Page 9 of The Heroic Mr Darcy’s Bad Manners
A week of incessant rain had prevented everyone in the Bennet household from venturing out of doors. Fortunately, the weather cleared in time for the ball. Mr Collins had requested Elizabeth’s first set, and her mother’s scowls had prevented her from rejecting him. It was of no matter because this was Jane’s night, and Elizabeth was only glad he had not asked for her eldest sister’s first set instead. It was to be hoped that Mr Bingley would have that honour.
Netherfield looked splendid, illuminated by torches. Upon entry, Elizabeth had to acknowledge that Miss Bingley had created a wonderful ball with enough light and exquisite flower arrangements. In that, she much resembled her mother—a comparison that the lady would not relish, so Elizabeth kept her opinion to herself.
Mr Bingley greeted them jovially until he set eyes on Jane. After that, his general incivility to the rest of her family was easily forgiven. He engaged Jane for the first set and spoke hardly a word to anyone else. Elizabeth felt confident that it was impossible he would leave her sister in a hurry, despite having threatened to quit Netherfield on a whim…
The musicians tuned their instruments, and Mr Collins came to claim his set. Elizabeth suffered the embarrassing half hour with grace and disregarded Miss Bingley’s snickers. It was not her fault that the parson lacked proficiency, and she kept her chin raised until the ordeal was over. She curtseyed to Mr Collins and sought the more pleasant company of Charlotte. But she did not find her friend before Captain Denny requested the next set.
By fortune she had not encountered Mr Darcy thus far, and she wondered whether he might have returned to town. His presence had not been missed in the receiving line, and she had not seen hide nor hair of him since they arrived. Elizabeth chided herself for thinking about Mr Darcy, as any thoughts about that gentleman were quite unwelcome, and she had so far enjoyed the ball with the exception of her set with Mr Collins.
Elizabeth danced with two more officers before she managed to find Charlotte. But she was immediately importuned by the ever-present Mr Collins.
“May I have the supper set, Miss Elizabeth?”
“Mr Collins!” Elizabeth was of no mind to raise the kind of questions dancing two significant sets with an eligible gentleman would induce. She turned to her friend. “Charlotte, may I introduce my cousin, Mr Collins?” At her slight nod, she continued, “Sir, Miss Lucas is my most estimable friend and daughter of the knight, Sir William Lucas, who frequents St James’s.”
“Good Lord, a knight you say? He is not a peer, but I am sure Lady Catherine would be most displeased if I slighted such an elegant lady. Would you do me the great honour of your hand for the next set, Miss Lucas?”
And thus, Elizabeth neatly convinced Mr Collins that Charlotte was an excellent partner. She would have to beg the forgiveness of her friend on the morrow and offer her a salve to restore her sore feet.
Elizabeth smiled to herself and regarded Charlotte, who had engaged her cousin in a lively conversation. She would gladly leave it to her friend to entertain even the most ignorant fool for all eternity.
“May I have the honour of your next free set, Miss Bennet?”
Elizabeth jolted out of her pleasant reveries and stared unblinkingly at Mr Darcy. He must have thought she was someone else because he looked at her with a stunned expression on his face. If she had not been in such a predicament, she would have laughed, but it was the supper set that was about to commence, and the last thing she wanted was to partner Mr Darcy through the meal. Yet, her mind was not cooperating. Staring into his deep ocean-blue eyes robbed her of her ability to think clearly, and all that was left was to acquiesce.
“I have the first set after supper free, Mr Darcy.” For some inexplicable reason, his eyes widened at his own name, which could not come as a surprise to him. The man was exceedingly puzzling in addition to devilishly vexing. Unabashed, he continued to stare at her, and before he gathered the wherewithal for conversation, Elizabeth dipped into a curtsey.
“Excuse me, my mother is calling for me.”
Elizabeth hastened across the floor, barely escaping bumping into several dancers, and made for the protection of her mother. She was regaling a group of matrons about the fortune of her dear Jane, who was currently dancing her second set with Mr Bingley. She immediately turned her attention to her second eldest daughter in lieu of her friends.
“What did the disagreeable Mr Darcy want? Pray tell me you did not agree to dance with him.” Mrs Bennet scowled at the now vacant spot Mr Darcy had just occupied.
