Page 19 of Pride & Prejudice and Plain Speaking
“I do like Mr. Bingley very much,” Jane remarked, her skilled hands whipping stitches into a petticoat which had split during the dance the previous night. “He is kind and good humored and an excellent conversationalist.”
“I believe that Mr. Bingley liked you equally well,” Charlotte Lucas declared, carefully inspecting the boy’s jacket which she was patching. “He danced with you twice, after all.”
The young ladies of Longbourn and Lucas Lodge had, as was usual after an assembly, gathered together to discuss the dance and its delights. Since Lady Lucas was more enthusiastic about girls learning practical skills, the Bennet daughters had descended on Lucas Lodge with various garments in need of repair. They were now cozily ensconced in a large attic room where Charlotte Lucas, her sister Maria, and even Lady Lucas often spent hours working on clothing and the like.
Mrs. Bennet, who was appalled at the very idea of her daughters doing such work, had complained as a matter of form but was now sitting in the front parlor gossiping with Lady Lucas.
“Mr. Bingley danced with a great many people,” Elizabeth observed. “Indeed, that is part of his charm, I believe. Mr. Darcy, of course, only danced with Miss Bingley and her sister, Mrs. Hurst.”
“And spent the rest of the time walking the edges of the room, glowering at our neighbors, and insulting Kitty,” Lydia stated resentfully, though she maintained her intense focus on the blue slipper she was knitting.
“I do beg of you not to even mention that man,” Mary said coldly. “I will never forgive him for his rudeness to dear Kitty.”
“Does the Lord not call us to forgive others?” Jane asked gently.
Mary flushed a little and sighed, “Of course you are right, Jane. I apologize. Nevertheless, you must admit he is an unpleasant individual. He is gifted with great wealth and good looks and no doubt an excellent education; I expected better from such a man.”
“He is no doubt very proud of his high position and clearly looks down on us country folk,” Elizabeth declared. “But come, girls, let us not dwell on Mr. Darcy. He is at least an interesting entrant into our little society. I encourage you all to welcome him as you would a hippopotamus; interesting, but not particularly adept at interacting with others.”
The comment provoked a gale of laughter and the conversation turned to other things.
/
Darcy and Bingley swung down from their horses, and together the two men surveyed the southern-most field of Netherfield Park. The day was cool, the wind was mild and the sun shone fiercely in the southeastern sky. To the west, thin wispy clouds decorated the horizon. It was the perfect day to inspect a field, to ride a strong horse, to be with a friend. Even the cavorting spaniel, Maxwell, added to the general air of pleasure and congeniality.
“You made her weep, Darcy,” Bingley said suddenly. “Were you aware of that?”
Darcy’s mood shifted from cheerful to astonished in a moment. His friend’s usually good humored face was creased in a most unusual scowl, and his tone was accusatory.
Darcy’s mind cast wildly about for an explanation, “Weep? To whom are you referring? Miss Bingley?”
Bingley snorted openly, “No, of course not. Caroline does not weep, she berates. No, I am referring to young Miss Catherine Bennet. She overheard your extremely rude remark last night that she was not ‘handsome enough to tempt you’ to dance with her, and she was so upset she cried.”
Darcy stared at his friend incredulously, “One of the younger sisters of your ‘angel’ from last night?”
“Precisely.”
Pemberley’s master glowered at the tradesman’s son, “If she does not wish to hear unkind things, she should not eavesdrop.”
Bingley now looked absolutely furious, “How can you say such a thing, Darcy? I was the one who approached you and began the conversation, not Miss Kitty. She was sitting but ten feet away. It is not her fault that she overheard your very penetrating voice.”
Darcy felt a quick surge of guilt, which he repressed, “I do not believe I was particularly loud, Bingley. In any case, I am certain my slight, if it was a little rude, will not be remembered for long. Nor does it matter – the young lady is hardly a concern to me.”
