Writerly Ambitions

by Timothy Underwood

  It was ridiculous, and must quite prove that his clear instinctive belief in the stories about her — stories Elizabeth did not deny. She did not wish to hear this man who she liked a great deal disbelieve her, like everyone but Papa, Jane and Charlotte had disbelieved her.

  After she ceased to cry she, embarrassed, stepped away from Mr. Darcy, borrowed his handkerchief to wipe her eyes off and blow her nose in, returned it, and then took a few more deep breaths.

  This time that horrid anxious spell she’d experienced seemed to be completely gone.

  “Do you wish to return to the dance?” Mr. Darcy asked solicitously. “To have me bring your mother to you — I am at your service, Miss Bennet.”

  “Not my mother!” Elizabeth laughed. “She has improved of late, but her nerves would hardly be like to calm mine.”

  “Ah. Then shall I remain with you? Guide you to the exit? Or—”

  “That dance.” Elizabeth shook her head. “I was merely surprised — A gentleman of my acquaintance said something which knocked me aback, but I am risen again. He was… well it is not important. But I am now entirely better. I thank you for that very much, Mr. Darcy.”

  “I only kept you company — and that was no burden.”

  “I rise to every attempt to intimidate me—” Elizabeth let out another deep breath. “At least I am determined I shall. It is not merely my imagination; if you heard Mr. Reed you would know he did wish to intimidate me.”

  “Mr. Reed? I spoke with him for some minutes. A hideous man. Grotesque. Far beneath you.”

  “Ah, but he is not happy to be beneath me. And so he must bother me.”

  “Not again tonight — Mr. Lucas carried him away, deep in his cups.”

  Elizabeth shook her head. “You spoke to him? He is hardly the best representative of our neighborhood — you must have found in him justification for your tendency to hold yourself aloof and above.”

  “Not at all — Miss Bennet, you, I suspect, are the finest ambassador the neighborhood could have.”

  “Flatterer.”

  “I am quite serious. Would you do me the honor of this dance next?”

  “I would be delighted.”

  Elizabeth put her arm on Darcy’s and allowed him to lead her quietly back into the ballroom.

  He though watched her carefully as she entered the ballroom, apparently more worried that she would relapse than she was.

  Though since, as he had said, his sister often suffered such episodes, perhaps his information about the likelihood of her feeling such a spell again was superior to her own.

  “Well, my physician of the mind, am I about to rush once more from the room in panic and tears?” Elizabeth smiled as firmly as she could at him.

  “Not likely.” He smiled back at her. “You appear steady as a ship of the line. I trust you, Miss Bennet — but if you do need solitude again, you may abandon me in the middle of the dance, without the least compunction.”

  “No, no! My mother would never forgive me. As she said of your friend Bingley: Do not offend him, Lizzy, he’s rich.”

  Mr. Darcy blinked. Then he laughed, showing he had a proper sense of humor. “Women usually do not remind me of that to my face.”

  “It is a quite horrid accusation,” Elizabeth replied. “But truth is my defense.”

  Darcy laughed again. “Then I shall look forward to the pleasure of your company for the full half of an hour.”

  The dancing slippers both of them wore padded softly over the waxed wooden floor, as they went to the line for the next dance, which had already half formed when they reentered the hall.

  Whatever caused that sudden feeling, Elizabeth decided the emotion was mostly gone. But there was a hint of it which lurked in Elizabeth’s chest and her throat, and in the ache in her stomach. Stronger this time, and ready to leap out, now that she knew that it was a dangerous tiger.

  She looked at Mr. Darcy, who was steadily examining her. Somehow he had become, for the next turn on the dancefloor at least, a rock for her, who she would look towards with trust, even if she had no right or reason to.

  “Breathe, Miss Bennet. This is only a ballroom.”

  She nodded her head. “Yes. Only a ballroom — not so big as many I have been to in London.”

  “Not at all, I own one much bigger—”

  Elizabeth laughed. “Braggart.”

  He grinned. “I overheard the whisper of ten thousand a year at least thrice this night. I merely act the part — did you live in London long?”

