by Meg Osborne
The gentleman beside her cleared his throat, gruffly, and Elizabeth glanced up, flushing guiltily at being caught so obviously lost in thought.
“How do you like London, Miss...Bennet.” Mr Darcy wrangled the words, barely inflecting them at the end so that she could not be entirely sure the statement was a question, nor whether he truly desired her to give any response at all.
“I like it well enough, Mr Darcy.”
Silence.
Undeterred, Lizzy posed his question back to him.
“And you, Mr Darcy. I believe you are quite recently arrived?”
Something like suspicion flashed in her partner’s dark eyes, and Elizabeth spoke on hoping to allay any curiosity.
“Your friend, Mr Bingley, told us you were newly arrived in town - that today is your first day, in fact.” She smiled. “I suggest you might have timed it rather better, if you wished to avoid a social gathering your very first evening.”
“What makes you think I wish to avoid it?”
Elizabeth’s eyebrows lifted. Mr Darcy’s gruff tone, the manner in which he spat, rather than spoke, his question ought to have been answer enough, and apparently was, for her partner struggled to rearrange his features into something less foreboding. It took effort, Elizabeth noted, and risked a glance towards Jane. Her sister danced well of course, but she knew this. And she was clearly the most beautiful lady present, although Elizabeth conceded this might be partiality on her part, for whilst Jane easily outshone all of Meryton, could the same possibly be true in London? Jane’s partner, too, matched her elegance with his enthusiasm, and no small manner of personal skill. Her own partner, Mr Darcy, was skilled, too, even Elizabeth had to acknowledge that. But where Mr Darcy’s steps were exact, Mr Bingley’s were spirited. They conversed, too, which state pleased Elizabeth, for both Jane and Mr Bingley smiled often, and even laughed on occasion. She dared to think he might be falling in love a little already, which could scarcely be avoided when he had so dainty and charming a partner as Jane.
“Miss Elizabeth?”
The gruffness had crept back into Mr Dray’s voice, and Lizzy felt as if she detected a trace of something else. Worry? She glanced back at him, fearing she had been caught spying on her sister, but was surprised to see the merest flush of colour abut Mr Darcy’s cheeks, and bid him repeat himself, for clearly he had directed a comment towards her that had gone unanswered, and it was the fact of being apparently ignored that had caused his features to sink into a frown she thought must be habitual.
“Forgive me,” she said, with an encouraging smile. “The music was a trifle loud just then. What did you say?”
“I asked if you prefer the cultural activities in London, or enjoy to always be out in society.” The way this last word was uttered, as if it were a curse, made Mr Darcy’s own opinions plain, so plain that Lizzy could scarcely stifle a laugh.
“I must own I am not fond of society,” she confided, grateful at last to have found some common ground, albeit too late to profit her, for their dance was drawing to a close. “Although perhaps that is simply because I am ill-at-ease in it.” She nodded towards the couple that had captured her attention moments before. “You see my sister, Jane? She is truly adept at comporting herself no matter what the social occasion. I fear I am rather less will-able to do so.” She flushed, fearing that the willing she had almost uttered had not quite been covered ably enough. Indeed, it seemed certain to have reached Mr Darcy’s ears, yet instead of the reaction she expected, she saw his frown recede a little, and the faint glimmer of a smile lurking about his lips.
“I, too, prefer to be alone than in a roomful of strangers.” He sighed. “A fact you have no doubt gleaned from our scintillating conversation this quarter-hour. I do not possess the skill of conversing freely with those I am not well-acquainted.”
“I imagine it is a skill that improves with practice,” Elizabeth said, feeling charitable enough just then to accede his request for a second dance, for she sensed it must be on his lips.
“I dare say it is,” Mr Darcy said, shortly. “But, like all things, one must decide for oneself which skills are worthy of cultivating.”
The music ceased, and Mr Darcy bowed.
Elizabeth, surprised and a little embarrassed to find their acquaintance so abruptly ended, sought to grasp hold of the thread of conversation that had last united them.
“What, then, is your preference, Mr Darcy?”
He had been poised to turn away, then, but her words halted him. He blinked, confused.
“To conversation,” Elizabeth prompted. “To society.” She smiled. “I am less familiar with London than you: what would you recommend?”
It was daring, but no more so than Kitty and Lydia, who were spinning with delight from one partner to another, and never mind their aunt’s advice that they remain quiet and observe, rather than being in a rush to partake of the evening’s entertainments.
“There are a number of museums -” he began, but a movement to Elizabeth’s right caught his eye, and he stopped, straightening. “Good evening, Miss Elizabeth.”
She glanced around in time to see Mr Bingley’s sister slip into view, and turned back, stifling a laugh, but Mr Darcy was already beating a hasty retreat.
Her eyes still danced with the humour of the situation when Jane found her again, smiling happily.
