Pride and Prejudice (The Wild and Wanton Edition)

by Annabella Bloom

  Darcy made no answer, and seemed desirous of changing the subject. At that moment, Sir William Lucas appeared close to them, meaning to pass through the set to the other side of the room. But, on perceiving Mr. Darcy, he stopped with a bow to compliment him on his dancing and his partner. “I have been most highly gratified indeed, my dear sir. Such superior dancing is not often seen. It is evident you belong to the first circles. Allow me to say, however, that your fair partner does not disgrace you, and I must hope to have this pleasure often repeated, especially when a certain desirable event, my dear Eliza,” he paused and glanced at Jane and Bingley, “shall take place. What congratulations will then flow! I appeal to Mr. Darcy, but let me not interrupt you, sir. You will not thank me for detaining you from the bewitching converse of that young lady, whose bright eyes are also upbraiding me.”

  The latter part of this address was scarcely heard by Darcy, but Sir William’s allusion to his friend seemed to strike him forcibly, and his eyes were directed with a very serious expression towards Bingley and Jane, who were dancing together. Recovering himself, he turned to his partner, and said, “Sir William’s interruption has made me forget what we were talking of.”

  “I do not think we were speaking at all. Sir William could not have interrupted two people in the room who had less to say. We have tried two or three subjects already without success, and what we are to talk of next I cannot imagine.”

  “What think you of books?” he asked, smiling. Again, the pleasantness of it took her off guard. Why was he determined to be so nice when she had determined to hate him?

  “Books — oh, no! I am sure we never read the same, or at least not with the same feelings.”

  “I am sorry you think so. If that be the case, there can at least be no want of subject. We may compare our different opinions.”

  “No, I cannot talk of books in a ballroom. My head is always full of something else.”

  “The present always occupies you in such scenes, does it.”

  He gave her a look of doubt.

  “Yes, always,” she replied, without knowing what she said, for her thoughts had wandered far from the subject. She said no more, and they went down the other dance and parted in silence.

  They had not long separated, when Miss Bingley came towards her, and with an expression of civil disdain accosted her, “So, Miss Eliza, I hear you are quite delighted with George Wickham! Your sister has been talking to me about him, and asking me a thousand questions. I find the young man quite forgot to tell you, among his other communication, that he was the son of old Wickham, the late Mr. Darcy’s steward. Let me recommend you, however, as a friend, not to give implicit confidence to all his assertions as to Mr. Darcy’s using him ill. It is perfectly false. On the contrary, he has always been remarkably kind to him, though George Wickham has treated Mr. Darcy in a most infamous manner. I do not know the particulars, but I know Mr. Darcy is not in the least to blame. He cannot bear to hear George Wickham mentioned, and though my brother thought he could not avoid including him in his invitation to the officers, he was excessively glad to find that he had taken himself out of the way. His coming into the country at all is a most insolent thing, indeed, and I wonder how he could presume to do it. I pity you, Miss Eliza, for this discovery of your favorite soldier’s guilt, but considering his descent, one could not expect much better.”

  “His guilt and his descent appear by your account to be the same,” said Elizabeth angrily. “For I have heard you accuse him of nothing worse than of being the son of Mr. Darcy’s steward, and of that, I can assure you, he informed me himself.”

  “I beg your pardon,” replied Miss Bingley, turning away with a sneer. “Excuse my interference. It was kindly meant.”

  “Insolent wretch!” whispered Elizabeth to herself. “You are much mistaken if you expect to influence me by such a paltry attack as this. I see nothing in it but your own willful ignorance and the malice of Mr. Darcy.” She then sought her eldest sister, who has undertaken to make inquiries on the same subject to Bingley. Jane met her with a smile of such sweet complacency, a glow of such happy expression, as sufficiently marked how well she was satisfied with the occurrences of the evening. Elizabeth instantly read her feelings, and at that moment solicitude for Wickham, resentment against his enemies, and everything else, gave way before the hope of Jane’s being in the fairest way for happiness.

