Elizabeth smiled. Her cousin was such a dear eccentric. Only Emma Woodhouse could describe love as a hunter intent on tiptoeing up behind its prey and somehow make it seem an amiable idea.
Just then, Charlotte Lucas entered the retiring room.
“Dear Charlotte,” Elizabeth said, “this is my cousin, Miss Emma Woodhouse, come to stay.”
Emma very prettily curtsied. Charlotte said, “Miss Woodhouse! I am so pleased to make your acquaintance. Elizabeth always speaks of you and I have been delighted many a time to hear of Hartfield and all of its inhabitants. I trust Mr. Woodhouse is well?”
Elizabeth smiled. Charlotte always knew how to make herself agreeable and there could not be a better way to make oneself agreeable to Emma Woodhouse than ask after her father.
“Miss Lucas,” Emma said, “my father is very well, I have left him in capable hands. And it is not only you who have heard of me, Lizzy so often speaks of her dearest friend Miss Lucas.”
Charlotte smiled and went to the drawer containing the pins. “I’ve had a seam come loose,” she said.
“Dear Miss Lucas,” Emma said, “allow me to help you pin it.”
“I think,” Elizabeth said, delighted to see her cousin and her friend together in one room, “we should be on very intimate terms going forward. Might you not call each other by your given names?”
“That would suit me very well,” Emma said, all enthusiasm.
“I, too,” Charlotte said.
“Now, Charlotte,” Emma said in a confidential tone as she expertly pinned the seam, “are you wishing to be married very soon?”
For a moment, Charlotte Lucas appeared shocked by the forward question. Then she laughed. “Oh, Emma, I had quite forgotten. Lizzy has mentioned your penchant for matchmaking. I will only say that it is natural that any lady might wish to be married.”
“Others have told me the same,” Emma said, “though I do not wish it for myself. But then, I am the mistress of Hartfield and could never bear to leave my father. I am glad you do not share my views, as I do so like to see ladies settled who do not have as amiable a situation as I have.”
Charlotte had no answer for that and remained only smiling.
“Well, Lizzy? Charlotte?” Emma said, taking them both by the hand. “Let us go and discover what the future holds for both of you.”
Darcy took every precaution to keep his expression neutral. The assembly was just as ghastly as he had feared it would be. Bingley did not seem to note it and was all smiles across the room. How could his friend not see what he had involved them in?
Darcy had scanned the room and only noted three ladies of any consequence. Sir William, far too attentive to the direction of his gaze, had instantly informed him that the ladies were the two eldest Bennets and their cousin, Miss Woodhouse.
Since he’d already been introduced to three of the Bennets, and their rather loud mother, he began to wonder about exactly how many Bennets there were.
He hoped there were not many more. It was true that the eldest Miss Bennet was the beauty of the ball, and her sister Miss Elizabeth Bennet had an engaging and lively countenance, but that could not make up for the others. Mrs. Bennet had fairly dragged her husband and three daughters to him for an introduction. Lydia Bennet had a boldness about her that he could not admire. Mary Bennet had inquired if he did not think balls would be better used for talking of weighty subjects, which he certainly did not. He was engaged to dance with Miss Katherine Bennet, though he hardly knew how. It had seemed to him that she had practically thrust her dance card in his hand!
Bingley had described Mr. Bennet as a genial man full of good sense. He appeared so, but how to explain the conduct of his daughters? Were it his own children, Darcy would have been mortified, but Mr. Bennet only appeared amused. It was unaccountable.
As for Bingley’s sister, Caroline was just now surrounded by officers of the local regiment. Darcy could not comprehend why, since she spoke to them as if they were servants. He supposed she was an interesting counterpoint in her blue silk, among the sea of white muslin.
Across the room, Bingley stood with the master of ceremonies. Miss Bennet, Miss Elizabeth Bennet and Miss Woodhouse were by his side. At least his friend displayed a modicum of discernment in who he spoke to.
Bingley began to wave him over and Darcy cursed himself for not turning away before he noted it.
