Courting Elizabeth: A Pride and Prejudice Variation

by Renata McMann

  “How did you . . .” He looked about the room through narrowed eyes. “I mean, rather, what gave you that idea? I can’t imagine Darcy saying anything like that.”

  “I thought Miss Elizabeth should know,” Miss de Bourgh said.

  Elizabeth cast her a surprised look. She’d thought they were speaking in low enough tones not to be overheard by the other dancers. She turned back to see Mr. Wickham regarding Miss de Bourgh with annoyance. Catching Elizabeth watching he blinked, bowing to her. Elizabeth realized the dance was ending.

  “That’s a particularly lovely gown, Miss Elizabeth,” Mr. Wickham said. His eyes roamed about the room again, his expression speculative. “I don’t recall seeing it before.”

  Although his words were polite, somehow he seemed to be intending them as an insult. Elizabeth frowned.

  Miss de Bourgh stepped up beside her. “The gown was a gift.”

  “It was?” Mr. Wickham smirked, looking Elizabeth up and down.

  “Yes. From me.” Miss de Bourgh’s tone was honeyed. “I purchased it for her to replace one ruined on my account.”

  “Oh.” Mr. Wickham grimaced. “Ladies.” With another bow, he turned on his heels and walked away, leaving a smiling Miss de Bourgh in his wake.

  “Thank you,” Elizabeth murmured to her.

  “Miss Elizabeth?”

  She turned to see the Earl of Matlock at her shoulder. She dropped a curtsy. “My lord.”

  “I understand you play.”

  “I do.” She hadn’t been expecting that. Elizabeth smiled, amused at herself. Simply because she’d put on a pretty frock didn’t mean every gentleman must ask her to dance.

  Lord Henry held out his arm. “Would you indulge me by taking a turn at the piano so I may dance with your sister?”

  “Of course.” Elizabeth placed her hand on his arm. “Pardon me, Miss de Bourgh.”

  “Anne,” he said, nodding to his cousin before leading Elizabeth toward the piano.

  Mary looked up as they drew near, her face showing she was surprised to see the earl there, and a touch daunted.

  Lord Henry bowed. “Miss Mary, your sister is kind enough to allow me to dance with you. Will you do me the honor?”

  Mary gaped at him. As discreetly as she could, Elizabeth poked her foot out from beneath her gown and nudged Mary on the shin. Her sister blinked rapidly, opened her mouth, closed it again, and nodded.

  “Splendid,” Lord Henry said, offering Mary his arm.

  Elizabeth played for several dances, until Miss Bingley took over. As soon as Elizabeth left the piano, Lord Henry asked her to dance. He was an expert partner, and quite energetic. Elizabeth was impressed with both, especially the latter. As far as she could ascertain, he’d not stood out a single dance. This was in stark contrast to Mr. Darcy who had danced with her, Miss Bingley, Mrs. Hurst, and Miss de Bourgh, but no one else.

  Another woman took over playing for Miss Bingley. Lord Henry immediately escorted Miss Bingley to the dance floor. As the evening progressed, he danced with every woman who played. At one point, looking over from her place on the dance floor, Elizabeth nearly laughed. At first, she’d imagined Lord Henry was trying to keep Mary from playing, but many of the other women were as unskilled as her sister. Whatever the earl’s goal, it was amusing to see women flocking to the piano, begging for a turn.

  “Miss Elizabeth,” Mr. Darcy’s rich baritone called as Elizabeth’s dance with their host’s eldest son ended.

  Like Lord Henry, Elizabeth hadn’t lacked for partners. Even so, she’d been waiting for Mr. Darcy to reappear. She turned to him with a smile.

  “Will you dance with me?” he asked.

  “Let me sit this one out with you.” She led him to a quiet corner where they could watch the dancing. Once the dance was underway and people’s attention focused there, she described her conversation with Mr. Wickham.

  “I suspect he will avoid you,” Mr. Darcy said, sounding satisfied.

  “That is what I intended.” She paused, choosing her next words with care. “There is something else I wanted to talk to you about. Do you remember when we first saw each other? It was at the assembly.”

  Mr. Darcy frowned. “The assembly, yes. I recall seeing you, but we never spoke.”

