Page 5 of Only Mr Darcy (Obstinate, Headstrong Girl #1)
CHAPTER FOUR
E lizabeth lay in bed that night, remembering her conversation with Mr Darcy—who this morning was the most ill-mannered gentleman of her acquaintance, but now one of the more agreeable ones—with a smile. The smile faded, however, when she considered again the recent assembly.
She had been unable to finagle even one dance with Mr Bingley. All his dances and all his attention had been fixed upon the wrong sister.
Could he be the wrong Charles?
Her mind registered immediate protest. As Jane herself had pointed out, Charles Bingley was the first eligible male bearing that long hoped-for Christian name to enter their little community in eight years. When the news arrived that the Harringtons had taken Shively Manor, and that they had three sons, all grown or nearly so, Elizabeth had waited with bated breath to learn their names—only to be disappointed by a William, a Henry, and a Justin. Who would name a son ‘Justin’, after producing a William and a Henry? Surely a ‘Charles’ would have been a much better fit with his brothers?
Of course, the Harrington boys were all short and stout young men, with no sense of humour whatsoever, so it was rather a relief not to have been required to develop a connexion. Mr Bingley, in contrast, was agreeable and witty.
But he had not asked her to dance. She had noticed him peering round later in the evening when the last set was called, as if looking for someone. It was not me; I made sure to be in his line of sight, and yet, he could not see me .
She had seen his eyes land upon Mr Darcy pairing with Jane, and how they registered his obvious disappointment.
It is no great surprise that he should admire Jane , she reminded herself. Everyone did. Elizabeth had grown up in the shadow of Jane’s exceptional beauty. It was not particularly unusual for men to ask Elizabeth to dance, simply for the opportunity to get closer or remain closer to her sister; they conversed with Elizabeth in order to have excuses to converse with Jane. It was a fact of her existence—as well as that of every other young lady in the neighbourhood; had the Bennets any fortune at all, Jane would have been wed long ago.
Neither had Elizabeth expected Fate to do all the work…but she had hoped it would give him at least a nudge in her direction.
Well, never mind nudges; she must somehow show Mr Bingley that she was his ideal mate.
Unfortunately, Mr Darcy might have a tale to tell on that subject. Would he reveal to Mr Bingley that he caught me barefoot at the river, with my dress hitched up to my knees?
There was nothing she could do about it if he chose to, but he did not seem the type to gossip. Perhaps he will kindly forget the whole thing, as part of his own embarrassment over his unasked-for rescue.
She had not been impressed by him at the assembly; he had been rude and arrogant. Except for his interest in Jane, he had declined to be introduced to many who had wished to befriend him. Nevertheless, now that she understood his deep worry over his sister, his apparent unfriendliness was more understandable. And when believing Elizabeth to be a danger to herself—he had acted decisively. He was not the type of man to blubber from atop his horse, waffling about whether he ought to do something.
Mr Darcy had been surprised by her little pastime, but he had mostly refrained from criticising her—which, for someone of his undeniably stuffy nature, had likely been challenging. It is difficult to decide which was more heroic—his actions in unnecessarily rescuing me or his restraint in criticism thereafter . She smiled again to herself at the thought.
“You look very pretty, dear sister. I am certain you have nothing to worry about. He shall take one look and be smitten with you.” A large party had assembled at the home of Sir William Lucas, and Jane was engaged in fortifying Elizabeth’s spirits.
“If he does not come, all this extra embroidery will be for naught,” Elizabeth said with a laugh, trying to make a joke of it. She had worked many hours on the formerly plain dress, elevating it—or so she hoped—into something more alluring. She and Mr Bingley had met tolerably often in the past couple of weeks, but the events had been sizeable ones, with little opportunity for conversation; the best she could say was that they both liked Vingt-un better than Commerce.
“He promised my father he would be here,” Charlotte assured them. Although she had been criticising Elizabeth for waiting upon a ‘Charles’ for years, she was in favour of any action that might lead to a wedding, no matter the name of the bridegroom, and was doing all in her power to lend encouragement in the pursuit of Mr Bingley.
“Look, Lizzy, he has come!” Jane nodded towards the parlour’s entry, where the party of Mr Bingley, Mr Darcy, Mr and Mrs Hurst, and Miss Bingley was receiving greetings from Sir William.
“Go and say something to him,” Charlotte urged.
It seemed a rather bold thing to do. “Oh—I would not like to be too forward.”