  “I want to know,” she said, with a countenance no less smiling than her sister’s, “what you have learned about Mr. Wickham. But perhaps you have been too pleasantly engaged to think of any third person, in which case you may be sure of my pardon.”

  “No,” replied Jane, “I have not forgotten him, though I have nothing satisfactory to tell you. Mr. Bingley does not know the whole of his history, and is quite ignorant of the circumstances which have principally offended Mr. Darcy, but he will vouch for the good conduct, the probity, and honor of his friend, and is perfectly convinced that Mr. Wickham has deserved much less attention from Mr. Darcy than he has received. I am sorry to say by his account as well as his sister’s, Mr. Wickham is by no means a respectable young man and has deserved to lose Mr. Darcy’s regard.”

  “Mr. Bingley does not know Mr. Wickham himself.”

  “No. He never saw him till the other morning at Meryton.”

  “This account then is what he has received from Mr. Darcy. I am satisfied. But what does he say of the living.”

  “He does not exactly recollect the circumstances, but he believes it was left to him conditionally.”

  “I have no doubt of Mr. Bingley’s sincerity,” said Elizabeth warmly. “You must excuse me for not being convinced by assurances alone, but I shall venture to think of both gentlemen as I did before.”

  She then changed the discourse to one more gratifying to each, and on which there could be no difference of sentiment. Elizabeth listened to the happy, though modest, hopes Jane entertained of Mr. Bingley’s regard, and said all in her power to heighten her confidence in it. On their being joined by Mr. Bingley himself, Elizabeth withdrew from the ballroom to take in a breath of fresh air on the balcony where she found herself quite alone.

  The cool night had a calming effect on her thoughts, as she considered all she had been told of Darcy and Wickham. None of Jane’s assurances as to the honorable actions of Darcy so much as dented her resolve against the man. As far as Elizabeth was concerned, he had nothing to recommend him, and not all of the money in England would induce her to think kindly of him, let alone ten thousand a year.

  “Miss Bennet.”

  So engaged was she in her own thoughts, she had not noticed the object of them had followed her out onto the balcony. He stood some distance away, though at a very inconvenient place, for he blocked any easy retreat back into the house. To get away she would be forced to walk a wide arch around him, a feat it seemed most silly to perform. “Mr. Darcy.”

  She wondered at his standing there, watching her, and when he did not deign to speak again, she suddenly exclaimed, “I remember you once said, Mr. Darcy, that you hardly ever forgave, that your resentment once created was unappeasable. You are very cautious, I suppose, as to its being created.”

  “I am,” said he, with a firm voice.

  “And never allow yourself to be blinded by prejudice?” She lifted her chin, staring boldly into his eyes.

  “I hope not.” He took a step closer, and then another, till he had joined her near the railing. They were hidden by shadows away from the view of the windows. The sound of laughter and music poured from inside, but she barely heard it. All of her attention became focused on him. The darkness, the garden beyond the railing, the shadows cast upon his face — they all reminded her of her dream and she felt transfixed upon her place. She opened her mouth to speak, but Darcy chose that moment to lift his hand. His fingers hovered between them, hesitating before reaching to cup her cheek. The touch created a shock of heat to her system, opposing the cooler night. She trembled. His scent replaced t
hat of the fresh night air, yet she found it invigorating.

  Without much care to her words, she continued a little breathlessly. “It is particularly incumbent on those who never change their opinion, to be secure of judging properly at first.”

  “May I ask you the purpose of your questions?” His fingers did not move and yet she felt as if they ran along her entire body. She trembled again; her knees weakened, and she swayed on her feet. She parted her lips, taking in rapid, deep breaths.

  “Merely to the illustration of your character,” said she, endeavoring to shake off the sudden gravity of her predicament. “I am trying to make it out.”

  “And what is your success?” His breath whispered against her cheek. She perceived him to be closer, yet, without detecting him to move. There was something open about his expression, but she could not make out the details of it in her heightened state.

  She shook her head, unable to force her eyes from him. She could not think but to answer honestly. “I do not get on at all. I hear such different accounts of you as to puzzle me exceedingly.”