  “Do not distract me with questions.” Elizabeth laughed. “What was the biggest ballroom you have ever entered. St. James?”

  Darcy laughed, and laughter was a handsome look on him. “It was.”

  Elizabeth shook her head. “Everything Sir William claims it to be? For he was there, you know, after he was given the knighthood for a speech he made before the king when he was the mayor. The old King, that is.”

  “I apologize,” Darcy said suddenly, “but is Sir William’s daughter perchance married to a clergyman in Kent, in the parsonage attached to Rosings Park, a gentleman by the name of Mr. Collins?”

  “We share a connection!” Elizabeth smiled. “You know Charlotte? I promise you, I shall end this dance, and cut you forever, if you do not like her. She is my dearest friend.”

  “She is my cousin Anne’s dear friend as well.”

  “Anne, Miss De Bourgh? — who inherited after the Late Lady Catherine died — Oh, I heard a great deal about Lady Catherine, and she seemed the sort of person who I would not wish to be dependent upon. But I apologize, she must have been your aunt. I am sorry for your loss.”

  “Such as it was,” Darcy wryly replied. “I cannot claim to miss her over much. She was often a frustrating woman.”

  “So I heard, at great length, from Charlotte — but what do you think of my Mrs. Collins?”

  “A clever woman, with a good heart, and a good sense of what is necessary in the parish.”

  Elizabeth twirled around within the dance. “I’ll accept that as praise — though you ought be far warmer. She is dear to me.”

  “I then think the better of you for the connection — a fine, sensible woman. Though…”

  “Yes?”

  “Ah, I shall not speak on that.”

  “You are no enthusiast of Mr. Collins?” Elizabeth laughed. “He is my cousin — but I was never so surprised as when Charlotte married Mr. Collins. Never.”

  “A woman of her age… it was a sensible match.”

  “And she has been happy with it. But I still would never have chosen in such a way as she.”

  Mr. Darcy tilted his head and smiled at her a little. Elizabeth wondered what thoughts, no doubt inspired by her supposed dalliance with Mr. Wickham, ran in his head.

  “But come,” she said, “we have spent enough time in conversation upon mutual friends — we must now turn to my favorite topic, the one which I converse upon always in a ballroom, books! Do you read, Mr. Darcy?”

  “I was taught,” he replied dryly. There was a twinkle in his eyes.

  “Ah, so was I! Another matter we have in common, but do you use this facility with any frequency — your friend Mr. Bingley insisted you do, while he does not.”

  “Scurrilous lie.” Darcy grinned at Elizabeth. “I assure you, that while he is no great reader, Mr. Bingley keeps up with his newspapers and he and Mrs. Bingley would read some of the most popular novels amongst their set.”

  “He keeps up with his newspapers?” Elizabeth laughed. “The essence of a gentleman reader — but you. Do you merely keep up with your newspapers? Or do you touch on…” She lowered her voice, “Is it possible you sink so low as to read a novel — only from time to time?”

  “And a great deal more often than that.”

  “You do!”

  “And poetry too.”

  “I care nothing for your poetry — I cannot produce any of worth, and I have made attempt, so thus a worthless art. Fie on Byron, fie on Shelley. F
ie on Wordsworth.”

  “But you can produce a novel of worth.”

  Elizabeth smiled rather uncertainly, not having meant to discuss her literary endeavors here in Meryton with anyone but Papa. She had forgotten for a moment that she was not in London, where it was not uncommon that those who met her had been informed by their mutual acquaintance that she was the authoress of Marigold and Fashion Exposed — her most popular works.

  “Perhaps I could,” she said at last.

  “A woman of literary ambitions — my sister was such before her marriage, though she never produced more than the sketch of a few melodramatic tales, where the woman died horribly in the end, and all was dark and sad.”

  Elizabeth laughed. “I hope that is not your notion of what every novel must be. Yet every person must begin somewhere. So I refuse the suggestion you make — your sister had every hope of greatest fame and glory, and her unfortunate marriage robbed the world of one of its greatest talents.”

  “A fortunate marriage, I assure you. She is very happy.”

