A Most Handsome Gentleman

by Suzan Lauder

  I rose on tiptoe to see for myself. “Oh, no! He is attempting to lure Jane to the supper dance, yet she has promised that set to Mr. Bingley. They are fighting over her again. Pardon me.”

  As I made my way to the argument, I was thwarted by Mr. Darcy collecting me for his dance. He appeared seemingly out of nowhere and made a formal bow before me. I craned my neck around him to catch a glimpse of the commotion. With a drawn brow of confusion, he followed my gaze. His lips were a thin line of disapproval when his attention was once again fixed upon me.

  “What are we to do?” I asked. “I do not want to draw attention to them, yet I hope to stop this foolishness at once.”

  “What do you think they argue over?”

  I gaped at him. “My sister! Jane! They both wish to court her. Mr. Bingley is clearly her preference, yet my cousin stubbornly refuses to give way.”

  “She prefers Bingley?”

  “Anyone with eyes can see that she does.”

  Mr. Darcy looked intently at them. “I can see no greater admiration towards any person. She smiles no matter with whom she converses.”

  “She is shy and does not want to expose her feelings for fear of being hurt. But observe her eyes—how they shine when she looks at Mr. Bingley. That tells the tale.”

  It was not the best time to say such a thing. Jane’s eyes were not shining at the moment. Instead, she was glaring at my cousin as if she wished him to burn up and disappear like a guttering candle.

  “Please excuse me.” I did not look at Mr. Darcy while I quickly curtseyed and dashed off in the direction of the altercation. I was not certain how he would take my abandonment of him for the promised dance. Goodness knows, I had seen the expression of disapproval on his face often enough, and to make matters worse, I could not expect to dance with him later in lieu of the delay. Mr. Darcy had indicated a propensity for implacable resentment, and this was one of the times I deserved it.

  My goal when I reached the disagreement was clear: find a way to separate my cousin from Jane and Mr. Bingley. Was this going to be an easy task? His handsome face was twisted into something unpleasant, and even so, he was still the most comely man in the room. Who could chastise a fellow so fine looking as to be admired by every lady present? Yet I no longer was charmed by his features since I had tried and failed to make him into a man whose character suited his good looks. No, he was not exactly a wolf in sheep’s clothing, but he was certainly a buffoon whose face and figure lied to the admirer, and his appearance made it easy to assume he was the perfect man. Too many ladies liked his looks so well that they overlooked his arrogance.

  Since attempting to change him had not worked, embarrassment was the sole option, and I grasped the opportunity.

  “Mr. Collins, shame on you! Whilst you speak to Mr. Bingley about gentlemen’s concerns, my friend stands waiting for the dance you promised.” Oh! I did not expect to be quite so breathless, and rather than giving the impression of authority, I came across as just another of the ladies who were already attempting to divert his attention away from Mr. Bingley.

  Yes, even as he argued over who was to dance next with my sister, he had a bevy of admirers commenting on his attire, his ability to dance, and his venerated patroness. Who was dancing if all these ladies were congregated on one side of the room? My perusal of the dance confirmed it. A crush such as this should have a few lines, yet only one scant line was busy making the forms. Miss Bingley was among them, and she did not seem pleased as she glared at the group of misses around my cousin. Or could it be jealousy that she was not with them instead?

  At the near end of the dance floor was Mr. Darcy, alone and staring at me with the most unusual expression. Dare I say he looked hurt? By appearances, I had chosen my cousin over him, but I would have supposed that his lack of esteem for one who is not tolerable enough to tempt him would allow him to overcome such feelings. Why was he not relieved or angry? No, he was upset and hurt. How did I know this? His handsome face was as stony as usual, but his eyes—yes, his eyes betrayed his true feelings. Those chocolate eyes were the path to see past his affected outward appearance to what lay within.

  In the meantime, my cousin rambled continuously about not wanting to hurt either Miss Bennet’s or Miss Lucas’s feelings, but how could he dance the same dance with both?

  “Cousin, with respect, you have forgotten. You danced a set with Jane already, and with so many ladies in want of a partner”—I waved towards his entourage—“you must share your dances amongst all of them.

