Page 16 of What Comes Between Cousins
A S ELIZABETH STOOD thinking of Lydia’s situation, she did not notice the approach of two men, one welcome and one not. The first to speak was Mr. Darcy, and when she heard his voice, Elizabeth turned without thought and smiled at him. His countenance, however, was all concern.
“Was that your sister who was carried from the room?”
“It was,” said Elizabeth. She accepted the cup of punch from Mr. Darcy and took a sip from it. Her anxiety must have been evident on her countenance, for Mr. Darcy looked at her with grave concern before he edged closer and spoke in a soft voice:
“Is something wrong, Miss Elizabeth? Beyond what happened to your poor sister?”
Elizabeth sighed and turned her gaze up to his eyes. “I do not know, Mr. Darcy. I should not say it . . .”
“Do not think you need to be circumspect with me.”
A sigh escaped Elizabeth’s lips. “I cannot help but wonder—Mr. Collins has been so insistent about you and your cousin that I must question if he contrived a way to injure my sister, so she could not dance with you or Lord Chesterfield.”
It is the mark of a truly senseless man that he interrupts a private conversation at the worst possible moment and in the worst possible way. Before Mr. Darcy had an opportunity to respond, the sound of Mr. Collins’s voice interrupted him.
“Cousin Elizabeth!” exclaimed he. “You must stop this insistence on imposing upon Mr. Darcy! He is not some servant, to wait upon your every whim.”
Once again, before Elizabeth was able to respond, Mr. Darcy spoke, his tone hard and unyielding. “Mr. Collins! I would ask you not to presume to misinterpret everything which passes between Miss Elizabeth and myself. For your information, sir, it is the mark of a gentleman to inquire after a lady’s comfort and provide her with refreshment, should she require it.”
“Of course, Mr. Darcy,” said the parson, almost groveling at the gentleman’s tone. “I only . . .”
“Step this way, Mr. Collins,” said Mr. Darcy, beckoning to the parson. “I have something I wish to say to you.”
Though Mr. Collins appeared like a man being led to the guillotine, he followed Mr. Darcy to where the man led him some few feet away. What followed was, to Elizabeth’s eyes, nothing less than a stinging rebuke from Mr. Darcy, which had Mr. Collins wringing his hands and bowing ever lower—at least until Mr. Darcy reached out and prevented the man from bowing, presumably accompanied by an admonishment to that effect. Elizabeth could hear little of what he said, but a few phrases found her ears, including the strongly worded demand that she emerge from her dance unharmed.
By the end of the lecture, Mr. Collins was mopping his face with a handkerchief he had produced from a pocket. Elizabeth was certain the poor square of fabric was soaked by the time Mr. Darcy bowed with curt contempt to the parson and made his way back to Elizabeth. Of course, Mr. Collins followed him.
“Thank you, Mr. Collins, but I was speaking with Miss Elizabeth,” said Mr. Darcy when he noticed the parson hovering nearby. “You may come and collect her when your dance begins.” Mr. Darcy then turned a harsh glare on Mr. Collins, causing him to step back in alarm. “Remember what I have told you, sir.”
Mr. Collins bobbed twice and then scurried away. Elizabeth noted, however, that he did not go far, and that he scowled at Elizabeth when he thought Mr. Darcy was not looking. Picking up his own cup of punch, which he had set down on a nearby chair, Mr. Darcy tossed it back and then handed the cup to a nearby maid.
“I do not know how your father can tolerate that man,” said Mr. Darcy in a low voice. “I would have thrown him from my property two minutes after his arrival!”
Elizabeth stifled a laugh. She agreed with her whole heart. “Papa is amused by follies and inconsistencies. Mr. Collins diverted him at first, but I think you will find that Papa has almost reached the end of his patience.”
Following her eyes, Mr. Darcy noted where Mr. Bennet had entered the room and was standing not far away, glowering at the parson. For his part, Mr. Collins was oblivious to that fact; the frown which almost always adorned his mien when he witnessed Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy standing together was present once again.
“Come, let us leave such a disagreeable subject, Mr. Darcy,” said Elizabeth, drawing the gentleman’s eyes back to her. “I judge there are only a few minutes before the second set will begin.” She grinned at him. “Are there any other passages of books which you have misunderstood? I would be happy to correct you if there are.”
