Beginning, Section II, Next Section
Darcy whistled to himself as he hastened down the parsonage steps. His riding boots, hopelessly scuffed and well-worn, clicked smartly on the gravel as he walked round to the back lawn. He was feeling unaccountably happy today. Whether it was due to the prospect of riding or the obtainment of some exercise was not discernable. Perhaps it was just simply seeing the sun out again.
Whatever the cause, there was an extra spring in his step that seemed at odds with the nature of his ride. He had in his coat pocket an order for the Meryton butcher for a side-quarter of venison and two pheasants. Normally a task like this would have been reserved for a footman or a page, but help was scarce and Darcy liked the fresh air.
Besides, it would be a relief to be outside after all this wet weather. He had spent the past three days holed up in the study with Dr. Lawrence, pouring over expense accounts and tithe records. The old church was in desperate need of renovation, and Darcy was trying to calculate the account figures and projected cost.
The pathetically scanty tithes continued to amaze him. At Kympton, even the poorest of the families had scraped together what they could. The church returned their generosity tenfold, for Reverend Fallows had several ongoing programs to provide the nearby villagers with clothing, food, and other necessities. The arrangement had worked well, and the parish and village both had prospered.
Darcy was certain that there were sufficiently wealthy families in the area, but the only consistently bountiful offerings were from a Sir William Lucas of Lucas Lodge. The Bennet family of Longbourn also gave generously but very sporadically. Still, these funds were not nearly enough for a church of this size.
In truth, it discouraged him more than anything. He had been sent here to Hertfordshire in part to help the Meryton church regain a balance in attendance and income. That task seemed to become more and more challenging as he dug deeper into the records. At first he was almost positive that some underhanded dealings had been perpetrated against the church, but all accounts were perfectly settled, with not a penny out of place. At length he had given up attempting to puzzle out the discrepancy and turned his attention to more pressing matters.
A thorough survey of the church had confirmed Darcy's initial opinion of its disrepair. He and Dr. Lawrence had written out a list of necessary purchases, which included material to make several new pews, a fresh set of linens for the altar, beeswax to shine up the gilded ornamentation about the pulpit, a new baptismal bath, and at least one gardener to keep the grounds in order. The church itself also needed a complete scrubbing. Outside help would have to be brought in for the task, as it would be far too much work for Bessie and Martha alone.
He sighed and pushed the melancholy thoughts from his mind. It was a lovely day, after all, and there was no reason to ruin it.
In no time at all, his long stride brought him to backyard, where the stables, if they could so be called, were situated. The little fenced yard and its inhabitants were the domain of the stable-boy, who sat on the edge of the well, a bit of hay between his teeth and a whittle-knife and block of wood in his hands. He leapt up upon seeing Darcy approach and tipped his hat respectfully.
"Good morning, John."
John Parker was a tall, gangly youth of about seventeen, with jug-handle ears and a mop of carroty hair. "Good mornin'. Can I ‘elp ye, Mister Darcy?"
"I'd like to ride into the village today, John. Would you be so kind as to show me the stables?"
The boy, pleased to be useful, puffed out his thin chest and led Darcy around to the shed that served as a barn, patting the nose of the old milk-cow as he passed her pen.
Stopping at the last stall, John unlatched the gate. "‘Ere ‘e is, sir." He pointed to the piebald gelding inside, which flared its nostrils threateningly. "This is the only fella we ‘ave. ‘E used to be a farm ‘orse, so don't expect much from ‘im."
"He looks fine. What is his name?"
The stable-lad smiled. "Judas – ‘e'll turn on ye in a minute. You best watch out when ye ride him, sir."
"Thank you. I'll saddle him myself." Darcy approached the piebald, who snorted at him and tossed his mane. "I see you have a bad temper as well, Judas."
"Sir, are ye..." John hesitated, hovering nervously nearby. "Are ye sure ye want to do this yerself? ‘E really does ‘ave a nasty spot to ‘im."
"Have no fear, lad – I have no intention of getting my head kicked in just yet."
Within ten minutes Judas was saddled and bridled. John, torn between awe and pure hero worship, watched Darcy mount and ride out to the yard. "I'll have him back before two," Darcy said, pulling on his gloves. "If you could have some oats ready before we return, I would appreciate it very much."
"Certainly, sir. ‘Ave a good ride." Still shaking his head in wonder, John lingered to watch man and horse turn the corner before trooping back to the barn.
Darcy could not have been more pleased with his mount. Farm horse he might have been, but Judas's sleek muscles trembled with coiled energy. As soon as they were in the meadow he let the reins go slack, and the gelding took off at a breakneck pace. The wind and exhilaration of speed delighted them both, and by the time Darcy slowed him to a canter, Judas was much more inclined to approve of his human companion.
A half-hour's leisurely ride brought Darcy to Meryton. As it was about midmorning, the streets were crowded with gentlefolk and shopkeepers. Searching for the butcher's, he rode along the main road toward the center of the village.
Most of the buildings housed clothes or fabrics, but next to the bakery he found a sign that read, Braugh and Braugh, Butchers. He immediately turned his horse about toward the shop.
The store was dingy and in need of refurbishing, but the portly Mr. Braugh was amicable and his son no less round nor less jolly. The arrangements were made for the delivery of the meat, and Darcy decided to take a turn about the street before he returned for Judas.
He paused at a few windows, including one which displayed a length of luxurious blue silk. The color, which nearly matched that of Georgiana's eyes, struck him as particularly lovely, and he stood in quiet contemplation, wishing he could purchase it for his sister. How she would delight in such finery! Undoubtedly it would suit her better than the well-worn muslin she had now. But he knew, without even inquiring, that the price would be exorbitant.
With a sigh, he began walking again, his attention still focused on the cloth. He had not gone three steps before he collided face-first into something that was at once both very solid and very soft. A cry of surprise echoed in his ear, a hand grabbed his arm, and he suddenly found himself sitting on the walk, a leg flung across his lap. But it wasn't his leg. In fact, it was a shapely, stockinged leg, with a satin slipper hanging haphazardly from its small toes. He tentatively lifted his eyes and saw that, indeed, there was a lady attached to the leg. A very handsome lady.
A pair of dark, brilliant eyes, fringed with long brown lashes, gazed back at him in amazement. Chestnut curls bounced out from her bonnet in every direction, a pert nose curved up from her freckled face, and her lips were parted in shock.
"I am so sorry, ma'am," he stuttered, unnerved and unaware that he was still seated on the dirt. "Can you stand? Are you in pain? Shall I call for some assistance?"
Her mouth twitched, and for a moment, Darcy feared that she was going to weep. The next instant, however, he watched in disbelief as she began to laugh, a soft, infectious sound. Her eyes sparkled with good-humor, and he began to feel foolish – and consequently, somewhat annoyed.
She must have seen the irritated look about his face, for she stopped laughing, though her eyes remained bright and searching. "Forgive me, sir, for expressing amusement." Her tone was arch, but possessed a hint of sweetness that stole away any offense from her words. "I believe, in many cases, it is better to laugh than to cry. Do you not agree?"
Darcy immediately felt all the impertinence of his silent reprimand, and softened his scowl. By the quality of her gown and her genteel manner of speech, he guessed her to be the daughter of a gentleman, perhaps a local squire. He had had no right to scold her, and certainly no right to admire her lovely face and light, pleasing figure.
He masked his discomposure with a gentlemanly tip of his head. "You are unhurt?"
She nodded, but that little hint of mischief manifested itself in her smile. "Yes, sir. However, I believe it would be wise to remove myself from the cobblestones before people think I sit here for my own enjoyment."
Blushing, Darcy immediately scrambled to his feet and helped her up, apologizing for his thoughtlessness. She brushed aside his regrets and assured him no lasting harm was done. His head spun from her nearness, and the touch of her soft hand upon his arm awoke feelings within him that he had never before experienced.
"May I see you safely to your companions, ma'am?"
"I should be obliged if you would escort me to that shop across the road. I will wait for my sister there."
He agreed and led her through the crowded street to the drapery. They did not converse, as Darcy couldn't come up with a single thing to say – not even a remark on the weather, for at that moment, he honestly could not have told her whether it was sunny or raining.
