by Anne Morris
The fourth evening took them all away from Netherfield, and Darcy felt, in a way, refreshed from the sport and from time with some books, and at his violin, which he had, despite his hopes for a short stay, packed in his luggage. Bingley had directed his housekeeper to put his musically-inclined friend in a wing by himself since Darcy was sometimes want to play at odd hours, including the middle of the night.
Darcy immediately looked for her after they had entered Lucas Lodge—such a feeble name with no dignity to it. He wondered at the naming of the family home and thought the scatter-brained Lady Lucas must have so christened it.
Miss Bennet was easily discovered speaking to the Lucas family, and he was content for a while to stand and watch her move into the room to then greet a group of officers. Elizabeth's form moved with delightful grace and purpose, and he wondered that simply watching her move could give him such pleasure. She and the colonel of the regiment, Colonel Forster, broke off for a small separate conversation, and he moved forward to be close enough to overhear them, curious if they would speak of Peninsula news as she had with Captain Carter the other day. Darcy was disappointed when he discovered them to be speaking of dancing and balls—such a ordinary topic any lady might expected to be excited about.
He thought he had been discreet, but when the colonel turned to greet one of the younger Lucas sons, Miss Elizabeth turned her dark eyes on him with a rather penetrating gaze. He held that dark gaze until Colonel Forster turned back and claimed her attention again, and those eyes and her happy smile were turned on that man, and away from him. In an odd way, he felt as though a candle had been snuffed when her attention was transfixed elsewhere. Just over a se'ennight ago, he had disparaged her age, her faded beauty, and out-of-date clothes, Now, this evening, there was a glow to her that seemed always to capture his eyes whenever they were in a room together.
He stepped away, lest he catch her eye again, and found his own turning on her friend, Miss Lucas, and one of her brothers. He believed it to be the oldest—John. Mr. John Lucas had a well-balanced form and a rather handsome face with piercing blue eyes. He had white-blond hair which made Miss Lucas' look almost brown when they were next to each other, though he always reckoned Charlotte Lucas' hair as blond whenever he thought of it. John was young, about twenty-one or twenty-two. Darcy knew Miss Lucas to be in her late twenties—one of the matrons had made a snide remark the other evening about her having been out over ten years and still being unmarried.
Darcy turned and examined all of the Lucas sons in turn. They were all cut from the same cloth as John; of reasonable form, one on the tall side, and all with that striking white-blond hair. He considered the difference between Miss Lucas and her brothers: her plain face and nondescript hair, and their more handsome features and tresses of such a different hue. They were not so dissimilar that you thought them strangers, something about the eyes was certainly familiar, and they all five passed his ear check. He sought out the mother, Lady Lucas, and wondered then at her hair color beneath such a ridiculous cap that nothing about her tresses could be seen.
Why was there such a large gap between Miss Lucas and the next child? There had to be three or four years between Miss Lucas and Mr. John Lucas, and yet there were four sons all about a year apart: he eyed them in stair-step fashion. Had they possibly lost a number of children in between? Families often did not speak of such things, infants who died at birth or soon afterward, or were stillborn. His own cousin Radbourne's first child had been stillborn, and he and his wife were anxious with another due in December.
He saw Miss Bennet and Miss Lucas together and approached them, though he was still intent on this puzzle. His eyes scanned Miss Lucas' face, then looked over at her father, and he could see the same nose, and the same set of the chin. Darcy was startled by the sound of Elizabeth Bennet's voice which broke through his thoughts.
"Did not you think, Mr. Darcy, that I expressed myself uncommonly well, just now, when I was teasing Colonel Forster to give us a ball at Meryton?"
"With great energy, but it is a subject which always makes a lady energetic," he replied.
"You are pitiless!" she cried with a stern look though her dark eyes glowed.
"It will be her turn soon, to be teased," said Miss Lucas looking from him back to her friend. "I am going to open the instrument, Eliza, and you know what follows."
"I would really rather not sit down before those who must be in the habit of hearing only the very best performers," Elizabeth Bennet looked at him with a rather intense gaze. Miss Lucas persisted that she come sit at the pianoforte. Elizabeth's expression softened and a teasing light glowed even more in her eyes.