Though Mr. Darcy appeared surprised for a moment, soon he grinned. “I confess to no such thing, Miss Elizabeth. Furthermore, I am determined to prove you wrong.”
“Then do your worst, sir.”
As Elizabeth had suspected, there were only a few minutes left before the strains of the second dance floated through the air, but they spent an agreeable time until she was forced to leave. Lydia was brought back into the room just before Mr. Collins came to collect her, and Elizabeth went to her sister, attempting to soothe her glumness—the verdict from the apothecary was that she should stay off her foot for the rest of the evening and for a week after. Lydia’s night—as far as the dance was concerned—was over.
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W HEN COLLINS LED MISS Elizabeth to the dance floor, Darcy watched closely to ensure his instructions had been carried out to the letter. In fact, Darcy thought her concerns about the parson and her sister were perhaps a little sensational, though he understood why she worried about it. Still, to give her the peace of mind, Darcy had instructed the parson that she should emerge from the experience of dancing with him in the same condition as she began it. The parson, though at first a little offended, had given Darcy his assurance.
A few moments’ watchful contemplation of the parson’s steps revealed that he was not vicious, only clumsy. It was clear he had no idea whatsoever of the steps of the dance. He was able to follow the other gentlemen to a certain extent, but more often than not, he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Darcy could see the mortification Miss Elizabeth was feeling, and his heart went out to her. That so bright a light should be the focus of the attention of such a buffoon was no less than a travesty.
As he was engaged in the pleasurable activity of watching Miss Elizabeth, a voice spoke, bringing his attention to a much less welcome individual.
“Mr. Darcy,” said Miss Bingley, “I see you are watching Miss Elizabeth Bennet dance with her cousin.” The woman let out a less than ladylike sniff of disdain. “He appears to be . . . less than impressive, does he not?”
Though Darcy agreed with her, he was not about to state that opinion openly. It would just induce the woman to more observations, which would decrease in acceptability and kindness the longer she continued. Instead, he only shook his head and returned to his contemplation of the ballroom.
“Still, I suppose it is nothing more than she can expect,” said Miss Bingley. “I understand he has been paying much attention to her. It would be an eligible match, I dare say.”
“I doubt she favors him,” replied Darcy. “I think I know enough of Miss Elizabeth that she would refuse any offer when she cannot respect the one extending his hand.”
“Then she is a fool,” said Miss Bingley. Darcy turned and regarded her, but Miss Bingley did not seem to notice, so intent was she upon watching Miss Elizabeth. “A woman in her situation has not the privilege of holding out hope for anything better.”
“Are you suggesting that a woman should take whatever offer comes to her, regardless of whether the man in question will make her happy in life?”
Miss Bingley’s eyes found Darcy’s, her expression unreadable. “I would never have thought that you would hold to such sentimental notions, Mr. Darcy. Have you not been raised, as are most in your set, to consider fortune and connections before such transient considerations of the heart?”
“It appears there is much you are unaware of me. My parents made a love match. Why would I wish for anything less for myself?”
“Then I apologize, sir,” replied Miss Bingley. “I did not mean to offend.”
“It is quite all right, Miss Bingley,” replied Darcy.
The woman stayed near him for several more moments, a faintly expectant air about her. But when Darcy refused to speak to her—or more importantly, ask her to dance—she huffed and went away. Darcy paid no notice, and he decided in that moment he would not in the future. He had been thinking of asking her to dance, a duty akin to a task one knows must be completed but wishes to do anything else. But when Miss Bingley began speaking of Miss Elizabeth and her misunderstanding of what Darcy wished in marriage, he reconsidered. Never had the difference between them been displayed in such stark terms. Hopefully, she would not consider a marriage between them possible when she failed with Fitzwilliam.
Another objectionable presence made itself known to Darcy soon after, as he noted that Wickham, whom Darcy had seen at times that evening, was standing by the dance floor, watching the proceedings. That the man was not dancing was a testament to how different his stay in Meryton would be from any other place he had imposed his presence. Most of the neighborhood now knew of him, and though Darcy could not know for certain, he thought it likely that Wickham would be refused should he ask to stand up with one of the local ladies. That supposition was confirmed when he happened to notice Mr. Bennet also watching Wickham closely.