The lady herself seemed somewhat shaken. At least, more shaken than a mere spill to the ground would warrant. Darcy repeatedly caught her wringing the handkerchief in her hands so violently he thought the silk might rend in two.
Who was she? He gazed at her cautiously as they walked. Besides her manner and the make of her clothes, he knew nothing of her...but he wanted to. Suddenly, urgently, he wanted to know everything about her. When he needed them most, words failed him. He wanted to ask her if he would see her again – he did not want this to be their only meeting. Unsure of how to word such an inquiry without sounding like an impertinent cad, he remained silent.
The pair reached the other side of the street far too quickly. The young lady turned to bid him goodbye and thank him heartily for his escort. Unable to think of a fitting reply, Darcy simply bowed to her and wished her a pleasant afternoon.
After seeing her situated securely inside the drapery, he left as hastily as he could, not realizing that she stood at the window, watching his retreating figure until he disappeared around the bend.
Martha hummed softly to herself as she stood at the kitchen table, slicing a loaf of bread and listening to Georgiana recite her French lesson. Dr. Lawrence sat across from her, following the text in a grammar book, stopping her every so often to praise a perfect pronunciation or offer a gentle word of correction.
"Mon nom est Marie. J'habite en une maison sur une rue à Paris." She turned the page. "Je vais souvent aux danses aux pièces d'assemblée et rencontre beaucoup de gens. J'aussi..."
She continued for another half-page, until Dr. Lawrence deemed her study for the day complete. Georgiana set aside the book in relief. She disliked French, but her brother, who spoke the language fluently, had been adamant that she learn it. Education was one of the few points on which he was stubborn. "Education is the key to making a life for yourself," he would tell her should she dare to complain about the workload in his earshot. "Father told me that once. He specifically charged me with the duty to see you become as accomplished as any wealthy woman. Fortune doesn't have to define learnedness."
And because she trusted his judgment, she did as he asked with little dissension – well, with the exception of an occasional grumble when the French book was hauled out. Her study with the rector, however, eased her vexation, for he was an interesting tutor and always seemed to sense when she was no longer receptive to any information he offered. Besides, she was comfortable around him.
And the reason for her tutelage in the first place? Dr. Lawrence, with considerable dismay, had discovered the payroll would not allow him to give Darcy the full £10 a month as had been promised. In exchange for a smaller amount of money, the rector had volunteered to undertake Georgiana's education himself. It had been many years since he had instructed a pupil, and he took to this old employment with great relish.
Dr. Lawrence took a sip of tea and leaned forward in his chair. "Well, Miss Darcy, I trust you finished the book?"
Georgiana nodded and rose to collect a volume from a nearby shelf – a tattered edition of Sir Thomas More's Utopia. "Yes, I completed the last chapter yesterday. I must admit, sir, that I don't think I wholly understood it. Does More mean to jest at the expense of people who believe that a harmonious society can be created, or did I misinterpret it?"
Dr. Lawrence tapped the book's dilapidated cover. "It is called Utopia for a reason, my dear. The word ‘utopia' means ‘nowhere' in Greek. More meant to get the point across to his readers at first glance. The prospect of a utopia is lovely, but is found "nowhere" on earth – nor has it ever been."
Georgiana shook her head. "But why? I understand that a perfect society cannot exist, but why does More feel that even a fairly equal state will never be achieved?"
"You are innocent in the ways of the world," he said gently, "and if I did not know that you have an intelligent mind, I might even call you naive. Have you ever heard of Erasmus?"
"I think my brother has read him."
"I imagine he has, if he took his schooling at Cambridge. Erasmus was a Dutch humanist who decried papal corruption before the Catholic Reformation. He wrote a book, Praise of Folly, in which, among other things, he mentions the vast chasm between the wealthy Catholic clergy and the common man. Even the clergy, who are supposed to be above such petty differences, are not free from lust for power. The gist of this, Miss Darcy, is that, no matter how idealistic the visions or lofty the goals, classed society cannot but have conflict. In Utopia, everyone is equal and the laws of the land are just. In our world, men cannot govern themselves with justice.
"When you create an empire, there will always be the ambitious who forward themselves to positions of dominance. Equality, though admirable in concept, is impractical and impossible in reality. There will always be one person who craves power and stops at nothing to gain it. When Man plays God, there can be no good result – remember that. Power is addictive and changes people's hearts. The more power one has, the more one wants. Ambition is insatiable."
Georgiana took up the book seriously. "Then More has painted a grim picture of humanity. Why would he write such a thing when he knew it to be an impossibility?"
"That is the allure of satire," Dr. Lawrence said patiently. "When a writer wishes to make a point, the most effective thing he can do is make his readers think. More uses contrast between this utopia and our own society to get his point across. It did make you think, did it not? His work was vastly popular with the people of his time." He shrugged and took another sip of tea. "Unfortunately, his writing was not appreciated by everyone, and his fame did him no good in the end. He was beheaded by Henry VIII on a spurious charge of treason."
Georgiana shuddered.
"Dr. L!" Martha's voice boomed back from the pantry. "What do you mean by filling a young girl's head with such grotesque notions? For shame, sir, for shame!" She clucked a few times for good measure.
Georgiana leaned forward to whisper to her companion, "I already know about the beheadings. I read one of my brother's books on Henry VIII, though Will forbade me to. It was quite grisly, but I found it fascinating." She blushed at this unladylike admission.
"I see."
She looked suddenly worried. "You shall not tell Will, shall you?"
Dr. Lawrence chuckled. "Have no fear. It will be our secret."
The relief was evident on her face. "I suppose I have a great deal to learn then. I confess I do not understand all these texts. Will always seems to comprehend them."
"He is older than you and has had the benefit of a university education," he reminded her. "If you work hard, I am certain you will understand better what you read. Besides, I am always available for assistance. What good does it do to be educated if you do not share your knowledge?"
Georgiana thanked him for the offer, and the rector returned to a newspaper and she to her book. After a moment she appeared struck by a thought and set aside her reading. "It is sad, really, isn't it? Poor Sir Thomas – to be killed merely for expressing his opinion! I'm glad such things do not happen now."
"More's execution was brought on by more than this book, but yes, you are right. A brilliant man killed for insulting the vanity of a king." He smiled. "Let us be grateful then, my little revolutionary, that Prinny is more attentive to his table than to the papers."
The front door suddenly creaked open, and Georgiana came to her feet as the heavy tread of boots pounded on the hall floor. "Will? Is that you?"
Her brother's voice came from around the corner, sounding somehow strange. "Yes, dearest. Are you studying?"
"We were just amusing ourselves with a little Utopia discussion," Dr. Lawrence said. "Will you not join us? I trust your ride was pleasant."
"No, no, thank you. And yes, the ride was most...most pleasant. I'll be upstairs for a while, Georgiana. I have some urgent business to attend to." With that, both occupants of the kitchen heard the tromp of his footfalls up the stairs and the decided click of a latch as he closeted himself in his bedchamber.
Georgiana sank slowly into her chair, feeling a little hurt and a great deal bewildered. Even on his busiest days, her brother took particular care to join her for a portion of her lessons each afternoon. It was not like him – not like him at all. She turned to look at Dr. Lawrence, whom she could see was also bemused. "What could have happened to him?"
"Perhaps the business he attends to is not very pleasing." The rector shook his head a little. "Now, my dear, wipe away that gloomy look, and let us move on." He poked through the collection of pamphlets and volumes scattered on the table and at length held aloft a book in each hand. "Petrarch or Socrates?"
Four long days had passed since Elizabeth's intriguing encounter with the gentleman in Meryton, and she was growing frustrated. It seemed that after their initial meeting, the man had simply fallen off the ends of the earth! She had put in a few discreet inquires to Charlotte – as Sir William Lucas was the unofficial town host, he would be sure to know of any people just recently arrived to the area and would undoubtedly tell his family of them. But no, Charlotte had informed her that she knew of no such gentleman.
Elizabeth had even gone so far as to purposely walk to Meryton every afternoon, claiming a desire for exercise and all the while hoping for a glimpse of him – and each day she returned home discouraged and vexed with herself for being so foolish.
