Mrs. Bennet's Favorite Daughter

by Jann Rowland

  “And Lady Catherine, upon receiving such an account, will make for Longbourn with all speed,” said Darcy with a sigh. He turned a smile on Miss Elizabeth. “You are correct, for that is exactly what my aunt would do.”

  “Do not concern yourself for me, Mr. Darcy,” said Miss Elizabeth. “Whatever Lady Catherine says, I shall not wilt before her.”

  “Nor would I have expected it of you,” replied Darcy, regarding her with an affectionate smile. “When the opportunity permits, I will take counsel with your father, for I have no wish to allow Lady Catherine to abuse you on the advice of her senseless parson.”

  Darcy’s eyes found that parson again, and he shook his head. “I suppose there is no reason to confront him. My aunt has a distinct talent for choosing those underlings who are so sycophantic they will do anything for her. I may as well speak to my horse, for I might receive a more intelligent response.”

  The laughter which Darcy’s comment provoked was a balm to his soul and lightened the atmosphere between them. By common consent, they put the objectionable subject aside and spoke of other matters. In this carefree manner, another fifteen minutes passed, and the trickle of revelers entering the ballroom ceased altogether.

  “I do not know if you have noticed it, Mr. Darcy,” said Miss Elizabeth, “but Miss Bingley has been watching me as if she thinks I have done her personal harm. Though she has never been friendly, I do not think she has been this hostile either. Do you know what offends her?”

  Darcy followed Miss Elizabeth’s eyes and found Miss Bingley, noting Mr. Collins and Mr. Wickham close by, vying for her attention. A chuckle escaped his lips.

  “She appears cozy with her two suitors, does she not?”

  The giggle with which she responded was an unusual occurrence, for she possessed a throaty laugh. “She does not look best pleased.”

  “As for the answer to your question, it seems she has had her eyes opened to the threat to her designs.” Miss Elizabeth’s eyes found his, a question within. “Mr. Wickham visited yesterday while Georgiana and I were at Longbourn and asked her for the first dance. When she told him she expected to be dancing those sets with . . . another, Hurst disabused her of the notion with great relish. Hurst does not get on well with his wife’s sister and can be accused of tweaking her nose at every opportunity.”

  “Miss Bingley is to dance the first with Mr. Wickham?” At Darcy’s nod, Miss Elizabeth laughed again. “How fortunate for her, for he is a handsome man, is he not?”

  “That is not for me to say,” offered Darcy. “My only concern is his other proclivities.”

  Miss Elizabeth nodded, but she did not wish to speak of Wickham and Miss Bingley. “I am interested in this mention of ‘designs.’ Of further interest is the possibility I could be a threat to them. Whatever can you mean?”

  “You cannot be a threat to them, Miss Elizabeth,” replied Darcy, “for Miss Bingley’s designs have never had any chance of coming to fruition.”

  “Do you have designs yourself, sir?”

  “Perhaps,” replied Darcy.

  “And will you inform me of what they are?”

  “Do you wish me to ruin the chase?” asked Darcy.

  Miss Elizabeth’s eyes widened in seeming shock. “The chase? Am I nothing more than a hare and you the fox? Am I to become your dinner, Mr. Darcy?”

  “Anything but, Miss Elizabeth.” Darcy paused, sensing it was the time to become serious. “As to my ‘designs,’ you should know that such terms are as yet grandiose. If you are asking me if I appreciate what is before me, then my answer is an unequivocal yes. I am excited to learn the full measure of the possibilities that lie before us, and. I hope you are too.”

  “I am breathless with anticipation,” said Elizabeth, though it was little more than a whisper. Surprised as she had been by the candor in his veiled statement, Elizabeth had not been certain she possessed the ability to respond.

  “Then let us discover it together.”

  Unobtrusively, Mr. Darcy’s hand crept from the side of his leg to find hers and grip it tightly. Moved, Elizabeth squeezed his hand with her agreement, soaring with pleasure when Mr. Darcy returned her gesture. The moment did not last long, for it was improper for an unmarried and unengaged couple to hold hands, but even when he released hers, Elizabeth could feel the warmth surrounding the appendage like a cocoon. She was well contented.

