Mr. Darcy Came to Dinner

by Jack Caldwell

  His dilemma was that this standard was met in almost every particular by Miss Elizabeth. If only she were the secret child of a viscount!

  Instead, the object of his admiration was the second of five daughters born to a modest, country gentleman and the ill-tempered, silly daughter of a tradesman. Miss Elizabeth’s condition in life was bad enough, but the behavior of her siblings, parents, and relations was intolerable. They were either bookish snobs who apparently lacked the wit to comprehend what they were reading, vainglorious gossips who forever disparaged their neighbors without tending to their own faults, or empty-headed fools. How did two superior ladies — Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth — emerge from this unfortunate situation?

  Perhaps they were foundlings from a dead baron? If only Darcy and Bingley could be so lucky!

  Bingley’s recent preference was another problem. If Miss Elizabeth was unsuitable for him, Miss Bennet was almost as unpalatable for his friend. Bingley was trying to establish himself as a gentleman. For all of Jane Bennet’s loveliness, she could do nothing for Bingley in that matter.

  True, Bingley’s quest for acceptance by the ton was half-hearted at best. Darcy knew his friend would be happy living as an obscure, country squire but only if he was happy in his marriage. Bingley was a generous, cheerful, and trusting man, just the sort to attach himself to a pretty face that hid a cold heart. If Miss Bennet was genuine in her admiration of Bingley, Darcy would raise no complaint, save to make sure Bingley knew what he was about. He had seen his friend in love before. Miss Bennet was an enigma, however. She accepted Bingley’s attentions with pleasure, but Darcy could see no special regard in her interactions with him. Would Darcy have to save his friend again?

  Tonight Darcy was to suffer the company of Miss Elizabeth and her family. To bear the pain of intercourse with the foolish Bennets while trying to withstand the allure of Miss Elizabeth’s charms and attempting to digest what was sure to be an unappetizing meal was certain to be shear torture. Mr. Collins’s attendance would surely only add to his misery. Darcy expected his rebuke was sufficient and that the fool would not again mention Lady Catherine’s fantasy of an engagement, but Darcy was certain that there was no end to the parson’s insipid conversation; Darcy’s aunt would have no other type of man as her vicar. Furthermore, there would be no escape once the Netherfield party returned home. Miss Bingley was certain to rail incessantly about the unsuitability of the Bennets.

  If things were not bad enough, Wickham was in town! What is that reprobate doing here? Was Wickham following him? Oh, Darcy knew he should have listened to his cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam and let Georgiana’s other guardian deal with his sister’s erstwhile suitor. If he had, Wickham would have been fortunate to survive, but he would have to deal with being so disfigured that cows would scream at his approach.

  A headache was to be his reward that night; he was sure of it. He would tell his valet, Bartholomew, to prepare some white willow bark for a nightcap.

  His musings were broken by the realization that it was growing dark. Blast! He had ridden too long. He needed to hurry to Longbourn, or he would be behind his time. He was justifiably proud of his attention to promptness; it would not do to be late.

  Darcy looked about, got his bearings, and spurred the hired horse towards Longbourn.

  * * *

  Elizabeth walked out of the garden of her home, her cat, Cassandra, in her arms, and wondered whether wishing her mother ill was a sign that she was a bad daughter.

  Normally, Mrs. Bennet would be nervous about a dinner party. For all of her defects, the mistress of Longbourn was celebrated as a gracious hostess. It was a reputation difficult to achieve and one she was jealous to maintain, particularly as Mr. Bingley was to come to dine. Therefore, Mrs. Bennet’s efforts and exclamations of calamity were redoubled, for Mr. Collins was to be impressed, as well. According to Elizabeth’s mother, this dinner might mean the difference between having two daughters comfortably married and starving in the hedgerows.

  Elizabeth sought quiet and received permission from a relieved Mrs. Bennet to step outside. Her mother would not have been as happy to know her daughter had retrieved her pet. The ginger-colored cat was tolerated because the girls loved her, and Mr. Bennet loved peace — peace that would be broken by the wails of the girls should the furry beast be sent away. Cassandra was an agreeable creature, at least for the girls, Mr. Bennet knew, and Elizabeth was his favorite daughter. So Mrs. Bennet’s protests fell on unhearing ears, and Cassandra was firmly established at Longbourn.