In the evenings she would lie abed and go over and over their meeting in her mind. How fervently she now wished she had thought to ask his name! She should have been more civil – she should have asked him to wait in the shop with her and introduced him to Jane. Perhaps a dinner invitation might even have been issued. Oh, but retrospection was bitter! There were a thousand things she could have done, and she had failed to do a single one.
Perhaps her self-chastisement might have been a little less severe had she known that the object of her thoughts was chiding himself for nearly the very same things. However, as such clairvoyance was beyond her abilities, she stewed over her incompetence in silence.
Mr. Bennet and Jane had both noticed her uncharacteristic surliness and each dealt with it in their own way. Jane fretted and tried to engage her sister in earnest conversation, and Mr. Bennet laughed away any concern and offered her the sanctuary of his library – which, considering how very tenaciously he held onto his solitude, was a great concession from him.
Elizabeth, though knowing them to be well-meaning, did not appreciate coddling. On this particular afternoon, impatient and restless, she declared her intention of going into Meryton. Jane, seeing that her sister would not be dissuaded, asked her to bring back some lace for one of Kitty's old gowns. Elizabeth agreed, evaded her mother's questioning, and set off by herself down the road. She merely wanted to breathe and let herself relax, and a nice long walk was just the way to go about it.
She wound her way about the stream and, on a whim, decided to change course for Netherfield. If her mystery gentleman had not come to Meryton for the past three mornings, she might as well take her time. Besides, the villagers might talk. It would seem very strange to them, surely, if Miss Bennet of Longbourn House were to be seen traipsing back and forth to Meryton every day. Undoubtedly the shopkeepers were growing suspicious – after all, she had disguised the purpose of her journey by buying cards of trimming on each trip. Not even a house full of five girls could warrant the purchase of so much lace!
Suddenly irritated, Elizabeth kicked a stone into the hedge in a fit of childish pique. Heavens, but she was weary of this! Was she never to find him? It would be very cruel irony indeed if the first man to catch her notice were to never show his face in Hertfordshire again.
Her mother was not helping matters either. Her constant fluttering and fits were swiftly growing unbearable. For the sake of all their sanity, Elizabeth could only be grateful that Mr. Bingley had not waited another month to hold his ball. Soon – she oft reminded herself – soon all the commotion would be over, and life would return to some degree of normalcy.
As she had promised her sister, she had dispatched a letter to Aunt Gardiner just the day before. Hopefully her aunt would provide the sound advice she and Jane longed for – and hopefully, it would come soon.
There was a sudden rustling in the brush behind her, and Elizabeth hastily turned around in search of the source of the disturbance. She quickly spotted the vague shape of man and horse coming up the lane.
The approaching clop of hoof-beats made Elizabeth step down onto the side road to avoid the rider, who, since this was still Netherfield property, was most likely Mr. Bingley. She had no desire to meet with anyone in her current temper, nor did she trust herself to be civil, even to Jane's amiable beau.
Her astonishment was therefore great when she discovered the rider was not the master of Netherfield, but the mysterious man from the village. Her eyes swept over his meticulous dress and burnished features, and inexplicably, she felt a flush bloom in her cheeks.
He didn't see her first, absorbed in reflections of his own, and as his horse drew uncomfortably near, she stepped back. The resulting snap of a twig underfoot drew his attention to her, and he hastily pulled the horse to the side to prevent a collision. His eyes dropped to her face, and she saw the flash of recognition in his countenance. Immediately he tugged on the reins, and the beast snorted and came to an abrupt halt.
"Good afternoon, madam," he said politely.
Elizabeth was silent for a moment, but, regaining her composure, she said blithely, "If I did not know better, sir, I would suspect you of trying to run me down."
He smiled, and she felt a flutter of appreciation at the sights of the dimples on either side of his mouth. "I assure you I mean no harm," he promised.
Elizabeth returned his grin and then frowned, chiding herself for acting so ridiculously. No matter that he's handsome, Lizzy – you don't even know his name, and yet here you are, acting like the veriest husband-hunting butterfly!
"I am relieved to hear it," she said, trying to moderate her tone to one of indifference.
She saw a look of puzzlement cross his expressive face, but the next moment he chuckled. "Forgive me, madam," he said, dismounting and making a neat bow. "It seems I've forgotten my manners. My name is William Darcy."
"The curate?" she blurted. So this was the fellow Kitty and Lydia were in such raptures about? Well, for once, she couldn't fault them for their enthusiasm.
His brow rose. "Yes, I am." When she made no other sound, he said gently, "And you?"
"Elizabeth Bennet." She made a hasty curtsey, feeling remarkably stupid. Good heavens, if she continued to decline at this rate, she'd be positively insipid by noon! "I apologize for not introducing myself properly at our last...meeting."
"It is I who should apologize," he demurred. "I trust you are suffering no ill effects from our run-in?"
She smiled inwardly. Indeed, she had a rather colorful bruise on the posterior part of her anatomy, but she was hardly going to tell him that. "Do not trouble yourself, Mr. Darcy. I have gotten far worse from stumbling over my own two feet."
Their gazes held, until Elizabeth, coloring, cast her eyes to the ground. After a moment of charged silence, Darcy seemed to recall himself. "Are you returning to Longbourn, Miss Bennet?"
"No. I'm to Meryton on an errand for my sister Jane. I've come in pursuit of some lace, sir, so I offer you a chance to escape now."
He laughed. "Escape is not necessary. I have no aversion to frippery or discussions thereof."
"You understand lace, sir?"
"Tolerably well, I believe. I do have a young sister, after all."
"And does she often require your opinion on her clothes? I would think a lady should not like her brother interfering in such a matter."
"Not all the time. Besides, she chooses the material for my cravats. It only seems fair then, that I should have responsibility for her lace."
Caught up in the wonderful ridiculousness of the conversation, she was repressing a grin with great difficulty. "Oh? Then what is your expert opinion of this?" She plucked at the lace trim on her sleeve.
He contemplated it with great intensity, his amusement given away by the twitching of his lips. "It is very fine, certainly, with a delicate attention to pattern and design, but it appears to me rather wilted. I think it has not the air that a proper lace should have."
She burst into laughter. "Do you speak such nonsense at the pulpit too, Mr. Darcy?"
"Not at all," he replied, dimpling delightfully. "Lace, never. Muslin, occasionally." On impulse, he offered her his arm. "I am on my way back to the parsonage. May I escort you as far as the village?"
She boldly threaded her arm through his. "It would be a pleasure. You, however, may regret it."
"I sincerely doubt that, Miss Bennet."
"Then prepare yourself for a discussion of feminine trifles, sir, for I'm feeling too dull to make intelligent conversation. I shall attempt, for your sake, to be clever, but if I fail, I suspect you shall hear a great deal more about lace."
He took Judas's reins in hand and they walked on to the village. Strangely enough, the subject of lace did not have to broached again.
Darcy exhaled a soft sigh of resignation as he mounted the stairs that led to Netherfield's grand portico. Though always glad to see his friend, he did not look forward to this particular engagement. Charles had insisted that he come to dine – and here he was. He suspected Miss Bingley did not share her brother's desire for his company, and he dreaded what sort of scenes might arise.
The well-oiled door swung open with nary a squeak, and Darcy found himself face-to-face with the stolid Bingley family butler, Mason.
"Good day, Mr. Darcy. I believe you will find Mr. and Miss Bingley awaiting your company in the blue drawing room." Mason shuffled back to allow Darcy to pass. "May I take your coat?"
Darcy handed over the garment with absentminded thanks and, after obtaining directions to the drawing room, went to join his host and hostess. He entered the elegant chamber to find Bingley lounging on the chaise pretending to read a book and Miss Bingley toying with her bracelets with an air of practiced boredom.
"Will, there you are!" Bingley said in delight, abandoning his tome. He came forward with an outstretched hand and glanced over Darcy's shoulder as if looking for someone else. "Did Miss Darcy not accompany you? Surely you knew she was also invited?"
"My sister was engaged with her lessons this morning and sends her regrets." He shook Bingley's hand and turned to bow to Miss Bingley. "Good day, madam."
She glanced up from her spangled wrists just long enough to give his person another haughty, evaluating look and a decidedly unenthusiastic, "Good day."
"Well," said Bingley hastily, "shall we adjourn to the dining room? Cook has a wonderful luncheon set out for us." He shot Darcy a grin rife with mischief. "I believe she even has some boiled mutton especially for you."
