Page 2 of Only Mr Darcy (Obstinate, Headstrong Girl #1)

CHAPTER ONE

August 1811

“M y dear Mr Bennet! Netherfield Park is let at last!”

Elizabeth’s parents proceeded to their usual practices, with her father doing all in his power to aggravate their mother, while their mother responded in the manner most certain to induce more of his teasing. But at last Elizabeth overheard something of interest.

“His name is Bingley.”

Elizabeth nudged Jane, her eyes alight with sudden excitement.

Jane’s own eyes twinkled as she dared interrupt her mother’s efforts to persuade Mr Bennet to pay a call. “Mama,” she asked. “Have you heard Mr Bingley’s Christian name?”

Mrs Bennet did not appreciate the interruption. “Jane, I am speaking to your father, who is being especially tiresome this morning. You must know, Mr Bennet, that I am thinking of his marrying one?—”

“Oh Mama, please, you must know it. Will not you tell us?”

She looked at her eldest daughter with some aggravation. “He is Mr Charles Bingley, and you may take any other questions elsewhere and cease your blathering. Mr Bennet, you must visit him…”

But Jane and Elizabeth abruptly abandoned the conversation, hurrying up the stairs to their favourite parlour where they could be private, to discuss what they were sure was to be an exciting new chapter in Elizabeth’s life.

Elizabeth’s hair was difficult at the best of times, and the maid that all five Bennet sisters shared had not the knack of it.

“How I wish my hair would behave as yours does,” she said with some frustration. “It is a veritable rat’s nest. Mr Bingley will take one look and head straight for one of Mrs Long’s nieces.”

Jane smiled. “You are beautiful, and he shall not be so foolish as to overlook it. Now, let me help.” After a few minutes pinning and brushing, Elizabeth saw it transformed into smooth and proper curls.

“Thank you. And thank you for lending me your lace. What would I do without you?”

“You would be yourself, and Mr Bingley shall certainly fall head over heels in love.”

Elizabeth peered at Jane’s reflection in the looking glass. Her sister was all golden loveliness, even though she had chosen to wear a very simple dress she had owned for two years, at least. There was no getting around it—Jane was the prettiest young lady in all of Hertfordshire, and none of her efforts to appear plainer did much to hide it. Since the gentleman had first arrived some six weeks earlier, Mrs Bennet had been crowing about Jane’s probable success in garnering the attention of Mr Bingley, after which he would surely propose marriage within minutes.

“Oh, what am I saying? Jane, you are so beautiful. No one need worry about him looking at Mrs Long’s nieces, not when you are in the room.”

Jane’s smile was sweet as she shook her head chidingly at her sister. She did not deny her own beauty; it would have been foolish to try. “You are forgetting about Fate. Charles must be the most common name in England, and yet, not a single eligible Charles has graced our neighbourhood in…what has it been, eight years?”

“You do not truly believe any longer in Grandmama’s predictions. I know you do not,” Elizabeth said with a sigh. “I have always known that I am different from the other young ladies. I cannot seem to care about the topics most care about. I do not think the way they think, and I much prefer the outdoors to the tamer entertainments thought appropriate for us. Let us face the truth—I am odd. Mama believes Mr Bingley to be in your future, not mine. Not only would I not wish to take anything from you, but I could not.”

“Perhaps I do not believe so much in Grandmama—but I believe in you, Lizzy. This is the moment you have long awaited, and tonight is your night. I hereby renounce all claim to Charles Bingley, no matter what.”

A sensible voice within lectured Elizabeth that she had too long clung to a childhood memory steeped in too much imagined drama. Still, Jane was correct—it was time to seize the future. She was twenty years old. If this Charles was not to be her future husband, soon it would be necessary to give up her childish dreams of love and happiness and settle for something—some one —more practical. Whomever that might be. I fear that if Grandmama was wrong, my future might be very lonely indeed.

“I have heard that Mr Bingley is bringing several friends from town to the assembly. Perhaps your future shall be secured tonight as well.”

“It may be so,” Jane agreed. “But do not worry for me, not for a minute. You will shine this evening, and you shall see I am right.”

That was the problem with Jane—one could not even be jealous, because she was also the gentlest, sweetest girl in the world.

Fitzwilliam Darcy was in an ugly mood.

He had, only a few hours before, been the recipient of a letter from his uncle, the Earl of Matlock. ‘I blame you, Darcy,’ the letter had read. ‘Georgiana would not have been so easily deceived by your boyhood friend, had you done your duty and wed sooner. Had you not refused your permission for her to marry Richard, she would already be safely known as Mrs Fitzwilliam. You have botched her entire life in favour of a tedious bachelorhood, for no good reason except selfish indolence.’

According to the earl, Darcy ought to have forced his timid young sister to marry a man fifteen years her senior, who thought of her as a child—ruining both of their lives. As for Darcy himself, the earl castigated him for refusing to wed the lovely young widow, Lady Bridges, who had spent the previous spring dropping her handkerchiefs before him.

As if he would ever touch her ; his uncle, he knew, already had.

That was Matlock, however. He was manipulative and scheming and believed the world must bend to his machinations. The trouble was that the world often complied. Why his cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam had revealed Georgiana’s perfidy to him, Darcy could not guess. It was likely Matlock had taken up pressuring him to propose to her again. If there was a single skill the earl possessed in spades, it was an ability to incite fury, often preceding revelations better silenced.

Darcy surveyed the crowded assembly room, watching as two young girls—they had to be near Georgiana’s age—made yet another foray to the over-liquored punch bowl, sniggering manically. He felt equal parts revulsion and despair. It would serve his uncle right if he brought one of them home as his bride.