“Thank you, Mr. Darcy, for making us aware of Mr. Wickham’s character,” said Mr. Bennet when he noticed Darcy standing nearby. “The man has a countenance which would lead us all to believe his tales, had we not already known what he is.”
“It is no trouble, Mr. Bennet,” replied Darcy. “I would not have him importuning your daughters when I had the power to prevent it.”
“Even then, I was forced to convince him not to importune them.” Darcy looked at Mr. Bennet askance. Mr. Bennet shook his head. “Two days ago, a group of officers came to Longbourn to visit. Mr. Wickham was one of their number. When he asked Lydia to dance, I intervened, informing him that none of my girls would be allowed to dance with him and that he was not to return to my estate.”
Darcy grunted. “He has never been prudent. He should have remained as inconspicuous as possible and left as soon as was expedient. But he has always had too much confidence in his ability to extract himself from trouble.”
“I dare say he has seen much of that,” replied Mr. Bennet. “Either way, he will not dance with any of my girls, and they all know to stay away from him. With that, I must be content.”
The men drifted apart after that, Darcy continuing to watch Miss Elizabeth, though he attempted to avoid giving the appearance of being focused on her. Mr. Bennet, from what Darcy could see, watched Mr. Wickham with all the intensity of a man protecting his daughters. Darcy’s original estimation of the man had been that he was slothful and indifferent. But what he was seeing of Mr. Bennet tonight informed him that though he might be a little odd, he cared for his girls and would exert himself in their protection. Darcy appreciated that Miss Elizabeth had an able protector.
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B EING RELEASED FROM the dance floor was akin to a soul’s entrance in paradise, or so Elizabeth imagined. A more disagreeable partner she had never had. While she had quickly understood Mr. Collins was only clumsy and unpracticed, that did not change his limitations as a dance partner. Elizabeth escaped as soon as she could to her next partner, Lord Chesterfield.
Of course, she did not miss the dark looks thrown at her by Mr. Collins, who seemed to think she was attempting to attract two men to her with the voice of a siren. With any luck, however, she would be free of the odious man’s presence for the rest of evening. It was perhaps a vain hope, for she had no faith in his ability to make himself scarce.
When the viscount collected her for their dance, Elizabeth smiled and greeted him, allowing herself to feel pleasure at the attentiveness of such a prominent man. He led her to the line, and they set to it with a will. Their conversation flowed more quickly and easily—at least at first—than her conversation with Mr. Darcy had.
“Miss Elizabeth, I do not think I have mentioned it yet, but you are positively divine tonight,” said Lord Chesterfield as soon as they began to dance.
Once again, Elizabeth was flattered at his attention, and she felt her cheeks heat up in response to his words. “I believe there are many who are looking their best tonight, my lord. An occasion such as this is a reason for us all to display whatever charms we possess to their best advantage. Do you not agree?”
“Oh, aye,” said the viscount. “Ladies are always at their best at any event where they may be seen. But you outshine them all, I dare say. I challenge any man to disagree.”
“Are you suggesting vanity on my part, Lord Chesterfield?” asked Elizabeth, arching an eyebrow at the man. “This talk of ladies being at their best smacks of artificial charms designed to capture a man.”
Lord Chesterfield laughed and shook his head. “No, indeed, Miss Elizabeth.”
They separated slightly due to the dance, and when they came together again, they clasped right hands and moved in a circle together. When they were thus engaged, Lord Chesterfield leaned forward and said in a low tone: “Courtship is a matter of showing the best of oneself to a potential mate, is it not?”
Though surprised at his choice of words, Elizabeth maintained her composure and allowed that it was. But she could not allow his words to pass without a challenge. “But I would not call this a courtship, sir. It is naught but a ball given by a good man to those in the area in which he resides.”
“Perhaps there is no official or explicit courtship, Miss Elizabeth. But are events like this not the beginnings of courtship? Some might say, for example, that Bingley and your eldest sister are all but courting even as we speak.”