  “I am glad—” Elizabeth frowned. “I truly have no desire for my own part to marry — but you, I have been informed, do hope to marry.”

  Darcy twisted his lips. “Have been informed? I assure you, I do seek a proper wife — to make a woman the lady of Pemberley, that shall be a great honor, and she must be worthy of such a position, and of my great lineage — I am proud, yes, very proud. I see your smile. We are a great family, and it is my duty to continue a line which extends deep into the mists of time.”

  “Poor woman! To face such expectation — it shall take a paragon not to crumple underneath the weight of Pemberley and all its heavy pile.”

  “I assure you, I seek a woman who is a paragon. Only such is worthy of a man such as me.”

  Elizabeth laughed, delighted by him. She liked Mr. Darcy very much, the more for his open and ridiculous vanity. For he was kind as well, and he lacked the sort of dissimulation that many of his set feigned of being driven by softer emotions when in truth they cared only for the honor and glory a marriage could bring upon them.

  “I wish you well — for my part, I would never marry a man who expects so much. Even should you come to mistake me for such a paragon, you are safe. One must know their own limits.”

  Mr. Darcy frowned, as if disquieted.

  She laughed. “Surely you do not expect every woman to fall before your feet.”

  “I do — it is a simple matter of reason. I am aware of my virtues, and those of my estate. Any rational woman who is not high born herself will know there is no better match they can make.”

  “Vain! I have found you out. A vain man.”

  “I am not vain — there is a real superiority in my breeding, my person, and my situation. I despise a false humbleness that makes one’s assessment of the world inaccurate. To claim myself less than I am is just as much a deception as to claim I am more.”

  “I do not doubt that your estate is most superior. Your character though — I assure you a sensible woman would not be so quick to marry a man so certain of his own superiority.”

  Mr. Darcy replied with a slightly hurt voice, “Then it is fortunate for us both, that whatever your virtues — you are extremely clever, and I like your mind, and your conversation, and your… eyes…” Darcy trailed off.

  Elizabeth could not help but blush at his evident admiration of her.

  He continued in a firmer tone. “I require of myself a wife with the highest connections, the cleanest and most sterling reputation, and the… further I am determined that she ought be near twenty years of age, and I think you to be much past that.”

  “Zounds! Forget being refused — have you ever been slapped?” Elizabeth grinned at Mr. Darcy, most amused by his pique. “You do not take to rejection kindly. But you are unused to such, which must be your excuse.”

  Mr. Darcy flushed and then he winced. “Miss Bennet, allow me to apologize, I hardly know what I said. I certainly did not mean to say such, and—”

  “No, no, no! I despise pretense. And I adore ridiculousness. But your pomposity — you are clever enough to perhaps improve. But, this shall go deep in my stores of memories. But I forgive you this for your kindness earlier this evening. You, sir, were very kind, and I would be the worst sort of woman if I in turn savaged you.”

  Mr. Darcy shook his head. “Even though you consider me vain and ridiculous.”

  “Merely vain! — I know my deficits. I am, as you perceived, seven and twenty, without a sterling reputation, and my connections are more to trade than nobility. So there is nothing to be done for it. No matter how much you like my eyes” — Mr. Darcy flushed, but also smiled — “And no matter how much I admire your superior estate and your person, we can never make a match of it. All that is left is to be friends.”

  “You still wish to be my friend?”

  “Of a certainty!”

  “Then I would like to be your friend, Miss Bennet — as I said, there is some instinct which tells me I ought trust you, and that I can trust you, and that we shall get along well together. As though we should have met many years before now.”

  “I feel that too. Besides, I need the conversation of a well-read man besides my father. I am bored! And you are the most interesting person I have met in this neighborhood — may I hope that your stay with Mr. Bingley shall be prolonged?”

  “I intended to stay two months entire. Perhaps even till the little season. It is two days back to my estate in Pemberley, so when I return I prefer not to travel away again quickly.”

  “Two months. Enough time.”

  The music slowed into the final sounds of the dance, and they stepped through the final pattern.

