by Jennifer Joy
“I doubt I shall be able to feel my limbs when we arrive at Netherfield,” Elizabeth commented to no one in particular as she reluctantly allowed Mr. Collins to hand her into the landau.
“Nonsense,” Mama said. “The chill will brighten your complexion. You will not lack for dance partners.”
Only Elizabeth, Mary, their mother, and Mr. Collins remained at Longbourn. The others, Elizabeth imagined with envy, were already warming themselves by a fireplace at Mr. Bingley’s estate after their chilling jaunt.
Naturally, Mama sat beside Mary, leaving Elizabeth no option but to sit beside their burly cousin. Oh bother.
Elizabeth squeezed against the side of the carriage so as not to allow for any unnecessary physical contact with him.
Mr. Collins’ eyes squinted, and he bared his teeth in a forced expression that did injustice to the smile. “My dear Mrs. Bennet, I am delighted with the opportunity to dance with all of my fair cousins in the course of the evening. Especially the first two dances which I have promised to my cousin Elizabeth.”
His pinched smile looked painful, and his attempt at charm soured Elizabeth’s stomach. When their set was complete, she aimed to avoid him for the rest of the evening. She would inspire no false hope in Mr. Collins where she was concerned — no matter what her mother wished.
Mama prattled and praised Elizabeth as they set out for Netherfield Park.
Had her compliments been directed to anyone other than Mr. Collins, Elizabeth might have enjoyed them.
Instead, she did her best to ignore her mother’s chatter and enjoy the view — what she could see of it by the glow of the moon between low-hanging, dark clouds. The wind had changed directions, bringing a chill from the east that pierced through her pelisse and wraps. It would be a miracle if Longbourn’s residents did not catch horrible colds.
Netherfield Park was in view when a lone rider cantered toward them. The moonlight shone on his red regimental coat. It was Mr. Wickham. He rode in the wrong direction if he wished to attend Mr. Bingley’s ball.
Doffing his hat, he swooped it through the air and flashed a charming smile that did not quite reach his eyes.
Something was amiss.
“Mr. Wickham, what are you doing out of doors when all of Meryton’s finest ladies are in want of dancing partners at Netherfield Park?” Mama inquired.
Mr. Wickham pressed his lips together, as if he had a good explanation which discretion prevented him from telling.
Discretion could be so bothersome … especially when it taunted Elizabeth’s curiosity.
Fortunately (or unfortunately — it entirely depended on the tolerance of the company they shared) Mama was neither discreet nor demure. She pressed, “You had best tell us directly yourself or leave us to find out by other means, sir. Why are you not at Mr. Bingley’s ball when the other officers have been invited?”
Mr. Wickham had the grace to chuckle at her unreserved candor. “I cannot give particulars without maligning your host, so allow me only to warn you of the influence Mr. Darcy—”
Mama puffed up. “Oh, that unpleasant fellow!”
Mr. Collins sputtered, “Allow me to remind you that Mr. Darcy is the nephew of my esteemed patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh.”
“And what does that have to do with him being unpleasant?” Mama asked, dismissing him with a flick of her fan.
Elizabeth was outraged. First, Mr. Darcy would deny an honest gentleman a living. And now, he denied him diversion?
Mr. Wickham nodded. "I wish it were different. You may not believe me, but Mr. Darcy was once an affable gentleman."
Elizabeth did not believe him. Neither did her mother, who snorted ungraciously. Mr. Collins was appeased enough to hold his tongue. Mary was above gossip and did her best not to hang on every word.
"Mr. Darcy has a great deal of influence over Mr. Bingley," Mr. Wickham continued, addressing Mama. "As a friend, I must warn you to be cautious. It would…" his words trailed off, his distress plain to observe. After several seconds of hesitation, he said, "It would pain me greatly to see any of your daughters disappointed."
Mama’s hand fluttered over her chest. “My dear Janey,” she cried, fanning her face despite the bone-chilling cold. “You are certain, Mr. Wickham?”
