The Impulse of the Moment

by Jann Rowland

  Mr. Darcy reached down to grasp her hand. “Come. It has been torture today, not being in your company until this evening. If you will, I should like to keep your company to myself for a time.”

  “I am at your disposal,” replied Elizabeth, coming along willingly as he led her to an unoccupied corner. There they stayed for some time, lost in the beauty of each other’s presence.

  As the evening progressed, Darcy began to wonder if it were possible to expire due to all the exquisite sensations coursing through him. Miss Elizabeth Bennet was incandescent—there was no other way to describe her. The force of her presence had struck him like a speeding carriage, pulling him as the proverbial moth to the flame, and he was helpless before her. Those few precious moments they stood together, speaking in quiet voices, were bread from heaven, wings to his soaring soul.

  Now, as they had separated for a time, Darcy watched her as she moved among society, noting her effortless manners and ability to elicit a smile here, a laugh there. Had he once thought himself able to resist her charms? The notion seemed utter absurdity now when confronted with the reality of her present desirability. There was no more chance of his refusing to love her than there was of him taking wing and flying to the moon.

  Such open manners often bought other attention, however, though Darcy learned to accept it as her due rather than descend into jealousy. More than once did he catch the longing looks of men of the neighborhood, watched as she spoke and laughed with them, her animated replies provoking sighs of pleasure or regret. But every time she moved from one conversation to the next, her eyes would find his, and she would grin or lift one elegant eyebrow, a silent challenge to him for standing and looking at her, unable to move under the force of her gaze. Darcy did his best to mingle, to speak with these people who were so dear to her with interest and civility. But it was difficult when he was so transfixed by the sight of her.

  As the evening progressed, Darcy found himself watching another more and more, and he was no more pleased by the distraction than he was about the other’s presence. Darcy had seen similar behavior in George Wickham in the past, but whereas Wickham’s manners were calculated, his words often flattering and contrived to provoke approval, Miss Elizabeth was effortless and open, with nothing of cunning. But as Wickham stayed away, Darcy decided there was little to be gained from confronting him.

  Eventually when Miss Elizabeth made her way to Lady Anne and Darcy’s sister—who was being allowed to attend this evening under the supervision of her mother—Darcy drifted closer to hear what they were saying and join in with their conversation. In the days since their arrival, the Bennet sisters had taken Georgiana under their wings and welcomed her. Darcy had never seen his sister as open as she was becoming with the Bennets. To a shy girl, such attention from ladies all older than she was a beautiful gift for her confidence. Miss Elizabeth took every opportunity to build it further.

  “There will soon be a call for music, Georgiana,” said Miss Elizabeth, already extended the privilege of referring to his sister by her Christian name. “From what I have heard of your playing, I dare say you could outshine us all. Shall you not perform for us?”

  A look of such horror came over his sister’s face that Miss Elizabeth laughed and patted her hand, even as Georgiana exclaimed. “Play? In front of all these people?”

  “It will be expected when you come out, dear,” said Lady Anne, directing a wry smile at Miss Elizabeth. “There is nothing amiss with your talents—only your confidence.”

  Though his sister gaped between the two women, Miss Elizabeth embraced her with one arm. “Of course, we shall not insist upon it, dearest. Perhaps it would be beneficial if you were to begin playing for small groups of friends in order to increase your comfort. By the time you come out, I am sure you will be a sensation.”

  “I thank you for the compliments,” replied Georgiana, her pleasure still colored by the dismay she had earlier felt. “But what of you? Shall you delight the company tonight?”

  “It will be impossible for me to decline,” replied Miss Elizabeth. “My friend, Charlotte, is always searching for opportunities for me to exhibit, and none of my protests deter her in the slightest. As we are in her home, I will be subject to her whims and shall be forced to display my poor talents for all the company.”

  “There seems to be more than a hint of self-deprecation in the air,” observed Lady Anne. “We have heard you play, Miss Elizabeth, and it is quite fine, indeed.”

