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Chapter Nine

October 1811 Lucas Lodge Elizabeth

E lizabeth smoothed the front of her gown to remove any wrinkles that had gathered during the ride to Lucas Lodge. Sir William hosted a lavish dinner party once a month, inviting all the four-and-twenty genteel families of the neighborhood. A large number of guests filled the lodge that day. Red coats mingled with blues, browns, blacks, and greens, standing in stark contrast to the more muted colors worn by the other gentlemen.

“It is good that Kitty and Lydia are not here.” Mary leaned over and whispered conspiratorially into Elizabeth’s ear. “They would swoon with so many officers present.”

“A man in a red coat may be handsome to look upon, but the life of following the drum certainly holds little attraction.” Elizabeth smirked at her younger sister. “Kitty and Lydia like their comfortable situation far too much to succumb to the pull of a scarlet soldier.”

“They are young,” Jane cut in. “Let them have their fantasies. We certainly had ours.”

“Oh, yes, Jane, do remind us what that little poem said. ‘Let me compare you to a summer’s dawn?’” Mary chuckled and prodded her sister’s arm in teasing affection.

“It said nothing of the sort. Besides, that line sounds very much like Shakespeare.” Jane sniffed in mock hauteur, then winked. “No, the bard’s poetry is far superior to Mr. Wilson’s.”

Elizabeth laughed with her sisters, remembering the besotted gentleman who had once wished to court Jane. Mr. and Mrs. Bennet had refused him, of course—Jane had been only fifteen at the time. Still, her sister kept the insipid poem to remind her that a poorly written verse could starve any budding affection.

“There you are!” Charlotte looped her arm through Elizabeth’s and drew her aside. “Can you believe the crush? I tried to convince my father to limit the guest list, but you know how he is.”

“Is there a room on this floor that is not bursting?” Elizabeth asked, fanning herself vigorously.

“Only Papa’s study. The servants have opened the other rooms. Papa means to move the furniture in the drawing room for dancing after dinner. There are cards in the parlor, and refreshments will be served in the music room.” Charlotte shook her head. “He simply had to invite the officers.”

“I noted the plethora of red coats. Mrs. Phillips said they are to be quartered in Meryton for the winter.” Elizabeth glanced around the room. Everywhere she looked, another soldier sauntered by.

“It is true. The variety in our little society will be welcome. However, I believe caution is necessary. One cannot be too careful with strangers in our midst.”

She nodded in agreement. “Trust you to be sensible, dearest Charlotte,” she teased. “Let us hope that all ladies have the same intelligence.”

“I have already spoken to my mother about curbing Maria’s freedom,” her friend confessed. “My sister is a silly flirt. I worry she will end up in a bad way if no one is watching her.”

Elizabeth nodded. “I am thankful every day that my parents have kept Kitty and Lydia at home. They are too young to be out.”

“Is Thomas here tonight?” Charlotte asked after a brief pause. “I understood from my father that he had returned from university, yet I have not seen him at all.”

“Both Bennet gentlemen are here,” Elizabeth confirmed. “Mama cajoled and made them feel guilty for abandoning us until they agreed to attend. Thomas hates society as much as Papa, despite being gregarious and friendly.”

“It is a curious combination.” Charlotte’s gaze wandered. Elizabeth watched her friend, wondering for what—or for whom—she searched.

“The Netherfield gentlemen are here,” she said, nodding to the doorway. Elizabeth had already noticed them.

“Mr. Darcy looks as stern as he did at the assembly,” she observed.

“And Mr. Bingley appears as pleased as ever to be in company. What a pair they make! How do you suppose two such disparate characters became friends?”

“I thought character sketches were my purview, dear Charlotte.” Elizabeth swatted her friend playfully, and they laughed.

The announcement of dinner prompted the pair to link arms and move into the dining room. Extra tables had been set up, filling the room to capacity. Charlotte and Elizabeth found seats near the end of one table, relieved that no one had assigned places for the evening.

After three courses, the ladies removed to the drawing room. Lady Lucas called for the pianoforte to be opened and begged Mary to play for them. “It has been some time since we heard you,” their hostess said imploringly. “Since you are by far the most accomplished lady here, it would be a pleasure to see you perform.”

