by Jann Rowland
Elizabeth studied the others in the room, noting the differences in each as they waited for her to continue. Jane, who sat at the side of the cheerily burning fireplace, wore a look of excitement.
Mr. Bingley, seated beside her, seemed at first to have retained a level of patience, but this began to change as Jane’s excitement bubbled over and spread to him. In response to Jane’s unintended assault upon his usual reserve, he began to shift and squirm as Elizabeth delayed her words.
Of all those present, Mr. Darcy alone bore a visage suggestive of complete confidence. He sat relaxed in his chair, observing Elizabeth as she prepared to speak. On his handsome face was a tiny smile comprised of the slightest upturn to each corner of his mouth, as if nothing Elizabeth could propose would be a surprise.
“First,” said she at last, “Papa must be prevailed upon to keep with tradition in presenting the Christmas feast to Longbourn’s residents. We cannot allow him to cancel such an important event.”
“While I am in complete agreement,” said Mr. Darcy, “I am unsure as to your plan for accomplishing this worthy goal. I have known Mr. Bennet for only a short time and have found him to be immovable once he has reached a decision.”
It was now Elizabeth’s turn to display a knowing smile. “I will bemoan the planned cancellation of the St. Stephen’s Day feast to Mama. I am certain she will raise the issue with Papa, who will rescind his decision just to silence her.”
Mr. Bingley, who had sat without adding to the conversation, now interrupted: “But if the funds are not present, then how is Mr. Bennet to present the traditional feast? Would not the expense attached to an event of this magnitude, however justified, hasten Mr. Bennet’s financial problems?”
At this, the smile attached to Mr. Darcy’s visage grew in breadth until it seemed of a proportion wide enough to touch each ear. “I suspect Elizabeth has not forgotten about this prospect and has concluded her scheming with an appropriate solution,” said he with a laugh. “Please continue.”
Elizabeth returned the smile with one which seemed in competition to Mr. Darcy’s in breadth and enthusiasm. “Jane and I have discussed our weddings and how the preparations for them have consumed Mama to the exclusion of all else. If you and Mr. Bingley are in agreement, we wish to combine the two ceremonies into one. In this way, Papa must only fund one wedding.”
Mr. Darcy nodded in approval. “A sensible idea. It will lessen the burden on your father’s means and rein in your mother. Bingley and I have already heard a little concerning Mrs. Bennet’s intentions, as they have been noised about by Meryton’s merchants. Most find it amusing, but some have expressed mild derision, even referring to her as dotty.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “I feared such a thing might occur. This will upset Papa should he discover it. And should we fail to convince Mama of the ridiculousness of her plans, we shall be subject to unfavorable scrutiny by all.”
“Bingley and I have devised a plan to forestall this calamity. We will host the wedding breakfast ourselves, although our vision shall certainly be much more limited than that envisioned by Mrs. Bennet. By doing so, we will relieve Mr. Bennet’s anxiety over the cost associated with such an overzealous affair.”
“I am afraid Papa will never agree to such a proposal,” said Elizabeth. “His pride will not allow him to accept such charity. He already feels indebted for your timely assistance in Lydia’s wedding. I thank you for this offer but expect it will come to naught.”
Mr. Darcy smiled at Elizabeth’s assertion. “We will see,” was his only reply as he snatched up her hand and brushed his lips across it before releasing his grip and stepping back.
“Forgive my impulsive display,” said he as Elizabeth’s cheeks turned a bright red in embarrassment at his astonishing display of affection.
“We must leave you,” said Mr. Darcy before Elizabeth could offer absolution for his apology. “Mr. Hurst must return to London and cannot enjoy Christmas with us at Netherfield. Mrs. Hurst is returning with him, and Miss Bingley has decided she would rather celebrate the holiday with them than with her brother.”
“That is regrettable,” said Jane, although Elizabeth could hear a tone of relief in Jane’s voice which betrayed her happiness at the news.
“What of Georgiana?” asked Elizabeth as the two men prepared to leave. “She will not be observing the holiday alone at Pemberley, will she? I had hoped to celebrate Christmas Day with your delightful sister. We have become close these previous few months.”
“Do not fear,” answered Mr. Darcy, to Elizabeth’s relief. “Her carriage will arrive on the morrow.”
St. Stephen’s Day that year was a time of joy and merriment at Longbourn, surpassed only by the Christmas celebration of the day previous. Mr. Bennet, as the host, was sure to speak with all in attendance. With each tenant and servant, he was solicitous of their health and wellbeing, taking an active interest in their concerns and imparting his wishes for a bountiful year to come.
Elizabeth watched her father, the enjoyment lighting his countenance a welcome difference from the man she had discovered in his library not a week before. Gone were any vestiges of concerns that had weighed him down. Observing him now filled her heart with joy and lifted her spirits in concert with the gaiety which infused the gathering.
“Your father appears to possess no misgivings with regard to the expenditures necessary for the hosting of this feast,” said Mr. Darcy. “He looks as if he has not a care of any kind.”
