Implacable Resentment

by Jann Rowland

  He had attempted to be open and approachable with Bingley’s neighbors since his arrival for the purpose of reflecting well on his friend, but thus far, he had only been required to speak with people in the setting of a drawing room. An assembly hall was a completely different matter. In a drawing room, he could always fall back on the subject of estate management with the local men, completely eschewing conversation with the young ladies if none interested him. In an assembly room, he was expected to actually dance with them, and unless he was particularly acquainted with them, it was a punishment rather than a pleasure. Those batted eyelashes, the breathy sighs which pushed bosoms into his sight, the false flattery—they all grated on his nerves. There were times when he wished he was married so that he would not have to deal with it any longer.

  The worst example of such behavior was the Bennet matron. For some reason, the silly woman seemed to have taken it into her head that her youngest daughter—a silly, vapid, ignorant girl of only fifteen years—was particularly suited to be his bride.

  “It is very obliging of Mr. Bingley to single out my Jane for a dance the moment he entered the room,” squealed Mrs. Bennet when the couple in question moved away for a cup of punch before the first dance. “They are such a handsome couple, are they not, Mr. Darcy?”

  “Indeed,” was all Darcy could bring himself to say.

  Other than contempt for this woman, his primary thought was that she need not bother attempting to push them together—Bingley seemed well on his way to being besotted already. And if Mrs. Bennet was attempting to gain Darcy as an ally in a quest to secure Bingley for her daughter, that effort was doomed to failure. Though Darcy had reservations about Bingley connecting himself to such a family, he desired only his friend’s happiness, and if that happiness was tied up in Jane Bennet, then Darcy would support him. What he would not do was promote her to his friend—Bingley was capable of making his own decisions and determining the state of her affection without Darcy’s interference.

  “Mr. Bingley is so good. I consider him to be almost part of the family already.”

  Darcy attempted to ignore her. It was the height of crassness to suggest such things even before a courtship had been acknowledged—particularly to one of Bingley’s party.

  “But Mr. Darcy, you have not secured a dance for the opening set yourself,” cried Mrs. Bennet.

  “Thank you, madam, but I rarely dance,” said Darcy with a short bow, intending for that to be the end of the conversation.

  But Mrs. Bennet was not to be deterred. “Come now, Mr. Darcy. My Lydia is lively and handsome. I assure you that you could not find a better partner should you search high and low throughout the length and breadth of the kingdom.”

  Almost on cue, the youngest Bennet batted her eyelashes in what he supposed was intended to be a provocative manner. Of course, the effect—had it not already been completely ludicrous—was ruined by the girl’s simpering giggle.

  Darcy decided then and there that friendship to Bingley and being a good reflection on his friend only went so far. He could not abide another minute in Mrs. Bennet’s company, much less a half hour with her silliest daughter. Therefore, he bent in a perfunctory bow and said, “Excuse me, madam,” before he turned and stalked off to another part of the room.

  As he left, he could hear Mrs. Bennet’s voice rising behind him, saying, “Well, I never . . .”

  But Darcy could not repine his behavior. He had no ties to the Bennets, so he had no need to care for their good opinion. Besides, if his actions offended Mrs. Bennet, perhaps she might be less likely to importune him with offers for her daughters’ hands.

  Thus began the evening for Darcy. He danced once each with Bingley’s sisters, and then, mindful of his intention to support his friend, he danced once with Sir William’s eldest daughter, who was a steady and intelligent woman, if a trifle plain, and once with the object of Bingley’s affections. During the course of that last dance, he noted with some amusement the fact that Mrs. Bennet looked upon him with displeasure, whereas only a short time earlier she had been throwing her youngest daughter at him. It appeared that he had fallen out of favor with Mrs. Bennet indeed.

