Page 13 of Old Boots (Pride and Prejudice Variations #3)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

O nce again, I stood in front of the mirror and winced a little at the exquisite , as dandies are sometimes labelled, looking back at me.

It was the night of Bingley’s ball, and Carsten was aglow with pride after a spell of disappointing mornings spent helping me put on dog-eared boots and the necessarily humble coat that must be paired with such footwear.

“Splendid,” I said, as convincingly as I could, and then I began to make my way to the parlour. As I walked down the hall, Bingley came out of his room.

“Darcy,” he said, glancing surreptitiously behind him and causing me to pause. “Would you open the ball with Caroline?”

“If she wishes it, certainly.”

He visibly relaxed, and I tried to ignore my slightly oppressed feelings on the matter.

We gathered in the parlour before the ball and drank a little wine.

Miss Bingley swept into the room in a dress of coral satin and a feathered turban pinned with a diamond brooch.

I bowed and asked for the pleasure of leading her out for the opening set.

“I do not plan to dance,” she said, turning from me to fuss with Mrs Hurst’s puffed sleeve.

I bowed in acquiescence, but my friend became irate. “Not dance! What are you talking of? You shall dance, Caroline. I insist.”

I took my glass of wine and went to the ballroom to come to terms with the gaucherie on display. It was there, under a strange contraption of blue and green gauze at the entrance of the room, that a footman found me.

“Mr Reese has sent a message that all is underway as requested, sir.”

I politely thanked him and went to the window to stare out at the gathering night.

I cannot say I rejoiced that my people had succeeded in abducting Wickham and taking him to Scotland.

In all truth, I was bewildered by the devilry which had lately arisen in me that enabled me to perpetrate such a horrible trick on a fellow.

I was at risk of sinking into guilty feelings and longed to speak of my misgivings to the plan’s mastermind, if only to hear her reassure me.

Bingley, who must have finished his quarrel with his sister, interrupted my reflections, and with forced cheerfulness, he bounded past the clustered palms that lined the room.

“Is this not a cheerful sight, Darcy?”

“You shall be the talk of Hertfordshire for the next year at least.”

We began walking towards the hall, where the sounds of guests arriving could just now be heard.

Bingley lowered his voice. “Caroline asked me to say she would be happy to open the ball with you.”

I did not feel equal to commenting on such an awkward business. I smiled pleasantly at Bingley to convey my complacency even as I expected a miserable half an hour in his sister’s company.

We met the guests, and when Mr Bennet arrived, I went directly to him and warmly shook his hand.

I bowed to his daughters, casually bespoke a set with each lady, and took the old gentleman forward to greet their host and his family.

Bingley was delighted, claimed the supper set with Miss Bennet, and before I knew it, the evening was underway.

Miss Bingley’s countenance was a little ravaged, but she managed to pretend to enjoy herself as we opened the ball and gave perfectly acceptable though minimal responses to my attempts at polite conversation.

Whatever Bingley had threatened her with must have been brutal indeed to merit such a show of obedience.

Good manners would never allow me to ask what stick was held over her head, and in fact, I did not care to know. I was much more interested in the third set of the evening.

Jane Bennet, beautiful as a painting and placid as an angel, partnered me for the second set. Bandit, she said, had been restrained for the evening in the groom’s quarters, since he had twice attempted to run after their coach as they made for Netherfield Park.

“How old is he now?” I asked, though I knew he must just now be one year of age.

They would suffer from his tyranny for another five years at least, or perhaps even longer, if he were one of those dogs who did not mellow with time and come to prefer a rug by the fire to sprinting after any turning wheel.

I bit my lip lest I express my condolences and turned the subject to dancing.

The ladies were, she said, a bit apprehensive of going out in full feathers after so long a spell of circumspection.

I then made her laugh by pretending to stifle a sneeze when a lady’s feathered headdress passed under my nose.

We talked of Mary, searched out Mr Bennet’s whereabouts to assure ourselves he was comfortable, and smiled at one another for the rest of the set.

At last I could put my hand out to Miss Elizabeth. She looked at my gold waistcoat, velvet coat, sapphire pin, and swept her eyes down my shining satin knee breeches, silk stockings, and to my gleaming black shoes.

“By all means, scoff if you will.”