Darcy smiled. He hated mutton, and Bingley, who favored it over any other kind of veal, took no end of enjoyment in teasing him about it. "I doubt there will be any left after you have raided the plate, Charles."
"My brother has always had the most execrable taste in food," Miss Bingley declared, taking her brother's arm as they started for the dining room. "I have tried to convince him to serve more sophisticated dishes, but he will not listen. It was a great effort for me to even get him to have any Mousse de Saumon et Câpres at our ball. It is all the fashion in London now, and all the best houses serve it. I suppose you have never had it, Mr. Darcy."
"I have not," he replied calmly, "but it will be a pleasure to try, Miss Bingley."
She gave him a condescending smile, and they sat at the table. Servants quickly brought out the soup course, directed by Miss Bingley. A young maid, attempting to balance a pitcher of water and one of wine, lost her grip on the former just as she was skirting Darcy's chair. There was a great shattering of crystal, and Darcy's boots and trousers were doused with ice water. There was a horrified silence before the maid began stuttering apologies.
"Stupid girl!" Miss Bingley barked. "Don't stand there like a simpleton! Clean up the mess."
"It's quite all right," Darcy said, recovering from the surprise. "It was only an accident, Miss Bingley." He grinned at the mortified servant. "My boots were rather dusty and needed to be washed, and you have saved me the trouble."
Miss Bingley, ignoring her guest completely, dismissed the girl sharply and a few nearby footmen hastened to pick up the glass. Darcy bent to wipe off his boots, and within a few minutes, order had been restored. They dined in silence for a few minutes, and Darcy found himself listlessly picking at the food on his plate. The fare itself was excellent, but the unwelcoming atmosphere ruined what might have been an enjoyable meal.
Casting about for a subject neutral enough to suit all of them, Darcy asked, "I trust you are occupying yourself with plans for your ball, Miss Bingley? I should think a great deal of effort must go into the planning."
"Planning our little gathering is the only thing to occupy my time. Life here is so very dull. If not for darling Jane's company I might go mad in this seclusion." She sipped at her tea and then wrinkled her nose. "This is cold, Charles. Call in a servant; it should have been replaced. The help around here is slovenly – and you do not take a firm enough hand with them. Indeed, we just had proof of it. If you insist on treating them so, they will never be but lazy and take advantage of you."
Bingley's cheeks reddened. "Caroline, please."
Sensitive to his friend's embarrassment, Darcy intervened. "Jane?"
"Miss Jane Bennet," Bingley said, another flush of color coming to his face, although this rosiness was clearly caused by pleasure. "Our neighbor and the sweetest girl I have ever met in my life!" He was very nearly squirming in his seat with his eagerness to rhapsodize on Miss Bennet's charms. "Will, I would swear that she is an angel herself – she is all things good and gentle. I have never heard an unkind word cross her lips, and such a beauty! Such marvelous blue eyes and hair the color of..."
"Charles," Miss Bingley interrupted coldly, "I believe we have been regaled with accountings of Jane's virtues enough lately. I am sure Mr. Darcy does not wish to listen to your recitations."
Bingley's face fell. The table returned to uneasy quiet for a few moments before Darcy again ventured to start a conversation. "Do you plan to remain in Hertfordshire for the winter?"
"Charles does," Miss Bingley said before her brother had even opened his mouth, "but I do not wish to. He is most obstinate about it. We should spend the winter in London, as all people of fashion do."
"I do not expect to give up Netherfield anytime soon," Bingley stated, as if his sister had not even spoken. "I have become very attached to this place. It's a fine old house, if a little secluded, and I am already fond of the society here. I could not bear to leave it just yet."
Darcy immediately, and correctly, interpreted ‘society' to mean ‘Jane Bennet.'
"Meryton is nothing to London," Miss Bingley said. "Society here and society there are two different things – and in my eyes, the latter is vastly superior."
Bingley spoke up, quite firmly. "Nonetheless, you are here with me now, and this is where you should be."
"I should rather be in London with my betrothed," she sniffed. "I am sure the earl must be pining for me dreadfully, but Charles is too unkind to allow me to return to Town until the wedding."
"I was not aware that you were engaged, Miss Bingley," Darcy said. "Allow me to congratulate you."
She preened. "Yes, I am quite overjoyed with the match. Lord Burquist is a prime catch and dotes on me so. He has a large estate in Shropshire and is worth over twelve-thousand a year. My poor sister Louisa is simply mad with jealousy. Her Mr. Hurst is not even worth half of what the earl is."
"I see."
With forced cheerfulness, Bingley inquired, "Has Georgiana been readying herself to dance? From what I remember of her, I doubt she has been dithering about trying to find the perfect gown to wear."
Darcy chuckled. "She is a sensible creature."
"Clothes and comportment are very important, Mr. Darcy, when one is among one's peers. You must always look your best and take care to outshine all the others. The simplest way to do so is to wear your finest." Miss Bingley looked very pointedly at her brother.
Bingley's lips tightened. "And the finest generally means the most expensive," he said brusquely. "It is not wise either to seek out this – how did you put it? – outshining at the price of a half-year's income."
"You exaggerate. It was only brocade, and rather fine brocade at that. I am sure no one else in Hertfordshire has something like it."
"For heaven's sake, Caroline, a piece of brocade is hardly likely to set everyone into paroxysms of admiration."
"Well, we shall never know, thanks to you," she said peevishly. "I should write to tell the earl of your unreasonable behavior. My dear Burquist would want me to wear clothes befitting my new station in life."
"You are not yet a countess, might I remind you?" Bingley snapped, his patience clearly gone. "You are my sister, you are living under my roof, and I will not argue with you about this while we have a guest. Now may we eat in peace?"
Miss Bingley dropped her eyes to her plate and sat in sulky silence for the remainder of dessert. The after-dinner tea was served, and, not relishing the thought of an extra hour or two spent in his hostess's company, Darcy made his excuses.
Bingley, though disappointed to see him go so soon, escorted him to the door. "I am sorry I lost my temper," he said quietly as Darcy shrugged on his coat. "I hope Caroline and I have not put you off coming ever again with our quarreling. You will come again soon, won't you?"
He looked so anxious that Darcy could only laugh. "Of course I will, whenever you wish me here."
"Thank goodness. I should hate to think I would lose the company of my closest friend because of an argument about brocade."
The two men bid each other goodbye, and Darcy rode leisurely back to the parsonage, thinking over all that had been said. So Charles was enraptured by the eldest Miss Bennet? Bingley and infatuation were not a new partnership – during their years at Cambridge, Darcy had often seen his young friend in love with any pretty face that chanced to catch his eye. It was apparent that Jane Bennet was a very handsome girl, and Darcy hoped, for her sake, that his friend's affections would not simply drift on to the next lady as soon as the romantic glitter wore off their association.
After another moment, Darcy checked his cynical assessment. It was not fair to judge Charles by his behavior at Cambridge. Perhaps he was in love, genuinely in love, with this woman. If it was so, Darcy wished them joy. If it was not, then Darcy hoped that the affair would end before the girl had her feelings involved.
These musings entertained him during the whole of his ride, and when he arrived home, he was distracted anew. Georgiana was standing in the churchyard, searching in the brush and making shrill little clucking noises. He drew Judas to a halt and looked at his sister with mild perturbation. "Georgiana?"
She whirled about and then blushed upon seeing his raised brows. "Will! I...that was supposed to be a duck call." His eyebrows shot up ever further, and she hastily added, "Sir Francis didn't come back this morning. I can't imagine where he might have gone. I thought maybe I could call him home."
"He is a wild animal, my dear," Darcy reminded her. "I am certain he'll be back soon."
She didn't look convinced. "But he's been with us for so long... What if he meets with a dog? I don't think he would recognize the danger."
"There is no point in worrying about it." He slipped from the saddle and went to stand beside her. "If he isn't back tomorrow, I'll have Martha set out some food."
Georgiana cast one last look out across the yard, nodded, and then followed her brother around the church to the parsonage. Judas trailed along behind them, stopping every few feet or so to sample a bit of weed.
"Did you have a pleasant time with the Bingleys?" she asked as they mounted the front steps. "Martha tells me that Netherfield Park is very grand."