A commotion behind her interrupted Elizabeth’s reply. Turning, she witnessed Kitty, Mary, and Georgiana involved in a game of Hoodman’s Blind with their cousins, whose parents, Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner, sat at a nearby bench watching the merrymaking. With a smile of gratitude for the benevolence toward the youngsters in their care, Elizabeth turned herself back to Mr. Darcy.
“He wears a lighter countenance since your visit to him regarding the weddings. However were you able to obtain his agreement, nay, his blessing, with such ease? I had supposed he would take offence at your charitable proposal, but nary a word of condemnation has he uttered regarding your discussion.”
“When Bingley and I called upon Mr. Bennet, we found him to be less than welcoming with regard to our proposal. He was, in fact, adamant in his opposition to our offer to host the wedding breakfast. As father of the brides, he felt it was his responsibility to assume the financial burdens associated with the celebration.”
“I know my father is a proud man,” said Elizabeth, “What caused him to relent? Try as I might, I cannot arrive at an answer to this question.”
Mr. Darcy gave a laugh that echoed through the gathering and captured the notice of more than one of those in attendance. Mindful of the private nature of their conversation, he lowered his voice before responding to her query: “We spoke for the better part of two hours, with neither willing to yield so much as an inch to the other. Not even Bingley’s attempts to soothe Mr. Bennet’s wounded pride by proclamation of the fullness of his love afforded us any headway against his refusal to accept what he referred to as unwanted charity.”
“You are describing the father I know and love,” said Elizabeth. “I might remind you of my warning regarding his stubborn pride.”
“Never did I have a reason to forget the caution I was encouraged to take,” said Mr. Darcy. “At last, I insinuated the possibility of elopement to solve the impasse. I believe this was the incentive that caused him to reexamine his position. I know he possessed no desire to endure another situation similar to that involving your youngest sister. If something like it were to reoccur, questions would arise in Meryton and elsewhere, and the Bennet name would most certainly be subject to a loss of stature.”
Elizabeth regarded her fiancé with an appraising gaze for perhaps a minute
“You are a most conniving man, Mr. Darcy,” said she at last with a smile that was soon followed by a laugh. “I will remember this once we are wedded.”
“And well you should,” said he as
he turned to watch the goings-on. Elizabeth could not help but continue to smile as she gazed upon him, secure in the knowledge that they would be perfect companions for each other.
The End
Twelfth Night Stratagem
by
Jann Rowland
I have written Twelfth Night balls in the past in different adaptations, but I decided to have a look at a new take on this interesting custom. Though the characters are not mentioned by name from the start, the astute reader should quickly identify the characters in this tale and appreciate the thwarting of one detestable woman's efforts.
And then she saw him. A tall man, noble of bearing, lean of form, with piercing dark eyes looking back at her. Had his face not been covered by a mask, it would have been viewed by all as a handsome face, the likes of which would make young ladies swoon and adolescent girls giggle in appreciation. He was looking directly at her. Had the gentleman been able to see through her golden mask, he would have seen flushed cheeks, the effects of a heightened heartbeat upon her countenance.
The rumble of conversation in the room did nothing to remove her attention from the man standing not far from her. It was a Twelfth Night ball, the first the woman in the golden mask had ever attended in London, the city that never seemed to sleep. Visiting her aunt and uncle’s house soon after the beginning of Christmastide, she had not thought to attend such a prestigious event as this. But when the invitation arrived for Lord so-and-so’s ball to be held on Twelfth Night, she, along with her aunt and uncle as well as her dearest sister, had agreed to attend with unfeigned eagerness. Her sister was now mingling about somewhere in the press, as were her aunt and uncle, but the woman in the golden mask had been standing alone for a short time. The sight of this man caused all other thoughts to flee.
It was inevitable, the way he approached her, as if it had been destined before either had entered the room. As a diminutive woman, she was forced to gaze upward to observe the black-and-red mask the man wore. The feathers protruding from the edges were waving in seeming time with the dancers on the floor, mesmerizing her, as if the sheer presence of his person was not enough. The intensity in the man’s gaze caused her breath to catch in her throat, and when he opened his mouth, his voice was deep yet resonant, and it seemed to echo within her very soul.
“May I beg you for the next dance, madam?”
“I should be honored,” said the woman in the golden mask. Pausing, she considered the man before her. “Have we met previously?”
The mask did nothing to hide his grin. “Oh, yes, indeed—there is little doubt we have met before.”
When the music for the dance began, she found herself escorted to the floor to stand among all the other dancers. Though distracted, she saw her aunt and uncle watching her with a knowing air. Some distance away to the side, her sister had also been solicited for the sets, and while she frowned at her sister and knew something must be done, there would be time for that later.
Never had two souls been so in tune, for the gentleman moved about her as if he were gliding over a sheet of the purest ice, drawing her along in his wake without effort. Every time their hands touched, the woman in the golden mask could feel a spark of energy run up her arm, straight to her heart, causing it to beat a little faster. And when he looked at her, she felt herself melting, her heart beating faster in response to this mysterious man. Oh, should they spend many nights in this exquisite bliss, she would find herself well pleased, indeed!
At length, the sets ended, and the gentleman escorted her to the side of the floor. He gazed about for a moment before turning back to her.