“What good has hanging back done you thus far? You need to take every opportunity to fix his interest. Make the most of what time you have together!”
“Charlotte, we have only known him a few weeks,” Jane chided with a smile. “Lizzy need not throw herself at him.”
Before she decided in which direction to move, Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst came near. Their conduct seemed slightly unusual to Elizabeth—and different from each other, as well. Miss Bingley, nose in the air and lips pursed, appeared to be approaching almost against her will; Mrs Hurst’s smile was almost maniacally wide—and since she seldom smiled at all, it was rather disturbing.
“Dear Miss Elizabeth!” Mrs Hurst cried with unexpected enthusiasm. “How good to see you!”
Elizabeth curtseyed, but she was confused. Neither sister had acknowledged their introduction at the assembly with any enthusiasm, and yet Mrs Hurst now acted as if she were a long-time friend. Miss Bingley, she noticed, reserved all her affections for Jane, ignoring Elizabeth entirely.
That at least is more expected. These two will, hopefully, someday be my sisters , she told herself . I must take this as a sign . Thus, she ignored Miss Bingley’s discourtesy in favour of Mrs Hurst’s sociability.
It was not long before Mrs Hurst managed to separate her from the general company, and she was subjected to a gentle but meticulous interrogation.
“What does your sister say of the great distinction bestowed upon her?”
“What great distinction was that?” Elizabeth questioned, genuinely confused.
“Why, Mr Darcy danced with her—twice!” Mrs Hurst replied, her astonishment at Elizabeth’s ignorance obvious. Her expression quickly smoothed, as she glanced around the room, appearing to take in the furnishings; Lady Lucas had a somewhat unfortunate preference for gilded wood and bright fabrics. Mrs Hurst’s opinions on the décor were obvious in her expression. “Naturally, you have never witnessed or interacted with him in better society. My husband is a cousin of his, you know. As a matter of fact, it was Mr Darcy’s father who introduced us. I can assure you, however, that he never has done such a thing in all my acquaintance, which is now of many years standing.”
“Mr Darcy has never danced before?” Elizabeth asked, teasing her just a little.
“Of course he dances,” Mrs Hurst said in tones of solemn condescension. “He is punctilious in his attention to the niceties. He does not care to even speak to those he does not know well. He will dance with members of his party or his hostess or, should the circumstance require it, with his hostess’s daughter. Each will be granted one set. Never two.”
“Well, I am certain that, had Jane realised the honour accorded, she would have been properly reverential. I believe she was flattered, at the very least.”
“You believe she was? You do not know?” Her voice was loud enough—and affronted enough— that a group of guests peered over at them. In response, Elizabeth lowered her voice.
“My sister is very modest. It is not as though she would have boasted of a few dances as some sort of conquest.”
Mrs Hurst appeared thoughtful. “Possibly your lack of knowledge in these matters does you a disservice. You do not comprehend what an impossible hurdle she has conquered.”
Elizabeth began to be a bit annoyed at this creation of a mountain from what was certainly a molehill, and steadied herself with a hand upon the red velvet settee. “Mr Darcy attended an assembly. It was a country assembly, away from the eyes of nearly all his friends. If it is only his friends with whom he will speak, and since so few of them were present and available for conversation, I am convinced he found the event tedious. Why should he not dance with a perfectly delightful, lovely stranger whom he need never see again? Surely it was the one place he could do so without causing a stir.”
“He has not called upon her, then?”
“What? No, indeed not.”
Mrs Hurst looked ready to press further—as if she thought Elizabeth was lying, covering up for Mr Darcy in some sort of absurd secret courtship. Elizabeth found herself gripping one of the gaudy floral embroidered pillows littering the settee.
She could not explain why she found the woman’s insinuations so grating, but she did. Mr Darcy’s business was his own, and it seemed wrong to encourage speculations on his personal affairs. “Surely, if Mr Darcy had formed an interest in Jane, as you imply, he might have called a time or two—or even, when last we spoke, made a polite enquiry regarding her health. He has never done either. I suppose, when he does begin to actively seek a bride, he will search for her amongst those grander, wealthier circles he inhabits.”
“Mr Darcy can marry where he pleases,” Mrs Hurst replied with some asperity. It was beyond strange—almost as if she wanted Jane paired with the great man. Why would she?
Charlotte’s call interrupted the inquisition. “I am going to open the instrument, Lizzy, and you know what follows.”