"Nothing to Pemberley, of course, but it is the finest house in the area, and a sight finer than we two are used to." He smiled at her. "It seems that Miss Bingley has an entire militia of servants just to wait on her. There were six footmen attending us in the dining room alone."
"Good heavens." Georgiana hesitated. "Isn't it a little...uneconomical?"
"I thought the amount of food laid out was. There must have been about eight or nine dishes on the table. But by the standards of the ton, even the nouveau riche, the Bingleys are very conservative. Certainly not as extravagant as the French." He shrugged. "Such is the life of the aristocracy."
"Papa always said the upper classes were wasteful."
"He did. But remember, Georgiana, that we cannot truly understand them or their lives. Many of them have staggering responsibilities that are included with their wealth and station."
"But Papa was a steward, Will. He said he saw many of the rich fund useless entertainments with money that should have been used to help their starving tenants. Many of them abuse their power."
"That is true of all people. Overseers cheat the workers below them. Merchants give no care for the peasants who labor to create the products they sell to line their own pockets. Even some clergymen take a larger portion of the church funds than is allotted to them and should be given to needy families. It happens in all classes, Georgiana. It's simply more noticeable on the large scale of the wealthy." Suddenly he laughed. "I can see Dr. Lawrence has been teaching you well," he said warmly. "Debating with me about moral responsibility and abuse of power? In no time at all you shall be arguing philosophy with me."
She flushed with pleasure. "I hoped you would be pleased."
"I am."
They headed for the kitchen, where Darcy set out some cups and began making a pot of tea. Georgiana sat at the table and watched him hang the kettle over the fire, her expression turning pensive.
"Brother?"
He glanced over his shoulder. "Yes?"
Her eyes followed the plummeting tea leaves as he dropped them into the kettle. "Is something wrong?"
He stilled. "What makes you think that?"
"You have been...well, you have not been yourself these few days." She looked down at her hands.
Darcy hesitated, and she saw a strange look pass over his face. "I am well. Do not concern yourself about me. Now, do you want some bread and cheese with your tea?"
Georgiana wanted desperately to accuse him of not answering her question and demand a satisfactory reply, but she had neither the courage nor the words. Suppressing a sigh, she said quietly, "That would be lovely, Will."
Charlotte Lucas waited impatiently for the servant who had brought in the tea tray to leave. She watched with frustration as the girl carefully poured tea into two cups and set out a few china plates with irksome slowness. The instant the parlor door closed behind the departing maid, she hissed, "Have you run completely mad, Eliza?"
Elizabeth smiled tranquilly and reached out for a cup and a scone. "You make it sound so wicked, Charlotte. I merely had a wonderful stroll with a very amiable gentleman."
"You didn't even know him, Eliza. Does it not seem a little reckless to have walked all about the countryside alone with him?"
Elizabeth laughed. "He's a clergyman, Charlotte."
Charlotte sighed. "Very well. You may be foolish if you like. You know nothing of his family, and even less about his character."
"You sound as though I just announced my engagement to him," she retorted. "Charlotte, a walk down the lane hardly constitutes a romantic relationship."
Her friend hesitated, and then smiled sadly. "I am overreacting, Eliza, I know. But grant me a little credit. I worry for you."
"Worry for me?" Elizabeth scoffed. "It has been some years since I needed a nursemaid. I am perfectly fit to care for myself."
Charlotte didn't argue – there was nothing she could say. How could she possibly explain how Elizabeth's impetuousness concerned her? How could she make her friend understand that her tempestuous personality could get her into trouble someday? For all Elizabeth's cleverness, her volatile temper often overruled her head.
"I just don't want to see you hurt," she said simply.
Elizabeth, beginning to look uncomfortable, deftly changed the subject, and Charlotte acquiesced to the new conversation with graciousness. The two girls lingered over their tea until noon, when Charlotte's mother, Lady Lucas, came in to usher her oldest daughter away to the mantua-maker's for some fittings.
As she trudged away from Lucas Lodge, Elizabeth mulled over her friend's words. Charlotte was an old, dear friend – her anxieties should not be taken lightly, particularly when she made such a point of sharing them.
Oh, she knew she was rather heedless at times. Her mother had often commented on her propensity for acting contrary just to upset everyone's nerves. If the accusation was not entirely true, at least Mrs. Bennet's view of her daughter's stubbornness was.
Knowing that, in light of all the warnings she had received in the past few days, she should avoid Mr. Darcy until a formal introduction, she instead turned down the road that passed by Netherfield where she had chanced upon him before. The temptation of speaking to him again was too great for her to resist.
However, no conversation was to be had: the grove was empty.
Her disappointment upon discovering this seemed excessive even to her. Rebuking herself for being ridiculous, she had started to turn back when the rustle of leaves alerted her to someone's approach. Wary of inquisitive neighbors, she slipped down into the thatch of shrubbery by the road and waited.
The person who eventually topped the crest of the hill was no gossip or stranger, but nor was he the gentleman Elizabeth had hoped to see. Dr. Lawrence was strolling at a leisurely pace, leaning rather heavily on his walking stick but seeming to enjoy the fresh air nonetheless. She was surprised to see him out of doors, for lately the old rector had rarely gone further from the parsonage than the church.
Almost immediately on the heels of this thought, she was visited by another – Dr. Lawrence's conversation might be of use to her, for he was William Darcy's employer. Perhaps the day might not be a complete loss after all.
Untangling herself from the foliage, she hastened toward the clergyman, entreating him to wait. At the first sound of her voice, he halted, waiting for her to reach him, which she did directly. His heavy brow rose at the sight of the twig and bit of leaf in her hair. "Playing in the hedges, Elizabeth Bennet? I thought you abandoned that habit long ago."
Elizabeth had the grace to blush. She combed quickly through her hair to retrieve the wayward debris. "Perhaps I am only reminiscing about my childhood, sir," she said pertly.
A shadow of a smile flitted across his face. "Point taken, Miss Bennet, and I shall inquire no more. It is too beautiful a day for quarreling. Will you not humor an old man and walk with him for a while?"
"I should be pleased to." There was no deceit in her reply, for she was fond of Dr. Lawrence, despite having often been scolded by him for some act of girlish mischief or another.
They exchanged the necessary conversational niceties: inquires after health and family and remarks upon the weather. After a quarter-hour, Elizabeth felt secure enough to query, "And how does your curate, Mr. Darcy, do?"
"You have met the boy?"
"I have had that pleasure, and I should hardly call him a boy. Do you not agree?"
Dr. Lawrence looked amused. "When you are one-and-seventy, Miss Bennet, every person younger than you seems a child. In reply to your unasked question, Mr. Darcy is but six-and-twenty."
Elizabeth flushed again, vexed at having her intentions seen through so easily.
"‘Tis a very young age for an employed clergyman of any kind," he continued. "He is clever enough even for you."
"And his sister? He mentioned a sister."
"She is about the age of Miss Lydia, and it seems to me that she will become a fine woman someday. She has not her brother's quickness of mind, but neither is she unintelligent. She is very sweet as well, and I would advise you that when you meet her, you might treat her with extra patience."
Elizabeth was mildly offended at what she perceived as a slight to her character, but she held her tongue. At times, he seemed to know others better than they knew themselves, so she decided to take his words as they were meant – a warning, not an insult. "She is shy?"
"Nearly timid," he informed her. "She is only unused to society, I believe. You may remedy that also." Dr. Lawrence looked at her pointedly.
She offered no argument. Surely a sponsorship, so to speak, of the sister would justify spending more time with the brother, would it not? "I should be pleased to meet her."
"Good. Mr. Bingley has invited both the Darcys to his ball – it would be an opportune time to become acquainted with her. Hopefully the other ladies will take to your example."
"Very well. I think I may find her a good dancing partner too. Perhaps one of the Goulding boys." She hesitated. "And Mr. Darcy? Does he dance, or does he possess more Puritanical views on the amusement?"
"He has no objections to dancing. In fact, I believe he enjoys it a great deal. However, I do not know that he will dance here."
"Not dance? Why?" A sudden thought seized her. "Is he engaged?"
Again the rector's eyebrows steepled. "How strange that you should mention engagement but omit marriage. Of the two, I would say the latter is more significant."