Elizabeth darted a glance at where Jane was dancing with one of the local gentlemen—Samuel Lucas, Elizabeth noted with a look of annoyance at the objectionable man. But it appeared she was paying him no attention, and he was not even trying to turn her eye. In fact, her gaze rarely strayed from the figure of Mr. Bingley, who danced with Mary several couples away. It warmed Elizabeth’s heart to see her sister so enamored with a man.
“Perhaps you are correct, my lord,” said Elizabeth, turning back to the viscount, who was watching her with an intensity that reminded her of Mr. Darcy. “But you still have not answered my initial question.”
“Then I shall do so directly. In fact, I was not speaking to the vanity of anyone, though it is possible that a certain amount exists. But that may be true in almost every setting, and not only the ballroom. We all, I am certain you would agree, wish to be respected and esteemed by those of our acquaintance. Being admired for how we look can be a facet of that wish. Do you not agree?”
“I am afraid I must yield to your arguments, my lord,” replied Elizabeth.
“I am glad to hear it.”
Once again, they were forced to pause their conversation because of the demands of the steps. When they came together again, it seemed like Lord Chesterfield had more he wished to say.
“I will inform you of this, Miss Elizabeth: I do believe there exists a certain level of ‘artificial charms,’ as you call them, in most of those one meets. Indeed, it can often be difficult to determine the true person behind the facade we all put up before the world.
“Having said this, I believe I may safely say that you , Miss Elizabeth, are one of the most honest and genuine young ladies I have ever met.”
Elizabeth could not help but blush before the man’s praise, but he was not finished. “It is clear you are in the habit of stating your opinion without pretense or obfuscation, and while other ladies might preen in front of a mirror to ensure their appearance is exactly so, you do not need to put any effort in such endeavors. You are natural, wholesome, and good, and you do so without conscious thought. I find that quite intriguing, I assure you.”
“I thank you, my lord,” replied Elizabeth, wondering if her cheeks were giving off light, so warm did they feel. “But you ascribe far greater virtues to me than I actually possess. I am not so estimable as all this.”
“Those who demur are those who are most estimable,” replied Lord Chesterfield. “I find that those who consider themselves beautiful and desirable are often those who are the vainest. They expect the adulation of the masses and, particularly, anticipate the gentlemen to fall at their knees and worship them. You do no such thing.”
Elizabeth peered at him suspiciously. All this talk of vanity and pretension and sincerity was pushing her embarrassment away, and she now wondered what his purpose was. In her experience, men would often flatter a little to show their appreciation. But a man who flattered excessively usually wished something from the woman. Elizabeth did not think that the viscount was the kind of man who would improperly importune a woman—particularly a gentlewoman—but prudence dictated she be on her guard.
Throughout the course of their dance, the viscount continued to speak, and while Elizabeth enjoyed his conversation and their banter, the little niggling feeling of being excessively praised continued to build within her mind. And the more he praised, the more she parried and backed away. Lord Chesterfield did not appear to recognize her increasingly defensive stance; he spoke and flattered and bantered without pause, and by the end of the dance, Elizabeth was grateful for the opportunity to retreat from him a little and think.
When she was back on the side of the dance floor waiting for the next set to start and the arrival of her next partner, Mary approached. She grasped Elizabeth’s arm, pulled her to an area of relative privacy in the busy ballroom, and fixed Elizabeth with a serious look.
“What is it, Lizzy?” demanded she.
Elizabeth, surprised at her sister’s forceful nature, could only stare. This prompted an annoyed huff.
“I was not so engaged in my dance with Mr. Bingley that I could not see what was happening between you and the viscount.”
The mention of the man caused Elizabeth’s eyes to flick to where he was standing on the other side of the dance floor, speaking with Colonel Forster.
“You began the dance with your usual level of repartee,” said Mary, drawing Elizabeth’s attention back from the viscount, “but it seemed to me you became more defensive as time wore on.”
“I hardly know what to think,” replied Elizabeth. “He has always been friendly and engaging. But tonight, he seemed determined to flatter, and he did so without ceasing.” Elizabeth glanced about and decided the particulars could not be disseminated in such a place without risking being overheard. “I do not wish to say much at present. But I am struck by a vast difference in two of the men with whom I have danced tonight.”