“He left me no choice, Mama,” Elizabeth admitted with chagrin. “But I do feel the twinge of a headache coming on. May I have the carriage to convey me home?”
Her mother rose and escorted Elizabeth to an empty balcony.
“That may prove difficult,” Mrs Bennet admitted ruefully. “I may have ordered the coachman to park our conveyance where it would be certain to be the last to leave.”
“I could walk,” Elizabeth offered.
“In the dead of night? I think not.” Her mother frowned and shivered. “It is too cold out here, Lizzy. I cannot become ill because I have invited Mr Bingley to dine with us on Saturday.”
“But that is only five days hence. I understood Mr Bingley must away on business to town on the morrow,” Elizabeth protested whilst being hauled back inside.
“Mr Bingley assured me that he would be away for but a day. As for your conundrum with Mr Darcy, I suggest you hide in the library before the set begins.”
“Excellent suggestion, Mama. It would not be embarrassing at all should he discover me there!”
“There is always the attic,” Mrs Bennet mused before she loosened the fierce grip on her daughter’s arm. Mr Bingley and Jane were approaching, and Elizabeth was immediately forgotten.
Mrs Bennet continued to flatter Mr Bingley, who bore the incessant praise with composed poise. Jane looked radiantly happy to have been singled out, and her smile was more brilliant than ever. Supper was announced, and on their way to the dining room, she insisted that Elizabeth sit with them since she had no partner. Elizabeth acquiesced because Mr Bingley, as master of the house, would be seated at the opposite end of the room to Miss Bingley, who had secured Mr Darcy as her dinner partner.
Miss Bingley chose Lady Lucas, as the lady first in rank, to show the way for the guests, and her mother as the second. It was not ideal that her mother would sit close by the lady of the house, prone as she was to drawing hasty conclusions. It had not escaped Elizabeth’s notice that her mama had already announced Jane’s engagement to Mr Bingley as a certainty when she had interrupted her tête-à-tête with Meryton’s matrons. Mrs Bennet was currently conversing with Lady Lucas, and judging by Miss Bingley’s scowls in her direction, their topic was unpalatable to their host. Mr Bingley chose Sir William as the highest-ranking gentleman, who offered to escort Elizabeth to the table.
Elizabeth sighed and thanked the footman who had just filled her glass with wine before she tasted the white soup. Her dinner partner’s loquaciousness fortunately made any attempts at conversation redundant, and her eyes travelled the long table to watch her mother. She was not making herself agreeable to the lady of the house, who bent her head to the frowning gentleman beside her. She was in no doubt about their topic and wished she had sat closer to Mrs Bennet to temper her exuberance. Her father was also situated too far away from his wife to be of service. It was a good thing that Mr Bingley and Jane were conversing to the exclusion of everyone else—a conversation which lasted until the meal concluded.
Afterwards, Charlotte was trying to persuade Elizabeth to play the pianoforte when she halted abruptly mid-sentence. She stared wide-eyed over her shoulder, and curious as she was, Elizabeth turned to see what had caught her friend’s attention.
“Miss Bennet,” Mr Darcy greeted her and bowed. “Our set is about to begin,” he informed her, offering his arm.
Elizabeth had no choice but to take it. She was escorted into the ballroom and took her place in the line, where she read amazement in her neighbours’ looks. They, undoubtedly, thought she had lost her senses. There was not a house in the vicinity where his insults had not been the prime topic ever since the Meryton assembly.
The music began and Elizabeth’s distress increased. She could not meet her partner’s eyes but fixed her gaze on a silver button on his coat. She was obliged to dance, but no one could force her to speak, and Elizabeth remained silent for the entire half-hour. The only one who spoke was Sir William, who, on his way across the floor, spotted the illustrious Mr Darcy. He flattered him for his excellent dancing and expounded upon the beauty of his desirable partner. The latter made Elizabeth flush in embarrassment. Surely Sir William had been informed about the insult? What could the Lucases mean by the constant reminders? She surmised that Sir William was deliberately trying to elevate her in the haughty gentleman’s esteem, ignorant to the fact that it could not be done. Did they not understand how painful it was to her?
Sir William ended his interruption by alluding to a desirable event whilst glancing at Jane and Mr Bingley. They were engaged for their third set of the evening and may as well have declared that an understanding had been reached. Mr Darcy’s eyes followed Sir William’s gaze.