“I know Mr. Darcy. He is as predictable in his habits as a colonel’s batman. He always does what he feels to be right, no matter how it affects others.” With an apologetic look at Elizabeth, Mr. Wickham donned his hat. "I am sorry, but it is only fair for me to caution you not to underestimate him. He has treated me unjustly, and my purpose in speaking so plainly to you is to prevent my dear friends from suffering at Mr. Darcy's hand when it is within my power to prevent it." His horse pranced, stepping away.
“You are not leaving, are you?” Elizabeth asked. If anyone should leave it ought to be that ogre of a man, Mr. Darcy.
"Under the circumstances, I consider it best to depart rather than give the residents of Netherfield any cause for distress. I have no quarrel with them. I will withdraw with my honor intact."
Elizabeth fiddled with her necklace, clamping her teeth down on her tongue to keep from expressing precisely what she thought of Mr. Darcy for all to hear. If he ruined Jane’s chances with Mr. Bingley, Elizabeth would hate him for the rest of her days. She would find a way to make him as miserable as he would make her sister.
The only man Elizabeth had truly looked forward to dancing with that evening rode away, taking her hopes for a diverting night with him. While she respected his decision to leave, she would have reacted differently. She would have stood firm before Mr. Darcy. If he was so offended at the sight of Mr. Wickham, then he ought to be the one to leave.
Mr. Collins spent the rest of the carriage ride justifying Mr. Darcy’s conduct. No nephew of his great patroness would interfere in the manner Mr. Wickham had implied. Such was his faith in Mr. Darcy’s character, he soon declared the gentleman nothing short of divine, an example of perfection worthy of imitation.
No doubt Mr. Darcy would agree with Mr. Collins’ estimation of his character, though it would surprise Elizabeth greatly should he descend from his pedestal to hear it.
Caroline Bingley leaned in, clutching Darcy’s arm possessively.
He wrenched himself free, stepping away from her once again. Pulling out his timepiece with every intention of recalling a matter of great urgency which required his immediate attention, he clenched his jaw in frustration when she spoke again.
“This is hardly Grosvenor Square. I half expect a villager to release a pig before the evening is through, do you not agree, Mr. Darcy?” she chortled, flicking her fingers over his sleeve in a gesture of intimacy he had given her no cause to assume was welcome.
Miss Bingley had done nothing but complain since her brother’s first guests had arrived hours ago. While Darcy found little to enjoy in a room full of people he did not know, he was now willing to ask the first lady who passed in front of him for a dance just to get away from Bingley's sister.
There was Miss Lucas, Miss Elizabeth's close friend. She would make a worthy dance partner.
“And the jewelry! Miss Elizabeth fiddles with the pearl around her neck. Every fashionable lady knows it is inappropriate to wear pearls before evening, but I have seen her wear that same necklace every day since our arrival in Hertfordshire. It is appalling! What is more, I doubt the pearl is even real! I wager it is merely glass.” Miss Bingley peeked at Darcy out of the corner of her eyes and fingered the elaborate bejeweled filigree encasing her neck.
Darcy was not going to compliment her gaudy necklace. Nor would he encourage Miss Bingley when he disagreed with her wholeheartedly. “More is the pity. The luster of a real pearl would complement the glow in Miss Elizabeth's fine eyes,” he replied, ignoring the huffs his answer provoked.
He did not care for Miss Bingley’s opinions, nor had he asked for them.
Darcy had watched Miss Elizabeth since her arrival. There was something captivating about her he
could not figure out.
She had piqued his interest at the Meryton Assembly the month before. He had been furious to hear from Richard earlier the same day that the Watsons had not departed from town as Darcy had repeatedly advised. He ought not to have attended the assembly. Miss Elizabeth's frequent laughter had blatantly contrasted with his irritability, so that he had thought it best to avoid her. Hers was not the empty giggle of a senseless maiden but proceeded from witty conversation of which she was often at the center.
When she had been Bingley’s guest during Miss Bennet’s brief illness at Netherfield, Darcy came to appreciate her intelligence even more. Miss Elizabeth was enchanting, and he was no closer now than he had been a month ago in discovering the source of her charm. He did, however, sense the danger of paying her too much attention.
