Other Mr. Darcy

by Monica Fairview

  “Delighted to meet you, Miss Bingley. May I have the honour of next dance?”

  “Er…” She paused, since she knew nothing about the gentleman. She waited for a signal from Robert Darcy, who knew him better. But a glance at Mr Darcy proved completely unhelpful.

  “Thank you,” she said, allowing herself to be led away by someone she knew nothing about.

  She was to be equally embarrassed at the end of the dance when Mr Forthe, leading her back quite properly to Robert Darcy, was puzzled to find he had disappeared.

  “No doubt he has gone to fetch me a drink,” said Miss Bingley, though she thought it very unlikely. Most probably he had forgotten all about her and had gone to the card room. She hoped he would lose a great deal of money. “I will wait for him here.”

  “Then I leave you in good hands, Miss Bingley,” said Mr Forthe, bowing and moving away.

  She stood for a moment where he left her, as if she really did, in fact, expect Robert Darcy to suddenly appear. Just as she was about to move off, satisfied that she had done what she could to keep up appearances, however, she discovered him coming in her direction. He was carrying two glasses, and accompanied by a gentleman who looked vaguely familiar.

  “I thought you might like some sherry, Miss Bingley,” he said.

  “How kind of you, Mr Darcy,” she said, with exquisite politeness. “Thank you. I normally drink ratafia, but I do not dislike sherry.”

  “I’m afraid you have me to blame, Miss Bingley,” said his companion. “Darcy was sure you would like ratafia, but I prevailed upon him to bring you sherry.”

  She wanted to reply, but she could not recall the gentleman’s name. She glanced enquiringly at Mr Darcy. This time he came to the rescue. “I believe you are acquainted with Mr Richard Pole. He is a good friend of mine,” he said. “We live on adjoining properties in Derbyshire.”

  Mr Pole had an engaging personality, and he soon had Caroline laughing as he recounted the behaviour of a cousin of his who aspired to be a Corinthian.

  “…and the worst of it,” he said, “was that he was boasting to Darcy, who is already well known to be a Corinthian of the very best order.”

  “Darcy?” she asked, puzzled, for she had not conceived of him as a sporting gentleman.

  “He means me,” said Robert Darcy. “Although, of course, he exaggerates.”

  “Of course I meant you,” said Pole, looking puzzled in turn. “Who else? And I do not exaggerate. He is a regular out and outer and a top-sawyer, and has the best science of any man in my acquaintance.”

  Robert Darcy laughed. “I do not think Miss Bingley understood a word of that cant of yours,” he said. “And I do believe she thought you meant my cousin, Fitzwilliam Darcy.”

  “I see,” said Pole. “Yes, Fitzwilliam Darcy is an exemplary gentleman. One of the best,” he said, “but I would not call him a Corinthian.” He excused himself suddenly. “Sorry, I have to make my escape. My mother’s coming this way, intending no doubt to introduce me to some chit barely out of the schoolroom.” He slid deftly into the thickest part of the crowd, his mother chasing after him.

  Robert Darcy laughed. “Amazing things, mothers. Especially when they are determined to marry you off.”

  “Well, your mother is too far away now to pursue you.”

  “Precisely. Why do you think I am in England and not in Boston?”

  “Come, Mr Darcy, do not tell me you have come all the way to England to escape your mother.”

  “No, I cannot pretend that, though she was certainly trotting out the heiresses for me. At least here I do not have to endure all that.” His face darkened. “Though if I had known it would be so difficult to go back, I would have gladly endured it a little longer.”

  He caught sight of her sombre expression, and lifted his eyebrows. “One should never talk seriously in a ballroom,” he said, lightly. “Is that not somewhere in the etiquette books? Ballrooms are for dancing. Yet here I am, with a young lady who is accounted a beauty in Town—or so I have heard—and all I have done is prattle. May I engage you for the next set, Miss Bingley? After you have finished your sherry, of course.”