  Their conversation returned to other matters, laughter flowing between them. Georgiana and Elizabeth’s sisters joined them, and they spoke with others in the ballroom, including Colonel Fitzwilliam, Charlotte, and many of Elizabeth’s friends. It seemed to her, however, that she and Mr. Darcy were the only two in the room; Elizabeth relished that feeling of utter closeness.

  When Mr. Bingley gave the signal and the musicians began to play the opening strains of the first dance, Elizabeth took her place across the line from Mr. Darcy, curtseying to his bow. Then the dancers moved like flowing water in the first of the intricate steps, Elizabeth’s heart beating in tune with the music. It may have been nothing more than her fancy, but she felt Mr. Darcy’s heart beating alongside hers.

  “I am gratified to see that I can call dancing one of your accomplishments, Mr. Darcy,” said Elizabeth after admiring the precision of his steps for a moment. “I have heard it said that dancing is not your activity of choice.”

  “At present, Miss Elizabeth,” said Mr. Darcy, “I must contradict you and say that I cannot imagine any activity I prefer to dancing. It is the partner that makes all the difference—would you not agree?”

  “Oh, without a doubt,” said Elizabeth, holding her blush at bay. “Then this is a pleasure I shall see repeated?”

  “As many times as the occasion permits,” replied Mr. Darcy.

  The dance separated them and for a few moments, they danced apart. At that time, Elizabeth glanced about the room and noticed a few things. Kitty and Lydia standing by the side of the dance floor, eager for their turns to dance, with Georgiana by their side, Mary close by, watching over them. What was more interesting at the moment was that Jane and Charlotte were both dancing nearby, and another was just a little further on, wearing a thundercloud, hanging over all, threatening thunder and lightning.

  “Mr. Wickham is dancing the first with Miss Bingley, I see.”

  Mr. Darcy showed her a grin. “That was the reason for his visit yesterday.”

  “Mr. Collins does not appear pleased.”

  “It will do him little good,” replied Mr. Darcy with a shrug. “Miss Bingley will not marry a parson. But neither will she marry an officer, so they are both wasting their time.”

  Elizabeth nodded but had no interest in further talking about such objectionable persons. “Do you think Mr. Bingley is coming close to offering for Jane?”

  “It is hard to say,” said Mr. Darcy. “Though I have often seen Bingley in the throes of infatuation, I have never seen him this enamored with a woman.” Mr. Darcy seemed to sense Elizabeth’s surprise, for he laughed and added: “I do not accuse my friend of inconstancy, Miss Elizabeth. Though his head is often turned by a pretty face, I have noticed that when he is with Miss Bennet, he has eyes for no other.”

  Elizabeth nodded. “It may be that he did not know for what he was searching, and having found it, he knows instinctively there is no need to search further.”

  The smile with which Mr. Darcy favored her was gentle yet carried a wealth of meaning. “It is a feeling all men of good character understand, I believe.”

  The words were simple but carried so much more than Mr. Darcy could say in the middle of a ballroom. They spent several moments after gazing into each other’s eyes until Elizabeth decided they must appear silly to those looking on. Then Elizabeth remembered one other item she had seen.

  “Your cousin has chosen to open the ball with my friend, Charlotte Lucas.”

  Mr. Darcy’s eyes roved the room until he found Colonel Fitzwilliam, speaking in an animated fashion with Charlotte.

  “I h
ave noted they appear comfortable together.”

  “Are you suggesting there might be something between them?” asked Mr. Darcy with a frown.

  “I would not presume to say so much, Mr. Darcy, for my friend has vouchsafed no hint of admiration for Colonel Fitzwilliam, and I do not know the colonel well enough to know what he is thinking.”

  The slow nod with which Mr. Darcy responded suggested he had something more to say. The cautious way in which he spoke suggested to Elizabeth he did not wish to offend her.

  “Many a time, my cousin has jested about his need to find a woman of wealth, or he must give up his lifestyle.”

  Elizabeth laughed. “Do not concern yourself, Mr. Darcy, for I have no intention of jumping to love and matrimony regarding your cousin and my friend. While I know Charlotte is an excellent woman who would make any man proud, I cannot say if they suit, or if there is any interest between them.”