Mary was, indeed, a very accomplished pianist. Papa had indulged her desire to learn, hiring masters when she was only ten. Now, her playing surpassed that of all the other ladies in and around Meryton, Elizabeth included. She had far too many interests to dedicate the time to become truly proficient.

Mary obliged them, playing two pieces before ceding the instrument to another lady. Elizabeth played at Charlotte’s urging, choosing a simple tune she knew she could perform well.

The gentlemen soon rejoined the ladies, and Sir William called for assistance in moving the furniture and rolling up the carpets. “It is a perfect night for dancing,” he declared. “Miss Mary has agreed to further indulge us with a few lively tunes.”

Mary did not like to dance and preferred to remain behind the instrument. “It is not that dancing is not enjoyable,” she tried to explain, “but I find it terribly difficult to make my feet keep time with the music. It is easier to do only one at a time.”

Elizabeth remained with Charlotte as couples formed a line down the center of the room. Those who did not wish to dance either sat along the edges or made their way to the parlor for cards. Mary began to play a reel, and the dancing commenced.

“I believe I shall go for some punch,” Elizabeth told Charlotte over the din. Her friend nodded. She moved around the perimeter of the room, dodging dancers and seated guests. It was with great relief that she reached the door.

“Miss Eliza!” Sir William called. “Why are you not dancing? See, here is Mr. Darcy. I would wager he is willing to stand up with you. The pair of you looked lovely at the assembly.”

“I did not come this way to beg a partner,” she protested. “I am merely in need of refreshment.”

“Then allow me to accompany you,” Mr. Darcy offered. He regarded her steadily, his gaze roving across her face before he looked directly into her eyes. “I, too, am parched.”

“Capital, capital,” Sir William said. “Well, I shall just return to the card room.” He moved away in search of another guest to engage in conversation.

“Shall we?” Mr. Darcy gestured toward the room where a cool beverage awaited. Elizabeth nodded and preceded him inside. He secured a glass of punch for each of them, and they stepped away from the table. This room held fewer people and was, therefore, far more agreeable.

“Are Sir William’s parties always so well attended?” Mr. Darcy asked.

Elizabeth chuckled. “That is a polite way of asking if he always invites too many guests. Yes, though tonight is unusually crowded,” she answered. “The officers, you see.”

“Ah. I suppose it is only polite for us to welcome them to the neighborhood.”

“Yes, but Sir William hosts these evenings once a month. He could have invited a few each time. He is fond of company, though, and it is his house.”

Mr. Darcy nodded. “That is a good point. Now, I believe we have an unfinished discussion we must see to. What think you of Cowper?”

Elizabeth spent the remainder of the evening pleasantly engaged in stimulating conversation with Mr. Darcy. He was as widely read as she; accordingly, they discussed philosophy, science, history, novels, poetry, and more. He debated her skillfully, and she countered his arguments with observations of her own. On more than one occasion, she took the opposite part simply to see how he would respond.

“If we were fencing, I would declare you the winner, Miss Elizabeth,” he said after a particularly vigorous exchange. “I have not enjoyed myself in this manner in years.”

“You must spend time with dreadfully dull people,” she quipped.

He laughed then, and she marveled at the transformation it lent his countenance. “My cousin is a colonel in the army. He is my usual debate partner, but he has been away for many months. But never has he sparred with me so skillfully, nor with such success. I found myself questioning long-held beliefs.”

“And now you know my secret, sir. I am a bluestocking. Whatever will you do with me now?” She quirked an eyebrow and smiled slyly.

“I believe the most prudent approach is to name you a friend and hope that we may enjoy a spirited discussion again very soon.” His smile faded, and once more he searched her face. What he sought, she could not say, but his intense gaze made her insides flutter and her heart race.

He cleared his throat and turned away. “Would you like more punch?” he asked.

She nodded, and he stood, taking their glasses to the punch bowl and refilling them.

Darcy

What are you thinking, man? He scolded himself severely as he filled the delicate punch glasses and made his way back to Miss Elizabeth’s side. You are not some green boy, easily swayed by a pretty face. Yet, he was making a complete cake of himself, falling all over her as they conversed. What magic did she possess to enthrall him after only two meetings?

“Here you are,” he said, offering her a glass. She took it, and he watched—fascinated—as she raised it to her lips and took a sip. He swallowed hard and turned away, downing his own glass in one swift motion.