He had no choice but to go. He soothed himself by thinking it might be for the best. Bingley had made him swear he would dance and the ladies his friend just now stood with were the only ladies worthy of any notice. Were he to stand here alone much longer, another Miss Katherine Bennet sort of person might shove her dance card into his hands.
Elizabeth curtsied. She had already been introduced to Mr. Bingley, who was just as affable as Sir William had described. Mr. Bingley approved of Netherfield, the neighborhood, and everybody in it. Now, here had come his serious friend who rather looked as though he attended a funeral.
The master of ceremonies, a rather bombastic individual named Mr. Neville, made the introductions with all the flourishes and embellishments he was so well known for.
Elizabeth bit her lip to stop from laughing.
“Miss Bennet, Miss Bennet, Miss Woodhouse,” Mr. Darcy said solemnly.
“Mr. Darcy,” they answered in unison.
“Might I request the honor of adding my name to your cards?” Mr. Darcy asked.
Elizabeth handed her card to Mr. Darcy, though she noted he looked as pained as if he’d just said, ‘I shall now set myself on fire.’
Elizabeth received her card back and saw that Mr. Darcy had taken the dance preceding the supper. Heavens. She must ready herself to not only make small conversation during the dance, but afterward as well. She guessed it would be hard work, as Mr. Darcy did not seem a voluble sort of person. At least he was handsome, and she would presume he danced well. A gentleman who wore an expression as serious as his would not risk appearing the fool on a ballroom floor or anywhere else.
The party was silent for some moments. Bingley grinned wildly, an expression Elizabeth knew all too well—it was of a gentleman wishing to please and having had his thoughts depart him like birds taking flight. Mr. Darcy seemed not so affected.
“It is a pleasant evening,” Mr. Darcy said.
“Indeed,” Mr. Bingley said with some relief, “very pleasant.”
“Ah!” Mr. Neville cried. “I am just now called to Mrs. Mallory. It will not at all surprise me if she wishes her charming daughter, Miss Emily Mallory, introduced to our esteemed guests, Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley.”
With that, Mr. Neville executed a bow fit for the King and hurried off.
More silence descended upon the party and poor Mr. Bingley’s face bloomed red.
To the ladies, Mr. Darcy said, “Do you travel often to town?”
Emma said, “Dear me, no. My sister tells me it is a busy sort of place. I cannot like the idea of so many people living so close together. It is just as well, as I know my father would not like it.”
Mr. Darcy turned to Elizabeth enquiringly.
“Jane and I do go to town from time to time,” Elizabeth said. “My Aunt and Uncle Gardiner live there. Unlike Emma, I find crowds rather invigorating.”
“Invigorating!” Mr. Bingley said. “Yes, that is what I think.”
“Where do they keep their house?” Mr. Darcy said. “I am on Belgrave Square.”
Elizabeth felt herself flush. Though she would not admit there was a thing wrong with Gracechurch Street, she could not help but understand that a gentleman as rich as Mr. Darcy had never set foot in that area of London.
As always when she felt any hint of embarrassment, Elizabeth’s backbone rose up to support her. “They are on Gracechurch Street, Mr. Darcy. I very much doubt you have been to the neighborhood. My uncle is in trade.”
Mr. Darcy flushed the faintest pink.
The musicians began to tune their instruments, thereby foregoing the necessity fo
r further conversation.
While Elizabeth waited for the officer who had claimed her first, Mr. Darcy bowed, turned on his heel and strode off. She watched with some interest to see who he claimed for the opening of the ball, and then watched with surprise as he let himself onto a balcony behind the stand of musicians.
Mr. Darcy was a rather strange sort of person.
Darcy breathed in the cool night air. He was not often embarrassed, but he’d felt the telltale flush while conversing with Miss Bennet. He had presumed that any aunt and uncle of hers would be gentle and had noted her consternation when conveying their address and the fact that her uncle was in trade. Worse, he’d taken the dance before supper with Miss Bennet so there would be no escaping further conversation. Why had he taken that particular dance?
He had offended her, though it was unconsciously done, and would spend an uncomfortable supper in her company. Still, it was not his fault that the Bennet’s relatives were in trade. How was he to know it?