  “Perhaps we should give them a push,” suggested Mr. Darcy with a gleam in his eye. “We both know enough that we can give a good account to another.”

  The hilarity rose in Elizabeth’s breast, and only the needs of the moment, where they were situated in the middle of a crowded ballroom, enabled her to keep her countenance. When she had mastered her humor, she fixed Mr. Darcy with a stern look.

  “For shame, Mr. Darcy. Never would I have taken you for a matchmaker!”

  “I am not,” said Mr. Darcy, echoing her mirth. “Then I suppose we must step back and permit them to find their own way. I shall note that Fitzwilliam, while his estate will not make him a wealthy man, will have enough to support a wife and any children he might have. Thus, he does not require a dowry.”

  “I shall be certain to let my friend know that,” said an amused Elizabeth.

  With such interesting banter, they passed the rest of the dance. When they were making their way off the floor at the end, however, Elizabeth was pleased to receive another request from the gentleman.

  “If I might impose upon you, Miss Elizabeth—would you do me the honor of dancing the supper set with me?”

  “I will,” replied Elizabeth, “if you feel you are ready to accept the consequences it would bring.”

  “I have never been more ready for anything in my life,” averred the gentleman.

  Smiling, Elizabeth accepted and stood with him for several more moments until her next dance partner arrived. Having another dance to anticipate, parting from him was of less difficulty than it might otherwise have been.

  Having secured Miss Elizabeth’s hand for the supper sets, Darcy watched her leave with another man—Fitzwilliam—with regret, but no genuine sorrow. Matters were proceeding much more quickly than Darcy had ever had any right to expect, and while his innate sense of cautiousness suggested it may be best to take it slower, his heart was urging him on. There was no question which organ he would follow.

  It was a peculiar night for Darcy, and at times he felt like a stranger in his own skin. Never one to enjoy balls and assemblies, he found himself mingling with these people more than was his custom. As the night progressed, Miss Elizabeth introduced him to more of her friends, and he found he could ask them to dance without hesitation.

  In those moments when Darcy was alone and at leisure to consider the matter, he wondered why tonight was so different, why these people seemed more acceptable than those with whom he had mingled all his life. It took some time to determine the reason, but at length, Darcy realized what it was: there were no expectations of him. Miss Elizabeth’s friends and family treated him with respect and friendship, but not with anything approaching covetousness or interest in his position beyond what was polite.

  All Darcy’s life since he had entered society and before, he had been hunted, stalked by young ladies and their mothers for the purpose of capturing him as a husband. Men sought him out, not for friendship but to claim they had made the acquaintance of Fitzwilliam Darcy, a man with connections to the nobility, whose family line was older than all but the most ancient of noble families.

  These people, by contrast, seemed to accept him as he was, with no thought for anything more. For a time, Darcy wondered why that might be, why these people seemed to have the ability to put such things aside. Further deliberation gave Darcy the possible answer. For the gentlemen, the answer was that they were not part of the London set, and as a result, to them, he was another gentleman, albeit a wealthy one. For the ladies, however, it was his obvious interest in Miss Elizabeth that made all the difference. Though many might have wished he had singled them out instead, they had seen and noted his interest in her. Thus, he was another man who would dance with them, but they had no other expectations.

  It was a heady feeling, this freedom. Darcy wondered if his forays into society would be more like this should he marry. The thought intrigued him, as did the notion that he might have found the woman with whom he wished to spend his life, in this of all places.

  The one impediment to his complete enjoyment of the evening was Wickham’s presence, though Darcy noted the officer took care to remain away from Darcy himself. Wickham’s attentions to Miss Bingley remained unabated, though the woman did her best to make herself scarce—that was difficult, given her status as mistress of the estate. Wherever they two went, also went Mr. Collins. Fitzwilliam appeared to be enjoying himself with the local ladies that evening, but that did not mean he was not watchful of his officers.

  “I assume you have noted our friend Wickham’s activities tonight.”

