Page 4 of Darcy’s Guarded Heart
Elizabeth
“W hat a lovely gown,” Arabella Smythe cooed.
“I had my maid lay out the very best, it is not every day that an eligible bachelor comes into town,” Anne Underwood replied and Elizabeth shook her head.
The Meryton Assembly was far busier than she’d anticipation.
So much so that there was hardly room for moving about.
There hadn’t been a dance for some months now and of course, the arrival of two young unattached gentlemen in need of wives had bolstered attendance further.
“I beg your pardon,” Lady Lucas said as she bumped into Elizabeth, jostled by someone else pushing past.
“There is no need to apologise,” Elizabeth replied. “It is quite crowded.”
“Indeed it is,” Lady Lucas responded. “Everyone is eager to see Mr Bingley and his friend. I hear that young Thomas has already had a chance to speak with them.”
Elizabeth nodded, but before she could convey anything to Lady Lucas, her mother called to her, waving her white handkerchief erratically.
“Please excuse me,” she said, making her way past Lady Lucas to her mother.
Her mother had been most enthused ever since Thomas told her of his encounter with their new neighbour.
Presently, Thomas stood beside Mrs Bennet, slightly bent at the waist to bring his ear closer to her mouth, no doubt in an effort to keep her from shouting loudly enough for all to hear.
Still, Elizabeth caught most of what her mother was saying, even from a fair distance away.
Subtlety of conversation had never been one of Mrs Bennet’s accomplishments.
“Now tell me again. You are quite certain that Mr Darcy is a bachelor? My sister told me he has ten thousand pounds per year!”
At that, several attendees turned to observe the Bennet family, while Elizabeth closed her eyes in mortification, feeling her cheeks grow hot.
“Mother,” she managed to say, “must you entertain all of Meryton with such proclamations?”
“Oh pish, let them hear!” Mrs Bennet declared, waving her hand dramatically, while Lydia and Kitty giggled to her left. Jane, positioned beside Lydia, smirked and shook her head, as if to advise Elizabeth to let it go, but there was little point in debating with her mother.
“Thomas? Well? Are you sure?” Mrs Bennet urged him.
“Yes, ma’am,” Thomas replied. “That is indeed what I was told. I cannot confirm his income, of course, but I am certain Mrs Philips would be quite accurate. She rarely is wrong on any account.”
“Ten thousand a year! That would be a splendid match. And Mr Bingley, worth half that, is still a wonderful match. Oh, girls, you must be sure to be on your best behaviour! Smile, pull back your shoulders, raise your bosoms.”
“Mother,” Lydia interjected with a giggle, “how can you say such things?”
Elizabeth raised an eyebrow and glanced at her sister. If even Lydia was calling attention to their mother’s indiscretion, it was undeniable that Mrs Bennet was deep in her raptures, likely already planning at least one of their weddings without the gentlemen having made any advance.
“There they are,” Thomas said, pointing his chin towards the door.
The entire Bennet family, along with most of the ballroom, turned their attention to the entrance as two tall gentlemen entered.
One was tall and blond, his hair fashionably cut and styled.
the other was slightly taller with dark hair, a lock falling onto his forehead.
Both gentlemen were impeccably dressed, their heavily starched cravats and tails pressed.
Accompanying them was a shorter, stout gentleman with beady eyes and a countenance that spoke of boredom.
Beside him stood a woman who mirrored his expression. Elizabeth assumed she was his wife, as their close proximity, albeit without touching, indicated an intimate connection.
Another woman stood beside them, her shoulders drawn back and her head held high, a posture that would have made Mrs Bennet proud, were she not distracted by her own family.
“The blond-haired gentleman is Mr Bingley,” Thomas said in a hushed tone, so that only the sisters and Mr Bennet could hear. “The other tall gentleman is Mr Darcy. The women must be their sisters. I know one of them is married; I assume the shorter gentleman is her husband.”
“Well, you girls,” Mrs Bennet exclaimed, “ignore the short fellow and focus on Mr Darcy and Mr Bingley! Smile and make certain they know you are available for a dance! Thomas, you shall make a formal introduction. We must approach them before those other women try to. Thomas, how clever of you to introduce yourself to them! I had spoken to Mr Bennet about visiting Netherfield to introduce himself, but you know how he can be.”
Elizabeth caught Thomas’s eye, and they shared a quick smile.
She had witnessed her mother beseeching her father to pay a visit to Netherfield; she knew he would have obliged, but fortunately, Thomas had managed to do so before Mr Bennet had to.
Mr Bennet preferred not to make social calls when it could be avoided, thus she knew he was grateful.
But of course, her mother was making it sound as though Thomas had taken it upon himself to make the connection, rather than having come upon it by happenstance.