Flustered, she mumbled, "He did not speak to me as a married man would."
"Ah. Well, as regards to the gentleman's love-life, I may only say that he is not married and is not engaged. As to secret promises or flirtations, I cannot say. Such clandestine affairs of the heart seem out of character for a steady fellow, however. Were he courting a woman, I daresay he would do it openly. So, I think you may safely assume that he is completely unattached." He paused. "Are you matchmaking, my dear? For his sake, do not try to pair him with one of your friends until he has been introduced into the community. After this Sunday's services, you may match-make to your heart's delight. Who did you have in mind? Miss Lucas?"
Elizabeth was dismayed to feel jealousy welling in her breast. "No," she said, more sharply than the situation warranted. "I shall leave the matchmaking to my mother, thank you."
Again a smile threatened his somber countenance. "As you wish, Miss Bennet."
The day of the Netherfield Ball dawned clear and cold. Longbourn was a madhouse, with Mrs. Bennet being the chief Bedlamite. The matron swooped through her daughters' rooms, tossing lace about, fussing with locks of hair, and sending the servants flying through the house in search of ribbons and pins.
Mr. Bennet, anticipating the uproar in his home beforehand, had stocked his library with plenty of good brandy and a new book, and locked himself securely inside to wait out the storm of preparations.
Kitty and Lydia leapt into the frenzy with gusto. Nothing but thoughts of dancing and flirting could hold their attention, and they flitted about their bedrooms, trying on every gown and slipper in their closets (and in their sisters' closets) in an attempt to find the perfect dress. When they tired of this occupation, they fell to squabbling over sashes and jewelry, and the fighting made such a commotion that eventually Jane was forced to come in and direct them to separate rooms.
Mary spent the entire time at her books, and when her mother began to fret over her dress and hair, the girl had began a speech about the evils of vanity that was so verbose that Mrs. Bennet had given up and gone to pester one of her other daughters.
Jane and Elizabeth had helped each other with the gowns and various other accouterments. Although Mrs. Bennet had wished to impose upon Jane a truly dreadful gown dripping with bows and tags, Elizabeth had insisted that her sister be allowed to choose her own outfit. Jane settled on a demure pink gown that was simple in design but very flattering to her fuller figure. Elizabeth had chosen white silk edged in gold that flowed with her every movement and set off her dark hair to its best advantage. Her favorite golden cross necklace and a pair of matching eardrops completed the ensemble.
The two girls were presently sitting in Jane's room, and their maid Sarah was styling Elizabeth's hair. The chestnut-hued curls were arranged in a coronet of braids, with a few twists of hair left to frame her face, and Sarah had even found a way to pin several white roses amongst the braids.
"Are you very nervous, Lizzy?" Jane asked.
"Not very." She met her sister's eyes in the mirror. "Are you?"
"Yes."
Elizabeth had been fully prepared to tease Jane, but the blunt honesty of her sister's reply made any such jesting impossible. "All will be well, Jane."
"I know." She smiled. "How could it not be well when I have you to keep me sensible?"
"I cannot imagine you insensible," Elizabeth said cheekily, "but I shall take the compliment all the same."
Sarah pushed in one last hairpin and declared that the task was complete. Elizabeth praised the maid's handiwork, and Sarah, glowing with the commendation, moved on to fix Jane's sleek golden locks.
Elizabeth gave up the vanity seat to Jane and paced slowly around the room. She was a little nervous, though she hardly knew why. After all, she was not the Bennet sister who would probably become engaged, or at least matched, with their host this evening. However, she could not deny that her unsettled spirits were due in some part to the prospect of dancing with a certain curate. She nearly laughed at the thought. Never would she have guessed she would be anticipating the prolonged society of a clergyman half so much as she was now!
"LIZZY! JANE!" Mrs. Bennet's voice trumpeted through the door, inspiring different reactions in the three occupants: Jane sighed, Sarah flinched, and Elizabeth merely grimaced. In a moment the door burst open to reveal a highly excited Mrs. Bennet in full ballroom regalia. "My dear girls!" She bustled over to Jane. "How beautiful you look tonight, Jane! Mr. Bingley will not be able to resist you – no, I am sure he will not! I told Lady Lucas that you were born to be his wife, Jane; such a complimentary pair! Oh, I am sure he will propose before the supper is done – he will be quite unable to help himself once he sees you! Why, I've an idea! I shall even assist our dear Bingley in his object – I will get your father to make certain that Bingley has a chance to be alone with you! Why, it will be such an opportunity; undoubtedly he will thank us for it later."
Jane, predictably, colored and tried to utter some protest. "Mama..."
"Nonsense, child. Don't be missish! It will do just the trick, I'll wager."
"I'm sure Mr. Bingley would appreciate being able to arrange his own schedule far better, Mama," Elizabeth said sharply, knowing what kind of humiliation could result from such a ploy.
Mrs. Bennet turned on her younger daughter. "Don't frown so, Miss Lizzy! I'll have you know that I understand the minds of gentlemen. A mother knows these sort of things. You may have your father's bookish habits, but you obviously have no talent for finding a suitor!"
Elizabeth clenched her teeth to stop something very imprudent from escaping her lips. "As you say, Mama."
Satisfied, Mrs. Bennet fixed her attention back on Jane, fussing over her gown and calling back Sarah several times to rearrange some curl of hair that did not seem just perfect. When at last she swept from the room again some twenty minutes later, poor Jane found herself swathed in ribbon and jewelry. Elizabeth helped her repair most of the gaudy damage, and the two girls sighed with relief when the bell rang to announce the arrival of the carriage.
Across the village, another young lady was carefully preparing for the evening's entertainments. Georgiana Darcy sat quietly in front of the old gilt mirror beside her bureau, gazing thoughtfully at her reflection. She tugged listlessly at one blonde curl that stubbornly twisted around her ear and surveyed the prospect before her.
The plain blue muslin she wore was the finest gown she owned, but she unhappily examined the discolored lace trim and faded spots over the elbows. She was not normally particular about what she wore – if it fit her well, she was content – but tonight she found herself wishing that she had been able to sew up a new dress.
Will did his best, she knew. She never lacked for suitable clothing or shoes. They were simply...well...simple. No ribbons, no excess lace, no embroidery... He bought what was sturdy and cheap for both her and himself. Extra money from his pay was used for household repairs or stored away in an account for future expenditures.
But tonight, she longed for silk and satin and velvet, for jewels and elaborate hairstyles and French kid gloves. Vanity was a sin, perhaps, but she was honest enough to admit that she envied the lifestyles of her neighbors. She was not unhappy with her lot, yet at times she could not help but wonder what it would have been like to be born into a life of wealth and privilege -- to be able to spend her money without careful calculations beforehand, or to simply go out and find a new gown when the ones she owned were too worn or faded.
"Georgiana?" Her brother's voice was muffled on the other side of the door. "Are you decent?"
"You may come in, Will."
The latch clicked and she heard his footsteps near. "You curled your hair."
"Do you like it?" She plucked at the obstinate ringlet.
He came to stand behind her. "I do. You look lovely – the very image of our mother."
Georgiana was surprised at the comparison; the late Mrs. Darcy had been a beautiful woman. Before she could reply, he added, "Speaking of Mother, I have something for you."
He reached into his waistcoat pocket and withdrew a small pendant on a chain. It was a silver heart, with a tiny red jewel embedded in its center. She gazed at it in awe, admiring the twinkles of scarlet as candlelight reflected off the gem. "It's beautiful," she breathed.
"It was Mother's, and Grandmother's before that, and now it is yours." He opened the delicate clasp with great care. "She wore it almost everyday. When you were a baby, you would always reach for it while she held you. You never did that with any of her other jewelry – just the pendant. I suppose it must have been the color that fascinated you." He smiled. "Father used to jest that the Darcy women knew their jewels."
Georgiana touched the crimson stone glittering at the hollow of her throat. Anne Darcy had died from childbirth complications when her daughter was only two, and Georgiana remembered very little about her mother. She had only a vague impression of warm blue eyes and soft laughter. All else that she knew had been gathered from her father and brother.
She wanted to say something, but no words would come. Her brother dropped a kiss on her head and cleared his throat. "Perfect. Now, go and put on your cloak, or we will be more than fashionably late."