  Elizabeth strolled about the lane in front of the house in a thoughtful haze, her mind wondering over the events in Meryton while her hand stroked the purring feline. Mr. Wickham was declaimed by all of the Bennet girls as a handsome and agreeable man, and even Mr. Collins said some words of praise for the new lieutenant — three times as many words as necessary for the compliment. Mr. Darcy was known to be a prideful and disagreeable man, but the look on his face when he encountered Mr. Wickham was far above the disdain she would expect from the haughty gentleman. It seemed more akin to rage, disgust, and even hatred. Fear marked Mr. Wickham’s countenance, as well as something else — something Elizabeth could not quite identify. She hoped to learn more from Mr. Wickham on the morrow at the Philipses’. She felt she would learn nothing that night from the silent and taciturn Mr. Darcy.

  She wondered why Mr. Darcy was so angry at Mr. Collins’s declaration of his engagement to Miss de Bourgh. While the gentleman gave no indication he was betrothed, that was not an unusual occurrence. Certainly it was nobody’s business in Meryton as to Mr. Darcy’s eligibility. But his disapproval of the words of Lizzy’s foolish cousin seemed disproportionate to the offence. Did Lady Catherine de Bourgh disapprove of the match? Certainly, if Miss de Bourgh was anything like Mr. Collins’s flowery description, Elizabeth could understand a loving mother’s reluctance to unite a daughter for life with as unpleasant a man as Mr. Darcy, no matter what his income.

  Elizabeth allowed a small chuckle to escape her lips. Mr. Darcy’s set-down of Mr. Collins was very apt even if the recipient was ignorant of it. Only the manners drilled into her from birth prevented Elizabeth from saying the same to her oblivious cousin.

  Elizabeth shuddered, an action that disrupted Cassandra’s contentment. She knew that her mother was set on her becoming Mrs. Collins and the next mistress of Longbourn. While confident that her father would support her certain refusal of any proposal from Mr. Collins, she knew the lamentations from Mrs. Bennet would be great indeed and painful to hear. She would much rather not deal with the issue at all, but nothing Elizabeth did discouraged Mr. Collins in any meaningful way. She feared that the man’s stupidity would lead inevitably to scenes unpleasant to more than one person.

  Elizabeth’s fine, plump lips tightened. There must be a way to put Mr. Collins off! She set her mind on the problem at the cost of her comprehension of all else. That was why she did not hear the beat of hooves until the horse was around the bend of the road.

  Startled, she loosened her grip on Cassandra, and to her horror, the cat ran towards the path of the large brown stallion as its rider cried out, pulling hard on the reins. Stopping in the middle of the road, the cat arched its back and hissed before jumping away. This action was enough to cause the horse to turn and rear, and the next thing Elizabeth knew, the rider was on the ground, flat on his back, gripping his leg and screaming in pain, the horse dashing through the meadow.

  Elizabeth’s heart was in her mouth. “MR. DARCY!”

  Mr. Darcy turned his agonized face to her, and Elizabeth was frightened to see that he had gashed his forehead in the fall. “Miss . . . Miss Elizabeth,” he gasped, “I am afraid I require assistance.” He winced and cursed, his head falling back into the dirt and dust.

  Instantly, Elizabeth took to her heels and dashed inside Longbourn. Within moments, she had raised the house and returned with her parents, sisters, and Mrs. Hill, bearing cloths. Mr. Hill was dispatched without delay to
Meryton to fetch Mr. Jones, the apothecary. The older ladies comforted Mr. Darcy and saw to his head wound while the others stood about in degrees of shock or amusement. Never before had Elizabeth dearly wanted to throttle her two youngest sisters.

  Elizabeth was proud of her mother, however. Silly she might be, but Frances Bennet knew her remedies and, in the face of this calamity, showed great fortitude. The last time influenza visited Meryton proved that. Elizabeth expected this sensibility was only temporary, and once the immediate crisis was handled, her mother would give free rein to her baser particulars, and her nerves would run wild.

  Her father, however, was a disappointment. Concerned as he was over the accident, he did little to correct Lydia or Kitty besides a weak admonishment. It fell to steady Jane to quietly scold the youngest Bennets. Mary did little more than stare.

  Mr. Collins was a trial. He stood, wringing his hands, intermittently praying to the Almighty to save his worthy servant, Mr. Darcy, when he was not agonizing over what this disaster would do to the affectionate feelings of Lady Catherine de Bourgh. Elizabeth could see that Mr. Darcy was aware of his surroundings, for when not grimacing in pain, he was glaring at Mr. Collins.