  Elizabeth gave him an amused smile. “No, but you spoke about me, which was more than enough. You said, and I believe I have this correct, ‘She is tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me; I am in no humor at present to give consequence to young ladies who are slighted by other men.’”

  His look of shock was comical. He quickly composed his features into contrition. “I am sorry you overheard that. I did not mean it, but that is no excuse for having said it. I was trying to put Bingley off. He was pressing me to dance.”

  “Yes. In retrospect, I realize that was the case. You were willing to insult me, and, if I may be so bold, to lie to one of your closest friends, simply to avoid dancing.”

  Mr. Darcy looked exceedingly uncomfortable. “I am sorry. I didn’t mean it. You’re beautiful.”

  Taking pity on him, she gave him a reassuring smile. “I’m not trying to solicit a compliment. Nor am I really concerned about the first part of your statement, but the second. When you give consequence to young ladies, does it take away from your value?”

  He looked thoughtful, but shook his head. “Certainly not, but it does take away from my ability to give consequence. When I dance with you, you become more important in the eyes of everyone here.”

  “That is . . . interesting of you, but I am not in need of importance. I am sure enough in myself, with or without a man’s regard. Many ladies are not, though. To them, not being danced with relegates them to dwell in a state of misery. Would it be so terrible if you gave import to more of them? You’ve already admitted it takes nothing from you.”

  “You’re saying you would like me to dance with all of the ladies no one wishes to dance with?” Mr. Darcy asked, his tone colder than any he’d taken with her in some time.

  “What would please me is for you to show me you know how to behave at a party.” Elizabeth let some exasperation enter her voice. “This isn’t a dance, not formally, so if you decide to go off and play cards, that will be fine, but if you’re going to linger about the dance floor, you should not let people realize you think you are above their company.”

  He winced, frowning. He appeared quite chagrinned.

  “I take special offence in view of how insulting your standards are to me,” Elizabeth pressed.

  “To you?”

  He looked quite off balance now. Elizabeth was pleased she’d put a chink in his armor. “My sisters, Kitty and Lydia, had partners for every dance at the assembly I mentioned, and at most any dance we attend. I do not. By your standards, they have more consequence than I. I realize tonight is different but, if I may be frank, that is not because you, or any man, danced with me. It’s because of the dress Miss de Bourgh gave me.”

  He dropped his eyes to the dress. “Your sisters do always have partners,” he said when he looked back up. His face was thoughtful. “I never thought of it that way.”

  “Your cousins are giving consequence to everyone here. I think in the long run, it adds to their significance.”

  “But I don’t enjoy dancing.” His eyes moved over her. “Except with you.”

  “Why then did you dance with Miss Bingley, Miss de Bourgh and Mrs. Hurst?”

  “I am obligated. They are in my party.” He shrugged. “I owe them a dance, or at least, I owe it to Bingley that I dance with them. He is my host in Hertfordshire.”

  “Maria Lucas is the daughter of your host at Lucas Lodge. Don’t you owe her a dance, at least on behalf of her father?”

  “Yes, I suppose I do, but she’s as empty headed as he is.”

  Elizabeth sighed, glad she’d led him to a secluded corner. Had no one ever taken the time to teach Mr. Darcy manners? Likely not, as people seemed only to fawn over him and he to take it as his due. “That is unk
ind, even if it is true. Either don’t talk to her while you dance or try to fill her head with something less silly. Or just be kind.”

  “Kind?”

  Elizabeth set her lips in a firm line. “Talk to her about the weather, compliment her on her dress, ask her how she liked traveling to Rosings. Kind.”

  ***

  Darcy looked down at Elizabeth, marveling at her beauty. It was no wonder she’d had a partner for every dance. The dress Anne bought her fit her with precision, the light blue color emphasizing her luminous complexion. Not that she needed a fashionable dress to make her beautiful. Her loosely curled tresses gleamed. Her eyes, flashing with annoyance, beguiled. There was nothing about her that wasn’t perfect. If she wished him to dance with Maria Lucas, if that was what would make her happy, then he would do it.

  Darcy danced with Maria Lucas the next dance. They spoke little, making it not as much of a hardship as he’d feared. The smile Elizabeth rewarded him with was dazzling. He then selected a wallflower at random and danced with her. Elizabeth rewarded him with a second dance, her happiness making every moment spent with the two dull young ladies worthwhile. It wasn’t proper to dance with Elizabeth a third time, but he danced with several more wallflowers, just to see her smile.