  Once his dance with Miss Lucas ended, Darcy decided that he had done his duty to Bingley, and he relegated himself to the fringes of the room, wandering around and watching the proceedings with more than a little boredom while occasionally speaking with some of the other men. A number of them were tiresome—such as Sir William, who, though a good sort of fellow, was a little too impressed with his knighthood—and some were incomprehensible—such as Mr. Bennet, who seemed to see the world as some sort of vast satire—but others were truly good men, and Darcy did not consider it an imposition to converse with them. They were, none of them, very well educated, and many of the topics Darcy would have liked to pursue were simply not an option, but these men were also no different from many of the lower level of landowners with whom Darcy had associated in the past.

  But throughout the course of the evening, Darcy’s eyes repeatedly wandered back to the aforementioned Miss Elizabeth Bennet. She was by far the best dressed woman in attendance, and Darcy also believed that her clothes were also the most recent in fashion. Darcy could not say for certain why the other Bennet girls did not have some clothes of a newer fashion, for their sister had been living a relatively short distance away, which must have necessitated at least occasional visits. It seemed to hint at that mystery which Miss Bingley kept speaking of. But having formed a favorable opinion of Mr. Gardiner, Darcy was determined that it was none of his business.

  He would like to get to know Miss Elizabeth better, and the opportunity appeared to be available, but he needed to figure out a way to begin. She danced less frequently than her sisters, though Darcy was not certain why, for she was as handsome of any of them. But though he wished to approach her, something indefinable held him back. But he watched her. Almost as much as her father watched her.

  Sighing, Elizabeth sat down on one of the chairs along the side of the assembly hall, wishing that this interminable night would come to a close. Elizabeth had never been of an overly social disposition, though she had certainly learned to enjoy the events that her aunt and uncle often escorted her to. But she fancied that when attending an assembly, she had rarely suffered from a lack of dance partners. Unfortunately, this assembly was nothing like she was accustomed to.

  Whether her mother had said something impolitic which had worked its way through the neighborhood, whether the neighborhood men still did not know her and were therefore unsure of her, or whether something else was at work, Elizabeth was not certain. But regardless of the reason, she found herself sitting out at least half of the dances, though Jane and her two youngest sisters stood up for almost all of them. Mary only danced a few, but then again, she almost seemed put out to be dancing at all and did not appear to repine her lack of partners. Add to that Mrs. Bennet’s barely concealed glares when Elizabeth did stand up, and Elizabeth heartily wished for the solitude of her room.

  Her relief came from an entirely welcome, though somewhat unexpected, source. She had noticed that in addition to her father’s constant scrutiny, she also appeared to have attracted the attention of Mr. Darcy, though his looks had more of a searching quality inherent in them. She knew already that she interested him—and she could not say that the feeling was not mutual—but for what reason, she could not say. Elizabeth was well aware of the fact that men of Mr. Darcy’s importance did not pursue young ladies of her station unless they had something decidedly less . . . proper in mind, and Elizabeth could not believe that of Mr. Darcy.

  After standing up for a dance with Charlotte Lucas’s younger brother, Elizabeth was forced to sit for two, and she began to despair of being asked to dance again. It was then that she noticed that Mr. Darcy was standing very close to her, though his back was away from her as he watched the dancers as they progressed across the floor. He did not appear to be aware of her presence.

  The dance
came to a close, and the dancers made their way across the floor. Mr. Bingley approached Mr. Darcy, and as they were near Elizabeth, she could hear their conversation quite clearly.

  “Well, Darcy,” said Mr. Bingley in a tone which conveyed a sense of amusement, “you began the evening well enough, but you are back to stalking around the dance floor in your usual stupid manner.”

  Though Elizabeth could not see Mr. Darcy’s face, she thought she caught the curve of the side of his lips, and his response belied any anger which such a statement might have produced. “Yes, I suppose I am—by your estimation, of course. But you are aware of the fact that I take little pleasure in a dance unless I am intimately acquainted with my partner.”