  “Should my vanity have taken a musical turn,” said Miss Elizabeth, laughing, “I should thank you very much. But I know my own talents. I flatter myself that I am proficient, at least, but not in any uncommon way. If you wish to hear those who are truly talented, then we should ask Caroline and Mary to play, for they both far outstrip my poor efforts.”

  “Do not allow her to protest with false modesty,” said Darcy, stepping into the conversation. “If we asked them, I am certain both Miss Mary and Mrs. Bennet would insist that Miss Elizabeth is at least their equal.”

  “They might,” agreed Miss Elizabeth. “But anyone listening to us will agree with me on this matter.”

  “Surely you are overly modest,” said Georgiana. “My brother has said your playing has given him more pleasure than anything else he has ever heard, and he always tells the truth.”

  Miss Elizabeth’s glorious eyes found him, amusement lighting her countenance. “When have you heard me play, Mr. Darcy? I do not recall playing at any event since your arrival.”

  Forcing embarrassment to the side, Darcy smiled—he had no desire to inform her he had listened outside the door of Longbourn’s music room on more than one instance. Instead, he confessed to a less embarrassing: “There have been occasions when I have heard you practice at Longbourn.”

  Darcy could see that Miss Elizabeth did not quite believe him, but he was grateful when she turned back to his sister. “Shall we play together? If you play a duet, you share the attention, it easier to endure.”

  Georgiana was so horrified by the suggestion that Elizabeth reached out and patted her hand. “Not today, Georgiana. But in the future after we have practiced together.”

  A shy smile was Georgiana’s response. “I believe I would like that.”

  The ensuing conversation was carried entirely by Miss Elizabeth and Georgiana, though it was clear to Darcy his mother was following closely. A hint of jealousy of his own relations made itself known, but Darcy, realizing it was more than a little silly, contented himself with watching and listening, glorying in every arch statement which drew out Georgiana’s laughter, or in appreciating the intelligence which made up Elizabeth’s opinions. Though they had been friends before, Darcy could see his sister opening herself further, their friendship becoming ever firmer. Miss Elizabeth would be good for his sister, of that he had no doubt.

  True to Miss Elizabeth’s prediction, Miss Lucas arrived not long after to cajole her into playing for the company. The look she bestowed on Darcy was a wry one, containing all the satisfaction of having foretold her friend’s actions. Then she protested, albeit playfully.

  “Should you not go and importune Caroline or Mary? They like to exhibit their talents. And so would Penelope Long, I am sure.”

  “But none of them are my particular friend, Lizzy,” said Miss Lucas. “And though they play well, none sing as you do. Come, Lizzy—you cannot refuse.”

  Miss Elizabeth laughed at her friend. “I do not remember the last time I was allowed to refuse!”

  “And you shall not be this time,” was Miss Lucas’s smirking reply.

  Darcy’s earlier assertion was then proven when the lady sat down to entertain the company. Darcy had heard many superior artists—his sister being one of them, he thought. But Miss Bennet’s voice was akin to that of an angel, for her song was effortless, her voice climbing the register, each note as sweet and clear as the one before. The company listened, and Darcy thought this scene must have been repeated many tim
es before, for there were few who were not giving this exquisite woman all the attention they possessed.

  “I must confess, my son,” said his mother, as she stepped to his side, “I had not thought to find such a jewel in a small neighborhood such as this. It is now no longer a mystery how you were captivated so quickly.”

  “It was when I visited Bingley four years ago that I first made her acquaintance,” replied Darcy with an absence of thought.

  “Oh?” asked Lady Anne, looking to him with interest unfeigned. “What was she like as a young girl?”

  “As vibrant and magnetic as she is now. But she was not so polished then and had a tendency to speak without cessation.” Darcy paused, smiling at the memory of Miss Elizabeth as she had been then, their last interaction no longer possessing the power to mortify him. “It was evident even then she would be a special woman.”

  “Then I am surprised you resisted her as long as you did.” Lady Anne smiled and, rising on the tips of her toes, kissed his cheek. “Do not concern yourself for your father, Fitzwilliam. When he sees what I have seen, witnesses your affinity for her, he will not make any further protest.”