"There is a fine old saying which everybody here is familiar with—'keep your breath to cool your porridge,'—and I shall keep mine to swell my song." Her performance was pleasing, that charm, and animation that he found so compelling continued over into her performance, giving it a brilliance that made the music, the singing, and the lady all draw one in.
When she was succeeded by other young ladies he felt, once again, as though the candles had been snuffed in the room.
• • •
Mrs. Bennet was speaking to Lady Lucas and Mrs. Goulding. They had covered the wet weather, and the current state of every lady's finery in the room, and had moved on to their respective children. She had pointed out Mr. Bingley's growing interest in her second daughter, and there had been agreement all around on that point.
"Aye," said Lady Lucas wistfully, "you could get one of them married off at last."
"It is a fine thing, a contented feeling, to see your children settled and settled well," agreed Mrs. Goulding. Her new gown was exquisite, a soft green silk that went well with her silver hair, and Mrs. Bennet frowned. The Gouldings had always been upstarts in her mind. Mr. Goulding had purchased his estate a few years before she and Bennet married. However, he had never been one of her potential suitors as he had brought a bride with him.
Mr. Goulding had made many improvements to Haye Park over the years. Apparently he was good with his investments and had been able to increase his overall worth and so be able to afford such trifles as new gowns for his wife. Mrs. Bennet did not know why Mr. Bennet could not take the time to do the same, but the Gouldings had produced a crop of four sons.
"And Richard is doing well?" asked Mrs. Bennet.
"He is, as far as his letters let us know. Poor Clarisse sits and worries, waiting for his next leave."
"I am sure I should not bear the waiting between the letters," said Lady Lucas. Two of Mrs. Gouldings sons had joined the navy. One, Edmund, had been killed at Trafalgar. Mrs. Bennet always had a soft spot for poor Edmund Goulding, and could remember what a good-looking boy he had been and such a handsome youth. The Lucas family had to provide for four sons, but whether because of the realities of Edmund Gouldings' fate, or whether they could not afford the commissions, their three younger sons were still at home and idle.
"It must be good to have Edward here to visit," said Mrs. Bennet.
"Yes, he is still seeking a favorable living and hoping to get one by merit," said Mrs. Goulding.
"He is just twenty as I recall?" said Lady Lucas.
"Yes," answered Mrs. Goulding.
Mrs. Bennet looked across the room to her almost-twenty-year old, Mary, who was playing Scotch and Irish airs on the pianoforte as some of the young people danced. "I am never marrying that one off," she said and tempted both the other's eyes toward Mary Bennet with her comment. "She will not flirt with the young men, but hides behind the pianoforte—or books—and plays tunes for them instead!"
"She is a very good sort of girl," placated Mrs. Goulding.
"A good sister," said Lady Lucas, as she watched Catherine dancing with an officer, then saw Jane and Mr. Bingley come to join the dancing.
"She needs to dance! Excuse me," and Mrs. Bennet stalked forward to her middle daughter at the pianoforte. She looked around the room, saw Elizabeth speaking to Captain Carter, and went
over to her.
"You will never marry, Lizzy, but help out your sister. Go and relieve her at the pianoforte that she might dance as well. You are a better at the instrument anyhow!"
Elizabeth said a reluctant goodbye to the captain and took her place at the instrument. Mary gave up her seat, but it did not follow that she had an immediate application for her hand.
Mr. Darcy watched Elizabeth walk to the pianoforte with regret and indignation. He had watched Bingley lead Miss Jane off to dance and had been contemplating the same thing, if Elizabeth would but finish her conversation with the captain. He was considering Elizabeth's dark eyes and wondering if he could recall how she moved on the dance floor—he could not remember seeing her dance at the Assembly—when he was accosted by Miss Bingley.
"Such an evening as this induces one to being lost in thought, does it not," she said to him. "It would be insupportable to have to suffer such society too often. I really hope Charles comes to his senses. I have never been more annoyed!." She slipped her hand under his arm. "The insipidity and yet the noise, the nothingness and yet the self-importance of these people! What would I give to hear your comments on them all."