  Caroline resented his reference to her sister’s foolish remark. She was about to refuse, but if she did, she would be forced to sit out the set. Then again, part of her was curious to see how well Mr Darcy could dance. She put down the sherry, her glass still half full.

  “I would be delighted,” she said.

  The next moment, however, she regretted her acceptance. Her number was called to lead the set. She wished ardently she did not have to dance with Mr Darcy, for she did not know his style at all, did not even know whether he was a tolerable dancer.

  “You hesitate, Miss Bingley,” he said. “If you would rather not lead the set, or if you find dancing too tiring, we could perhaps withdraw and sit it out.”

  “That would be against the rules of etiquette, Mr Darcy,” she said, rising immediately to the challenge. Prompted by the spirit of mischief, and perhaps wishing to show him the superiority of her dancing—and the excellence of her dancing masters—she chose a figure that was complicated and demanding. She ignored the slight ripple that went down the line once she announced the steps, and applied herself grimly to the reel.

  But it was one thing to dance this figure in the safety of a small room, where only the dancing master and her chaperon watched, and where she could sit down when she grew tired, and something completely different here, with everyone watching expectantly. And if she had thought to catch out Robert Darcy, she quickly discovered her mistake. He not only executed the steps perfectly, but he danced with a vigour she was required to complement, as his partner.

  Every eye was upon them, since they were setting the pace, and her pride drove her to match her skill to his, as if it was not a dance at all, but an act of defiance. She rarely danced so energetically, and with anyone else, she would have chosen a much simpler form. Exhilaration seized her. He was light and nimble. She was light and nimble, too, countering his steps with hers, positively flying off the ground. Her heart began to beat fast, and her breathing grew laboured. Robert Darcy, however, remained at ease, as relaxed as if they were dancing a minuet.

  By the time they reached the bottom of the line and were able to stop, her side had started to ache.

  “You are a very skilled dancer,” said Mr Darcy to her, now that they had some moments to stand still and catch their breath. “I admit, you did not strike me as the type to enjoy a reel.”

  “I enjoy dancing generally,” said Caroline, as briefly as she could. He was right, of course. She did not particularly enjoy a reel. Then she realized it was not true. For in some strange way, she was enjoying this one.

  “I am glad, then, that I was able to partner you when you were leading the set. If someone else had been leading, and they had chosen an insipid dance, I would never have discovered this hidden talent of yours.”

  There was that gleam in his eye again, and she could not tell if he was mocking her or complimenting her. The best method of defence, she thought, was surprise. “And I would never have discovered how sure-footed you were, Mr Darcy,” she said.

  He had not expected a compliment. He examined her, suspicious of her meaning. She turned away slightly, to hide the small smile that hovered on her lips. But before either of them could say anything more it was time for them to lead again.

  Once again, she threw herself into a whirl of movement. Beads of perspiration gathered on her brow, and under her dress her skin grew damp. She had known young ladies who dampened their petticoats to make the thin material cling to their forms. She would not have to do so. The idea made her smile. Opposite her, Robert Darcy grinned, as though he knew what she was thinking, and she flushed at the unruly direction of her thoughts.

  When the music finally stopped she was left grasping for breath. But there was one more dance to go. She would have liked to slow the pace a little and introduce something simpler, but it would have seemed odd. So
once again, she chose a complicated form and, once again, she struggled to hold her own against Mr Darcy, who danced like a demented dancing master, but remained cool as a cucumber, completely indifferent to the looks that were being sent his way.

  The moment the second dance ended, she fled to take refuge in the ladies’ retiring room. She hesitated before looking into the mirror, dreading what she would see there. If anything, she looked worse than she had imagined. She stared at the tendrils of hair that had tumbled from beneath her turban, at the sheen that covered her face and at blotches of colour that tainted her cheeks. It was as if they belonged to someone else. She looked like a hoyden, not at all like Miss Caroline Bingley.

  This would not do at all. She must put a stop to this folly. She had spent years at Mrs Drakehill’s Seminary for Young Ladies learning how to become a lady. What would Mrs Drakehill say of her now?