  On the carriage ride back to Netherfield he and Richard, predictably, were maneuvered into riding with Mr. and Mrs. Hurst. The journey down the drive away from Lucas Lodge was slow, for they were in a line of carriages. Darcy felt no need to speak. He imagined Richard and Mr. Hurst felt the same. Mrs. Hurst, apparently oblivious to the late hour, kept up a critical monologue about the party. Darcy hoped no one outside their carriage was in a position to hear her.

  He certainly wasn’t hearing her, though he was trapped inside the carriage with her. He couldn’t have focused on Mrs. Hurst’s chatter if he’d tried. His mind roamed over Elizabeth’s words. Was he selfish in wanting only to please the people he cared about or thought well of? Was there any purpose in pleasing people who meant nothing to him? Yet, he’d been attending a party in Sir William Lucas’s home. He should try to please him and other members of his household. Maybe that even applied to other guests. Maybe Elizabeth was right.

  He frowned, picturing her. He enjoyed remembering her smiles, but something troubled him. Not when she laughed or was happy, but in the brief moments of repose he’d glimpsed throughout the night. She seemed troubled, when she wasn’t engaged, as if something unpleasant lingered in her thoughts. He resolved to find out what it was, and to fix it.

  “. . . same dress she wore to Lady Agatha’s?” Mrs. Hurst said, breaking into Darcy’s thoughts.

  Mr. Hurst grunted, mumbling something in reply. Darcy was relatively sure he was asleep.

  “I’m sure it was. She obviously doesn’t realize how pathetic it makes her look to wear it again in front of all of the same people, mere days later. One would think she’d be embarrassed to be seen in it again so soon. It’s dreadfully clear she has only the one suitable gown. Of course, she likely has nothing else even remotely stylish. Possibly she thought everyone would be too busy ogling her assets to realize it was the same dress.” Her face took on a particularly nasty look. “Or maybe whoever bought it for her was there and she owed it to that person to wear it. We all know her father can’t have paid for a dress like that.”

  “Anne bought it for her, to replace one Aunt Catherine’s footman spilled wine on at dinner,” Richard snapped.

  Darcy looked over to see his cousin glaring at Mrs. Hurst.

  “Really, Luisa,” Mr. Hurst muttered.

  “Well, I didn’t know. How could I?” She sniffed. “It still doesn’t excuse her wearing it to two events in a row.”

  Darcy turned his gaze out the window, pleased they were moving now. He wished he’d the right to buy Elizabeth dresses. If he could ever persuade her to become his wife, he would make sure she was dressed finer than Mrs. Hurst or Miss Bingley. Maybe he should suggest that Anne purchase Elizabeth another gown?

  His mind, back on Elizabeth, wandered to something more she’d said; that she didn’t need any man to dance with her to know her self-worth. He supposed it was true. That was part of her allure. She didn’t need fancy dresses, either, but someday he would see she had them anyhow.

  What, he wondered, must it be like for women who didn’t have Elizabeth’s confidence? Ones to whom it truly mattered what they wore, or who danced with them. What would it be like for a woman who wanted to dance but wasn’t asked? He was aware of these women as being somehow less important and less liked than other women. Did they see themselves that way? Elizabeth had said they dwelled in a state of misery. He’d assumed she was exaggerating but, thinking about it, it seemed likely that every dance they sat out could be agonizingly embarrassing. Should a woman be judged by the fact that no available man understood her worth?

  Darcy frowned, feeling uncertain in this new world of thought Elizabeth had thrust upon him. He didn’t like being uncomfortable, and the knowledge she’d imparted made him so. Yet, oddly, it seemed necessary. Should he really go through life with so imperfect an understanding of half the people around him?

  It occurred to him he’d been wiser than he’d realized when he’d fallen in love with Elizabeth. She had the characteristic Bingley most valued. She would criticize Darcy when he needed to be criticized.