  “I shall dance with you, Mr. Collins,” offered Lydia.

  My cousin rolled his eyes but said nothing in reply.

  “Lydia, dear, you must not offer to dance with a gentleman,” Jane rebuked gently. “You must wait until he asks.”

  “And he will not ask a childish ramp.” Mr. Collins spoke to himself as he gazed at the ceiling. Everyone gasped at his rudeness to my poor sister.

  “Oh! As I expected,” said Lydia. Though she was hurt, she spoke in her own dismissive and self-satisfied manner. “It is no detriment to my good humour. The officers will wish to dance with me.” She flounced off in the direction of red coats, and several young ladies followed her lead.

  “As I said, Cousin, you must request a set from other young ladies in such a crush. It is not appropriate for you to dance with Jane a second time so soon.” A murmur of approval went through the young ladies who remained as they crowded closer to Mr. Collins.

  “Mr. Bingley seems to think it appropriate to take her hand again.”

  “Mr. Bingley and Jane agreed to this dance a week ago. It happened before we knew so many ladies would wish to dance with you. Besides, is this not the set you saved for Charlotte?”

  “I wish to show my preference to Miss Bennet.”

  “Pray, Cousin, I beseech you, not tonight. The ladies are disappointed enough already.” Oh! My poor tongue hurt for biting it to spite myself for the statement, though it was no lie.

  Mr. Bingley followed my example to coerce my cousin into interest elsewhere. “I have danced with so many delightful ladies this evening, Collins. Really, I have never seen so many pretty girls in one room! You should enjoy each dance as I have!”

  My cousin would not allow either of us to convince him. “If you like them so much, you go dance with them, and I shall dance with Miss Bennet.”

  Jane spoke up in a clear attempt to calm my cousin. “Perhaps it is best if I sit out for the remainder of the evening. Then no one will be upset, and there will be two gentlemen available to partner the other ladies.”

  Mr. Bingley’s countenance fell so abruptly that it should have crashed. His face settled with brows lowered at the ends above puppy dog eyes and a protruding lower lip. The odd sense of familiarity with his expression bothered me; I almost laughed but stopped myself. Poor Mr. Bingley!

  Someone nudged me from behind. It was Mr. Darcy, just behind my shoulder. He gave a smug half-smile and rolled his eyes skyward before he leaned forward and whispered, “Do not be alarmed for Bingley. He is an accomplished manipulator and uses a looking glass to practise that expression. As the youngest child of older sisters, he has managed to get his way by making that face more often than I care to know. Your sister will become accustomed to it, much the same as I have. He no longer bothers me with such silliness.”

  No longer bothers him? How could one not be sad in light of Mr. Bingley’s mournful countenance? I remained facing the troubled threesome as I whispered back to Mr. Darcy. “Sir, I do not think the use of such an expression to manipulate others is a situation I would expect Jane to permit.”

  “Respectfully, Miss Bennet understands he is putting on an act.”

  “How can you know this?”

  “Observe her. Nothing has changed upon her countenance.”

  It was true. Jane remained calm and serene as she
regarded Mr. Bingley but seemed cross when she glanced at my cousin. What was she thinking? Even though I did not know Mr. Bingley well, my sister had a tendre for him yet did not appear affected by his hurt feelings. “But why? How?” I whispered to Mr. Darcy.

  “Miss Lydia.”

  Of course! That was why Mr. Bingley’s face was familiar and Jane understood what he was about.

  “My younger sister attempts it as well,” Mr. Darcy added, “though she is better at manipulating me than is Bingley.”

  Miss Darcy pouted to get her way with Mr. Darcy? But he was so austere! I would never have believed him to be easily moved by another’s display of emotions, yet a younger sister succeeded in finding sympathy within him.

  I glanced back, and he was smiling in much the same way as he had when I teased him whilst I stayed in this house before. My breath hitched. “Miss Elizabeth, your expression indicates your disbelief. You do not know my sister. Trust me—in this area, she is no different from Miss Lydia, and as her co-guardian with my cousin, I am not merely a brother but nearly a father figure. At times, when I must push her to do what she does not enjoy, she has learned that I am weak to her misery, so she feigns it in hope that I shall change my mind. It works far too often, and I pray I have not spoilt her.”

