Page 9 of Old Boots (Pride and Prejudice Variations #3)

CHAPTER NINE

C arsten dressed me for the assembly in white satin breeches and waistcoat, topped off with an expertly tailored black velvet coat.

“Am I slightly overdone, do you think?” I asked as I looked at myself in the mirror.

My valet momentarily faltered in the final alteration of my cravat. Knowing me so well, Carsten must have reached the conclusion that tonight I did not want to outshine whatever I would look like at Bingley’s upcoming ball.

He relaxed his shoulders and said, “I have brought your gold waistcoat for the ball, sir. This is a step below that. Would you prefer the gold tie pin? We shall save the sapphire for the ball as well.”

My conscience was already suffering from having so thoroughly bashed Miss Bingley’s confidence that she hovered on the verge of a nervous collapse, and I did not have the will to further dampen anyone’s self-opinion.

Thus, I went to a country assembly dressed for a night at the Pavilion in Brighton half dreading Miss Elizabeth’s reaction to my appearance.

The affair was precisely what I thought it would be. The entire neighbourhood arrived in romping high spirits, the room was too small, and the musicians were raucous, yet they could barely be heard over the din.

Sir William Lucas greeted us with just the kind of excessive flourishes I disliked, and our party’s arrival commanded the attention of the room.

We were beheld as the cherry on the cake, the plat de résistance , and what was worse than that, we gave off the collective air of expecting to have been received in just that way.

As I made my bows to Lady Lucas, I caught Miss Elizabeth’s eye. How could I not? If for no other reason than curiosity as to what the lady might be thinking, there was no room I ever entered where I would not search for her.

Rather than delay the inevitable, I turned to Bingley. “I would like to make you acquainted with a friend of mine.”

“A friend? Of course! I did not know you had friends hereabouts. ”

“The family is just out of mourning. Pray, do not remark on it.”

“Of course not. Caroline, Hurst?”

I could not help but notice that Bingley had become a touch more commanding with his family since the termagant that had ruled him from childhood had turned so unsure of herself. Hurst and Louisa were biddable to whomever held the reins, and our party followed me to Mr Bennet and his daughters.

The introductions went entirely as I expected.

Miss Bingley looked close to collapse to see me cordially take Miss Bennet’s hand, to speak respectfully and warmly to her father, and to carefully include Elizabeth and Mary Bennet in my obvious regard.

Bingley immediately asked Miss Bennet to dance, and he looked suitably crestfallen when she gently refused.

I should have then led Miss Bingley out to the floor.

The expectation that I would show her that mark of attention over every other lady in the room was surely universal, but in my defence, I have never been a saint.

I turned to Charlotte Lucas, Sir William’s eldest daughter, who stood next to Miss Elizabeth.

“I am pleased to see you tonight, Miss Lucas. Might I have the pleasure?” I extended my hand, and though I longed to maintain my air of studied goodwill, I could not help but bestow upon her companion the tight, closed-lip smile of a challenge.

She had, after all, accused me of arrogance, and I meant to make her eat her words.

Miss Elizabeth’s brows raised in pure scepticism. She curtseyed and boldly held my gaze until I was forced to tear my eyes from her face and attend to my partner.

I set about making myself agreeable to Miss Lucas. I spoke of things I hate speaking of—principally the weather, the roads, the falling leaves, and the whereabouts and doings of the Prince Regent.

“Yes, I have met him, and he impressed me as very amiable,” I replied when asked my opinion. That I thought he was a glutton for pleasure and spent too much of my taxes on himself, I did not say.

When we finished, I led out Miss Lucas’s younger sister, a trial that prepared me to pay similar attention to all the most down-trodden, neglected spinsters of the entire county.

I lent my consequence to those ladies who passed beneath the notice of every other man in the room, not from saintliness, but because the devil in me was wide awake to the chagrin my movements were inspiring in the breast of my adversary.

Once or twice, she had to stifle a laugh at my specious displays of sociability, and while this was gratifying, I believe the pleasure of capturing her attention for the entirety of the evening was my principal aim .

With every twirl around the room, I found Elizabeth Bennet where she stood at the periphery, and I met unblinking her passing expressions.

While I danced with Miss Maria Lucas, she cocked her head with something bordering on curiosity as to how I was going to get that shy rabbit to utter a single word to me.

With Mrs Long’s nieces, Miss Elizabeth cocked her head the opposite way and looked me up and down, daring me to continue this farce for one more pass around the room.

I enjoyed a little moue of commiseration when I took the vicar’s wife down the line, and later, a reluctant smile of joy when I surprised a somewhat doddering lady who looked perfectly stunned to be asked to dance.

Only after that set, which was, I admit, delightful if only for the sake of the humble happiness I inspired in my partner, did I find Miss Bingley.

Having endured my successive snubs, Caroline Bingley was sadly enraged by the time I held out my hand to her.

I led her around the room and strove for a better attitude towards my friend’s sister.

She had endured a great deal of abuse from me.

I did not dare send her over the edge by smirking at Elizabeth Bennet, as I longed to do.

For the length of our dance, I paid proper, respectful attention to my partner and even tried to engage her in civil conversation.

“May I escort you to the refreshment table in the next room, Miss Bingley? ”

Evidently in no humour to fall victim to my capricious charm, she replied irritably, “I doubt I shall go in. It will be even hotter and noisier than this room, sir.”

“Might I bring you something else instead?”

“I am not hungry. Besides, what will these people serve us? If there are oysters, we shall all be made sick, I assure you.”

“Perhaps a piece of cake?”

“I think not.”

“Then I shall bring you a cup of punch.”

“You may, Mr Darcy, but I am not sure I shall drink it.”

For the fifth time in that half an hour, she sniffed and crimped shut her lips to show me the extent of her displeasure with my earlier desertion.

I continued to ply her with civility, which unfortunately, had the contradictory effect of enraging her further.

The moment I took her back to Bingley’s party, she demanded to be taken home.

Bingley’s reaction was somewhat too loud. “No, truly, Caroline?”

“I will take her and send the carriage back,” Hurst said on a yawn.

“I suppose that means that I, too, must go,” Mrs Hurst said impatiently. “I hope the cook can send us up some cake to eat. Really, Caroline,” she pointed towards the closet-sized space Sir William had proudly called their ‘supper room’, “I was so looking forward to the cakes I saw in there.

“Pray do not speak to me of cake!” her sister snapped, and I politely stepped away from them so as to draw less attention to their unhappy conference.