“—but let me not interrupt your superior dancing. You will not thank me for detaining you from your bewitching partner, whose lovely eyes are now berating me.”
Sir William finally left them, but Mr Darcy showed no sign he had even heard the man. His eyes were directed at Mr Bingley and Jane with a sombre expression.
The set ended with not a word exchanged. Mr Darcy held her hand as he had frozen in the middle of the last step. Elizabeth jerked it out of his grip and positioned herself opposite so as to curtsey. She could not look at him but fixed her eyes on his flexing hand.
“Miss Bennet,” he began, but Elizabeth was at the end of her tolerance and had already turned her back on him. His calling did not induce her to return, nor did it slow her steps. She continued out of the ballroom and found solace in the empty library.
#
Darcy
His valet was tugging at his coat sleeves. The ball had finally ended, and he asked Grey with an affected air of indifference, “Have you heard anything downstairs about a family called Bennet?”
It was safest to enquire about all the Bennets in the area rather than to risk raising suspicions by asking about the one who intrigued him. What had possessed him to request Miss Elizabeth Bennet’s hand for a set was beyond him. He had stalked the outskirts of the ballroom and found a perfectly good hiding place where he was mostly obscured from the savage revellers. For some inexplicable reason, his eyes had been intent on following the insignificant miss about the room as they had for the majority of his stay at Netherfield. She was a lowly country squire’s daughter and could not hold a candle to his Eilís. His failure to find that lady had by no means discouraged him from pursuing her. Quite the contrary. He was decided: it must be she and no other!
His excuse must be that Miss Elizabeth Bennet did not behave as any other lady he had ever met. That must be it. She piqued his curiosity, which naturally led him to enquire about her. Her assiduous avoidance of his company bordered on the ridiculous. Rightly, he had made unflattering remarks that had provoked her to retaliate, for which his boots had suffered a minor injury. It was baffling that she had not once since curried his favour. She must have heard his income being bandied about as quite significant in this unsophisticated little neighbourhood. But no, the lady continued to avoid his company as if he were the plague. It was rather humorous how she had leapt up when he took the seat next to her on the sofa.
“Yes. It is the most prominent family in Meryton. There are five daughters of reputed beauty, and they are well liked in the community. I have heard nothing worse about them than the patriarch’s penchant for wielding his sharp sarcastic wit upon his unsuspecting neighbours and wife. She herself is rather ignorant, and marriage minded, but there have been, as far as I have discovered, no scandals attached to their name in recent years. Unlikely as it may seem with two such dissimilar partners, the Bennet household is regarded as a happy home.”
Grey disappeared into the dressing room with Darcy’s coat, and he was forced to raise his voice when it hit him that he had just caught his infallible valet in an error.
“Sir William outranks Mr Bennet. He is a knight,” Darcy corrected his valet whilst trying to hide his glee.
“He did, but an earldom has been created that has elevated Mr Bennet to the peerage.”
“But that is impossible!” he exclaimed in shock.
Grey looked at him with something akin to pity in his eyes. A sense of unwarranted dread gripped his chest. Or perhaps not entirely unwarranted if he considered the slights he had so unjustly bestowed upon the earl’s daughter. He immediately disregarded his misgivings as ridiculous. What did it matter to him whether Mr Bennet was an earl, or even the next king of England for that matter?
“How recently?”
“It was announced in this evening’s paper, but the residents of Meryton and Longbourn village have known for years that this day would come.”
“I find that hard to believe. I have heard not a single word about it, and those kinds of fortunate events never fail to be boasted about.”
His valet was regarding him with an expression of trepidation, as though he was about to inform him of something he would not like to hear. He even cleared his throat, which was unheard of.
“Out with it, Grey!” he barked with unnecessary force. He was vexed and unable to conceal it.
“I believe… Um, that is to say…well…your hapless remarks at the Meryton assembly, and the unfortunate behaviour of Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst, have not recommended your party to the small but protective society of Meryton. I have never encountered any community so willing to preserve and shield a family as I have seen in this quaint little town.”
“I know of what you speak with regards to my slight of the second eldest Bennet daughter, and I received quite the set-down for my callous words. You have seen the damage to my boot, and Mrs Bennet and the mousy daughter thoroughly berated me, but I suppose you already knew that?”