Torches had been lit in Netherfield's courtyard to welcome and guide the guests. The great house was blazing with light and laughter and music. Servants ran to and fro, taking overcoats and cloaks, fetching chairs, and ferrying out tray after tray of drinks and hors d'oeuvres.
Caroline Bingley, resplendent in lavender silk, was in her element, directing the staff like a militia commander and welcoming her country-bred guests with all the graciousness she could muster. Her brother, however, was more inviting, having a bow and charming smile for everyone.
The ballroom was marvelously draped in flowers and streamers, and a small chamber orchestra from London was tuning up in the alcove before the floor. Excitement thickened the air, and people bustled about in an attempt to find friends and family until the room soon resembled a hive swarming with raucous bees.
Three persons stood aloof from the general disorder. Dr. Lawrence and the Darcys had managed to secure themselves seats by the window while they waited for the clamor to die down. Dr. Lawrence was watching the crowd with amusement, Georgiana with fear, and Darcy's attention was fixed on the entrance doors.
Dr. Lawrence turned to his curate with a wry observation, only to discover a look of glowing eagerness on the young man's face. The rector followed the line of Darcy's gaze and found it led straight to Miss Elizabeth Bennet, who had just stepped through the door with her sister Jane and Mr. Bingley.
"Georgiana, there is someone I should very much like you to meet." Darcy held out a hand to help her to her feet. She looked a little concerned, but she linked her arm through his obediently.
Darcy had taken one step forward when he belatedly remembered his employer. "Sir, will you also...?"
Dr. Lawrence smiled and shook his head. "I'll sit right here. You go on and make your introductions."
Darcy led his sister through the jostling group to where Elizabeth now stood alone. His eyes took in the flattering cut of her cream-colored gown and the tiny white roses twined in her hair. She saw him coming and something seemed to light up in her face. Mercy, but she was beautiful!
Her eyes skimmed over him as well, and she was unable to disguise her admiration. He wore a pair of black knee-breeches with a matching coat, a forest green waistcoat, and a snowy white cravat. Having only seen him in his clerical coat and stock, she thought he looked very fine in full evening dress. If his coat was well-worn and his stockings off-white from repeated washing, it mattered not.
He stopped before her and bowed politely. "Miss Bennet."
"Mr. Darcy. You are well?"
"As you see. We are both of us quite well." He indicated the person standing a little bit behind him that Elizabeth, fully occupied as she was with Darcy himself, had not noticed.
Elizabeth studied the young lady. She was more girl than woman, with a round, childish face that was pretty in a wholesome sort of way. Her figure was well-formed and tall – the top of her head came almost to her companion's shoulder. To offset her formidable height were two light blue eyes and a curtain of blonde hair pulled back in a knot at her nape.
Seeing Elizabeth's eyes on her, the girl blushed and withdrew, looking at Mr. Darcy as if for reassurance.
"Miss Bennet," Darcy said evenly, a supportive hand on the girl's shoulder, "may I introduce my sister, Georgiana Darcy?"
The family resemblance struck Elizabeth as she looked between them again. Though opposites in coloring, there was a similarity in the cut of their features and the shape of their eyes, as well as the obvious parallel in their heights. If Miss Darcy had not the striking handsomeness of her brother, she was lovely all the same. "It is a pleasure to meet you," Elizabeth said, taking care to speak gently. "I trust you have found the parsonage to your liking?"
Miss Darcy seemed to relax a little. "It is also an honor to meet you, Miss Bennet. The parsonage is comfortable, although not comparable to Kympton." As the words left her mouth, she gasped. Taken by a fit of embarrassed confusion, she stuttered, "I – of course, I did not mean – it was not my intention to – to insult the parsonage. I only meant – Dr. Lawrence has been so kind..." She broke off and looked desperately at her brother, near tears.
Elizabeth swiftly came to her aid. "Of course. A different home takes some adjusting to. A new place never seems as welcome as the old one."
Darcy, with a looks of thanks to Elizabeth, agreed. "I find it so myself, Miss Bennet. I think we always glorify our past homes because we identify them by all the good memories we have had there."
"Indeed," Elizabeth said with a smile. "That is precisely what I meant to say."
Georgiana, realizing that she had given no offense, gratefully let her brother carry on their end of the conversation while she composed herself. Sadly, they were not given much leave to speak, for their hostess approached.
"Mr. Darcy," Miss Bingley said stiffly. "My brother informed me that I must have missed you at the receiving line."
"You are forgiven for any oversight," he said amiably. "How are you this evening, madam?"
"Quite well." She turned to look at the others. "Miss Eliza."
Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. "Miss Bingley."
Miss Bingley then cast a supercilious glance at Georgiana, who drew away in fright. Darcy rather wished he could avoid introducing Georgiana to Charles's sister, but there was nothing to be done for it. "Miss Bingley, this is my sister, Georgiana Darcy."
The girl stumbled over her hem as she curtsied, and Miss Bingley's lip curled. "Charmed."
Georgiana pulled back with a look of the deepest mortification. Elizabeth felt a surge of protective anger well in her breast, and she would have snapped a retort had she not sensed that such a confrontation would only further embarrass the young woman.
"Well, I must be off," Miss Bingley declared with a flick of her fan. "I see the Lucases have arrived. Goodnight, Mr. Darcy, Miss Darcy, Miss Eliza."
Elizabeth watched her go with disgust. The woman had no concept of graciousness -- Hertfordshire wasn't the end of the earth, for heaven's sake.
"LIZZY!"
Oh, dear. With a dawning feeling of horror, she glanced back to see her mother coming toward her. Automatically, she looked to see the Darcys' reactions. Georgiana looked more petrified than before, but her brother's face revealed nothing.
"Lizzy, Jane and Bingley..." Mrs. Bennet stopped upon seeing the two strangers, and Darcy took the opportunity to make the very important introduction.
"Mrs. Bennet? My name is Mr. Darcy, and I am Dr. Lawrence's new curate. I hope you will not think me to forward, madam, but I have been anticipating a dance with your daughter Miss Elizabeth all evening. "
Mrs. Bennet was visibly surprised. "A dance with Lizzy?"
"Yes. Might I entreat your permission?" He smiled his most charming smile, which had been known to placate more than one lady before.
Mrs. Bennet was no exception. Blushing and stuttering like a maiden, she granted his request somewhat incoherently while Elizabeth looked on in astonishment. Georgiana smothered a giggle behind her hand.
"Thank you, Mrs. Bennet," Darcy said. "You are most gracious."
Elizabeth and the Darcys passed the next ten minutes in easy conversation, Georgiana even venturing a sentence or two of her own. Then, as the couples began migrating to the dance floor, Darcy excused himself and escorted Georgiana to the refreshment table before returning to claim his partner. Taking her hand, he led her onto the floor. The first notes of Mr. Beveridge's Maggot burst into the noisy ballroom, and the dancers made their bows.
Elizabeth could feel curious eyes on her as she and Darcy went down the line. Discomfitted by the scrutiny, she thrust up her chin and stared resolutely over the heads of the onlookers. Let them gape if they wished!
Darcy noticed the gesture and smiled, guessing at its cause. He scanned the sea of faces around the room. "Does something about my dancing offend, or do the dancers always receive such attention?"
The remark startled Elizabeth from her unease. She gripped his fingers more tightly as they turned. "You neglected to mention your person, Mr. Darcy. You discount the possibility of there being something on your face or a stain on your shirt."
He laughed. "Do I?"
She made the mistake of looking directly at him. His face was aglow, lips curled into an inviting grin, and his eyes were very warm as he gazed back at her. She stumbled. His hand shot out to right her. Her cheeks grew hot, and she rejoined the line, trying desperately to regain control of herself.
When they turned to face each other again, Darcy broke the silence. "Shall we have some conversation, Miss Bennet?"
Elizabeth let out a nervous giggle. "A very little should suffice."
"What shall we talk of, then? Books?"
"Books in a ballroom?"
"Why not? You will give your opinion of a particular passage, and I will be obliged to agree with everything you say."
"Very diplomatic."
"Diplomacy when dancing is an important skill, especially for a man."
"How so?"
"If the woman is displeased, she may step on his toes, hit him with her fan, or, in extreme circumstances, slap him. Man has no such options."