  “But books! We have not yet spoken on books.” Elizabeth grinned. “The best place, of course, to speak upon books is in a ballroom, but when you call we shall take up Papa’s book room, and you shall prove to me that you have read a novel.”

  “I shall await your examination with confidence.”

  “I apologize if I have been forward to ask that you call on occasion — I have lacked… intellectual company in Hertfordshire. My father is the sole man with whom I can carry a decent conversation about any matter of interest to me. Some few speak on matters of business and substance, but while I agree with all upon the horrors of a low price of wheat for the landlord, and also upon the benefits of that low price to those who work in town, and the horrifying incompetence, verging upon criminality of Liverpool’s government, the soul would starve and whither upon such a diet alone, while books and science can entertain the soul for an eternity. That is what I believe heaven shall be: a grand library, with ample armchairs to sit in and discuss the books with dear friends whilst remaining warm by the fire.”

  “I support Liverpool’s government.” Mr. Darcy replied with a smile, “And from your mode of expression, I do not think you have deeply thought through your objections to his policies.”

  “I repeat, an interesting man!”

  Darcy grinned back at her, taking her hand again to kiss it briefly. “I promise then, Miss Bennet. You have a vision of heaven quite like to mine own. While in this neighborhood, I shall do my best to prevent your soul’s withering for lack of conversation.”

  Chapter Six

  The night had a been a great, grand, delightful, unexpected triumph for Mrs. Bennet. That admirable matron had anticipated that the kindness of old friends would give them reason enough risk a dance with Elizabeth, but that was all. All she ever expected for Elizabeth was that she would be an old maid and a burden upon the rest of them — but Mrs. Bennet did not mourn that.

  God had been very good to them to allow all four of her other daughters to marry.

  Despite the modest success she had made of Elizabeth since her return to Meryton, Mrs. Bennet had gone to the assembly rooms full of fear that another such scene, as that which led the entire family to be shamed for six months and banished Elizabeth from her home, would occur.

  Mrs. Ben
net cared for her daughter.

  She wanted to see Elizabeth marry, and to marry almost as well as her other daughters, and better than Mary. But she had had no particular hopes for Elizabeth to marry at all, let alone well. No man wanted such a girl as Elizabeth. The problem was not only her dalliance with Mr. Wickham — such things could be forgotten or forgiven. It was that she ran on like she thought she was cleverer than everyone else.

  Men did not like clever women.

  Oh, how could a single night change one’s expectations!

  The wealthy gentleman who had purchased Netherfield danced with Elizabeth first! First amongst all the maidens of the all the neighborhood! And then, beyond Mrs. Bennet’s wildest expectations, his even wealthier friend had only danced with Elizabeth — and after it was known as a positive fact that he knew every particular of Elizabeth’s shameful dalliance.

  And then they carried out such a great lengthy conversation!

  A coup, and every other matron in the neighborhood confessed as much to Mrs. Bennet.

  She received a glow of admiration and jealousy from her neighbors such as she had never seen since that time.

  And the attention from the wealthy pair led to Elizabeth becoming a general favorite, both with the men of the neighborhood and the women. And during the days following the ball, many who had held themselves aloof since Elizabeth returned home called upon the ladies of Longbourn.

  Hopes and great aspirations that Mrs. Bennet had let die, like most let their adolescent dreams die, exploded forth once more. She became haunted by images of an exceptional match, beyond anything her girls could expect by right of their fortune and connections. Plans for the grandest wedding ever seen by Meryton, that between Elizabeth and either Mr. Bingley or Mr. Darcy danced in Mrs. Bennet’s imagination. She heard as she lie in bed on the soft quilts waiting for sleep to take her the exclamations of her neighbors when Mr. Darcy or Mr. Bingley — either would do — proposed to Lizzy, the girl she had entirely, and wrongly it seemed, given up on.

  Mrs. Bennet spent the days in a dizzy tizzy, planning with Mrs. Hill and the cook the entertainments they could give, thinking about how best to get Elizabeth invited to dinners where she might mingle with the Netherfield party. She made plans to renew the drawing room, though a mere three years had passed since the last refreshment of wall and furniture. The room was only almost a la mode.