He should not have taken the dance before supper, that was all there was to it. Though Darcy had promised Bingley that he would dance, he’d had no intention of taking the first, or the dance before supper, or worse, two dances, from any lady present. He would sit out when necessary by slipping away to the balcony. It would not do to take even the smallest notice of any lady in particular.
His time in London had schooled him well. The faintest hint of interest in a lady had been tracked as closely as a cunning farmer follows tracks to a fox’s den. Once he was under scrutiny, every glance he made was duly noted, no doubt to be discussed in the lady’s drawing room the following day. Mothers who did not retreat into card rooms were the most dangerous sort of people—their hawk eyes followed his every movement. He’d had countless rumours go round about him, all of them baseless. The latest had been that he’d paid particular attention to Lady Margaret, when all he’d done was hold a door open for her, take one dance and engage in a very short conversation about hunting dogs.
And yet now, somehow, he’d put down the dance before supper on Miss Elizabeth Bennet’s card.
He supposed it was her lively features that had made him forget his precept. She did have the most remarkable eyes—bright and intelligent. On first glance, it might appear that Miss Jane Bennet was the beauty, and she was in the classic sense. But Miss Jane Bennet appeared rather passive to his eyes, while Miss Elizabeth Bennet had some sort of spark. A refined, engaging spark, not at all like the boldness of a Lydia Bennet.
The difference between Jane Bennet and Elizabeth Bennet was very much like the talked-of rivalry between Lady Violet Crimpleton and Miss Marjorie Milleston. Lady Violet was a classic beauty, her features could have been ripped from the pages of a book on the Romans. Miss Milleston, on the other hand, was rather short and had a funny upturned nose with a sprinkling of freckles.
Lord Dunston had paid both ladies marked attention and it had been almost laughable that Miss Milleston would set herself up against Lady Violet. And yet, it had been Miss Milleston who accepted Lord Dunston’s proposal and become the next countess. It was said the lady’s spirits bewitched Lord Dunston and he remained delighted with his choice. As interesting as Miss Milleston was, Darcy had remained perplexed over it; he could only think of what Lord Dunston’s departed father would have made of the match.
As the music indoors ended, Darcy shook himself back to the present. He had managed to hide out of doors for two dances, but now the third would come round and he must go in and find that ridiculous Katherine Bennet.
The Meryton assembly being a very local affair, it was run with perhaps less of an eye to formality and more of an eye toward comfort. After the second dance, there was a brief pause in which lemonade and Negus was distributed round the hall.
Elizabeth had often wished the habit away, as it seemed to be kindling to the fire of Lydia and Kitty’s worst behavior. Both sisters were prone to drinking more than they should and Mr. Neville’s frequent pauses for refreshment only exacerbated the problem.
She was just then observing Lydia, surrounded by officers and gleefully taking a cup off a tray, when Emma hurried to Elizabeth’s side.
“Well, Lizzy?” she said, breathless. “It is Mr. Bingley, is it not?”
“Dear Emma,” Elizabeth said, “I feel I should understand your cryptic question, and yet I do not.”
Emma tilted her head in that charming way of hers and said, “You willfully do not understand me, I am sure. I watched you dance with Mr. Bingley—all the signs of growing attachment are there! His temperament is so very like your own, you are both such merry people. And then, he did insist on dancing with you early in the evening.”
“Indeed,” Elizabeth said, laughing, “he did take an early dance. But, by that measure, it is Jane who has caught his eye, as he requested the first from her.”
Emma suddenly appeared deeply concerned. “Oh my dear Lizzy, no. Jane and Mr. Bingley are not at all suited. She is prone to be too calm of demeanor for somebody of Mr. Bingley’s temperament. I know you cannot see it, you are too familiar with Jane’s ways. But I can view things more clearly. Now, Mr. Darcy would suit her admirably. Yes. I am certain of it.”
Though Elizabeth found her cousin’s eccentricities charming, she began to grow alarmed with the conversation. She had always so enjoyed Emma’s letters describing her opinions and intrigues in promoting others’ courtships. However, finding herself the subject of such a project was beginning to feel a bit uncomfortable.
