Page 3 of Count the Cost (The Secrets of Elizabeth Bennet #2)
Netherfield Park, Hertfordshire
D arcy attempted not to sigh, leaning back in the chair as Maunder shaved him.
It was a pity he had promised Bingley that he would assist him as he learned to manage an estate; and he regretted even more that Bingley had happened to lease Netherfield just after Darcy had to deal with his sister’s disappointment after the dreadful events at Ramsgate.
But she was safe. And that was the important thing. Darcy had been suspicious; he had driven to Ramsgate two days early on a whim, to discover his sister packing in excitement ready to travel to Gretna with Wickham.
At least he had been in time. He left Wickham to the less-than-gentle ministrations of his cousin Richard; dispensed with the services of Mrs. Younge and fled with Georgiana back to London.
Georgiana’s new companion was a trusted retainer from the Fitzwilliam family, and his sister was staying with Aunt Alice at Matlock House.
He smiled slightly; as a treat for her before he left town, he had escorted his sister, with their aunt, to Gardiner’s Eastern and Oriental Emporium to purchase something for her to enjoy.
He had been happy that she had equipped herself with a beautiful jade silk shawl, and although shocked at the price he had to pay, he had to admit the stitching was very fine — even if it could hardly be seen from a distance, the colours all blending beautifully into the silk.
His aunt had laughed. “This is real fashion, Darcy. Being able to pay the price and yet not flaunt that which makes it so distinctive. The difficulty is always in finding something; Gardiner does not stock quantities of any one item, so we know it is unique, and the nouveau riche are effectively priced out of owning such pieces.”
She had turned and smiled at his sister. “It is wonderful to wear, isn’t it, Georgiana?”
“It is, William,” his sister had murmured to him. “It makes me feel really special.”
To hear that, Darcy would have paid ten times as much.
“I have finished, Mr. Darcy.” His valet’s words drew him back to the present, and Darcy sat forward and rubbed the towel across his face.
He had been here but a day, and Bingley had already committed the party to attend the local assembly. Darcy had no choice; if he chose not to attend, his friend’s infernal sister would insist on remaining behind to keep him company.
Darcy had no wish to be compromised by her — even if she succeeded, he would never agree to marry her although it would mean the end of his friendship with Bingley. That he was not prepared to countenance if at all possible.
He waited in the hall with his friend for the ladies to deign to join them. Eventually, he glanced at the clock. “Bingley, I think we should take my coach now and leave Hurst to bring your sisters in yours.”
Bingley looked surprised, and Darcy rolled his eyes. “It might make them learn that one cannot be fashionably late in the country. Country people do not do that, and we will appear rude.”
“Oh, here they are now.” Bingley sounded relieved, and Darcy looked up the stairs.
Miss Bingley was dressed for the finest ball in town. Her burnt orange gown with matching dyed ostrich feathers was gaudy and overpowering even without the excessive and obtrusive stitching in a much darker shade.
Darcy had a sudden memory of his aunt’s comments at Gardiner’s, and understood now exactly what she meant.
He tried to repress a grin. Miss Bingley had fallen neatly into the trap which separated new money from the classic tastefulness of old wealth.
He was happy Georgiana was learning from Aunt Alice; she would fit beautifully into society when she was older.
He swallowed; it would be difficult to let her go, however worthy the man — how could he be sure who would be the right man for his gentle sister?
He forced himself back to the moment, his nose assailed by the cloyingly powerful perfume Miss Bingley was wearing, and stifled a sigh. She was trying much too hard.
Bingley shook his head despairingly, and Darcy knew his friend was as ashamed of his sister as he himself was of his other aunt, Lady Catherine.
The town’s assembly was held in the requisite rooms above the principal inn, and was too small for the numbers of those attending.
A trio of indifferent musicians sweated as they played, and Darcy clenched his jaw.
Bingley needed to make new acquaintances, and Darcy must be careful not to add to his worries.
His friend’s sisters would be more of a handicap than a help to a new land-holder in the area.
He forced his attention to the beaming man in front of them as Bingley introduced his party to Sir William Lucas, the former mayor of the town, who obviously felt that all new people should be warmly welcomed to the town.
His spinster daughter was beside him, and his friend politely claimed her for the first dance; so Darcy bowed to her and requested the second set.
She seemed a quiet, sensible sort, and would not pursue him after experiencing Bingley’s pleasant manners.
He bespoke the third and fourth with Bingley’s sisters and then trailed his friend who was being introduced to local families.
He almost closed his eyes in disgust as they approached the next family; the matron was attired in far too many flounces, ruffles, and lace.
Her rouge was too heavy, her excitement too overpowering, and her fan waving too wildly.
Bennet. The family name was Bennet, and he sighed as the lady began to introduce five daughters — until his attention stopped abruptly at the second daughter, whose eyes were lowered demurely.
Her gown. Darcy had never seen anything like it. It was styled quite appropriately for a country assembly — it would not have been the right thing at all for a formal ball; but this was not a formal ball.
But the colour — he had never seen so deep a crimson.
And he had thought he knew every fashion the ton might employ to make a lady noticeable.
This was beyond eye-catching; and, for an instant, he was aware how handsomely it displayed her figure.
He checked the thought at once. Bingley, he saw, was staring as well.
Until his friend really looked at the eldest Miss Bennet, who was exactly the type of angel he favoured.
Darcy turned back to look at the second daughter. Miss Elizabeth, he had noted. Looking closer, he saw some very subtle embroidery swirling down the silk, and he stepped forward; he must speak to her.
“Miss Elizabeth, I wonder if you would honour me with the supper dance, if you are not already engaged for it?” He was taking a risk by asking for the supper dance, but he could not otherwise be sure of having another opportunity to speak; some dances were not conducive to a conversation.
Her chin lifted. “Very well, Mr. Darcy. I accept.” His attention was caught; Miss Elizabeth did not look happy with his request. Darcy bowed and retreated to a corner to ponder her reaction.
He watched her seem to regain her spirits when a tall, lanky young man in a naval lieutenant’s uniform whirled her away to dance the first.
She clearly enjoyed dancing, she was light on her feet and knew the steps well enough to be able to converse easily.
Her features attracted his attention; as she laughed and talked with her dance partner, her face was alight with a simple joy in life, her eyes dancing along with her graceful movements.
It seemed she knew the young man well, and Darcy had to push down his displeasure at the thought.
He did not know this young lady; her acceptance of his dance request had not seemed to cause unalloyed pleasure.
He only wished to ask her how — and why — she was using such a costly fabric for a merely ordinary gown.
Did she not know how much it was worth? Did she not understand it sent a message out to the gentlemen in the area? Or did she want to send such a message?
As the first dance drew to a close, he remembered he was committed for the second, third and fourth before he could approach Miss Elizabeth for the fifth and the supper.
He put down his drink and departed his corner to find Miss Lucas.
Finally, after several hours of activity unusual for him at a dance, he could return to Miss Elizabeth’s side. As he took her hand upon his to lead her to the dance floor, he felt an odd sensation of warmth, and had to force himself not to jerk his hand away.