“Lizzy! What do you think?” she whispered, leaning close in a manner that made her excitement contagious. “Mr Bingley has engaged me to dance a second time with him! I am to rest the next, but he has asked if I will keep at least one more dance for him!”
Impulsively, Elizabeth drew her sister close and embraced her, pushing the odd spectre of Mr Darcy aside in her delight at Jane’s burgeoning happiness.
“Come, let us go and find Aunt Gardiner. I am sure she will wish to introduce us to her friends. And you must tell me all about your Mr Bingley...”
Chapter Five
As the noise of the assembly faded behind him, Darcy drew a sigh of relief. He ought not to have left his partner so quickly. It was abrupt, bordering on rude.
And since when have I cared to be considered rude? He smiled, grimly, to himself. He was not unaware of what was muttered about him amongst his contemporaries. Fitzwilliam Darcy is proud, and self-important and, yes, rude. It rarely concerned him, for he held true to the notion that idle gossip betrayed more about those who engaged in it than it did those who were its subject. He was not gregarious, as Charles was, nor did he take great pains to get to know others, as Georgiana did. He was not fond of forming new attachments, nor did he form them quickly. Charles had wormed his way past Darcy’s defences in school, but he had no need of popularity now.
When he heard the first strains of music starting and could content himself that every eligible lady wishing to dance would have secured herself a partner by that point, he returned to the main hall, slipping in unnoticed behind the crowd of spectators. Odd snatches of conversation reached his ears, exclaiming over his fortune, or her schemes, and, worse, that beautiful Brussels lace! He hurried quickly past the spinster aunts in deep conversation on modes and manners of dress, his progress arrested by a name that had only recently become known to him.
“Bennet, I believe...from Hertfordshire.” One older gentleman remarked to his companions.
“Yes, it’s a sad business that. Five daughters and none of them married. Now the house reverts to his cousin, and the girls must make homes where they may.”
Darcy’s heart constricted, but he shook off the notion. The situation was not so very uncommon, and the Bennets were strangers to him. What did he care about their predicament? Still, he lingered, listening.
“The eldest is a sweet thing, and she certainly seems to be winning friends this evening!”
An older lady, with a cattish, knowing smile, sniffed.
“No doubt she seeks to secure herself a husband: one wealthy enough that he might provide for the whole brood.” A wry laugh. “Perhaps we ough
t to warn any potential suitors that they may see themselves winning a wife, but in fact, they will receive four additional sisters and a mother into the bargain.”
Darcy stiffened, glancing in the direction the company looked. They had not named him, but their eyes were fixed on Bingley, who was at present dancing with a rather plain young lady. His friend was polite, but it was evident his interest remained elsewhere, and he perennially glanced towards the edge of the bench which seated Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth, who were speaking in low voices as they observed the dancers with interest.
If Miss Jane Bennet was intent on snaring a wealthy husband she seemed to have done it, for they had shared but one dance and yet already it seemed Charles Bingley a lost man. What then of her sister? Darcy drew his eyebrows together. He had thought he the instigator of their dance, but was it possible he, too, was being manipulated? Miss Elizabeth had been only too eager to accept when he invited her to dance, and there had been something lurking in those eyes of hers. Too bright, too full of fun and laughter. He had thought her mocking him, but perhaps she was rather rejoicing to see another wealthy gentleman poised to fall into their trap. It was Machiavellian indeed, but what other option lay open to them? With four sisters and a mother to provide for, any woman would use whatever tools she had open to her to secure a comfortable future.
Anger froze the blood in his veins, and he must have made a sound, for something caused the old gentleman in front of him to look up, and, recognising Darcy, to pull a free chair forward.
“Mr Darcy! You needn’t lurk in the shadows like some spectre. Come, sit with us. My dear wife is eager to hear about your young sister’s progress. What was her name?”
“Georgiana.” His wife took up the invitation. “Do you not bring her with you?” She shook her head, tutting. “For shame! It does a young lady good to attend such a function. See how the young Miss Bennets are enjoying the festivities?” She nodded towards the two young girls he recognised as accompanying Miss Bennet and Elizabeth, the youngest of the five, who were laughing and cavorting in a manner he did not think entirely appropriate. He watched as their aunt tried, unsuccessfully, to wrangle them into good order, and felt his lips tighten into a line. I am glad I did not bring Georgiana here if this is the company she would be forced to endure! he thought. His sister would be shocked to behave so, and in public!
“Was that one of the Miss Bennets you were dancing with just now?” Mrs Cartwright continued, her nose twitching at the scent of potential gossip. Darcy’s stomach clenched. It would not do to have his name bandied about in connection with any Bennet, and he would put a stop to it immediately.
“You did,” he said shortly. “We happened to be standing nearby when the music began. It was no more than a social obligation to engage her in dancing.”
“Indeed.” The one word was weighted with meaning, and Darcy cleared his throat.
