Page 8 of Cads & Capers
CHAPTER SEVEN
“Darcy and his cousins will be arriving in time to dine at the Robinsons’,” Bingley announced.
Elizabeth wondered at the frisson of energy when he said so; her curiosity could only increase when she believed she heard Kitty murmur, “Let the game begin,” to a beaming Lydia. She had no idea what that meant but forgot it immediately. Her greatest concern was whether Mr Darcy would speak to her. Would he burn with hatred for her or be coldly indifferent? She was not sure which would be worse.
When the night of the party arrived, she was the first dressed and used the advantage to speak to her father privately. Lydia had grown nearly insufferable, incessantly boasting about her plans for Brighton. Elizabeth was increasingly worried that her father meant to let her go.
“Come in, Lizzy,” said Mr Bennet. “Eager to get to the party, are you?”
Elizabeth paused to take an account of him. Her father often had strange ideas for evening attire. He felt that being in fashion was tedious and that his own innovations set him apart—which they did, but not always for the good. Tonight, he had chosen to wear a puce-hued cravat that he likely had dyed specially and which in no way matched the rest of his garb. She forbore mentioning it, however, wishing to delve into a more important matter.
“Eager for the party, yes, but also wishing to speak to you in confidence.”
“Oh?” He poured himself a drink but did not offer her anything.
“You cannot mean to allow this scheme of Lydia’s?” Elizabeth took a seat closest to the chair her father favoured for reading. “I cannot think it sound for someone of Lydia’s age and high spirits to be in such a place with no one but a seventeen-year-old girl to chaperon her.”
“Mrs Forster is seventeen, is she?” Mr Bennet chuckled, settling comfortably back into his own chair. “Colonel Forster is an old devil, to be sure. He is forty if he is a day, I would wager anything on it.”
“But Colonel Forster has his own duties and an entire regiment that will engage his time and his thoughts.”
“And why should he have uninterrupted peace to do so?” Mr Bennet was clearly in a mood to be sportive. “I say if he was fool enough to extend the invitation, let us punish him for it by accepting!”
Elizabeth smiled wanly. “There is real danger in such a place, danger to which Lydia, with her careless assurance and disdain of all restraint, will be particularly susceptible.”
Her father was unconcerned, still easy in his chair with his drink, smiling at her worries. “Pray do not distress yourself so. She is too poor to be of much interest to these fellows.”
Elizabeth cast her eyes skyward. Too poor for matrimonial schemes, to be sure, but there are other men with more nefarious intentions, for which a lady’s fortune is immaterial . “I do not fear that she will come home married as much as I fear she might return irrevocably…harmed,” she said delicately.
“Perhaps. But only think of this,” Mr Bennet opined, clearly not understanding her meaning. “Until she is granted her way, there will be no peace in this house.”
He was not incorrect. Lydia had thrown tantrums from the very day she was upright enough to be able to hurl herself to the ground in a fit of rage. “But are not some fights worth the battle?”
That made him frown. “They are,” he said carefully. “And as her father, I have decided that this one is not.”
Elizabeth recognised with dismay that she could not have secured Lydia’s permission to go more firmly had she tried. In pleading against the matter, she had set her father so determinedly in his position that he would never be moved. As she watched him finish his drink, the words of Mr Darcy’s letter came to mind.
The situation of your mother’s family, though objectionable, was nothing in comparison of that total want of propriety so frequently, so almost uniformly, betrayed by herself, by your three younger sisters, and occasionally even by your father .
Those words had, on first read, made her burn with anger. Now she could not be so outraged. Alas, they had too much justice in them for true indignation. She considered whether she ought to be more frank with her father, more forceful in her opinions.
“Papa,” she began, but Mr Bennet stopped her immediately.
“Now Lizzy, I have heard your opinion and shall take it under advisement. For now, we have a party to get to.”
Elizabeth was glad to have had advance warning of seeing Mr Darcy. She could not imagine what discomfort might have attended the surprise of seeing him enter Mr and Mrs Robinson’s home. As it was, there was discomfort enough.
He arrived with Colonel Fitzwilliam and another man, whom she supposed must be the viscount, on either side of him. Mr Darcy looked half-ill, she thought, almost greenish. He certainly did not have the haughty air with which he had entered the assembly at Meryton last autumn. She almost pitied him, wondering what made him look as he did. Surely not me, she thought. If anything, just the pure misery of having to associate with those beneath him .
From the corner of her eye, she observed him. He went immediately to Jane and Bingley, as they stood with Mr and Mrs Robinson. He bowed over the hands of the two ladies and said something that made Jane blush and smile. He then shook hands with Mr Robinson. Elizabeth wondered what they were all speaking of. Mr Darcy’s pallor was abating, and he appeared increasingly at ease standing with the couple he had tried so hard to tear apart.
“The famed Miss Elizabeth Bennet.” A gentleman’s lazy drawl jerked her out of her observations. She blushed to be caught staring at Mr Darcy, and then blushed still further as she had no immediate reply to cover her confusion.
To her great relief, Colonel Fitzwilliam arrived next to the gentleman only moments later. “A pleasure to see you again, Miss Bennet. When we left each other in Kent, I had not imagined I should have such an opportunity so soon.”