  “So you have informed me. I am happy to see that you have at least performed the basic necessities attached to polite behavior. I will say that I was somewhat surprised to see you single out Miss Bennet for a dance, though your dance with Miss Lucas was quite proper, as she is the daughter of the man who welcomed us to Hertfordshire.”

  “Why should you be surprised?” asked Darcy. “Miss Bennet is the handsomest woman in the room, as you have so often pointed out yourself.”

  “I would never presume to disagree with such a sentiment. But I would have thought that a pretty face alone would not be enough to tempt your fastidiousness.”

  “I rather think that you overestimate my ‘fastidiousness,’ as you call it. I am as susceptible to a pretty face as the next man.”

  “Oh?” It was clear from Mr. Bingley’s tone that he was skeptical, though his beaming countenance suggested that he was enjoying their banter very much.

  “Yes, well, Miss Bennet is very handsome, and she also seems to be an intelligent sort of girl, though very reticent.”

  “Much like you, old boy.”

  Darcy nodded and turned his attention away from his friend, which brought his face into profile, allowing Elizabeth to better make out his features. It was a very handsome face, which Elizabeth had already acknowledged, but it was made even more uncommonly so by the intelligence alight in his eyes and the slight smile which his friend’s teasing had provoked. There was much to appreciate about Mr. Darcy, Elizabeth decided yet again, and she would very much like to know him better.

  “But you must own, Darcy, that Miss Bennet is not the only handsome woman in the room.”

  Mr. Darcy did not answer, as he was searching the room and appeared to be looking for someone in particular.

  “In fact,” continued Mr. Bingley, “I dare say the Bennet girls are all quite handsome in their own ways, though the younger girls are clearly not the equal of their two eldest sisters.”

  “You shall receive no argument from me on that score,” said Mr. Darcy, though his air was still distracted.

  “Then perhaps you should ask Miss Elizabeth to dance. She has been sitting behind you for this last quarter hour or more without a partner.”

  Elizabeth’s gaze dropped to her lap in mortification. Mr. Bingley had known of her presence the entire time, and he was undoubtedly aware that she could hear their conversation! How she wished to be swallowed up in a hole at that very moment!

  It was thus with great astonishment that she heard Mr. Darcy’s next words, as he said, “Thank you for the suggestion, Bingley. I believe I shall.”

  Not daring to look up, Elizabeth nonetheless noted Mr. Darcy’s approaching footsteps and listened with wonder as his smooth baritone voice sounded in her ears.

  “Miss Bennet,” said he.

  Though still embarrassed at being caught out in such a fashion, Elizabeth knew that she had no choice. So she gathered her courage and looked up, murmuring, “Mr. Darcy.”

  “I believe the next set will begin soon,” said he. “Will you do me the honor of standing up with me?”

  “Of course, sir,” replied Elizabeth with as much composure as she could muster.

  Mr. Darcy smiled at her with what appeared to be a true and sincere affection, and then he gestured to the refreshment tables. “Would you care for some punch before the next dance begins?”

  Smiling, Elizabeth rose and grasped his offered arm, making her way with him to the tables and accepting the offered glass of punch.

  They drank in companionable silence for several moments, and then Mr. Darcy, looking around them, leaned closer and said in a quiet voice: “I assume you heard my conversation with Bingley?”

  Coloring, Elizabeth cast her gaze down toward the floor. “I confess I did, Mr. Darcy. I apologize for such a breach of decorum.”

  “I believe that you were already sitting there when we began to speak within your hearing,” was Mr. Darcy’s compassionate reply. “No fault can be found in you.”

  Elizabeth gazed up at him gratefully, relieved that he did not think poorly of her.

  “I would not have you think that I consider myself to be above my company. It is simply that I do not easily converse with strangers, and I find it difficult to dance with young ladies whom I am not especially acquainted with.”

  “I understand, Mr. Darcy,” said Elizabeth. “Indeed, I find these occasions to be somewhat trying myself.”