“Have you any brothers or sisters, sir?” she asked as he stood next to her, staring anywhere but at her lovely face.

“I do.” He sat, placing the empty glass on the table next to him. “I have one sister. Her name is Georgiana. She is more than twelve years my junior, having turned sixteen only a few weeks ago.”

“Lydia’s age,” she murmured.

“I beg your pardon?” Who is Lydia?

“Oh, forgive me, you would not know. Lydia is my youngest sister. She and Catherine, whom we call Kitty, are home tonight.”

Darcy mentally counted. “There are six of you?” he asked, surprised. “I can hardly imagine it. I had a very lonely childhood. My cousin, too, has only his older brother.”

Elizabeth laughed. “I imagine it must seem a great number to someone who did not grow up surrounded by children. In truth, I would not trade my brother or my sisters for the world, even when they annoy me.” A shadow crossed her face, but it vanished before he could make sense of it.

“I do not believe I have met your brother yet,” he said, suppressing his curiosity.

“You are in a fortunate position, then,” she replied. “He is there.” She nodded toward the door, where a young man with light brown hair had just entered. He looked around the room and grinned when he saw her.

“Lizzy,” the young Mr. Bennet greeted his sister. “Who is this?”

The blunt question startled Darcy, but he turned to Elizabeth inquiringly.

“Mr. Darcy, may I introduce my brother, Mr. Thomas Bennet, the second. Thomas, this is Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley.” The gentlemen exchanged cordial greetings before Mr. Bennet turned to his sister.

“I would not have expected you to be hiding in here,” he teased. “You are far more social than I.”

“It is rather crowded tonight,” Elizabeth admitted. “Even I find it a bit much.”

Darcy soon found himself in easy conversation with the young man. Elizabeth interjected here and there, but otherwise allowed the gentlemen to speak. Mr. Bennet peppered Darcy with questions about the management of estates, investments, and the future of the landed class.

“Change is coming, I assure you,” Mr. Bennet insisted. “More and more common men are making their fortunes through nothing but their own ingenuity. Others will follow, and soon there will be no tenants left to farm our land. I need to diversify my holdings.”

“Complete collapse of our way of life is hardly imminent,” Darcy countered. “This is how estates have been managed for hundreds of years.”

“And yet machines are replacing workers in mills and factories. Tenants are leaving the farms to work in the city because the wages are better.” Mr. Bennet nodded firmly and added, “Buying an estate is all well and good, but having another source of income ensures that should the worst occur, one’s livelihood will not fail.”

“Who taught the pair of you to debate?” Darcy asked at last, throwing up his hands in defeat.

“Our father,” Mr. Bennet replied, amused. “He will be the first to tell you that simply presenting your point is not enough. You must be passionate if you hope to win the day.”

“And you have enough of that for three men. I know when I am defeated.” Darcy smiled, his tone wry. “I confess, I have already sought to diversify my holdings. Pemberley is but one of my estates. Whilst it remains a tenant-managed property, I have raised sheep and livestock on the others. The wool fetches a fair price, especially now that textile mills are springing up everywhere.”

“Lizzy could tell you all about textiles,” Mr. Bennet said. “She must have read a book once. Do you recall the stories you used to tell, Elizabeth?” He turned to his sister, who flushed and looked down, clearly uncomfortable.

“I am afraid I do not remember,” she murmured. “Please excuse me.” She stood and moved away, takinga plate from the sideboard and adding a few tarts and biscuits to it.

“She always shies away from her past,” Mr. Bennet muttered. “Now Darcy–may I address you as such? Excellent. Let us discuss drainage. Do you have issues in the spring?”

Later, Darcy pondered Elizabeth’s response to her brother’s remark. Surely, she was not ashamed of her knowledge? Had she not debated him with spirit, then proudly declared herself a bluestocking? Yet something in Bennet’s words had unsettled her. After excusing herself, Elizabeth had left the room with her plate of refreshments and had not approached him for the remainder of the evening.

Bingley spoke only of Miss Bennet on the ride back to Netherfield Park, much to Darcy’s relief. His friend’s strange reaction to Miss Elizabeth had not been present that night. Still, in an unguarded moment, a shadowed look fell upon Bingley’s face, and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Darcy knew instinctively where his thoughts lay.