Was she sincere? Or was she an expert manipulator like Mrs. Bennet, only far more subtle and therefore infinitely more dangerous? Miss Elizabeth had the mind for it. She was clever.
“No doubt it was a gift from her uncle in London. What did she say he did?” Miss Bingley asked.
Darcy knew what she was after. Miss Bingley did not care to improve herself when lowering others was far easier. It worked with the ton, but it disgusted Darcy.
“She said her uncle is in trade,” he said plainly, wishing Miss Bingley would go away.
“Ah, yes, the uncle in trade. I believe she said he has warehouses near Gracechurch Street? How droll. I daresay you have never seen fit to set foot in that part of London.” Miss Bingley chortled again, fanning her face and lifting her chin. As if her own family’s fortune had not been made from commerce.
Darcy did not trouble himself to reply. She knew the details as well as he did, and her efforts to lower Miss Elizabeth because of her connections only reflected poorly on Miss Bingley. He would not encourage her.
Miss Lucas had already walked past him, but he knew another way to silence the slanderer at his side.
“I have not yet had the pleasure of a dance with Miss Elizabeth. I thank you, Miss Bingley, for drawing my attention to her. I believe I shall ask her for the honor.” With a curt bow, Darcy departed, leaving Miss Bingley to fan her flushed face. Her sister hastened to her side, where they would no doubt expound upon the many defects of the Bennet family. With the exception of Miss Elizabeth and her eldest sister, there was no shortage of faults from which to choose.
Mrs. Bennet garishly proclaimed the success of an imminent engagement for her eldest.
Miss Jane Bennet was a lovely creature who smiled a great deal, but she had not, in Darcy’s judicious observation, shown any preference for Bingley over any other gentleman in attendance.
Bingley deserved better, and Darcy would be a good friend and ensure he did not inconvenience himself with an imprudent marriage to an insipid lady with an appalling family.
The two youngest Bennets played a game of catch with a soldier’s fob, weaving perilously around dancers and nearly sending the table of refreshments tumbling to the floor.
A somber song unsuitable for the merry occasion echoed down the hall from the music room. That would be Miss Mary, inflicting her poor taste on the poor souls too polite to extract themselves from the room before her piece came to completion.
And what did Mr. Bennet do? Absolutely nothing. He seemed not to notice the indiscretions of his wife and daughters. Darcy wondered if his indifference was the result of years of intensive study or blatant obliviousness. Neither was flattering.
Of the two eldest Bennets, Darcy could find little fault.
He saw Miss Elizabeth through the crowd. She stood in the center of a group of people, commanding their rapt attention, delighting them with her laughter, and completely at ease.
Her gaze met his from across the room, and Darcy felt the pull of her drawing him. Her smile faded, replaced by an intense flash in her eyes and a flush to her cheeks. Her lips parted, and Darcy wondered if she would taste sweet or spicy.
Had Bingley's butler not stepped in front of him, Darcy would have cleared a path to Miss Elizabeth’s side to ask for a dance. He shook his head, appreciative for the interruption. If he had difficulty controlling his thoughts when Miss Elizabeth was near, she was more dangerous to him than he had supposed.
"I apologize for the intrusion, Mr. Darcy, but this recently arrived by messenger from Colonel Fitzwilliam. I was instructed to bring it to you without delay." The butler held the silver tray up, urging Darcy to take the note.
Retreating from the crowded rooms, Darcy cracked the wax seal on his way upstairs to his bedchamber … and stumbled over a step.
It was the worst of news.
Chapter 3
Elizabeth was intrigued. Mr. Darcy had seemed pleased to see her. He had looked directly at her and smiled in a way that fluttered in her stomach. There must have been something questionable in the punch.
She disguised her bemusement with a laugh, addressing her friends with a quick retort meant to encourage their conversation while she gathered her thoughts.
If she did not know better, she might have thought Mr. Darcy had intended to ask her to dance.
But she did know better. She was not tempting enough to suit him.
As if she wanted to tempt Mr. Darcy — a man who believed himself so right, he would, as Mr. Wickham had revealed, advise his friend against Jane! Why would she agree to dance with such a disagreeable man?
