretty woman can bestow.”
Miss Bingley immediately dropt her pretence of boredom and asked with interest which lady might have given rise to such reflections.
“Miss Elizabeth Bennet,” he replied, knowing full well that his answer would pique her.
“Miss Elizabeth Bennet!” repeated Miss Bingley. “I am all astonishment. How long has she been such a favourite? —and pray, wh
en am I to wish you joy?”
In spite of her light tone, her eyes held a hard glitter that told Darcy his feint-and-thrust had landed. Careful to conceal his amusement, he replied, “That is exactly the question which I expected you to ask. A lady’s imagination is very rapid; it jumps from admiration to love, from love to matrimony, in a moment. I knew you would be wishing me joy.”
Taking his teazing answer to indicate that he had not been serious, her eyes softened. Slapping his wrist with her fan she teazed him back at some length, but Darcy paid her little mind; he preferred his own thoughts. He had no opportunity to speak again with Miss Elizabeth Bennet that evening, but his encounter with her had distinctly heightened his interest. He wished for more occasions to associate with her, and rather imagined that Bingley’s partiality for the eldest Miss Bennet might be of service in furthering those wishes.
Chapter Six
Darcy and Bingley met early the following morning to go shooting, and midmorning found them returning through the fields with three brace of rabbits in their bags. Darcy was pleased, as he was fond of rabbit. The morning had been fine for the season, and the two men took an easy and contented pleasure in their slow ramble back to the Hall. Their conversation ranged widely, and Bingley’s new neighbours would scarcely have recognised in his companion the same man who spoke so little in company. Yet, when he was alone with those close to him, whose numbers were exceedingly small, with whom he could put aside the polished forms and formal manners that had been drilled into him while being developed into Darcy of Pemberley, he could allow himself to be at ease.
Into Hertfordshire Page 5
