Page 4 of Such Persuasions as These (Pride and Prejudice Variation)

CHAPTER THREE

D arcy took umbrage at the older man’s impertinence.

He had come to Hertfordshire at Bingley’s request, to help him settle into his new role as master of an estate.

As Darcy had been overseeing his own extensive holdings for five years on his own (and several more with the guidance of his excellent father before his death), he was eminently qualified to guide his friend as he eased into his duties as landlord of this leased property.

Yes, Darcy was to guide Bingley, not the other way round.

What on earth can Bingley teach me? Darcy thought with a scoff.

In an opposite corner of the room, Mr Bennet, as the audacious man was called, began bantering with Sir William Lucas, in tones loud enough to be overheard by all.

“Capital, capital. Oh, Mr Bennet, you are a clever fellow. That must be where your delightful little Lizzy gets her sharp wit. I can see her saying the same thing; only she is much more pleasant to look at,” Sir William said with something like avuncular pride.

The hawk-nosed gentleman was almost roaring with laughter at the first man’s drollery, while its source simply watched the effect of his words with wry gratification.

So, the insolent fellow has a daughter—a single daughter no doubt. Darcy pursed his lips as the pieces fell into place. Of course the father of an unmarried daughter would be impatient to procure the notice of the visitor rumoured to have ten thousand a year.

‘Lizzy,’ Sir William had called her?

Well, Darcy would be doubly sure to avoid her , especially if she shared the same ‘sharp wit’ as her father. He refused to be laughed at, particularly by a country miss whose sire was an impudent, brazen gentleman of inferior station.

As it was clear the card room would provide him no respite, Darcy returned to the ballroom, cursing his throbbing leg, this provincial village, and Bingley’s refusal to allow him to remain at Netherfield with the Hursts.

Perhaps this whole sojourn into Hertfordshire had been a mistake.

He sensed keenly the dozens of eyes falling upon him as he made his way along the wall. There was no question. This had definitely been a mistake.

Though Elizabeth had not chosen to regard Mr Darcy’s dismissive words, they had been overheard by some of the village residents, and she could see the gossip mill beginning to churn.

“Conceit,” she heard .

“Arrogance,” another whispered.

“Why, did you ever?” from someone else.

She turned towards each voice as she heard it, sorry that the gentleman was rapidly gaining such a reputation based upon an unfair disadvantage.

She knew these people—they would condemn him for eternity based on this moment, and his behaviour would mar the advancement in their society of both himself and his friend.

Her mind was racing as to how this tide could be stemmed when, to her horror, she heard the voice of Mr Harper purring, “Ah, Mr Darcy, it is so pleasant to see you again. I am sorry that our humble gathering is not to your taste.”

Clearly, Mr Darcy had left the card room, for there he was, not three yards from her bench, being accosted by the disingenuous squire.

There was no time to lose. Mr Harper was a worse gossip than her mother, Aunt Philips, and Lady Lucas combined.

If he were to experience the same coldness she had, Mr Darcy would be stained in the eyes of all of Hertfordshire, never to recover any footing in the neighbourhood, and his friend would be rejected right along with him.

She had to act.

“Mr Darcy, thank you so much for your patience,” she said breathlessly, having shot from her seat to his side.

“I am ready now. The stitching on my slipper is unharmed. It was very gentlemanly of you to step aside that I might ascertain the damage. I must say, though I promised you this set, all the excitement has made me quite warm. Would you be much put out if we walked to the refreshment table instead?” He lifted an inquisitive brow, then hesitantly nodded.

She was relieved to see him raise his arm to offer his escort.

“Mr Harper,” Elizabeth curtseyed to the old tattler as she set her hand upon Mr Darcy’s sleeve .

“Miss Elizabeth,” Mr Harper responded, bowing his head in return.

Mr Darcy bowed as well, and they were off.

They walked a moment in silence and slowly, getting out of earshot of the dastardly gossipmonger, before Mr Darcy bit out through gritted teeth, “Though I appreciate you sparing me the inanity of another conversation with Mr Harper, I believe I made it clear that I have no intention of dancing this evening. Do not think you can, by your cunning, trick me into doing so.”

What an unmitigated bore! Elizabeth thought, now unsure if the man deserved her gracious assistance. No, she reminded herself, grace is never deserved. Grace does good to others despite being undeserved. Still, she could not help but respond with some little archness.

“And here I was, looking so forward to spending half an hour in such agreeable company.”

Mr Darcy was not amused.

She schooled her features to reflect the seriousness in his own, even if she did find doing so humorous.

Not meeting his eye, she smiled to those she passed as they strolled—excruciatingly, she thought, on his part—towards the refreshments.

“Sir, I do not mean to be impertinent,” she claimed, pausing as he scoffed aloud, “but I can see you are in some amount of pain.” He looked at her in shock.

“Do not distress yourself; I do not believe it is noticeable to others, but as a student of human nature, I could not help but note the way your knuckles tense around the knob of your stick at intervals, and the crease in your brow. The problem is, Mr Darcy, your countenance…well…a scowl of pain can easily be mistaken for a scowl of disdain, and I fear some in the neighbourhood are getting that impression from you. ”

“How can they get any impression from me at all? I have said nary a word to anyone.”

“That is just it, sir. Between your reticence and the glowering grimace you have worn since first appearing, I worry your friend’s new neighbours may get the impression you think them beneath your notice.

This I may have chosen to disregard, as Mr Bingley’s friendly nature cannot but win him the favour of all,” Elizabeth explained, undaunted by his fearsome frown.

“However, when I espied Mr Harper making his way towards you, I felt I must intervene. That gentleman is not only the worst whisperer in Meryton, but he has a way of manoeuvring a conversation in just such a way as to wheedle the most damaging bits of information from his prey, coaxing them to admit to all manner of offences and catching them completely unawares.”

“You believe this man would have…what? Finagled me into offending all and sundry?”

She wondered how he could form words whilst maintaining the set of his mouth in such a grim line.

“Frankly, yes,” Elizabeth replied with a laugh. “And without much effort.”

“And, as you are such a good judge of character, my being seen escorting you to the punch bowl will instead win me the goodwill of the masses?”

Elizabeth did not think she had ever heard one’s eyes roll in the tone of their voice before.

“I do not suppose I would have put it just that way, but yes—being seen attending the very woman whom you so audibly slighted might do you some good in any case.”

Evidently mortified at the realisation she had heard him, Mr Darcy attempted to vocalise some sort of apology, but she stopped him mid-splutter .

“No, no. I was not offended, though I am afraid others may have been on my behalf. I can see you remain unconvinced of the sincerity of my motives, so I shall tell you something.” She leant closer, informing him in lowered tones, “You are in no danger from me, for I have long been spoken for.”