  “I can readily believe that reports may vary greatly with respect to me.” Suddenly, his hand was gone and he had stepped back into the light. The cast of flickering candlelight against his face through the window effectively ended the spell that he had woven with his nearness. Back was the serious Darcy she was accustomed to. “I could wish, Miss Bennet, that you were not to sketch my character at the present moment, as there is reason to fear that the performance would reflect no credit on either.”

  Elizabeth forced her features to harden. The effects of his touch still stung her flesh and she wanted nothing more than to rub her cheek. She resisted. “But if I do not take your likeness now, I may never have another opportunity.”

  “I would by no means suspend any pleasure of yours,” he coldly replied.

  Just when she would inquire as to his reason for seeking her out on the balcony, he bowed and walked just as quickly away. Elizabeth, in her ire, followed him, but not with the intent of chasing him down. Instead, she watched in which direction he walked so that she could go the opposite way. Her heart was still beating fast when Miss Lucas came to inquire after the pleasantness of her last dance partner. Elizabeth, still stunned that he had touched her face, and that her own body had reacted with such passion; could scarcely relate all her hearty dislike of the man before Mr. Collins came up to them, and told her with great exultation that he had just been so fortunate as to make a most important discovery.

  “I have found out,” said he, “by a singular accident, that there is now in the room a near relation of my patroness. I happened to overhear the gentleman himself mentioning to the young lady who does the honors of the house the names of his cousin Miss de Bourgh, and of her mother Lady Catherine. How wonderfully these sort of things occur! Who would have thought of my meeting with, perhaps, a nephew of Lady Catherine de Bourgh in this assembly? I am most thankful that the discovery is made in time for me to pay my respects to him, which I am now going to do, and trust he will excuse my not having done it before. My total ignorance of the connection must plead my apology.”

  “You are not going to introduce yourself to Mr. Darcy.” Elizabeth was mortified by the idea.

  “Indeed I am. I shall entreat his pardon for not having done it earlier. It will be in my power to assure him that her ladyship was quite well yesterday se’nnight.”

  Elizabeth tried to dissuade him from such a scheme, assuring him that Mr. Darcy would consider his addressing him without introduction as an impertinence, rather than a compliment to his aunt. It was not in the least necessary there should be any notice on either side, and if it were necessary it was up to the discretion of Mr. Darcy, the superior in consequence, to begin the acquaintance.

  Mr. Collins listened to her with the determined air of following his own inclination. “My dear Miss Elizabeth, I have the highest opinion in the world in your excellent judgment in all matters within the scope of your understanding, but permit me to say that there must be a wide difference between the established forms of ceremony amongst the laity, and those which regulate the clergy. Give me leave to observe that I consider the clerical office as equal in point of dignity with the highest rank in the kingdom — provided that a proper humility of behavior is at the same time maintained. You must therefore allow me to follow the dictates of my conscience on this occasion, which leads me to perform what I look on as a point of duty.”

  With a low bow he left her to attack Mr. Darcy, whose reception of his advances she eagerly watched, and whose astonishment at being so addressed was very evident. Her cousin prefaced his speech with a solemn bow and though she could not hear a word of it, she felt as if hearing it all, and saw in the motion of his lips the words “apology,” “Hunsford,” and “Lady Catherine de Bourgh.” It vexed her to see him expose himself to such a man. Mr. Darcy was eyeing him with unrestrained wonder, and when at last Mr. Collins allowed him time to speak, replied with an air of distant civility. Mr. Collins, however, was not discouraged from speaking again, and Mr. Darcy’s contempt seemed abundantly increasing with the length of his second speech, and at the end of it he only made him a slight bow, and moved another way. Mr. Collins then returned to Elizabeth.

  “I have no reason, I assure you,” said he, “to be dissatisfied with my reception. Mr. Darcy seemed much pleased with the attention. He answered me with the utmost civility, and even paid me the compliment of saying that he was so well convinced of Lady Catherine’s discernment as to be certain she could never bestow a favor unworthily. It was really a very handsome thought. Upon the whole, I am much pleased with him.”