“It is my pleasure as well,” Elizabeth replied. “I am sure I had no idea of seeing you at my sister’s nuptials, but we are delighted you are here.”
“My brother here wishes to be introduced to you, if you would permit it?”
So this was—as she had expected upon first seeing him enter—the viscount who had sent her mother into raptures. Mrs Bennet had expressed boundless delight upon receiving the request to invite the sons of the Earl of Matlock to Jane’s wedding. What followed was a flurry of additions to menus and arrangements that Mrs Bennet thought would make her parties the rival of anything the viscount had seen in London.
To add to such flutterings, Mr Darcy had reportedly, on his arrival, gone round to all those in the neighbourhood. The explanation that he proffered for his largesse was to express his thanks for their generous hospitality last autumn and for seeing his friend so welcomed on his return. Mrs Bennet had, herself, been the delighted recipient of an Alen?on lace shawl and fine-milled rose-scented soaps. Mr Bennet had been given some tobacco that he regarded satirically but enjoyed unreservedly. Mr Darcy’s popularity within the region had thus soared, and scarcely could a conversation be heard that did not include some matron or another preening about her soaps.
Elizabeth gave the viscount a respectful curtsey as the colonel performed the introductions.
“Lot of handsome ladies here,” Lord Saye remarked. “Am I to understand they are all your sisters?”
“Not all of them, no,” she said with a smile, then gestured towards those with whom she claimed a true attachment, telling him their names. She managed, barely, to repress a wince as Lydia appeared to tickle Mr Denny as they beheld her.
“I must have you introduce me to your mother,” Lord Saye proclaimed. “I am Romeo to Darcy’s Mercutio, and your dear neighbours are charming to permit it.”
Remembering Mrs Bennet’s raptures over Mr Darcy’s soaps made Elizabeth shudder—the attentions of the viscount could only incite worse. Pushing that aside for now, she enquired, “But do you, sir, have dancing shoes with nimble soles?”
His lordship looked at her quizzically. “What’s that now?”
Elizabeth glanced uncertainly at the colonel, who informed his brother, “You just referred to a scene wherein Romeo goes to the Capulets’ party and tells Mercutio, I believe, that he has dancing shoes with nimble soles while he himself has a soul of lead.”
“Well, lord, I do not have it memorised,” Lord Saye replied with a sniff. “But I assure you, I have never had any complaints about nimbleness.”
Elizabeth laughed. “And we are not feuding houses.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam gave her a little wink. “Not yet. The night is still young.”
“If anyone here has a soul of lead,” said Lord Saye with a conspiratorial look, “it must be our cousin Darcy. Tell me, Miss Bennet, have you ever known anyone so gloomy at such a happy occasion? Surely there must be some way we can enliven him?”
Elizabeth’s eyes slid towards Mr Darcy again. The Robinsons, Jane, and Bingley had left him, and he stood alone. His discomfort seemed to have returned in full measure; he lingered by the mantel, his eyes fixed on nothing and a slight frown on his countenance. With all the perverseness of mischance, he looked over at her just then. She quickly turned her attention back to the present conversation.
“Um,” she said, reaching for her hair and twisting a curl by her neck around her finger. “Perhaps he is…um…hungry?”
It was a ridiculous comment, and she was immediately mortified for saying so. What was the source of Mr Darcy’s misery? She did not imagine it truly was hunger. Was he so very unhappy to be present? If so, the cause was likely her .
“I understand he did not much make himself agreeable in his first visit to Hertfordshire,” said Lord Saye. “He may be feeling all the discomfort of prior associations.”
The colonel gave his brother what he no doubt believed was a discreet elbow to the ribs; Elizabeth saw it clearly but was uncertain as to the meaning of it.
“I am sure Mr Darcy need not feel any discomfort,” she said. “All of Mr Bingley’s guests are very welcome.”
“Some more than others, perhaps?” the colonel said. He had a knowing twinkle in his eye, though what it was he believed he knew was a mystery to Elizabeth. Were the Fitzwilliam brothers in their cousin’s confidence? Elizabeth glanced between them, seeing nothing that gave her any indication.
Thankfully, dinner was called just then, and people sought their various partners to escort into the dining room. She observed Lord Saye being paired with her mother, which was polite but nevertheless concerning. Fortunately, it seemed her mother was too much in awe of his lordship to make much fuss. She had high colour but did not appear to say a word as Lord Saye rattled away beside her.
The dining table had been adorned with large arrangements of flowers, greenery, and candles. Mrs Robinson sat Elizabeth between her cousin Philips, lately down from university, and Mr William Goulding. Having known both all her life, the dinner passed quickly and with much laughter—even if she felt uncomfortably aware of Mr Darcy some places down between one of the Miss Longs and Miss Bingley. She chanced to glance at him now and again. Not once was his dark gaze upon hers, nor did their eyes meet. He was, it seemed, content to be speaking with his own two dinner partners.
I suppose he never did look at me to find fault, else he would still be staring , she mused. Perhaps he looked at me because… She did not complete that thought. It did not signify. Not now.