The Impulse of the Moment

by Jann Rowland

  “And my father has followed it, though I still do not have as much responsibility as Thomas does.”

  “You are also younger,” said Darcy.

  “That is true. I find it agreeable at present, for I am still at the time of life where a little freedom suits me.”

  “Indeed,” replied Darcy. In light of Bingley’s words, Darcy considered his own situation, wondered if he was obtaining the experience he required. His father had not been lax in teaching him the workings of Pemberley, but he still had a hand in just about every part of it, rather than handing some responsibility to his son.

  “Of course,” said Bingley, “I find I have little desire to be away from Hertfordshire, and a very good reason to be present.”

  “Miss Bennet,” observed Darcy.

  The grin Bingley bestowed upon him was so typical of the man and his usually happy demeanor. “She is a veritable angel, is she not?”

  “I am sure you think so, Bingley,” said Darcy, struggling to keep the wry quality from his voice.

  “I do, indeed. Fair, kind, beautiful, accomplished—I have not enough words to express my admiration for her.”

  Then Bingley proceeded to prove his words to be a lie, for he waxed long and eloquent on the subject of Miss Bennet’s perfections. Darcy listened to him with a sort of fond tolerance. While he could readily admit the worth of the lady, for himself he thought it certain he would become bored with her. Now, her younger sister, on the other hand . . . .

  “But what of Miss Elizabeth?”

  Darcy blinked and looked at his friend, wondering if there was some way Bingley could read his mind. Seeing his confusion, Bingley laughed.

  “So I was correct,” said he with no small measure of self-satisfaction. “I had thought you had some interest in Jane’s younger sister.”

  “It is not possible, Bingley,” said Darcy, falling back on his oft-repeated—in his own mind—arguments against Miss Elizabeth. “You know it cannot be so. My parents expect me to make a more advantageous marriage.”

  “Perhaps your father does,” said Bingley. “But having met your mother, I suspect she would be very happy to have Jane’s younger sister as a daughter.”

  There was some truth to what Bingley said, and Darcy did not even try to dispute it. It was all the encouragement Bingley needed.

  “It shows a greatness of mind and a superior taste, I would say. Miss Elizabeth is everything a man would want in a wife. She is confident and intelligent and would be a credit to him in whatever she did.”

  “She could even show his friends a thing or two about chess,” said Darcy, a hint of sarcasm coming out in his voice.

  “Aye, that she could!” exclaimed Bingley with a laugh. “Her prowess does not seem to have bothered you before now, my friend. Besides, if it is not proper for a young woman to know of the game, then no one needs to know about it. Your skill is sufficient to provide her with a challenge—why would she need to challenge others?”

  “Why, indeed?”

  “Come, Darcy, confess it—she is a wonderful girl who would make you happy. I have told you about the upcoming assembly, have I not?”

  Indeed, it seemed like Bingley had talked of little else these past days. But Darcy’s feelings were more difficult to understand, especially considering the events of the last assembly. Thus far she had shown no ill effects due to the last time they met in such circumstances. But in the back of his mind, Darcy nursed the suspicion that she was projecting more strength than she possessed. How would matters proceed if they met at an assembly again?

  “I am to dance the first with Miss Bennet,” said Bingley, catching Darcy’s attention once again.

  “You are? You have already secured those sets?”

  “If I do not, there are plenty of other men who are happy to do so.” Bingley snorted in what sounded suspiciously like disdain. “Miss Bennet is quite popular in the neighborhood. Now it is well known that she is partial to me and I, to her, but should I falter or give any hint of waning interest, several others would step in. There are many who are not happy my sister married Longbourn’s heir, to say nothing of my attentions to Jane.”

  “The Bennets and Bingleys are by far the highest placed families in the district,” said Darcy. “The marriages make perfect sense from the perspective of status.”

  “But others wish to raise their own status. Our obvious preference for each other have largely kept the other families in check. But that will not continue should I falter. Regardless, since I have secured Miss Bennet’s, you should see about asking for those sets from Miss Elizabeth.”