  Chapter Seventeen

  To Elizabeth’s amusement, everyone in the neighborhood who had an eligible daughter and a pianoforte began to hold parties, which somehow always turned into impromptu dances. The daughter of the house would play, sometimes exhibiting very little skill, and be rewarded by a dance with the Earl of Matlock. Elizabeth enjoyed the events for more than their comedic value, for she danced with Mr. Darcy twice at each party. For his part, Mr. Darcy seemed to have taken her words to heart, dancing most every dance, usually with women who had trouble finding partners.

  The only one not pleased with the abundance of parties was Mrs. Bennet. Elizabeth would have added that to her list of absurdities, but she couldn’t find it as amusing as she would like. This was mostly due to the ongoing complaints to be endured. By the time the parties had been going on for weeks, Mrs. Bennet’s complaints would begin at breakfast, extend the length of the day, and carry on into the night.

  “What is Mr. Bingley doing?” Mrs. Bennet said from where she reclined on a sofa in the parlor, one arm draped over her eyes. “He dances with Jane, but he also dances with Elizabeth and sometimes Lydia, Kitty, and even Mary. Why can’t he make up his mind? Maybe he’s deferring to the Earl of Matlock. Perhaps he wants Jane. He’s unwed, after all, and Jane is the one everyone should want to marry.”

  “I don’t believe that’s the case, Mama,” Jane murmured.

  Jane was winding a ball of yard, the loose end of which Elizabeth held wrapped about her extended hands. Kitty and Lydia were at the table, making a pretense of playing cards. Their father sat in his favorite chair, a small stack of letters at his elbow, one held firmly before his face, deterring conversing with him. Mary, nearby, mimicked him with a book.

  “Why is that not the case, I ask you? Each time Colonel Fitzwilliam comes to walk with you, Lord Henry comes as well. You’ve no right to say you won’t attract an earl. It’s your duty to your family to do so.”

  “I daresay the earl is simply looking for amusements,” Elizabeth offered. “He’s always about the neighborhood, from what I hear.”

  “He has the most amazing stallion,” Lydia said.

  Kitty giggled.

  “What could that possibly have to do with his liking Jane?” Mary asked, looking over the top of her book.

  “Nothing. I just like the earl’s stallion.” Lydia tossed her curls at Mary. “Sometimes he lets me ride it.”

  Kitty let out another giggle, then devolved into coughing.

  “Don’t cough, Kitty, it’s unbecoming,” Mrs. Bennet said. “I don’t know what these gentlemen are thinking. None of them will settle. They dance with every miss at every
party. Even Mr. Darcy, and twice always with Lizzy. Mrs. Phillips tells me rumor has it he’s courting you, Lizzy, but I know that for the foolishness it is. We all know he doesn’t even find you pretty. Not that he seems to have any judgement in that regard. Why, he even danced with Mrs. Long’s nieces. Hideous little things.”

  “Mama.” Jane’s tone was sharp with reprimand.

  “What? They can’t hear me. They aren’t here. Not that they shouldn’t know it. It would do them good to understand they’re nothing to look at. Look how it helps Mary. She knows she must read and play and philosophize to attempt to attract a man, because she surly won’t with her looks.”

  “Mama,” Elizabeth and Jane cried in unison.

  “Mr. Darcy, Colonel Fitzwilliam and Lord Henry all often partner Mary,” Jane added. “She is perfectly lovely.”

  “I don’t think it is much of a distinction to dance with any of the three. Even Lord Henry,” Mary said. “He danced with a governess who tried to refuse him and with Mrs. Long, who usually doesn’t dance at all.”

  “And you can see why,” Mrs. Bennet said. “She was a great oaf. I shouldn’t embarrass myself like that, no matter if an earl asked me. Dancing indeed. At her age.”

  “I don’t care who the earl dances with, just so long as he stays here,” Lydia said. “We’ve never had so much dancing. I wish the regiment wasn’t leaving so soon. Although, Matlock is as fun to dance with as any officer. You wouldn’t think someone that old would be that good a dancer. And he’s an earl. I’ve never danced with an earl before.”

  “Yes, it is certainly a distinction to dance with an earl,” Mrs. Bennet said. She peered under her arm to glare at Mary. “A distinction someone of your looks is due, Lydia. I just wish that Miss de Bourgh wasn’t at Netherfield. No one can compete with an heiress. I don’t know that I care for her one bit.”

  “If you don’t care for Miss de Bourgh, it’s a shame she’s written,” Mr. Bennet said behind his letter.