  Darcy nodded, though he did not speak. When Lady Anne moved away to rejoin Georgiana, Darcy stayed where he was, his vantage perfect for viewing the countenance of the fair performer. And view her he did, his eyes drinking in the sight of her as he contemplated the good fortune which had led him to her.

  The trouble started soon after.

  “That was exceptional, Miss Bennet!”

  The sound of his most hated enemy’s voice brought Darcy from his reverie, and he was shocked to see Wickham approaching Miss Elizabeth with a bow. Before he could move, Wickham had grasped her hand, bowing over it, his intention to kiss it thwarted by Miss Elizabeth’s hasty reclamation of her appendage. Her retreat seemed to affect him not a jot, however, for Wickham fixed her with an unctuous smile and continued to speak.

  “Rarely have I heard anything which gives me more pleasure! Why, other than the possible exception of Miss Georgiana Darcy, my patron’s daughter, I dare say you are the most talented performer I have ever witnessed.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Wickham,” said Miss Elizabeth, her manner all hesitation. “But I know it was nothing special.”

  “Please allow me my differing opinion.” Wickham leaned forward as if to impart a secret though Darcy could see his eyes flicking to her décolletage. “And handsome too. Had I any notion Hertfordshire boasted such beauty, I should have come here long ago.”

  “We are a simple society, Mr. Wickham,” said Miss Elizabeth, regaining her composure. “There are many other neighborhoods like this one, I am sure.”

  “Perhaps,” replied the libertine. “Regardless, as the woman my patron’s son is all but courting, I think I should like to come to know you. Shall we?”

  With Wickham’s motion toward the side of the room, Darcy was prompted to action. Only a few feet separated them, which allowed him to reach Miss Elizabeth’s side before Wickham could attempt to spirit her away. With a smile—that she returned in a dazzling fashion—Darcy captured her hand and placed it in the crook of his arm. It could be called rude, but Darcy spared not a glance for Wickham, instead guiding Miss Elizabeth away from his father’s protégé and to a place a little to the side where they could speak openly.

  “After ignoring me since your family’s arrival, Mr. Wickham chose a curious time to unleash his charm.”

  Darcy shot Miss Elizabeth a glance and was heartened when she grinned at him, seemingly unconcerned with Wickham’s action. A rueful smile was all he could muster.

  “Come now, Mr. Darcy,” continued she, her tone slightly censorious, “his manners are obviously practiced. Surely you do not believe my head to be turned at such blatant flattery.”

  “Not at all,” said Darcy. “I am more concerned for your wellbeing, for Wickham is not a man to be trusted.”

  “There is little he can do in such company as this. Do not be concerned for me, for I shall be well.”

  It was good advice, and Darcy was well aware of her resilience. Despite that, however, as the evening wore on, he found himself becoming more concerned, for it seemed like every time his back was turned, Wickham made, straight as an arrow, for Miss Elizabeth’s side. And every time he approached to take her away from the wretched man’s attentions, he received nothing more than an insouciant grin and a knowing look. When he asked after what Wickham wanted, Miss Elizabeth merely shrugged her shoulders.

  “Mr. Wickham has had little to say to me, other than to speak of himself,” said she. “I might consider him to be Adonis himself, given how much he loves to refer to his exploits. As to what he hopes to accomplish, I am not certain. He can hardly suppose himself to be the superior man between you.” A wink was followed by a laugh and a hand on his arm. “And I do not refer to your position in society or wealth.”

  Regardless of the seriousness of the situation, Darcy found himself grinning in response. “So, you do not find him my superior in society? His manners have often drawn praise though his ability to keep the friends he makes has ever been uncertain.”

  “It may be that he is more at ease in society,” agreed Elizabeth. “As I said, his manners are artful, and I suspect there is not much substance to him. Nothing at all like you.”

  “Thank you, my dear,” said Mr. Darcy, raising her hand to his lips. “Coming from you, it means everything to me.”