  “Would someone please silence that imbecile?” Mr. Darcy finally managed.

  Lydia and Kitty laughed aloud, and Lizzy almost joined them. It was a shame she did not like Mr. Darcy, otherwise she would have admired him for saying what they were all thinking.

  Mr. Bennet finally took it upon himself to speak to his cousin, and just then, the carriage from Netherfield came into view. Mr. Bingley was out of the vehicle before it came to a stop and dashed to his houseguest’s side, Miss Bingley and the Hursts close behind.

  “My God!” cried Mr. Bingley. “What has happened? Darcy — Darcy, are you well?”

  Mr. Darcy pushed away Mrs. Bennet’s attentions to his forehead. “Must you yell, Bingley?”

  Miss Bingley was quite overcome. “Oh, Mr. Darcy! Good lord! Someone fetch a physician — this instant! Mr. Darcy, I — ”

  Elizabeth saw Miss Bingley’s eyes go wide, and she turned to see what had paled the lady’s complexion so completely. All she could see was Mr. Darcy, trying to prop himself up by one elbow, the wound on his forehead once again bleeding freely, as such injuries are wont to do.

  The next instant there was the sound of a body crumpling to the road as Miss Bingley fainted dead away.

  “Oh, bother! Now I have two people to care for,” grumbled Mr. Bennet. “Come, gentlemen, let us bring them inside.”

  It was not a good day for Mr. Bennet.

  Chapter 2

  Miss Bingley was brought into the house by her brothers, and as Mr. Bennet was considered too old and Mr. Collins too nervous to perform the same service for Darcy, two coachmen were commandeered for the task. Mrs. Bennet pointed at the parlor as she led the way upstairs to a room for Miss Bingley.

  “Put Mr. Darcy in there. The room is quite warm as the windows are full west.”

  Mrs. Hurst followed the parade upstairs, and Miss Elizabeth and Miss Bennet accompanied their father into the parlor. The other Miss Bennets gathered at the door while Mr. Collins volunteered to stand watch outside for the apothecary.

  The men laid the gentleman on the couch as gently as they could. Darcy endeavored to act the gentleman; he had not uttered a sound during his transport save a grunt that escaped his lips when first lifted. By the time the party reached its destination, Darcy’s face was damp with pain and aggravation. Mrs. Hill shooed the men away as she again tended to Darcy’s injured forehead.

  “There, there, dearie,” the housekeeper said in the same soft tone that she had used years ago when caring for the girls when ill. “All will be right soon. Mr. Jones will be here in two shakes.”

  Darcy thought himself a man and such ministrations childish. He tried to halt Mrs. Hill’s attentions. “I . . . I thank you, but that is not necessary.” The weakness in his voice belied his words.

  Mrs. Hill looked to Mr. Bennet. “I expect he could use something for the pain, sir,” she said with a nod of her head towards the door. The action roused her employer from a bemused observance.

  “Jane,” he said, “please fetch a bottle of brandy from my book room.” The lady turned, made her way through a gaggle of sisters, and was only a minute in returning with a bottle.

  Mr. Bennet groaned softly. “Not my good Cognac! Another bottle, my dear.” His words were soft, meant only for his daughter, but in the quiet of the room, every syllable was overhead by all, including Darcy. Lydia and Kitty found this hilarious, and Darcy saw that Miss Elizabeth blushed in mortification.

  An acceptable brandy was soon acquired, and Darcy consumed the first glass quickly. Mr. Bennet poured a refill and enquired how the accident happened. Darcy glanced at a beet-red Miss Elizabeth.

  “I was riding to Longbourn, and as I was slightly behind my time, I took the turn in the road rather quickly. I must have startled some animal. I had a glimpse of something furry in the road. Whatever it was, it frightened the horse, and I was thrown.”

  “You fell off your horse?” Mr. Bennet said in a voice that could have been kinder. “How extraordinary! Elizabeth, did you see what terrifying animal caused Mr. Darcy to be unhorsed?”

  Darcy was taken aback at the older man’s sarcasm. For her part, Miss Elizabeth seemed embarrassed as she said, “It was Cassandra.”

  “Indeed?” cried Mr. Bennet to the sound of Miss Lydia’s and Miss Kitty’s renewed giggles. “It seems the family cat almost did you in, Mr. Darcy!”