"My mind has been more agreeably engaged than considering the banality of this present society," he replied. "I have been meditating on the great pleasure which a pair of fine eyes in the face of a pretty woman can bestow."
Miss Bingley turned to gaze up at him, her eyes searching his face. "And which lady has inspired such meditations?"
"Miss Elizabeth Bennet."
"Miss Elizabeth Bennet," repeated Miss Bingley. "I am all astonishment. We have been here but a se'ennight, have you taken a page from Charles' book and decided you are so bored that you are to indulge in a little romance, a little love-making, as a means of alleviating the boredom?" He said nothing.
She continued. "For I do not suppose you to have serious designs on her. That is not your way; I have never know you inclined to true admiration or love for a lady met in such circumstances as these." She smiled, and he felt the pressure of her fingers on his arm. "I cannot suppose you to ever entertain thoughts of matrimony. We discussed such things once upon a time, do you not remember?"
"How is it that you have managed to mention 'mere admiration' and 'marriage' in the same breath?" he asked. Darcy wondered again about Miss Bingley's inclinations. Did she see the writing on the wall and could not forever presume to preside at Bingley's table, so was finally looking for a situation of her own and had decided that he would now suit her?
There had been that little flirtation between them when he had first become acquainted with Bingley. When his cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam had been called away to serve, and his other cousin Viscount Radbourne had decided to marry, there had been no cousins—no male cousins—that spring, that London Season, and he had made the acquaintance of Bingley. Though there was a difference in age, was there not with his cousins? And he and Bingley had become close friends. Bingley's openness and easiness and even innocence had been such a contrast to the cousins with whom he normally spent the Season.
And naturally, during that Season, Darcy had become acquainted with Miss Bingley. She had a pretty face and could be quite entertaining when she chose, and for the first time since coming of age, he had pursued more of the standard delights of the Season, rather than skirting society, or eschewing it, while pursuing as much male sport with his cousins as he could fit in.
But it had only been a flirtation—at least to her—as she seemed not altogether interested in Darcy though they had seemed compatible in a number of ways, both of them cool headed, sharp-tongued, and neither of them ones to suffer fools; she showed no interest in him. He had thought Miss Bingley excessively attached to her family and devoted to Louisa—that was the year Louisa and Hurst had married. Perhaps her head had been full of those plans, or perhaps she had set her sights on his cousin Radbourne who was to inherit the Earldom, though Radbourne had gone on to marry Lady Veronica the following year.
Later, for Darcy's part, it made no sense to love Caroline Bingley. She was pretty and had a decent fortune, but the family was only one generation away from trade. There was no rational reason to choose Miss Bingley over another with better connections, except perhaps the link to his dear friend, Bingley. She did not choose him so he reasoned himself out of wanting her—it was simply not logical.
5
—
Jane in the Rain
Aunt Philips always adored visitors, and Philips House was often a social hub in Meryton with its strategic location in the central part of town. If any of the daughters from Longbourn walked to Meryton, she often stopped in at Philips House, and was often as not met with another visitor or two who was also calling there or had been invited thither.
After the Assembly, Catherine was a frequent caller to her aunt, and Lydia would go if Miss Simnel permitted such excursions, which was not often. The two sisters were slowly compiling a list of all of the officers, their wives, and where about Meryton they were lodged. Mrs. Philips was of ready help with this project. Catherine seemed especially fond of a red coat and could speak of nothing else, and talked of becoming an officer's wife though she lamented that so many were already married.
"You never used to be so mad for officers," commented Elizabeth one morning.
"I did not know any before," answered Catherine.
"I wonder at this interest of yours," said Mr. Bennet. "You have had more of Miss Simnel's time in the nursery than any of your sisters but Lydia, and what has it got me? A daughter obsessed with officers. What a silly girl you are Catherine. Perhaps I need to dock Miss Simnel's pay,"
"I am astonished you would ever consider your own children silly," said his wife. "If I wished to think insignificantly of anybody's children, it should not be my own."