  Fitzwilliam laughed. “I have. There are few, I suspect, who have not noted his persistence toward Miss Bingley. If you look about you, I suspect you will discover that Miss Bingley’s misfortune as the focus of two ardent suitors is a source of amusement for most.”

  “Yes, I had noticed it, though I cannot account for it.”

  With a grin, Fitzwilliam related the recent scene in Meryton, and while Darcy had heard of the matter from Georgiana, Fitzwilliam’s account was more comprehensive than his sister’s had been, as Georgiana had been more concerned with the presence of one George Wickham.

  “Many a time I have told her she should speak with caution,” said Darcy, shaking his head when Fitzwilliam completed his tale. “She is stubborn and will not listen.”

  “Of more consequence,” said Fitzwilliam, “she is convinced she deserves to be treated as if she were royalty.”

  “It is difficult to understand,” said Darcy with a nod. “To return to the problem of Wickham, however, what do you think of his behavior tonight?”

  “There is little enough to say,” replied Fitzwilliam. “Though I have ensured there are men to watch Wickham and have taken steps to curtail his ability to create havoc, there is only so much that I can do. If he does not stray from what is proper, there is little I can do to prevent him from paying court to Miss Bingley.”

  With a grimace, Darcy said: “Then it may be best if I were to speak to Bingley and have him warn Wickham off.”

  The laugh with which Fitzwilliam responded informed Darcy his cousin did not agree with him. “Why? If Miss Bingley wishes to be free of his attentions, she can speak to her brother. Should she refrain from doing it, is that not a sign she welcomes him?”

  “You do not suppose she does, do you?” asked Darcy.

  “No, I do not suppose it. It is clear she wishes for a man of greater consequence, and we all know who her first choice would be. As that choice will soon become unattainable, or so I suspect, she will soon learn that she must consider other men or remain unmarried.”

  “She will not marry him.”

  “Nor do I suppose she will. But if you consider it, Miss Bingley is the last woman I would suspect of yielding to Wickham’s charm. There is little need for us to become involved, for the remedy against Wickham’s attention is within her ability to summon, and I do not think she is in any danger, regardless.”

  “I suppose you are correct,” conceded Darcy, though he continued to look at Wickham with distaste.”

&nbs
p; “Of course, I am,” replied Fitzwilliam. “It may surprise you to learn it, but our friend Wickham has actually behaved himself since his arrival in Meryton. There is not a hint of scandal hovering about him; I even have reports that he owes no markers to his fellow officers.”

  “Do you trust him?”

  “No,” was Fitzwilliam’s succinct reply. “I do trust him to do whatever he can to protect his own hide, and for now that means behaving himself. When he finds himself in a position where he is unrestrained again, I suspect he will revert to the old Wickham.”

  The conversation ended there, for Darcy knew Fitzwilliam was correct. For the moment, there was little to do but watch and stay wary. And the irony of Miss Bingley’s being on the other side of the coin from her usual pursuit of Darcy was delicious, so he decided to enjoy it while he could.

  Chapter XVI

  When the supper hour arrived, Elizabeth was eager to sit with Georgiana, knowing her friend’s evening would soon come to a close. Dancing the supper set with Mr. Darcy allowed Elizabeth the freedom to do just that.

  Georgiana had attended even fewer functions than Elizabeth’s youngest sisters, a circumstance Elizabeth put down to the family’s higher consequence in society, where such societal rules were of more consequence. As such, the girl chattered throughout the meal, exclaiming over this sight, that dance, the impressions she had of the evening or the discussions she had with Kitty and Lydia.

  “You do not wish you had danced more?” asked Elizabeth, amused by her young friend’s enthusiasm.

  “No, I believe I am satisfied,” replied Georgiana. “I danced with William, Anthony, and Mr. Bingley, which I find enough for my first foray into the world of balls.”

  Elizabeth knew her sisters had complained at being denied more dances than this. Lydia had voiced her desire to dance with the handsome officers of the regiment loudly enough to be heard throughout the ballroom and could not understand why her father had not allowed it. When alerted to the ruckus she was creating, Colonel Fitzwilliam had asked for permission to stand in for his men, to which Mr. Bennet—who had grown tired of Lydia’s complaining—had agreed. After that, the girl had been easier to bear.