Elizabeth gave Mrs Hurst an aggrieved look. “Miss Lucas persists in showing off my musical talent, when I have very little to show. As it is, I would prefer not to play for such exalted company, who must be accustomed to the very best performers.”
It was the truth. Elizabeth did not mind playing for family and friends—she loved to sing, in fact, and her favourite evenings at home were spent in quartet with her sisters, with Mary at the piano. But her playing was only suitable for the kindest audiences, and her voice was not that of a soloist. Charlotte had done her no favours, if she hoped that her performance might attract Mr Bingley. Nevertheless, she could not avoid playing without appearing petulant.
Seating herself at the pianoforte, she chose a folk piece in which her worst faults might be covered by the ease of its fingering; the tune was well within her voice’s range.
Her golden hair in ringlets fair,
her eyes like diamonds shining ? —
Her slender waist, her heavenly face,
that leaves my heart still pining.
Ye gods above oh hear my prayer
to my beauteous fair to find me ? —
And send me safely back again,
to the girl I left behind me.
To her surprised pleasure, Mr Bingley came to stand beside her stool, tapping his foot in time to the verses—of which there were several. He clapped the loudest when she finished.
“A pretty voice you have, Miss Elizabeth, an uncommonly pretty voice!” he complimented, and she let the words fill her with hope.
“Why thank you, sir,” she replied. “You are very kind.”
“Your song was a compliment to your sister, was it not? Describing her so perfectly!”
Her heart sank. “Jane is lovely,” she said, discouraged, but casting about for something else to say.
“Lizzy, let someone else play,” Mary urged from her other side, a bit impatiently.
When she turned back, Mr Bingley was gone—along with any opportunity to engage him in further conversation. Sighing, she forfeited the instrument to her sister Mary, and since Mary was agreeable, carpets were rolled up to allow for dancing at one end of the parlour to accommodate those—mostly Kitty and Lydia—calling for it.
“Jane,” she said, joining her sister, despairing. “He thought I was singing about you.”
“Oh, dear,” Jane said, biting her lip. “But Lizzy, you cannot hide in the corner. Come, let us take you to the dancers, and then I shall go and wait out of sight, with the matrons. He will see you.”
“You shall die of sheer boredom,” Elizabeth protested.
“Silly! Of course I will not. Come now.” Together, they moved across the large room but Sir William halted them—just as Mr Darcy and Mr Bingley happened to pass nearby. “My dear Miss Bennet, why are not you dancing? Mr Darcy, you must allow me to present this young lady to you as a very desirable partner. You cannot refuse to dance, I am sure, when so much beauty is before you.”
Sir William reached for Jane’s hand, as if he would place it in the gentleman’s; she backed away, clearly embarrassed, when Mr Darcy extended his arm, taking her hand before Sir William could.
“You would not humble me before the company by refusing, I hope?” he asked, with such a wry expression, that Jane allowed him to keep possession of it. Sir William smiled genially and with satisfaction, promptly hailed another fellow trying to escape and avoid the dancing.
“My friend’s father is excessively committed to seeing every guest entertained,” Jane said, a pretty blush upon her cheeks.
“Let us indulge our host, then,” Mr Darcy replied, unsmiling but, apparently, willing.
Mr Bingley stood gawping at Jane and Mr Darcy; apparently neither he nor Sir William had noticed that Elizabeth, too, could benefit from a partner. Her awkwardness grew as he stood, watching them, not sure how to hint that another young lady was available, to a man who could evidently only see her sister.
Jane and Mr Darcy had gone several steps towards the dancers, as a matter of fact, when he bent to Jane and murmured something. When Jane smiled up at him in reply, he hurried back to Mr Bingley and muttered something in his ear. The volume of the pianoforte lowered in that moment, and she caught what he said.
“Quit standing about like an idiot, and ask Miss Elizabeth to dance,” Mr Darcy hissed.
Her cheeks burnt but she pretended not to have heard, giving Mr Bingley the most charming expression she could muster as Mr Darcy rejoined Jane.
Mr Bingley, obviously startled out of his trance, bowed to her. “Shall we, too, join the set forming?” He offered his arm, and his accompanying smile seemed genuine.
Elizabeth agreed, and even though the dance was a vigorous one, she was skilled in conversing during a reel, managing a few questions about how he liked the neighbourhood and its company.
Mr Bingley’s eyes strayed towards Jane when he answered that he liked it very much indeed, but he smiled at Elizabeth in a most genial manner and then complimented her dancing.
Upon reaching her home that evening, she decided that the evening had been a success, after all.