"That is a woman's privilege." She glanced over her shoulder at him. "And how many women have had reason to slap you, Mr. Darcy?"
"None, Miss Bennet, though my toes have been stepped on occasionally."
"Intentionally?" she teased.
"Not to my knowledge. Now, I thought we were to talk of books."
"We were."
"Were we? Toes and books seem to me very different subjects."
"You distracted me, sir, and that is not at all fair."
"Very well. What think you of books?"
"That is hardly a rational question."
"You are impossible to please. You wished to speak of books, I did, and now you accuse me of being irrational."
"You must be more subtle, sir. Ask me what I think of Sir Walter Scott, for example, or Donne's poetry."
"And?"
"I will tell you what I think."
"Then I must agree with everything you say, I suppose."
She could stand it no longer and began to laugh. "You know more than you let on," she declared. "You are not so ignorant as you would have me think."
"To the contrary, you have taught me well." There was an impish twinkle in his eye. "What think you of Donne, Miss Bennet?"
"I think he does a great deal of rhyming."
His lips twitched. "Indeed."
"He also has a great affinity for sorrow and suffering."
"Absolutely."
"You know, Mr. Darcy, as you see, I have no fan, nor do I have a desire to batter my new slippers or wrinkle my gloves. I daresay it is safe for you to be contrary."
"You don't want an agreeable partner?"
"If you mean an agreeing partner, no. An agreeable partner, yes."
"Then we agree on that count."
Elizabeth laughed again. "You are a truly strange man, Mr. Darcy."
"I shall take that as a compliment and even return it. You are a strange woman yourself, Miss Bennet."
The orchestra sounded its last note, and Darcy reluctantly drew Elizabeth from the dance floor. "That was the most enjoyable quarter-hour I have ever spent in a ballroom. Thank you."
"I agr...I concur, sir. I hope we may repeat the experience soon." She waited with bated breath for his reply.
"I hope so too. In fact...Miss Bennet, may I be so bold as to claim the supper dance? I know we have already danced one set, but as I am new to the neighborhood, I do not think it would be taken amiss if we danced once more."
She struggled to suppress her delight. "It would be a pleasure, Mr. Darcy. Thank you."
He beamed and went to secure her a glass of punch before going off to find his sister, promising to return directly.
Elizabeth leaned against the wall and sighed, watching his form weave through the milling crowd of guests before he disappeared from sight. Oh, what a night!
She felt the sudden tug of a hand on her sleeve and turned to find Jane standing behind her. "Jane?"
"Lizzy, I could not wait to tell you," she whispered, her voice nearly trembling with repressed emotion. "Charles has asked to court me!"
"He...? Oh, Jane! How wonderful!"
Jane reached out for her hand and laughed out loud. "Lizzy, I can scarcely believe it," she breathed. "He asked me just a moment ago. He said he loved me! Lizzy, is it possible for a creature to be so happy?"
Elizabeth hugged her sister warmly. "I am so delighted for you –- I always knew you two would suit; both of you too good for anyone but one who was as good as you!"
Jane giggled. "Lizzy!"
"Has he gone to Papa?"
"He will come tomorrow to ask for consent. Charl...Mr. Bingley thought it best if we did not make the announcement tonight."
Thinking of Mrs. Bennet's reaction, Elizabeth shuddered. "Quite."
Supper was announced shortly after by a decidedly giddy Charles Bingley. He claimed Miss Bennet as his dining partner with such obvious pleasure that it amused Elizabeth and made Jane blush. Seeing her daughter up near the head of the table gave Mrs. Bennet enough raptures to entertain her dinner companions for the whole of the evening.
Elizabeth was seated next to Miss Darcy and across from Mr. Darcy, an arrangement that pleased her greatly. Unfortunately, Miss Bingley sat not far away up the table, and her proximity made conversation with her inevitable.
"My dear Lord Burquist has just written me a letter," Miss Bingley was saying as the first course was laid out, "detailing all the things he has been doing in the past month and asking about my activities. I declare, ladies, it is refreshing to have a man dote upon you so."
"And how did he spend his days when he was not pining over you, Miss Bingley?" Elizabeth said sweetly.
"Oh, he is kept occupied by his," She waved an idle hand, "...gentlemanly pursuits. I don't concern myself with it. He is a very busy man."
"Gentlemanly pursuits? Pray, Mr. Darcy, can you elaborate on the subject for we poor, ignorant females?"
"Card-playing, sporting, and riding, I would imagine, along with a multitude of business to complete," said Darcy. "Beyond that, I could not say."
"It is amazing to me," Elizabeth said, "that you males can be so accomplished in the gentlemanly arts."
Miss Bingley glanced up from her plate for the first time. "Whatever do you mean, Eliza?"
"Why, I am sure I never heard a man spoken of for the first time without being informed that he was a gentleman. Any man who cuts a fine figure in a blue coat is considered a gentleman, however ungentlemanly his manners might be."
"The word is perhaps applied too liberally," Darcy said gravely.
"Indeed," replied Elizabeth. "I cannot boast of knowing more than a half-dozen men who truly deserve the title."
"You must comprehend a great deal in your idea of a gentleman, then, Miss Bennet."
"Of course she does – as we all do," Miss Bingley cut in. "In order for a man to be considered a true gentleman, he must have a thorough knowledge of dancing, fencing, fishing, and riding to the hunt. He must also be well-versed in the written word, and besides all this, he must possess a certain something in his air and manner of walking, the tone of his voice, and his address and expressions."
"And to all this he must add something more substantial," Elizabeth added. "Goodness of spirit, generosity, and liberality of mind."
Darcy smiled. "I am no longer surprised at your knowing only six gentlemen, Miss Bennet."
"You doubt me, sir?"
"I have never seen such a man. If there existed such a paragon of virtue and intelligence, he would be an intimidating creature to behold."
"Perhaps you have not had the advantage of society, Mr. Darcy," Miss Bingley said coldly. "In our higher circles, there are a great many gentlemen, I assure you."
Georgiana's eyes widened in shock at hearing her brother spoken to with such disrespect. Darcy, however, said nothing.
Supper was soon concluded and the last dance finished around three in the morning. As Georgiana's eyes were heavy and Dr. Lawrence had long since returned to the parsonage, Darcy decided not to linger.
He bid goodbye to his slightly tipsy host and directed Georgiana to the carriage that Bingley had kindly provided for them. He did not follow her outside, however, for he had a particular farewell he wished to say.
Darcy searched the milling mass of people for Elizabeth, but could not see her. He supposed her still with her partner and determinedly staved off the bitter disappointment that overtook him. He had wanted to at least bid her goodnight and have one more chance to imprint in his mind the picture of her beauty this evening.
Resigned, he moved away from the crowd toward the staircase. As a large party hustled past him, he wedged himself under the balustrade and waited for the room to clear. A moment later, however, he felt something drop onto his shoulder – a light something that instantly filled his nostrils with the scent of flowers.
He retrieved the item from where it had lodged in his lapel and held it aloft – a tiny white rose. Unconsciously he looked to the second floor balcony above his head and saw only a twirl of white silk skirts and a tangle of chestnut curls before the crowd obscured his view.
His heart beat madly, and he tucked the rose carefully into a buttonhole, for he knew exactly whose hand had bestowed the gift on him.
As if in a daze, he somehow made his way out to the carriage. Georgiana was already inside, curled up in a lap robe and yawning. He sat next to her and rapped sharply on the roof. As the carriage rolled away back to the parsonage, Georgiana smiled sleepily at her brother. "You were right, Will. That was delightful fun." She noticed the rose and reached out to touch a cream-colored petal. "What a pretty flower." Tilting her head like a curious cat, she studied it more carefully. "How strange, Will."
"What?"
"Miss Elizabeth was wearing lovely white roses just like that in her hair." She yawned again. "Do you think Martha would be able to fix my hair like that?"
"I'm sure she could." He smiled uneasily. "Why don't you try to sleep a little while we're heading home?"
She didn't have to be told twice. In a minute she was slumbering peacefully on the seat while Darcy mulled silently over all that had occurred...and plucked the rose from the buttonhole to look at it more carefully. Gazing at the delicate bloom, he came to the conclusion that it had been a very good night indeed.