  If anything in the world would soften me to Mr. Darcy, it was the idea of his indulgence to a young sister. Of course, the appearance of his smile helped. That one made eleven smiles I had generated on his face, if I did not count the smug one. A smirk was not a real smile, and it was directed to Mr. Bingley anyway, not me.

  Mr. Darcy’s amusement faded and his eyes widened as he stared beyond my shoulder. I quickly looked towards my sister.

  Mr. Collins had made a face too, and Mr. Bingley’s lower lip was nothing to the perfect pout on the perfect lips of Mr. Collins’s perfect face. The way his cheeks were sucked in and his brows were poised made him more handsome than ever! How could that be?

  Jane cried out, “Oh, Mr. Collins! Are you well?” Oh no! She was stricken! Her worry was for Mr. Collins even though Mr. Bingley looked sad too.

  “I cannot be the cause of your foregoing the pleasure of dancing this evening,” he replied. I was shocked that he could be so magnanimous. He went on as though he had not said the first. “Excuse me, Miss Bennet, but I have made a grave error. Your compassion will surely forgive a gentleman as important as your humble cousin for forgetting I am indebted to Miss Lucas for this dance.” He turned to Mr. Bingley. “Sir, shame on you for expecting a second from Miss Bennet when all these fine ladies await their turn. You are the host. You must entertain all, not just one.” With that, he tugged on his waistcoat, lifted his nose in the air, and glided over to Charlotte, who was only too happy to dance with him.

  My business done, I redirected myself to Mr. Darcy. At the very least, I owed him an apology, if not a dance. He stared at me but quickly redirected his gaze to the dancers. The next time he dared glance at me, I gave the slightest curtsey with all my appeal for his forgiveness in my eyes. He must have understood as he returned a quick bow.

  “I trust your family business is completed?”

  “I do hope so, sir. Is it too late…do you still expect…”

  “The first of the set is nearly over, but we can easily slip in for the second dance.” His expression was neutral, so I had no idea whether this gratified him or not until I glimpsed his eyes. He was pleading with me to agree. What a surprise! Had I been less determined to disapprove of him, I might be sympathetic towards his disappointment, but of course, I would not allow myself such a feeling.

  As per his wont, he was silent for a time as we moved through the forms. I was content, for it gave me a chance to look at all the lovely gowns as they swirled gracefully past the gentlemen attired in their best. Although evening events in private homes are common in our small rural community, most are less than formal affairs. A ball where the most beautiful of finery can be displayed is a unique event. Mr. Darcy’s costume was clearly better fit than many of the gentlemen, showing a superior tailor and, in turn, showing off his manly figure well. He and my cousin could easily compete for who looked best in that regard.

  As per my wont, I grew eager for some conversation from my dance partner, so I baited Mr. Darcy a little, winning a few words and another tentative smile for my count. My methods were not the most polite as I teased and mocked him with subtlety that impressed me to a great degree. I am my father’s daughter!

  Mr. Darcy managed my verbal wrangling well and showed himself as an intelligent if reluctant speaker. However, when I mentioned Mr. Wickham, he strongly implied that their friendship was long ended but did not further the conversation. Instead, he asked why I was questioning him. It did not take a great deal of discernment to realize he was upset, so I forgave him his abruptness when he asked me not to sketch his character. The dance ended, and he suggested that we discuss Mr. Wickham at another time. He said he needed to know the events Mr. Wickham had disclosed and that he could clarify any facts I required.

  Supper was served, so Mr. Darcy accompanied me to the tables set for the purpose. When he directed me to a specific seat at the end of a table near my father and sisters, I assumed he planned to sit with his hosts. However, he situated himself across from me and next to Lady Lucas. He must have wanted to speak of Mr. Wickham’s accusations! There was no better situation to do so than under the cover of polite conversation in a noisy room.