  Miss Elizabeth put her hand, recently lowered from his mouth, on his arm, and stepped forward as close as she had ever dared. “There is no other man like you, Mr. Darcy. I feel fortunate you have persuaded me of your goodness, for I would have it no other way.”

  The words stayed with him for some time. After the apology, Darcy had not been certain he would be successful in persuading her. To feel her affection and bask in the warmth of her smiles and regard was more than he dared hope. It would not be long now—Darcy doubted he could hold himself in check.

  But Wickham persisted, and after a few more times of chasing him away from Miss Elizabeth’s side, Darcy’s patience was at an end. The gentleman in Darcy would not allow him to make a scene in the home of one of the prominent men of the neighborhood. But that did not mean he would not take action.

  “If you know what is good for you,” said Darcy the last time he pulled Wickham away from Miss Elizabeth, “you will leave Miss Elizabeth strictly alone. I have no more patience for this game.”

  “What is the matter, Fitzy?” jeered Wickham. “Are you afraid Miss Elizabeth will like me better?”

  Darcy barked a derisive laugh. “No, Wickham, I do not fear that at all. But I know your ways, and I am aware of your proclivities. I will not permit you toying with her affections or whatever other depravity you intend. Back off!”

  Punctuating his demand with a pointed finger at Wickham’s chest, Darcy escorted Miss Elizabeth to the side of her brother and asked her to stay with him. Bennet’s nod told Darcy he had witnessed what was happening that evening—she would be safe with him until Darcy returned, and for the rest of the evening, as Darcy had no intention of leaving her side again. But first Darcy mean to have a word with the one person in the room who could exert some form of control over Wickham.

  Robert Darcy saw his approach, the grim set to his mouth indicating his understanding of the situation. The severity of it, however, Darcy was certain his father did not know—Darcy lost little time in explaining it to him.

  “I suggest you control your toady, Father,” hissed Darcy, taking care to ensure they were not overheard, though he knew many of the company were already aware of it.

  The elder Darcy frowned at his tone. “Do not speak to me in such a way. I am your father.”

  “Yes, you are,” replied Darcy. “But you also insist on keeping that leech among us when he does not deserve to wipe our boots.” Darcy stepped closer, speaking with deadly determination. “I have no wish to insult you, Father. If you choose
to associate with Wickham that is your business. However, if he continues to importune the woman who will soon become my fiancée, I shall beat him to a pulp. I suggest you rein him in.”

  Eyes wide with shock, his father stared at him, uncertain which of Darcy’s assertions he should respond to first. When he did not immediately speak, Darcy decided he did not wish to speak of the matter anymore.

  “There are several others—most notably Bingley and Miss Elizabeth’s brother—who would be eager to assist me. Control him, Father, if you do not wish him to meet such a fate.”

  Then Darcy nodded and stepped way. Soon he was by Miss Elizabeth’s side again, a location he did not intend to vacate for the rest of the evening.

  “Wickham!” said Mr. Darcy when he had reached his protégé’s side. “What do you think you are doing?”

  “Why, enjoying the company,” said Wickham, his tone all that was congenial and friendly. A subtle undertone provoked Darcy to wonder if he was being mocked, but he pushed the thought to the side.

  “I am speaking of Fitzwilliam’s lady,” said Darcy, trying to inform Wickham he was in no mood to be put off by Wickham’s insouciance. “Do you not know you are provoking my son to anger?”

  “While I do not wish to anger him,” replied Wickham, “I am determined to learn the truth of Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”

  Taken aback, Darcy directed a questioning look at his former steward’s son. “To what do you refer?”

  “Do you not consider her odd?” asked Wickham. “Look at her and see how she makes love to them all. She is perhaps the biggest flirt I have ever seen.”

  Darcy turned to the side of the room where his son was standing beside Miss Elizabeth like a guardian angel, and he noted how she was speaking to one of the neighborhood men with evident animation. The whole group of them—perhaps seven or eight, including his son—laughed at whatever she said, and more than one set of eyes rested on her in appreciation.

  “I think you overstate the matter,” said Darcy, turning back to the conversation. “And even if she is, what is it to you? She is playful, but her behavior does not breach propriety.”