Her mother had insisted he repeat every detail of their conversation multiple times, praising him profusely for his offer to take them fishing and then chiding him for not presenting her daughters in a more favourable light.
However, all that was forgotten now as her sole focus lay on the two gentlemen who had just entered.
Ever-obliging, Thomas waved at Mr Bingley, whose face immediately lit up, and he escorted his party across.
What followed was a rather chaotic medley of introductions, accompanied by assorted bows and curtsies from the group.
When at last every member of the family and every member of the visiting party had been introduced, Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst quickly excused themselves, accompanied by Mr Hurst who had been persuaded to dance the first dance with Miss Caroline.
“Well, my dear Mr Bingley, how very fortunate for you to have been able to snap up Netherfield Park. It is one of the finest establishments in the area.”
“That is what I was told,” Mr Bingley said cheerfully. He looked around the group, and Elizabeth noted that his eyes seemed to linger a moment longer on Jane than on anyone else.
Jane likewise coloured under his gaze, and Elizabeth wondered if perhaps her mother’s machinations would not be necessary—because a natural alliance was about to form.
“And you, Mr Darcy,” her mother said, turning to the other gentleman, “from where do you hail?”
“Up north,” Mr Darcy said.
Elizabeth felt his gaze linger on her—not in the same way that Mr Bingley had looked at her sister earlier. There was no admiration in his gaze, merely curiosity, and perhaps judgement.
“Ah, and where exactly, Northamptonshire?” Mrs Bennet pushed.
“Derbyshire. My estate is Pemberley, a small village near the town of Lambton,” he said and instantly her mother whooped as though she had won a prize.
“Indeed? How serendipitous! My sister-in-law hails from Lambton. You must know her. Mrs Margaret Gardiner, formerly Lester. Her father was the rector.”
Mr Darcy rubbed his chin and shook his head. “I am not familiar with the name,” he replied.
“Surely you must be. She is always speaking of the place. She is…”
“Mother, not everyone knows everyone,” Elizabeth chimed in.
“In London perhaps, but in a small town? I think it speaks of good manners to know the people one lives near. We dine with four-and-twenty families, I will have you know,” she said.
Mr Darcy blinked and Elizabeth felt the tension coming off him as he stood and nodded.
“Well, I am a rather busy man. Running a large estate does not leave much time for socialising. I am sure Mr Bennet here can attest to that,” he said and nodded at Thomas who puckered his lips and looked about the room as though for a way to escape.
“Thomas?” Mrs Bennet repeated. “He would not know anything about running an estate. My husband would but he is otherwise occupied.”
“Surely the heir to an estate, even a modest one like Longbourn, would know a thing or two about how busy it is. I know my father drilled the intricacies of managing an estate into me when I was but a boy,” Mr Darcy said, and Elizabeth realised that somehow information had not been passed along properly.
Mr Darcy and Mr Bingley obviously thought that Thomas was their brother and heir.
Although the way Mr Darcy spoke, she assumed he had an idea this was not so. Did he intend to humiliate Thomas?
“Ah, Mr Darcy, you misunderstand. Thomas is not our son, he is our ward. We share a family name and are related, but he is not the heir to Longbourn,” Mrs Bennet said and waved a hand. “It is confusing, given the name, do not feel bad about having assumed.”
Mr Darcy’s shoulders pulled back and he blinked once as he turned to Thomas.
“I do not believe I made an assumption. For you did not mention your relation to the family once when you spoke of your sisters yesterday,” he said and Elizabeth frowned. Thomas did not usually refer to them as his sisters outside of the family home.
“I do not believe I…” he started but then Mr Bingley stepped in.
“Enough of these technicalities. This night is for dancing not debating. Miss Bennet, would you do me the honour?” He looked at Jane, proffering his hand and Elizabeth heard her mother suppress a small sound of delight.
Then, the two left for the dancefloor, leaving an obviously uncomfortable Mr Darcy behind.
“Well, Mr Darcy, surely you do not intend to sit out this dance, do you? Not when there are such lovely dance partners to be had. My Elizabeth is as graceful a dancer as any at Court,” her mother said and gently pushed Elizabeth forward.
Mortified, she took a step back because it was clear from Mr Darcy’s countenance that he had no desire to dance, least of all with her.
“I do not wish to dance, Mrs Bennet. Please excuse me,” he said and walked past Elizabeth before disappearing into the crowd.
“How rude! My word, I have never met a gentleman as ill-mannered as Mr Darcy,” Mrs Bennet grumbled while Elizabeth looked after him, herself mortified by his obvious slight.
What a horrid, high-in-the-instep man this Mr Darcy was. She could only hope for her sake and the sake of all of Meryton that his visit would be mercifully short.