  “And why would I do that?”

  “Let us say you want a marriage which has some meaning other than a business transaction.”

  Darcy looked at Bingley, wondering at his friend’s forceful statement. Their roles had usually been reversed, Darcy, taking the lead and Bingley, following. But Darcy was well aware that his friend was not lacking in confidence—rather, Darcy, as the older and more experienced, naturally led while his friend followed. There was no hint of following in Bingley’s current manner.

  “Having seen you both together,” continued Bingley, “I am convinced you would do well with each other. Furthermore, your feelings are clear, though I will own that Miss Elizabeth’s are much more opaque. I know your father would not consider it a good marriage for you. But I suspect it would be the making of you.”

  Bingley guided his horse close to Darcy’s and clasped him on the shoulder. “Heed my advice, my friend. A marriage cannot be agreeable if you do not have affection. Do not marry for anything else, regardless of what your father says. He speaks of duty and raising your family’s consequence, but in the end, he loves his wife. You should not accept anything less.”

  Then with a final squeeze of his hand, Bingley kicked his horse into a quicker pace. Darcy watched as his friend moved ahead of him, considering what Bingley had said, and a longing welled up within his breast. Perhaps he could be content in a marriage with a woman of standing and fortune, but one of love with a woman such as Miss Elizabeth would suit him all that much more. Bingley was right. He must see to his own future.

  Chapter XI

  Had Elizabeth considered the matter in advance, she might have been a little intimidated by the thought of once again attending an assembly with Mr. Darcy also present. While she had found herself out of sorts for about three or four events after the one which featured the infamous kiss, she soon scolded herself thoroughly. Simply because one young man behaved inappropriately did not mean they all would. Thus, Elizabeth learned to push her worries to the side and enjoy herself, though she was always careful to refrain from overt forwardness.

  But she had not considered it in light of Mr. Darcy’s behavior since his return. Not only was the man courteous and proper, but he had made no mention of the event, had made no attempt to impose himself on Elizabeth. Before he came, that was what had worried her the most, that he would attempt to make her an offer which was most improper. His behavior had largely removed that weight from her shoulders, and his intimacy with her father told Elizabeth he could not be contemplating such a step.

  When she entered the assembly hall, however, Elizabeth found herself nervous as she had not been since first entering society. She simply had not considered the effect of the man in attendance, though every bit of her told herself she had no cause to worry. Memories of that night plagued her, and the familiar vistas somehow seemed sinister, as if she was trapped in a maze and a ravening beast stalked her.

  The Netherfield party entering the room made it all that much worse. Her first glimpse of Mr. Darcy felt like a physical blow. The sight of his eyes fixed on her brought back her insecurities and caused her to doubt his goodness yet again. As he approached in the company of the three Bingleys, Elizabeth found her gaze fixed upon the floor, unable to raise it again. A slight trembling came over her, and she did not know what to do.

  “Lizzy!” hissed Jane. �
��Are you quite well?”

  Before Elizabeth could do more than consider answering, Mr. Bingley was at her sister’s side, greeting her with his characteristic enthusiasm. Elizabeth found herself oddly fortified by the well-known sound of Mr. Bingley’s joviality, though it was not enough to induce her to raise her eyes from the floor.

  “I believe this dance belongs to me?” said Mr. Bingley. Elizabeth was startled to hear the music—the Bingleys must have arrived later than she had thought.

  Elizabeth felt rather than saw Jane’s concerned glance at her, but she could not do anything other than follow Mr. Bingley to the dance floor without making a scene. When Elizabeth heard Mr. Darcy speak, she was shocked once again.

  “Miss Elizabeth, might I petition your hand for the first sets?”

  The surprise of his application overcame Elizabeth’s reticence and she looked up, unable to answer. By her side, she could hear Mary giggling, though the sound seemed to her like it was coming from miles away.

  “I did not know the new mode was to keep a supplicant waiting while the dance ran its course.”