  Mr. Darcy regarded her with some disbelief. “Truly? I would have thought you to be completely comfortable in social situations, Miss Bennet. I fear I have misunderstood your character most grievously.”

  With a laugh, Elizabeth replied, “It is not that I am uncomfortable in social situations. It is merely that I do not, as a rule, enjoy them, though I will grant you that being in the company of close acquaintances is much more tolerable.”

  “You certainly have fooled me,” replied Mr. Darcy. “I would have thought you to be completely at ease in any situation in which I have previously seen you.”

  Elizabeth directed an impish smile at him. “Is that not the very art of moving in society? Interacting with one and all as if it is the one thing you most want to do in all the world, though in reality you would much rather be at home, curled up in a chair in front of the fire with a good book?”

  Mr. Darcy laughed. “It appears to be a talent for subterfuge which you possess and I lack. I dare say if I attempted to project such a complaisant demeanor, I should merely convince those around me that I am constipated.”

  The delighted sound of their joint laughter brought several glances in their direction, and one of the young men of the area apparently decided that it might be the time to come to know her better, as he approached to ask for the next dance.

  “I am sorry,” said Elizabeth, “but I am engaged to dance the next with Mr. Darcy. The set after that is yours if you should want it.”

  It was agreed upon, and the young man—who she had likely already met, though she could not remember his name—left them alone.

  Mr. Darcy was watching her closely, all mirth forgotten in the interim. “I must own that I am curious as to why you dislike society. You give all the appearance of being a bright light which shines in such forums rather than the reverse.”

  Elizabeth sighed. She had hoped to be able to avoid such a conversation with him. “It is merely that society seems so . . . artful, I suppose. Fortune hunters try to get in a woman’s good graces because they covet her dowry, those of lower station affect awe and interest toward those higher than them in an attempt to ingratiate themselves, and there is an overall sense of artificiality to most interactions which I am certain you must have seen for yourself.”

  “I quite agree, Miss Bennet,” said Mr. Darcy with a nod. “I assure you that I am well aware that when I enter a room, not five minutes pass before rumors of my situation are heard by every young lady in the room, not to mention their mothers.”

  “Then we shall have to be completely genuine with one another,” said Elizabeth, directing a hopeful smile at him.

  “An excellent idea, Miss Bennet,” responded he in like fashion.

  At that moment, the music started, and Mr. Darcy led Elizabeth out onto the dance floor. It was perhaps the most enjoyable dance she had ever participated in
. Mr. Darcy was light on his feet, graceful in his movements, and seemed to have some occult sense as to her location at all times. While they danced, their conversation flowed effortlessly on a number of topics, all made interesting by the insights ad intelligence of her partner.

  Elizabeth was sorry to have it come to an end, and she reluctantly followed her newest partner to the next dance when he arrived to claim her hand. But for the rest of the evening, she found her eyes seeking out Mr. Darcy with great frequency. And she was gratified to know that when she did, he was often looking back at her.

  Chapter IX

  Unfortunately, the magic of the evening—at least, what there was of it—completely dissipated during the carriage ride home. The moment the door of the carriage closed behind them, Mrs. Bennet began speaking of the assembly, and though it might be supposed that the subject of her discourse might perhaps be the success of her eldest in attracting the attention of the young man from the north, no such thing seemed important enough to focus her attention. Instead, she began a diatribe about Elizabeth’s behavior which lasted the entire journey back to Longbourn.

  In short, she was displeased with everything that Elizabeth had done that evening. Elizabeth was too impertinent, she had used her wiles to attract men when she should have been demure and silent, and she had generally behaved badly. Interspersed with this were comments about how Elizabeth had not danced every dance and how she should have done more to attract the attention of the men in attendance. It was the contradictions in her long-winded diatribe which removed any feelings of hurt which Elizabeth might otherwise have felt. Such nonsense could never result in pain.