And why did she now feel disappointed? She would have liked to have been asked if nothing else than for the satisfaction of refusing him. Yes, that was it!
Then again, a dance would have afforded her the perfect opportunity to demand an explanation for his unjust treatment of Mr. Wickham. Yes, that explained her disappointment thoroughly. She sought answers … and justice for the abused.
Thank heavens Mr. Bingley’s butler had interrupted Mr. Darcy. Clearly, she could not trust herself to understand her own motivations when he was near.
Elizabeth’s musings ended abruptly when she saw Mr. Collins approaching. He looked particularly red in the face, but the crowded room may have accounted for his flushed complexion and the beads of sweat trickling down his temples.
With a parting smile to her friends, Elizabeth dismissed herself in search of a new diversion — anything to keep out of the sight of Mr. Collins and away from Mr. Darcy.
Darcy had sense enough to stay in his room until the final guests departed. He reminded himself repeatedly that he had done what he could. Richard had written the same in his message.
However, try as he might, Darcy could not release the resentment chasing him from one end of his bedchamber to the other. His thoughts too often turned to Pemberley until he was within a hairbreadth of marching into the stables and riding the fastest horse home. Back to Georgiana. After he saw to Marquess Malbrooke.
South to London or North to Pemberley?
A battle waged between Darcy's mind and heart, pulling him in contrary directions. North or South?
Neither would do. He had warned Mr. Watson. There was nothing Darcy could do for him and his daughter now. She was ruined. Marquess Malbrooke had won his stupid wager.
As for Georgiana, she was safely ensconced with his aunt at Pemberley — where he was not welcome.
Darcy was stuck.
He needed worthwhile work to do. Something complex and consuming.
Bingley had asked for his help with the estate. There were more tenants with whom to converse, roofs with leaks to repair, and a harvest festival to plan. Bingley had mentioned enlarging the lake, too. That was work Darcy knew. He cheered at the prospect before him.
Darcy had not slept, but excitement overcame his need for rest. He had a purpose he could throw himself into.
His valet laid out riding clothes, and with Bates' help, Darcy was ready in short time.
He trotted down the stairs until a shrill voice dampened his zeal like a bucket of cold water over glimmering coals. Mrs. Bennet. Of course, she would ensure hers was the last family to depart fr
om a ball that had lasted far too long — until dawn the following morning. That morning.
Slowing his pace considerably, Darcy watched as Bingley bid farewell to Miss Bennet. He looked for any sign of encouragement from the lady on his friend's behalf. But Darcy could not see what was not present. Unlike her overenthusiastic mother, Miss Bennet’s manners were aloof.
Darcy did not see Miss Elizabeth. Perhaps it was for the best.
He felt the disappointment of another failed plan. He could not encourage Bingley to remain at Netherfield Park when his heart was in danger.
Bingley had fallen hard for the angelic figure. He had followed Miss Bennet like a trained puppy for the first hours of the ball, anticipating her every need and seeing to her comfort with an attention that would have warmed the heart of any maiden. Any maiden except Miss Bennet.
When the voices died down and the entrance hall was clear, Darcy followed Bingley out to the balcony overlooking the gravel path leading to his house.
Mrs. Bennet, tireless in her efforts to show her eldest daughter to advantage, sat Miss Bennet in the back-facing seat of their ridiculous landau, squeezing her two youngest daughters over so as not to disturb Bingley's view. She must have sent Miss Elizabeth home with Mr. Bennet, Miss Mary, and Mr. Collins.
Darcy would have liked to dance with Miss Elizabeth, but it was unlikely they would ever attend another ball together. They did not run in the same circles.
The landau disappeared over the hillside, and Bingley turned to Darcy. “I will marry her,” he said, his breath puffing frosty clouds in the cold.
There could be no delay. Darcy would have to reveal the heart-breaking truth to Bingley before he made a fool of himself and exposed his heart to the caprice of a disinterested young lady, her overbearing mother, and her scandalous family.
Darcy clapped Bingley on the shoulder. “Come, let us warm ourselves by the fire,” he said, guiding Bingley into the drawing room. Darcy was convinced Miss Bennet did not love Bingley. And he was always right.