  It was her fault entirely. She knew that he was to be avoided. She knew his conduct was not quite what it should be. Yet she had allowed him to provoke her into dancing just a little too fast, skirting the edge of propriety, and leading the other couples in the dance to do the same.

  A twitch of conscience intervened. Her own behaviour had hardly been ideal. She had abandoned him straight after the dance, without even excusing herself, leaving him stranded. That was hardly acceptable behaviour. He was, after all, a stranger to their society. And he was, in some way, her responsibility. It was her duty to guide him through the complex rules that governed polite conduct.

  But when she emerged from the ladies’ retiring room, her hair once more tucked in where it belonged, her face cooled to a delicate paleness, her dress smoothed down into stylish folds that no longer clung to her, he was nowhere to be found.

  Her eyes searched the ballroom for several minutes before she perceived him. A very pretty lady in her early twenties was draped over his arm. She was talking to him excitedly, her ringlets swaying as she laughed. He seemed to know her well, and it was clear he enjoyed her company, for he patted her hand from time to time as he drew her to the dance area. They settled into the dance with familiar grace. It was a country dance, and every time they met they would chatter, then break apart.

  “Excuse me, Miss Bingley.” Caroline jumped as a voice to her side broke into her thoughts. It was Colonel Fitzwilliam. She hoped he had not noticed her observing Robert Darcy.

  “This is a welcome break from riding in the carriage, is it not?”

  She was very glad to return to polished conversation after that decidedly unsettling experience. She was so delighted to find herself on familiar ground, that she turned to Colonel Fitzwilliam with far more friendliness than she was accustomed to display.

  “Indeed!” she said, smiling cordially. “Although I must confess I am a little tired.”

  “It is only to be expected. But I am glad that we have had this chance to stop on the way. It has added to my enjoyment of the journey. I am very fond of dancing.”

  “As am I. I am sure we will contrive to organize a dance in Pemberley, once we are there.”

  “Ah, if only I could be sure of that,” he replied, with regret. “I do not think I will stay long enough. I may be forced to return to London.”

  “Surely not? You do not have any pressing engagements? You must stay for a few days at least. I am certain you will be more than welcome at Pemberley. Your cousin is very attached to you.”

  Colonel Fitzwilliam seemed pleased at her insistence. “Oh, my cousin likes me well enough,” he said. “But I cannot forget the reason for our voyage. Mrs Darcy must be too unwell to receive visitors.”

  The familiar pang Caroline always felt when she heard that name threatened her composure for a moment. She did not imagine she could ever bring herself to like Elizabeth Bennet. “Perhaps,” she said, trying to appear cheerful. “But after you have crossed such a distance to reach them, I hardly think you will be turned away!”

  “Well, I am glad you think so, Miss Bingley. I am sure you would not permit it,” he replied.

  “Oh, I do not flatter myself that I have any influence with the Darcys,” she said.

  “I am sure you could not help being an influence,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam, gallantly.

  Caroline danced with the colonel then went in to supper with him. As the evening passed, the unfortunate reel receded into the background. But she could not help noticing that Robert Darcy danced with several young ladies, and seemed generally sought after.

  She could not make up her mind if she was exasperated or relieved that she need not exert herself to introduce him.

  Colonel Fitzwilliam proved to be a charming companion over supper. He went out of his way to amuse her, and paid her a number of compliments which were neither too extravagant nor too convoluted. As they returned to the ballroom and the orchestra prepared to begin playing again, they encountered Robert Darcy, who laughingly requested Caroline to save a dance for him, if possible.

  “I am afraid they are all taken,” said Caroline. She was not quite ready for another dance with him.

  “In that case I will leave you to enjoy your evening,” he replied, and, bowing, excused himself.

  Colonel Fitzwilliam watched him go, then turned to her with an expression she could only describe as stern. “I would like to speak to you, if I may, Miss Bingley. I know it is hardly proper, but I wonder if you will accompany me into the garden. I have something in particular to speak about.”