  As Elizabeth had no longer any interest of her own to pursue, she turned her attention almost entirely on her sister and Mr. Bingley. The thoughts to which her agreeable observations gave birth made her almost as happy as Jane. She pictured her settled in that very house, in all the felicity which a marriage of true affection could bestow. She felt capable, under such circumstances, of endeavoring to like Bingley’s two sisters. She plainly saw her mother’s thoughts were bent the same way, and she determined not to venture near her, lest she might hear too much. When they sat down to supper she considered it a most unlucky perverseness which placed them within one of each other. She was deeply vexed to find her mother talking to Lady Lucas freely, openly, and of nothing else but her expectation that Jane would soon be married to Mr. Bingley. It was an animating subject, and Mrs. Bennet seemed incapable of fatigue while enumerating the advantages of the match. His being such a charming young man, and so rich, and living but three miles from them, were the first points of self-gratulation. Then it was such a comfort to think how fond the two sisters were of Jane, and to be certain they must desire the connection as much as she. It was, moreover, such a promising thing for her younger daughters, as Jane’s marrying so great a man must throw them in the way of other rich men. Lastly, it was so pleasant at her time of life to be able to consign her single daughters to the care of their sister that she might not be obliged to go into company more than she liked. She concluded with many good wishes that Lady Lucas might soon be equally fortunate, though evidently and triumphantly believing there was no chance of it.

  In vain did Elizabeth endeavor to check the rapidity of her mother’s words, or persuade her to describe her felicity in a less audible whisper; for, to her inexpressible vexation, she could perceive that the chief of it was overheard by Mr. Darcy, who sat opposite to them.

  Her mother only scolded her for being nonsensical. “What is Mr. Darcy to me, pray, that I should be afraid of him? I am sure we owe him no such particular civility as to be obliged to say nothing he may not like to hear.”

  “For heaven’s sake, madam, speak lower. What advantage can it be for you to offend Mr. Darcy? You will never recommend yourself to his friend by so doing!” Elizabeth frowned, wondering where her ardent need to defend Mr. Darcy came from. She tried to tell herself it was because of Jane, but as she touched her ch
eek she knew that was not entirely the case.

  However, nothing that she could say had any influence. Her mother would talk of her views in the same intelligible tone. Elizabeth blushed and blushed again with shame and vexation. She could not help frequently glancing at Mr. Darcy, though every glance convinced her of what she dreaded. Though he was not always looking at her mother, she was convinced that his attention was invariably fixed by her. The expression of his face changed gradually from indignant contempt to a composed and steady severity.

  At length, Mrs. Bennet had no more to say; and Lady Lucas, who had been long yawning at the repetition of delights which she saw no likelihood of sharing, was left to the comforts of cold ham and chicken. Elizabeth now began to revive. But the interval of tranquility was not long for, when supper was over, singing was talked of and she had the mortification of seeing Mary, after very little entreaty, preparing to oblige the company. By many significant looks and silent entreaties, did she attempt to prevent such a proof of complaisance, but in vain for Mary would not understand them. Such an opportunity of exhibiting was delightful to her, and she began her song.

  Elizabeth’s eyes fixed on her with most painful sensations, and she watched her progress through the several stanzas with an impatience which was ill rewarded at their close. Mary, on receiving, amongst the thanks of the table, the hint of a hope that she might be prevailed on to favor them again, after the pause of half a minute began another. Mary’s powers were by no means fitted for such a display. Her voice was weak and her manner affected.

  Elizabeth was in agony. She looked at Jane to see how she bore it, but Jane was very composedly talking to Bingley. She looked at his two sisters, and saw them making signs of derision at each other, and at Darcy, who continued imperturbably grave. She looked at her father to entreat his interference, lest Mary should be singing all night. He took the hint, and when Mary had finished her second song, said aloud, “That will do extremely well, child. You have delighted us long enough. Let the other young ladies have time to exhibit.”