“As you see I have done my duty.” He bowed. “Excuse me, Mr Cartwright, Mrs Cartwright. I see a few other acquaintances I must greet...” He strode away, keeping his destination vague. It was not a lie: there was any number of London folk he ought to at least pass a few moments with, but just at that moment he had no desire to speak to anyone at all. Although newly arrived, and with little in the way of connections it seemed apparent the five Bennet girls were already making their presence felt. I need not concern myself with their plight, he thought, with another rueful glance towards Elizabeth Bennet, who was deep in the middle of whispering some secret to her sister, oblivious to his or any other eyes that landed upon her. They may be without father or brother to see to their future, but I credit at least one Miss Bennet with being utterly able to manage whatever is in store for them.
ELIZABETH WAS MORE than content to relinquish her hold on her sister when, some time later, Mr Bingley sought her hand for another dance. Out of politeness, he invited Elizabeth first, but she was no fool and could see that the young couple only had eyes for one another.
“Forgive me, Mr Bingley,” she demurred. “But I rather think I prefer to watch than to dance. My sister, on the other hand, is enthusiastic about it. Do, please, ask her, for I know she longs to be on her feet once more!” And with a shove that was rather more forceful than necessary, she pushed Jane forward and smiled to see the hapless Mr Bingley only too delighted to be once more presented with so lovely a partner.
The event drew to a close rather soon after that, or so it seemed to Elizabeth. Almost before she was ready, her aunt made a motion to attract her attention and asked if Lizzy would be kind enough to help in rounding up her sisters. Both Jane and Mary proved no problem - for the former, having danced once or twice with partners other than Mr Bingley was now quite content to leave, and Mary, whose entrancement with the music had ended as soon as the last note was played, was quite eager to bid a retreat. Lydia and Kitty, on the other hand, took rather more persuasion.
“Oh, but Lizzy! It is early yet!”
“It is quite late enough, for children,” Lizzy muttered under her breath, removing a glass from her sister’s hand and not daring to enquire as to its contents. Lydia had grown increasingly giddy and loud as the evening drew on and Elizabeth wondered that she was not ashamed of herself for acting in such a manner. “We are still mourning Papa, Lydia!” she admonished, as she strong-armed her sister towards the door. “You ought not to carry on as if you were at a party.”
“Are we not to live, in the midst of death?” Lydia asked, wrenching her arm free. “Do not treat me like a child, Lizzy! I am not so very much younger than you, and why must Jane be the only one of us to dance and enjoy herself?” She smiled, cruelly. “I noticed you did not dance but once or twice. Who was that stern looking fellow who engaged you at first? I scarcely saw him the rest of the evening. Did you frighten him away with your primness?”
They made their way down the street, and Kitty began to whine for a carriage. Lizzy threw Jane a help-me glance, too preoccupied with one younger sister to be able to spare a thought for another.
“That was Mr Darcy,” she said, through clenched teeth. “And I am sure he had as enjoyable an evening as I, though clearly nobody enjoyed it more than you. Do you think you managed to flirt with every gentleman present or only a percentage?”
“Only the handsome ones!” Lydia chorused. “Oh, but your Mr Darcy was quite handsome Lizzy, and so tall! If only he did not scowl so.” She giggled. “I think it very unbecoming for a gentleman to be so bad-tempered, and especially at an assembly!”
“Oh indeed!” Lizzy replied, but her sister’s philosophizing tugged at her lips so that she began to smile. “Gentlemen ought only ever to laugh and be jolly and pay us compliments.”
“Exactly so!” Lydia cried. “I shall demand those very traits of my husband.” She laughed. “And wealthy, of course. When I marry I shall marry someone disgustingly rich, so that we may do nothing but attend assemblies and enjoy ourselves and never feel sad again.”
She trailed off with this last, before Lizzy had a chance to shush her, and when she looked at Lydia she was surprised to see a fat tear poised to run off the end of her younger sister’s nose. All of a sudden she realised, then, what Lydia had been doing, and fished in her reticule for a clean handkerchief, which she pressed into her sister’s hand, waving Jane’s concerned enquiry away.
“Do not cry, dear,” she said, softening towards Lydia, who blew her nose noisily and tried to suck back her tears. “I thought you said you had had a jolly time this evening?”
“I did,” Lydia said, her voice scratchy and rough. “But it is over now.” Her lips turned down. “I wish I could marry someone rich, then we might find a house to live in and all stay together.” She glanced up at Elizabeth. “I have heard you talking, you know, and I wish you wouldn’t act as if Kitty and I were too silly to understand what is happening. You want to send us away.”
“I want no such thing!” Elizabeth cried, affronted.
“Then you wish to leave us and go away yourself.” Lydi
a dabbed at her eyes in a motion she had acquired from her mother and handed the soiled cotton square back to her sister. “I heard you. We cannot find anywhere large enough for all of us. Kitty and Lydia will not be separated, of course, but perhaps if they were to live here, and the rest of us...” She shook her head. “It is too cruel, Lizzy. We have already lost Father, must we lose one another as well?”