“You are not speaking of Mr. Collins.”
It was not a question, but Elizabeth shook her head anyway. “No. I am speaking of Mr. Darcy and Lord Chesterfield. Whereas Mr. Darcy is quieter and does not possess the animation of his cousin, he spoke to me in a friendly manner, debating various topics like he was speaking to an equal, listening to what I had to say with true interest. I felt like my opinion was valued and my intelligence respected. Lord Chesterfield wished only to flatter my vanity, even while he protested that I was far too genuine for such conceit. Their manners were so different. I almost felt . . .”
“What, Lizzy?” asked Mary when Elizabeth did not speak further.
Elizabeth ducked her head in embarrassment. “I assure you I have no reason to believe the viscount meant it in such a way, but I almost felt like a woman being considered for the position of the man’s mistress.”
Mary’s eyes widened and her nostrils flared. Elizabeth put a hand on her sister’s arm to calm her.
“As I said, Mary, I do not believe that was his intention. But I also must wonder why his manner with me is so changed tonight. We have often spoken in congenial terms, and I know he is a good man, one who does not look down on others and speaks to them as equals. I simply do not know why he was so insistent upon flattering me.”
“The contrast is striking,” said Mary, as she worried her lower lip with her teeth. “Perhaps it would be best to maintain a little distance from the viscount. He may not mean anything by it, but it would be best to be certain.”
“I agree,” replied Elizabeth. “I shall not slight him, but I will not go out of my way to attract his attention either.”
With that, the conversation between sisters ended, as a pair of militia officers approached them for the next sets. The rest of the evening was a whirlwind of dances, conversations, refreshments, laughter, and other enjoyments. Elizabeth was not forced to dodge the viscount much—while the man did approach her on several occasions and seemed intent upon flattering her, the demands of the dance were such that she never had much time to devote to his blandishments.
Mr. Darcy, on the other hand, also approached her several times. His conversation, however, consisted of more of what they had indulged in during their sets together, and on one occasion, he informed her that after due consideration, he thought one of her assertions about a text they had both read was correct. Elizabeth felt quite gratified at his attention and spoke with him easily on several occasions.
The third gentleman who seemed intent upon intruding upon her notice was Mr. Collins, but he did not act the suitor. He seemed more determined to interrupt whenever she was speaking with one of the other two men, though a harsh glare from either was enough to send him scurrying away. As such, Elizabeth was only required to avoid him whenever Mr. Darcy or Lord Chesterfield were not present, which, as it turned out, was easy enough for her to do.
It was approaching the supper hour when Elizabeth was forced to stand up with the second objectionable man of the evening. She had not been prepared to dance with Samuel Lucas, and he usually avoided her at events such as this, which was no hardship for Elizabeth. Thus, when he approached her not long after her arrival, asking her for a dance, she had scowled at him, before acceding, knowing she would not be allowed to do otherwise.
“I must own, little Eliza,” said he in his usually patronizing tone, “that I might have underestimated you.”
“By my account, little Sammy,” said Elizabeth, attempting to be as insulting as he was himself, “you have made it a habit of underestimating me. I have no notion of what you mean in this instance.”
The detestable smirk, which Elizabeth had often wished to remove from his countenance forcibly, was once again in full view. “Why, in your determination to avoid being forced to follow my sister into the circumstances of her new life. I had thought that with your proclivity for clever words and tendency to overwhelm potential suitors with your intelligence, you were destined to end in service. Perhaps I was mistaken.”
“Are you accusing me of acting improperly, Mr. Lucas?” asked Elizabeth. She wondered that he was not frostbitten by the coldness in her tone. As was his wont, he only laughed and shook his head.
“I do not mean to be so cruel, my dearest little Eliza. I only mean to congratulate you. Why, given what I am witnessing before me, I should not wonder if you will have Mr. Darcy and Lord Chesterfield engaged in fisticuffs by the end of the evening for the privilege of your favor. I know not how you have managed it, but well done, I say!”
Elizabeth opened her mouth to reply, intending to flay the objectionable man where he stood. But suddenly there was a disturbance and a loud voice rose over the room, audible even above the sound of the music and general conversation.
“Where are they? Where are my nephews? I demand to see them at once!”