Bingley’s expression shifted from angry to almost blank, which Darcy found unnerving. A long minute passed with only the nickering of the horses and the snuffling of Maxwell, who was sniffing the grasses in search of bird scent.
“What happened to you, Darcy?” Bingley finally asked. “You have never enjoyed company, I know, but you at least have acted the gentleman in the past.”
This startled Darcy considerably. Of course he was a gentleman. He was Fitzwilliam Darcy, master of Pemberley, nephew of an earl. He was not a rake or a spendthrift, he was educated at Cambridge, he was the very epitome ...
“Miss Kitty is only a little older than your sister, Miss Darcy,” his friend continued implacably. “How would you feel if your sister overheard such an insult from a gentleman? Would you be so free to consider it nothing?”
The taller man felt a knife thrust into his heart at these words as the image of his beloved sister rose in his mind’s eye. His sister Georgiana was shy and sensitive; if she heard a gentleman say such a thing of her, she would be devastated.
Silence fell between them again until Darcy wandered over to a convenient log and lowered himself onto it. Maxwell, apparently sensing his distress, trotted over to gaze at him curiously.
“You are right, Bingley,” Darcy said heavily, reaching out absently to fondle Maxwell’s floppy red ears. “It was an extremely discourteous speech, and if someone had said such a thing to Georgiana, I would punch him in the face.”
Bingley nodded, mollified, and sat down on the log next to him, “I suppose it is partly my fault for urging you to come to the assembly. I know you do not appreciate such events.”
“I do not,” Darcy replied quietly, “but I did agree to go.”
“Because you did not wish to be alone with my sister,” Bingley pointed out, and then chuckled humorlessly at the look on his friend’s face. “Come, Darcy, I know that Caroline is an irritant and that you would not choose to be alone with her at Netherfield without me or the Hursts as a buffer.”
“That is true enough,” Darcy admitted. He looked across the nearby fencing. A herd of cattle had wandered into sight and were standing in a picturesque group, languorously chewing on their cud.
“Are you all right, Darcy?”
Darcy looked again at Bingley and sighed deeply. He had kept it trapped inside for months, only speaking of his sister’s near catastrophe with Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, his cousin and Georgie’s other guardian. It was putrefaction to his very soul, the knowledge that his childhood friend, George Wickham, had been so lost to wickedness that he had attempted to entice his godfather’s daughter into a runaway marriage. Georgiana was only fifteen years of age, and when approached by Wickham at Ramsgate by the sea, had believed herself in love and consented to an elopement. Wickham was seven and twenty years of age, a lecher, a gambler and a spendthrift. The man was truly a villain and yet he could do little against the man or Georgiana’s reputation could be damaged ...
“Georgiana had a great disappointment this year,” Darcy said impulsively. “A friend of hers whom she trusted broke her tender heart. She is still greatly disturbed, and I feel very helpless and even guilty, for I did not protect her. I confess it has soured my spirits, Bingley. I apologize.”
“Nonsense, Darcy, nonsense!” Bingley cried out. “I know how much you love Miss Darcy, and it is truly a great sorrow when one we love is harmed.”
“I daresay your angel is angry over my comment about her sister. What can I do to make it up, Bingley? Or is it too late?”
“Oh, that is simple enough. Dance with Miss Kitty at the next assembly or dance.”
Darcy grimaced, “That seems unwise. I would not care to give the girl any hope of capturing the master of Pemberley.”
His friend groaned, “Darcy, please. You have such an inflated view of your own worth at times! Yes, you are wealthy and well connected, but in our society, a dance is merely a dance, nothing more. Now if you danced with her twice, that might mean something. But if you were to dance with Miss Kitty and a couple of her sisters and with Miss Lucas, perhaps, it would mean nothing in particular to any of them. None of them will think you intend to marry them based on one dance.”
Darcy winced inwardly at the thought of dancing with a multitude of unknown, boring women, but it was, he thought, an appropriate degradation given how poorly he had acted.
“Very well,” he said in a long suffering tone. “I will do it.”