  Caroline’s brother Charles had known the colonel for years. She did not suspect for a moment that his conduct would be other than that of a gentleman, so she did not hesitate to agree to go into the darkened garden with him. And after the crowd and crush of the ballroom, the cool air outside would be very welcome.

  No doubt he wished to warn her about Robert Darcy. She did not need the warning, of course, but she was curious as to what the colonel had to say about him. Perhaps he could tell her something specific. In any case, the colonel’s opinion was more reliable than her brother’s.

  As soon as she stepped out, however, the cold hit her like a slap in the face. She had expected the day to cool off, but not so quickly. The breeze was light, but it had a sharp and bitter edge. The moon was hidden behind a cloud, but there were patches in the sky where the stars shone like tiny slithers of shattered glass. No one else was in the garden. It was madness to come out on such a frosty night. Such weather was a strong deterrent to outdoor trysts.

  “Forgive me, Miss Bingley, for speaking plainly. I hope what I have to say will not cause any offence. If it does, I apologize in advance.”

  She inclined her head gracefully. “I beg you, Colonel Fitzwilliam, there is no need for apology. I know that your concern for me prompts you.”

  He seized her hand. “Yes. You have guessed it exactly, Miss Bingley—Caroline.”

  His behaviour seemed excessive, and Caroline was not sure she liked his use of her first name. She hoped he did not take her permission to advise her as an invitation to familiarity. She pulled her hand away stiffly.

  “I have a very high regard for you, as you know,” he said, looking embarrassed at his lapse. “Otherwise I would not have approached you as I am doing now.”

  His insistence on telling her this seemed very long winded. She gazed longingly at the ballroom. The bitter cold seemed to be seeping into her very bones.

  He searched for the right words. What could be so offensive that he hesitated so much? Caroline wished fervently he would come to the point. Perhaps he thought her an innocent schoolgirl who would be shocked by what he had to say about Mr Darcy. She braced herself for something quite scandalous.

  Meanwhile, her fingers were growing numb. She could see her own breath, outlined in grey against the dark night sky.

  “The fact is, I have long admired you, and thought you a model of propriety,” he said.

  He really was taking an interminably long time. She wished she had thought to bring a shawl, or a spencer. Or a blanket. A blanket was just what she needed
.

  Her hands were turning numb as well.

  “I have always endeavoured to act in a proper manner,” she responded.

  Her teeth were beginning to chatter.

  “There has long been friendship between your brother and I, and I have met you on so many occasions even when you were still in the schoolroom. So I feel as though I have known you for years.”

  By now she was shivering in earnest. She tried to close her mouth so that the loud hammering of her teeth did not interrupt Colonel Fitzwilliam. She did not want to appear ungrateful, for he was, after all, trying to warn her. She had never thought of him as inclined to beat about the bush. He had always seemed direct and articulate. This laboured prelude was quite disappointing. Why did he not come out directly and warn her about Mr Robert Darcy? It showed an unexpected weakness of character. She was not happy to discover it out here in the cold, in short sleeves, in a thin muslin dress that offered no protection.

  But apart from taking his arm and pulling him in the direction of the ballroom, she could not think of a way to interrupt his earnest discourse without appearing quite ill-mannered.

  The numbness was moving up to her elbow. Idly, she wondered what happened to people’s arms if they froze.

  “Yes, it does seem so, does it not?” she said, trying to prod him on, since he had now fallen into silence. “I believe, in fact, that we have known each other at least for five years now.”

  With his foot, he pushed away some pebbles that lined the pathway. He was looking so intently at the ground that Caroline wondered if he had discovered something of interest there. She waited.

  Finally, he looked up. “The fact is…” Again he paused.

  She was going to die. She was going to turn into a block of ice and fall flat on the ground, straight in front of him. There would be a scandal. Everyone would know she had accompanied him into the garden alone.

  “The fact is,” he said, a note of resolve entering his voice. He stepped towards her and looked her in the eye. Here it was, finally. She no longer cared what he had to say about Mr Darcy. She just wanted to return to the ballroom.