  My mother appeared, and I expected her to sit in the empty seat to my right so she could speak to her friend. But perversely, she put her face close to mine and whispered, “I do not know why Mr. Darcy has not sat with Mr. Bingley, but I know how much you detest him, so I shall do you a favour.” Aloud, she continued, “Move over, child. I should like to speak with Lady Lucas, and I prefer to sit at this end of the table.” She caused me to move not one but two seats over! Now it would be difficult for Mr. Darcy and me to speak at all, and a private discussion was out of the question. What would he have said regarding Mr. Wickham?

  Chapter 7

  When I awoke the next morning, I wished I could have slept much longer to avoid recollections about the night before, but I am not one to sleep late, and the rainy weather had broken for some morning sunshine.

  What began as a lovely ball became my embarrassment. Yet what was revealed to me changed my perception of certain matters involving two men.

  A great deal of the evening was perplexing and aggravating. Mr. Collins sat in Mr. Bingley’s spot beside Jane—the host’s dinner seat, of all places! Then Mr. Darcy convinced Mr. Collins to move to the seat across from him that he might be enlightened regarding Lady Catherine’s well-being and Miss de Bourgh’s health. My mother declared to Lady Lucas that Jane would marry Mr. Bingley, which would put her other daughters in the paths of rich men. Mr. Collins argued that he would marry Jane. And amongst those peculiarities was the strange, stiff, and never direct conversation I had with Mr. Darcy.

  From that discourse, I gleaned a myriad of information, including a confirmation of Mr. Darcy’s youthful friendship with an officer of my recent acquaintance. I learned that certain young men become dissolute when they go away to school and prefer gaming to studying, not to mention what happens to innocent young women who cross their paths. I was provided a description of Mr. Darcy’s generous father’s legacy of one thousand pounds to his godson, and the history of a young man who was bound for the church—“just like you, Mr. Collins”—but instead chose to study the law. The spendthrift fellow accepted three thousand pounds in lieu of the living, but the money was gone in two years. And Mr. Darcy lamented the situation of a young heiress persuaded to elope by an immoral man who desired her fortune to pay his gaming debts. She was fortunate when they were stopped in time to save her from ruin.

  Mr. Darcy was careful never to mention Mr. Wickham’s name. His comments came in short spurts throughout dinner, dir
ected at each person sitting around him, including Mama and Lady Lucas, who barely recognized his words before they recommenced their gossip regarding matching their daughters to suitable—meaning rich, of course—men. It must have taken great forbearance for Mr. Darcy to communicate this tale to me despite the odd public situation in which we found ourselves. But he had little choice—we could not retire to a private room to converse.

  But four thousand pounds was gone, and Mr. Wickham was in the militia and claiming poverty. This did not sit well with me, and I longed to ask Mr. Darcy more questions. Fortunately for me, my mother spoke in riddles well enough too.

  “A certain young man of my acquaintance was denied a promised living. That is a travesty; would you not agree, Mr. Darcy?”

  When Mama’s and Mr. Darcy’s comments were taken together, the truth about Mr. Wickham’s sad tale was revealed. What a travesty indeed! “It would be, Mama, if the gentleman had not already rejected the living and accepted a pecuniary settlement. To return and claim it after an agreement is unfair.”

  “In that circumstance, it would indeed be wrong to request the living,” my cousin offered. Goodness! Sensible words from his mouth at an opportune moment!

  However, Mr. Darcy did not confirm the situation, which would have proven him a better man than he was rumoured in Meryton. “Miss Elizabeth, when we danced, we spoke of my sister and that at times she can be similar to Miss Lydia. Perhaps I could call on you for a further narration? It would familiarize you with her history and personality.” He perplexed me. Why would he change the subject, and why did he care that I know so much about his sister?

  Mama, dim as she was, did not comprehend that she and I were having a civil discussion with Mr. Darcy, Mr. Wickham was the devil himself, and we should no longer persist in our dislike of Mr. Darcy. All she recalled was that I did not wish to speak to him. “I am sure Miss Darcy is rich enough to have important peculiarities, sir, but what are they to Lizzy? You need not bother calling. She will forgive you the offer.”