Grey nodded solemnly.
“What I do not understand is why Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst would be slighted. Not to forget Mr Hurst and Mr Bingley, who are incapable of offending anyone. Mr Hurst because he does not apply himself, and Mr Bingley because he is unfailingly agreeable to all and sundry. So why are we regarded as such outcasts as to be deemed a threat to the fortunate elevation of Mr Bennet?”
“I have surmised that they are worried about fortune hunters.”
At that ridiculous assertion he barked an incredulous laugh.
“Yet they do not reject Mr Bingley’s obvious pursuit of their eldest daughter. He is from trade…”
“No, but Miss Elizabeth has enquired about him amongst the servants. She harbours doubts about his constancy.”
“Preposterous! And why is she on such intimate terms with Netherfield’s servants as to enquire about personal matters?”
“The estate’s owner is a relation. The same one who requested Mr Bennet’s earldom be created.”
He had to know, just to quash the unease.
“The Earl of Longbourn. A rather modest estate for an earl, would you not say?”
“No, sir. He is the Earl of Glentworth. It is a free-holding of significant size, and the current holder leaves no heir apparent, so Mr Bennet was given the estate when the earldom was created.”
“Glentworth… Is that not in Ireland?”
The whole scheme sounded strange because the Bennets had held Longbourn for generations.
“Yes, in Limerick. The previous owner’s health is believed to be failing, though the Prince of Wales elevated him to marquess this spring.”
Memories of a masquerade ball assaulted his senses. The pair of emerald-green eyes in the face of a delightful dance partner, to be precise. Lord Limerick’s niece, whom the viscount and the colonel had egged him to engage with a despicable wager. Could Queen Elizabeth and Miss Elizabeth Bennet be the same person?
Oh God! I hope not…
No, it could not be. His lordship’s sister had addressed her as Eilís, not Elizabeth. Besides, the lady he had spent that evening with had been considerably taller than Miss Elizabeth. He was familiar with growth spurts from his own youth, but never had he seen or heard about anyone shrinking three inches. It was simply not possible.
He expelled a harsh breath and assumed that Eilís and Miss Elizabeth must be related. It was not so strange that they shared the same eye colour if that was the case.
Yet, the jolt that had passed through him as Miss Elizabeth had met his eyes in the ballroom had not only been from admiration of the most intelligent and gorgeous eyes he had ever seen, but it had also been one of recognition.
Darcy stumbled into a chair and rested his head in his hands.
“Pray! Are you unwell, sir?”
His valet’s concerned words barely penetrated his clouded mind. Had he insulted and disparaged the one lady he could not forget? No! Fate cannot be this cruel. Miss Elizabeth’s pleasing figure was not as plump as the current fashion, and he doubted she had dimples in her thighs, but she did have a full…um…backside, which was a sign of wealth. He admitted that her dark, curly hair closely resembled the ancient Greek and Roman ideal, not that she ever wore the elaborate coiffures he had so often seen copied from ancient busts and paintings. She had a natural quality to her face through no use of cosmetics, but her complexion bore a slight tan and a light dusting of freckles.
Despite the distinct disadvantage of never seeing the face of the apparition he had encountered at the masquerade, it was not only her height that distinguished her from Miss Elizabeth. Queen Elizabeth had an ebullient nature Miss Elizabeth lacked, and the hair colour was different as well. Eilís had copper red hair, whilst Miss Elizabeth’s was mahogany brown, and though he could admit to himself that he was in slight danger from the enticing siren, she was nothing to the mind of Queen Elizabeth. If he compared the two, Miss Elizabeth appeared rather dull and definitely more reserved.
Darcy wondered whether he was being fair. His conversations with the lady had been few, short, and had not touched upon profound existential questions as they had with Eilís.
Miss Elizabeth had, on rare occasions, proved to have a quick wit that one could not fail to observe.
“I hardly know…”
“To answer your previous question, sir, Mr Bingley is generally liked, Mr Hurst generates indifference, but Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst’s supercilious airs and propensity to look down upon everyone they meet have not induced Meryton’s residents to be explicit or forthcoming.”
He noticed that Grey had not mentioned the inhabitants’ perception of him, for which he could only be grateful. He had not promoted himself to anyone because he had not thought it necessary in this town of little to no consequence.