  Darcy was angry. What sort of gentleman mocks another’s misfortune? He wanted to lash out at the old fool but refrained in deference to Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth and settled for a dry, “How amusing,” before drinking his brandy, his intense stare fully on Miss Elizabeth.

  “Cassandra is very gentle. I am sure she was frightened out of her wits!” was Miss Elizabeth’s defensive reply. “Such a big horse you ride, sir!”

  Mr. Darcy winced as he shifted on the couch. “My apologies, Miss Elizabeth, for frightening your cat.” He tried his best to keep sarcasm from creeping into his voice. He did not blame Miss Elizabeth for the mishap and hoped the girl would understand and have pity on him.

  Miss Bennet, ever the peacemaker, now broke in. “We are so sorry for your misfortune, sir. Are you in very great discomfort?”

  Finally some kindness! “Thank you, Miss Bennet. Do not concern yourself. The pain is tolerable.” Mr. Darcy’s eyes darted to Elizabeth’s at the last word, his mouth twitched into a painful grin. Surely the lady would understand the apology in his joke. The target of his attention and admiration did widen her eyes, and Darcy thought himself clever.

  During this time, Mrs. Hill gently lowered the stocking on Darcy’s left leg. “The skin is not broken, sir, and there’s no blood, but I cannot like the coloring. It’ll be black-and-blue by morning, sure as I’m born.”

  Just then there was a noise from the front of the house. “Make way! Make way, I say! The apothecary is here! Gentle cousins, make way!” The girls parted, and Mr. Collins burst into the room, followed by Mr. Hill and a third man, carrying a black bag.

  “Oh, my esteemed Mr. Darcy, here is deliverance! Here is care!” cried Mr. Collins, who turned to the third man. “Make haste, sir! Make haste!”

  The gentleman, middle-aged and rather portly, walked directly up to Darcy. “Mr. Jones, the apothecary of Meryton, at your service. May I know your name, sir?”

  “I am Mr. Darcy. Thank you for coming so quickly.” Darcy hoped the man knew his business but held no real hope. He knew he had to get word to his personal physician in Town.

  “No trouble at all,” said the apothecary. “I understand you suffered a fall from a horse?” He glanced backward as the young Bennet girls snickered again.

  “It is my leg, sir.” Darcy knew the niceties had to be followed. “Tell me, is Miss Bingley well?”

  Mr. Jones had begun to examine his leg and glanced up at the question.
“I beg your pardon, sir?”

  Mr. Darcy sighed. Was the man witless? “Miss Bingley — the lady who swooned. Is she well?”

  Mr. Jones stood. “I know nothing of any lady. Is someone else ill?”

  Darcy gaped. Did no one tell the apothecary that a lady was in distress? Darcy had learned well many lessons from his father and family, and chief among those was that a lady’s comfort always came first. His earliest memories were those of his honored father taking the gentlest care of his beloved mother, who often suffered from some malady or another. Mr. Darcy had hardly left his wife’s side during her last decline and grieved her until the day he joined her in heaven. An indelible impact had been made on Darcy. Miss Bingley might be the disagreeable sister of a dear friend, but she deserved all the respect and deference due a lady of quality.

  Miss Bennet stepped forward. “Yes. Another of our guests, Miss Bingley, fainted. She is upstairs.”

  “Oh, do not concern yourself about that!” Mr. Collins cried. “This is Mr. Darcy of Pemberley in Derbyshire!”

  “Oh, I see.” Mr. Jones turned to Darcy. “Am I supposed to know you, sir?”

  Mr. Collins bristled. “My good man, this is the honored nephew of the esteemed Lady Catherine de Bourgh!”

  Darcy stirred himself to growl, “Enough! Mr. Jones, please see to Miss Bingley. I can wait.”

  “Mr. Darcy, I must protest!”

  “You may do so, Collins, so long as it is outside this room. Be gone with you.” Darcy sipped from his refilled brandy glass, allowing the alcohol to loosen his tongue. He had had enough of the pompous parson. For his part, Collins blanched before fleeing the room.

  “Sir,” Mr. Jones objected, “your leg looks to be seriously injured, and you have a gash on your — ”

  “And I have full use of my wits,” Darcy cut in roughly. Was anyone in Hertfordshire capable of taking instruction? “I am a gentleman, sir. You will see to Miss Bingley first! Do I make myself clear?”