Mr. Neville approached and deeply bowed. “Miss Woodhouse, if you would be so kind, Mrs. Mallory and Miss Emily Mallory very much wish to make your acquaintance.”
Emma nodded politely. Before she left on the arm of Mr. Neville she whispered, “Think of what I’ve said, Lizzy. I am experienced in these matters.”
Elizabeth walked toward the ladies’ retiring room, as she had no wish to stand about drinking lemonade. Emma had commanded her to think of Mr. Bingley, but she thought she would not. Mr. Bingley was perfectly amiable, but that was the end of it. And Jane for Mr. Darcy? Her dear Jane and that over-serious fellow? Elizabeth found herself rather surprised that Emma had found such success in her matchmaking in the environs of Highbury. But then, in her own neighborhood, Emma would be so much better acquainted with the parties involved and that must account for her triumphs.
As she entered the retiring room, Elizabeth encountered Miss Bingley. It was not a particularly wished-for encounter, as she had met the lady earlier and found her rather stiff.
“Miss Eliza Bennet,” Miss Bingley said in her condescending tone.
“Miss Charity Bingley,” Elizabeth said cheerfully. “How do you find our little assembly?”
Miss Bingley examined herself in the glass and said, “It is Caroline. Naturally, this is not at all what I am used to, though I am never one to look down upon anybody’s idea of a ball. I only hope Mr. Darcy can view it in a more liberal manner than would be his habit.”
“I see,” Elizabeth said.
“You must understand that it is not at all an insult,” Miss Bingley went on. “You must not feel inferior. It is only that Mr. Darcy maintains rigid high standards. As the master of Pemberley, it is quite right he should.”
Miss Bingley smiled, a poison-sweet sort of smile, and swept out of the room.
Elizabeth knew she blushed furiously. If blushes carried any real heat, her hair would catch fire. Inferior, indeed.
As it was, her hair did not catch fire and she congratulated herself on her self-restraint in speaking to Miss Bingley. It was a quality she’d needed much practice to master. When she had been younger, she’d been in the habit of expressing every feeling of outrage in the most direct manner possible.
How extraordinary that Miss Bingley and Mr. Bingley should have sprung from the same family. They were as opposite ends of a sword—one polished smooth and the other a sharp point. Elizabeth supposed she shouldn’t wonder about it, considering the state of her own family.
In
any case, it was no matter. It was not for Elizabeth Bennet to be discomfited by a miss such as that. If Emily Mallory could not provoke her, with all her allusions to her large dowry compared to the Bennet’s sad lack of funds, Miss Bingley had little chance. Further, Elizabeth very much doubted that Miss Bingley could be so intimately acquainted with Mr. Darcy’s views on any subject. He did not seem the sort to go about espousing his opinions to all and sundry. He appeared too reserved for that. She would not hold Miss Bingley’s words against Mr. Darcy. It was Miss Bingley, herself, who meant to slight their society.
Now, she had best return to the dance. Mr. Claymore was on her card. He was an officer and never failed to amuse her with tales of mishaps in the regiment. At the last assembly, he had told her of the disastrous results of hiring an inexperienced laundress for the officers’ shirts. That enthusiastic lady had scrubbed them all so hard that seams unraveled and cuffs frayed. He reported that, with their coats off, they all looked to be on the brink of poverty.
It was well Elizabeth found Mr. Claymore’s anecdotes so diverting, else she’d be consumed with worry over the state of the military.
Chapter Three
The ballroom sounded loud to Elizabeth’s ears, as it always seemed to be after coming out of the quiet of the retiring room. Elizabeth stood some feet behind Mr. Darcy, not particularly wishing to come to his notice. She felt some sort of embarrassment, as if he could even now hear Miss Bingley’s very decided pronouncements of his views.
Instead, Elizabeth amused herself observing Emma as she conversed with Emily Mallory on the other side of the room. Miss Mallory appeared rather downcast and Elizabeth guessed she had somehow determined that Emma was not as poor as the Bennets. It never did suit Miss Mallory to find herself on equal footing. The lady was only happy playing her role of disingenuous regret at others being less fortunate than herself.
Cousin Emma Page 3