“I would not dare. But I will say, it was perhaps unkind of you to outshine your hostess.”

“Did I? I did not mean to.”

“She was thrown completely into the shade. No lady in the room could make out the elegant details of Miss Bingley’s dress, such was the glare of her partner. I could not, even now, tell you what colour she is wearing.”

“Were you indeed mesmerised by my ensemble ?” For the sole sake of being droll, I pronounced the word in French.

Miss Elizabeth eyed me appreciatively. “Other ladies certainly were, but I was not. I was dancing with a young officer who blushed every time he spoke to me. Perhaps he is the reason I did not pay proper attention to Miss Bingley.”

“You are rather desperate if you must gloat over disconcerting a mere youth.”

“Do you suggest that if I were to disconcert you, Mr Darcy, I would have cause to gloat?”

I chose to ignore that question. “If you would like to gloat this evening, which I believe you came here to do, I will tell you that my coach is travelling north as we speak. ”

The steps of the dance parted us more than I would have liked throughout this conversation.

It was a frustrating fact that an exchange that might take three minutes in any other setting requires three times as long when dancing.

I did not have the luxury of time to speak to the lady at length as I would have liked, and when we came together again and waited to go down the line, I said, “I am feeling slightly guilty.”

Miss Elizabeth smiled so tenderly at me as to momentarily make me forget where I was. “I confess, I too have suffered a twinge of conscience in the matter.”

I lowered my voice to be assured we would not be overheard. “A merciful confession. It allows me to point out that the scoundrel in question is of the very same ilk as the rake who made mischief with your sister. Wickham deserves to suffer the consequences of his iniquity.”

“I know you are right. I only wonder whether my plan was in error. Perhaps he should have been dealt with honourably. Should a dishonourable deed be met with another dishonourable deed?”

The woman was impossible! Should I send an express up the road to abort my plan? I wondered. We stood face-to-face, ready to pass down the line, and it was then that I caught sight of a peculiar light in her eyes.

“You are tormenting me for your private amusement,” I growled .

“Your punctiliousness demanded I tease you a little,” she said with specious innocence.

“She-devil,” I whispered when we came together, and though what I said was not meant to endear me to my partner, I could not escape the feeling I had uttered seductively into the ear of a lover. Her blush confirmed it, and it was then my turn to gloat.

I danced next with Mary Bennet, then took Miss Lucas out onto the floor, and partnered her younger sister for the supper set.

After we dined, I sat out the rest of the evening with Mr Bennet and even took him to view the pitiful contents of the house’s library.

I thought that by not dancing a second time with any lady, I was being crafty and deflecting speculation regarding my preferences for any one of them.

Unfortunately, sitting for the last half of the evening with the father of three of my partners rendered me twice as interesting as I would have been had I simply indulged myself and danced again with the ladies in question.

I was blissfully unaware of the stupidity of my plan until the morning after the ball.

Bingley came down to breakfast, looking sleepy and slightly puffy around the eyes.

He was in a complacent, satisfied mood, having received such heaps of praise for his ball as to set him up in perpetuity as a star in the firmament of the local society.

We talked in the desultory fashion of men who have slept too little and imbibed too much. The ball, the neighbourhood, the militia, and Colonel Forster were canvassed.

And then he said, “I say, Darcy. You were the talk of the night.”

“Me? How so?”

“There is no call to be sly. I am your friend. By rights I should be the first to be told.”

“I am not being sly. You must speak plainly, I am afraid, for I do not understand you at all.”

“Why, the neighbourhood is in full expectation you will make an announcement. They half expected you to do so last night, and more than one person pulled me aside to press me for intelligence on the matter.”

A tendril of dread crawled up my spine. “What sort of announcement is the neighbourhood expecting, Bingley?”

“That you will offer for Miss Bennet, you dolt. It is no secret hereabouts you are at Longbourn every day, and you went even before they were formally receiving visitors.”

I sat back in my chair with a thud. “Mr Bennet is my friend, Bingley.” As I spoke, I heard the gravity, dismay, and even the regret in my voice.

“If you say so,” he said, striving not to snicker. And then, in a more commiserating tone, he said, “Cheer up, Darcy. You look positively downcast. I have heard that the parson’s mousetrap is only temporarily painful. You shall adjust to captivity in no time at all.”