  Mr. Bennet’s voice pulled Elizabeth from her frozen state, and she glanced at him to see his amusement. Now that he had her attention, Mr. Bennet favored her with a smile, and gestured at Mr. Darcy.

  “Did you mean to dance, my dear? Or would you prefer to keep the young man waiting, possibly forfeiting the ability to dance for the entire evening?”

  “Of course, I would be happy to dance with you, Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth found herself saying, though she could not determine whether she had actually meant to speak.

  “Excellent!” said Mr. Bennet, even while Elizabeth noticed Mr. Darcy’s piercing look in her direction. Mr. Bennet nodded and went off to speak to one of his acquaintances, while another young man of the neighborhood came to ask for Mary’s first set. In this fashion Elizabeth found herself grasping Mr. Darcy’s hand and standing in line waiting as the musicians completed the opening notes.

  “Are you well, Miss Elizabeth?” asked Mr. Darcy once they had begun to dance.

  “Very well,” replied Elizabeth by rote.

  The doubtful look he cast at her spoke to his disbelief. It was this that galvanized Elizabeth to anger. Was it not this man’s fault that she was cast into confusion? Had his improper actions not led to her distrust of men, and of him in particular? Was it not understandable that the return to the place where it would happen would cause her equanimity to be disturbed?

  It was one of the most uncomfortable dances Elizabeth had ever shared, and it was evident that Mr. Darcy was similarly affected. Elizabeth found her mood swinging from one end of the spectrum to the other, from confusion and reticence, to anger at the gentleman for putting her in this situation. Gamely Mr. Darcy attempted to engage her in conversation, but Elizabeth found she either could not make herself respond, or had no patience for it, depending on her mood at the moment. Eventually they settled into a sullen silence, Mr. Darcy seemingly confused, while Elizabeth was growing angrier by the minute. The sensation of being released from his company was akin to the condemned being pardoned.

  “Lizzy, are you well?”

  “Perfectly so,” said Elizabeth. The dance having finished, Mr. Darcy had escorted her to the side of dance floor and excused himself. She could see him watching her from the other side of the room, the old suspicions concerning his attentions welling up within her.

  “Are you certain?” asked Jane. “I watched you as you danced—I have never seen you so uncomfortable as you were during that dance. Are you certain you are not bothered by Mr. Darcy’s presence?”

  “Why would that be so?” snapped Elizabeth. Jane appeared taken aback by the vehemence in Elizabeth’s voice, but by this time Elizabeth was beyond caring. “It happened four years ago, Jane. Go and dance with Mr. Bingley and enjoy his attentions—I am completely fine.”

  Elizabeth could see that Jane was hurt by her sudden dismissal, but she did as she was asked. Watching her walk away, Elizabeth’s breast filled once again with indignation at the perfidy of Mr. Darcy. Now the man had put her so far out of sorts that she had offended the dearest person in the world!

  Enjoyment in the assembly was far from Elizabeth’s grasp that evening. Charlotte provided an escape from her thoughts at times when she was not dancing, and while she clearly noted Elizabeth’s discomposure, she did not inquire after it, good friend that she was. When Elizabeth danced, as she did every set, her heart was not in it, though she cynically thought that her partners did not notice anything amiss. The longer the evening went on, the more pointless it all became. When she left the floor after the fourth sets, Elizabeth was wondering what the point of it all could be.

  Finally, after dancing the fifth with a man of the neighborhood—by the time she left the dance floor, she could not even remember with whom she had danced—Elizabeth was desperate to escape. Moving quickly to avoid any potential partners, she found a chair in an out of the way location and sat with some relief. Perhaps she would go unnoticed there, at least long enough to regain her composure.

  Frustration, thy name is Fitzwilliam Darcy.

  It was a weak attempt at humor, but Darcy was in no mood for such things. Having been persuaded by Bingley, it had all seemed so easy. Starting that evening, Darcy would begin to show his admiration more openly and would subtly begin wooing the woman who had captured his imagination. Then after a period, he would ask the young woman to marry him.