Somewhat to his surprise, a lovely young lady—possessing flawless complexion, gracious manner, and golden curls—drew up to the giggling girls, setting an arm around each. He could not hear what she said; her calm, pleasant expression did not change. But one of the girls flushed, and the other appeared sullen as they replaced their full cups on the table. The sullen one pushed away from the elder one, wandering back towards the crowd. The other, still shame-faced, followed more slowly.

The golden vision—she really was nothing less—took a deep breath as she watched them go, her concern for them obvious.

“Your sisters?” Darcy heard himself ask. He startled himself with the question, almost as much as it had obviously done to her; they had not been introduced, and he had not wished to speak to anyone.

“Oh—oh, two of my sisters, yes. It is Lydia’s first assembly, Kitty has forgotten to be an example to her of good behaviour, and Mama…my parents are distracted.”

“Miss Bennet, do not tell me your partner has abandoned you!” His friend, Bingley, interrupted, suddenly appearing at her side from the direction of the dance floor. “Are you not dancing?”

“I am,” she replied politely, but with no particular enthusiasm towards Bingley. “Mr Harrington approaches.” Another man, Darcy saw, was hastily making his way towards them. Such a fine-looking female as Miss Bennet would always have a crowd of admirers.

“Perhaps you would introduce us, Bingley,” Darcy said in tones of command Bingley would not fail to recognise.

Bingley appeared taken aback by the request. “Oh! Oh, yes. Um, Miss Bennet, Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley, in Derbyshire. Darcy, Miss Jane Bennet, of Longbourn. Her father’s estate is just three miles from Netherfield.”

He bowed, she curtseyed.

“Perhaps, if you are not already engaged, I could claim the set after this one?” he asked politely.

She curtseyed again, murmuring agreement, as Harrington came to claim his dance. Bingley, with a puzzled glance towards his friend, could only watch her go.

It did not take Elizabeth long to see that Mr Bingley would be everything a young lady might hope for in a husband.

She, with Charlotte—who was well aware of the importance of this particular Charles—watched as he danced with each of his sisters—a Miss Caroline Bingley and a Mrs Hurst—and then Lady Lucas. There was an appalling lack of partners of the male sex available, but for once she did not care. “He is so handsome, so friendly,” she enthused.

“He is younger than I thought he would be,” Charlotte observed.

It was true; when Elizabeth had imagined the man of her dreams, she could admit she had not envisioned someone quite so…fresh-faced, so boyish.

“But he is so unaffected,” Jane countered, joining them. She had not sat out a single dance all evening, and yet appeared as perfectly presented as she had when they had entered the assembly room an hour earlier. “Look how effortlessly he converses with everyone.”

It was true; he spoke easily and well to all, no matter their relative stations—the Meryton assembly being rather democratic in its subscriptions.

“Here he comes,” Charlotte whispered. “Smile now, Lizzy, and do not forget to ask if he will attend the Gouldings’ party on Friday.” All three young ladies watched as the young, handsome Bingley approached, but Jane and Charlotte both took a half-step back, putting Elizabeth at their front.

“What-ho, ladies,” Mr Bingley hailed as he neared. “What a lovely evening this has been. What fine music and friendly people!” His gazed fixed upon her sister. “Miss Bennet, they have just called a Danse Espagnuole , which I hear is a favourite hereabouts, while I have never even seen it done. Surely you will not abandon me to fumble about the floor, but lend me your expertise?”

Something close to despair flooded Elizabeth at his obvious preference for Jane. Glancing over at her, she saw Jane’s eyes widen and her chin firm. In that moment Elizabeth realised Jane was about to refuse him! It was unconscionable, outright rude, never mind meaning that her sister must sit out the rest of the night.

“Of course you must dance, Jane,” Elizabeth cried, giving her sister a meaningful look.

Mr Bingley appeared slightly confused by her interruption, but Jane, with a worried smile for her sister, thanked him politely and agreed to the set.

“Well, that was disappointing,” Elizabeth said to her friend.

“Jane is so very lovely,” Charlotte sighed.

“Yes,” Elizabeth agreed. “She cannot help it. But if Fate is in force, he shall not fall in love with her.”

Sir William led Charlotte out onto the floor; no one asked Elizabeth. But after the first dance of the set, Mr Bingley suddenly reappeared, practically forcing an introduction to Elizabeth upon a friend of his from town, a Mr Darcy, a gentleman of fine appearance and severe expression.

Mr Darcy barely acknowledged the introduction. “I am not a scrap heap repository for the country’s unwanted females,” he snapped to Mr Bingley, albeit under his breath. She supposed he had not meant for her to hear his insult, but of course, she did.

However rude Mr Darcy was to Elizabeth, he performed an important—one might even say fateful function, for apparently he, too, found her sister beautiful. He managed to stay near Jane the rest of the night—also capturing her hand for the closing set. His attentions—as well as those from Jane’s regular troupe of casual admirers—meant that Mr Bingley was limited to the single set. He sat out the last only a few feet away from Elizabeth, not asking her, and certainly lacking any interest in dancing. Mr Darcy did not seem to engage Jane in much conversation, although the dance was not a vigorous one; his expression remained stern and almost disinterested as they awaited their turn down the line.

Is it wrong for me to be grateful such an unpleasant man is attracted to my sister? Guiltily, she did her best to engage Mr Bingley in conversation. He was polite, and spoke well…but his eyes kept straying to the dance floor, and Jane’s graceful figure paired with Mr Darcy.