“I do not see your party nearby.”
“My aunt and uncle stepped away some minute ago,” replied she. “It is likely they saw some acquaintance and left to speak with them.”
The gentleman nodded. “Then I shall leave you, for I have a task to accomplish.”
The woman in the golden mask fixed him with a smirk. “As have I. But I should like to meet you here shortly, for I have a great desire to dance with you again.”
“There is nothing for which I wish more,” said the gentleman.
Then he bowed to her and stepped away. She watched him as he departed. There could be no better man in the kingdom, she thought. Yes, she knew she would see him again soon.
“I know you.”
The low, menacing voice pulled the woman in the golden mask from contemplation of her partner. When she turned to regard the speaker, she noted a tall woman, bony and spindly, standing nearby and watching her, contempt oozing from her narrowed eyes and affronted stance. This woman’s dark hair was pinned on the back of her head, not a hair out of place, tied with such firmness it must have been pulling her face tight with it. Covering her face was one of the most garish masks to be found in London, a discordant concoction of greens, blues, purples, and blacks that had been topped with a pair of long feathers standing up like sentinels. As if that were not enough, the woman wore a headdress of even greater feathers, giving her the appearance of a particularly thin ostrich—though her personality more closely resembled a vicious raptor.
Though those attending the masked ball were not to know the identities of one another, the woman in the golden mask would have known this raptor anywhere, for there was no other like her. It was well she could not be duplicated, for no one else known to the woman in the golden mask mixed such great measures of pride, conceit, arrogance, disdain for others, and eagerness to climb society’s ladder in one person.
“I knew it must be you,” said the bird-like woman when no response was offered. “It astonishes me to find you have the audacity to show your countenance at an event of this nature. How did you manage to sneak in undetected?”
“In fact,” said the woman in the golden mask, “no one can see my face, so I am hardly ;showing my countenance,’ as you suggest. Furthermore, my aunt and uncle are well known to his lordship and have been counted among his dearest friends for many years. The more apt question is: how did you manage to gain an invitation yourself, considering your position in society?
“Oh, you were able to come only due to your connections to a certain gentleman, of course,” said the woman in the golden mask before a reply could be given. “It is always under his auspices that you are included in events of this nature, for you do not have the standing to gain entrance on your own merits.”
“How dare you!” snarled the other woman, her feathers waving in the air as testament to her rage.
“How dare you?” asked the woman in the golden mask, more amused than offended.
“I will have you know I have been a member of society in good standing for many years now. If I were to ask the host about your presence, would he corroborate your story? Perhaps I should speak to him.”
“If you even know him, I welcome you to try,” rejoined the woman in the golden mask. “Then again, since I doubt you have ever been introduced, no avenue exists for you to speak with him unless you mean to breach all pretense of good manners.”
“As your cousin did at my ball?”
“I am not my cousin,” replied the woman in the golden mask. “As I have been introduced to his lordship, all you will accomplish by approaching him is to make yourself appear the fool. Then again, it would not be an appearance but rather the reality. Is that not so?”
Offense rolled off the raptor of a woman in waves, and for a moment, it seemed as though she might make a scene. Then she calmed herself with a visible effort, no doubt wishing to refrain from drawing attention to herself.
“Perhaps I will speak to his lordship later. I do, however, have one question for you before I see to your eviction.”
“Do ask. This has been a rather entertaining conversation.”
The bird-like woman’s eyes narrowed in anger again. “Impertinent and insolent to the last. Tell me—is your sister here, along with your tradesman aunt and uncle?”
“Why, do you wish to apologize to her for your behavior? Are you remorseful for the
way you have abused her trusting nature and have feigned friendship when you intended none?”
“Answer me at once!”
“It is none of your concern,” said the woman in the golden mask. “I will not allow you to injure her sensibilities again. You had best leave.”
“Your designs are not hidden from me,” hissed the harpy as she stepped close. “I have anticipated your sister’s wish to entrap my brother. I shall not allow your family to win!”
“Then you will do as you must. As will I. Now, leave me be, or we shall see who his lordship will support in a dispute between us.”
With a stiff neck and a sniff of disdain, the woman moved away with a haughtiness not unlike the ostrich she resembled, leaving the woman in the golden mask grateful to be free of her, though the cloying scent of her perfume lingered in the air. Putting the recent incident from her mind, the woman in the golden mask began to look about the room, trying to spy her sister. She was already late in locating her.
Her sister, it seemed, was not enjoying the evening. It was no surprise, however, as the young woman had been in dull spirits since the autumn, pining away for her lost love. She had agreed to come to London with great reluctance, but it was fortunate that she had, for she would recover more quickly in the bosom of her aunt and uncle’s house, where she would receive a respite from her mother’s ever-present lamentations concerning the departure of her daughter’s beloved.
“Come, Sister,” said the woman in the golden mask. “Let us move this way, for I wish to speak to you.”
Without comment, the other young lady agreed, allowing the woman in the golden mask to lead her to a more private location. When they arrived, the woman in the golden mask turned to look at her sister, noting her seeming disinterest. Pursing her lips, she decided against commenting upon it, determining instead to be cheerful.