  But tonight, it seemed a different woman was inhabiting the body of the enchanting Miss Elizabeth Bennet. It had started from the first moment of their meeting that evening. In previous days, she had been the same vivacious girl he had known four years before, though matured into a woman of overwhelming appeal. Tonight, nothing had been the same as it had been before.

  As the evening wore on, Darcy found that he had no interest in dancing, though he had come that evening with the best of intentions to dance enough to honor his hosts. But with the change that had come over Miss Elizabeth and the resulting confusion it caused, he had little appetite for the activity. Instead, he took to stalking along the edges of the dance floor, avoiding speaking with anyone if he could, and watching Miss Elizabeth as she danced with other men. As he did this, Darcy attempted to tell himself it did not bother him. It was an abject failure.

  Darcy wondered if his impulsive action four years before was somehow affecting her that evening, but he did not know how that could be. Since his arrival in the neighborhood, he had detected nothing amiss in her manners. Furthermore, she had said nothing of it, had not confronted him with his behavior when he had first come, like he would have expected. How could it suddenly have changed her, seemingly in the blink of an eye?

  All might have been different if Bingley had not accosted him. Whether it would have been for the better or not was not readily apparent. But accost him, Bingley did, and in the heat of the moment, Darcy was not in any mood to hear his friend’s words.

  “I say, Darcy,” said Bingley, stepping up with his usual ebullience. It went without saying that Darcy found his friend’s manners incredibly annoying at present. “I thought you had turned over a new leaf, and yet I find you still stalking about the edges of the dance floor in your stupid manner. What has happened?”

  “Nothing,” said Darcy shortly. “Tonight, I am simply not in humor to dance.”

  “That is very surprising, indeed,” said Bingley, feigning astonishment. Or perhaps it was not so feigned. “By my recollection, you anticipated this evening keenly. In fact, I seem to remember it beginning exactly as you might have wished.”

  Darcy scowled and looked out over the dance floor, but he could not see the one woman he wished to see at that moment. Miss Elizabeth was not in evidence. Confused, he looked about, wondering where she had gone. She had been dancing not long ago, Darcy had thought.

  “Did Miss Elizabeth tire of your society?” Bingley laughed. “Given your apparent mood tonight, I cannot blam
e her. I have seen behavior this awful from you only a time or two, and usually when you have nothing to do.”

  “Perhaps I have nothing I wish to do tonight,” said Darcy, still scanning the room for Miss Elizabeth. If only Bingley would quit pushing him and just retreat to his partner!

  “Then what of the vivacious Miss Elizabeth Bennet, Darcy? I am certain you were eager to spend more time in her company than you have yet managed.”

  Darcy snorted, a desperate sort of longing coming over him, which he quashed ruthlessly. The disappointment of the night, combining with Bingley’s nettling, unsettled Darcy, and he spoke before thinking.

  “Miss Elizabeth Bennet.” He spoke her name with as much contempt as he possibly could. “A more likely spinster, I have never met.”

  “Darcy!” barked Bingley, his voice as displeased as Darcy had ever heard him speak. “That is unkind! You may not be in humor to give consequence to deserving young ladies this evening, but I have known the young woman since she was a babe, and I like her very much.”

  A lump formed in Darcy’s throat, and he reached up and massaged his temples. “I apologize, Bingley. Indeed, you are correct. While my temper has worsened throughout the evening that is no reason for incivility.”

  “I should think not,” said Bingley, only partially mollified. “It is beyond my ability to comprehend, Darcy. You were eager for this evening’s entertainment—I am sure of it. And yet, after less than half the evening, you have become as irritable as a bear woken from its sleep too early. How can you account for it?”

  Just then, Darcy saw Miss Elizabeth Bennet across the room. She was walking quickly, seeking to avoid those around her, as he saw her ignore more than one young lady who attempted to catch her attention. When she came to one of the balconies, she darted a furtive glance about and slipped out to be night air beyond. Her posture betrayed her as distressed, and though Darcy was still not quite certain of the reason for it, he was determined to discover the reason for it.