"I suspect this is due to her new friends, those sisters in Meryton, the Miss Harringtons, now there are two silly girls," said Mr. Bennet.
"Harriet and Pen do admire the officers, that is true," said Catherine, "but most of the young ladies hereabouts do, except perhaps Lizzy and Jane." Jane looked up with a smile. "Jane has her Mr. Bingley, but I do not understand Lizzy—why does she show so little interest in gentlemen? I do not wish to follow her example at all." Catherine's eyes locked with Elizabeth's then with a rather serious look for such a whimsical topic. "I do not wish to grow into old maidenhood with such open eyes and welcome it with the open arms she seems to display."
Elizabeth looked at Catherine unsure if her sister was serious or teasing, if this was a sign of intelligence or folly on Kitty's part. She was prevented replying by the entrance of the footman with a note for Jane; it came from Netherfield and the servant waited for an answer. Mrs. Bennet's eyes sparkled with pleasure as the subject of Jane and Bingley had just been mentioned, and she had been about to wax on about Mr. Bingley's relative merits.
"Well, Jane, who is it from? What is it about? What does he say?" asked her mother.
"It is from Miss Bingley," corrected Jane. "She has invited me to dine with her and Mrs. Hurst today."
"Such a lucky thing! Be sure to flirt with Mr. Bingley," encouraged Mrs. Bennet.
"He and the other gentlemen are to dine with the officers," explained Jane.
"Dining out," snorted Mrs. Bennet, "that is unlucky."
"Can I have the carriage?" asked Jane. However, Mrs. Bennet did not wish for Jane to go in the carriage; she wished her to go on horseback since rain was expected. Mrs. Bennet was insistent and persuasive that Jane should go to Netherfield Hall exposed on horseback and precluded her getting Mr. Bennet involved in the discussion. The weather looked bad, and their mother was in high hopes for a downpour that Jane might be stranded at Netherfield, and have to remain there overnight. And it did rain hard soon after Jane left which delighted Mrs. Bennet and mortified Elizabeth. The rain continued the whole evening without cessation; Jane certainly could not come back.
Just after breakfast the next morning, after Mrs. Bennet had de
clared to her family for the twentieth time how clever she was to have thought of the scheme, a servant from Netherfield brought a note from Jane for Elizabeth. Jane was ill, with a sore-throat and headache, and the apothecary had been sent for though Jane insisted that nothing was truly the matter with her. The two ladies at Netherfield were insisting that she stay put, however, and recover under their ministrations.
Elizabeth was anxious about Jane and listened to her sisters' talk about Jane's situation. Mary recalled what Aunt Philips had said about Mrs. Parry dying of a cold last winter.
"I shall go to see her," declared Elizabeth.
"After yesterday's rain I should like to get out for a walk," said Catherine. "I shall come with you as far as Meryton." Elizabeth thanked her for the company, and she and her sister were in the vestibule when the sounds of running footsteps drew their eyes to Simon racing down the stairs followed by Lydia and Miss Simnel. They too were to go on a walk, and they combined their forces as the governess wished to post a letter in Meryton as well as get her charges out of doors while there was a break in the weather.
Lydia latched onto Catherine and Elizabeth could hear snatches of conversation about officers as they walked. Simon frisked about and she largely had eyes for him, speaking only a little to Miss Simnel until they reached Meryton and parted. She then continued on with quiet determination to Netherfield, crossing through fields, jumping over stiles, and springing over puddles with impatience to achieve her goal, and finally finding herself coming up the drive to the house.
Her normal enthusiasm over the delights of exercise cooled as she walked up the driveway. Elizabeth stopped to look at the finely built house. It was well-balanced, and at one time she had delighted in its proportions, including the small whimsical tower some previous owner had built in years past. She frowned as she saw evidence of a row of stumps in the lawn before the main entrance. The Spanish chestnuts had all been cut down. Perhaps someone thought they spoiled the view of the house, but Elizabeth recalled how beautiful they had been, all in a row there on the lawn, providing shade and beauty.