If I Were Mrs Darcy

by Sophia Grey

  The carriage lurched forward almost before they had settled into their seats. It was a cramped journey, but as Lydia began to whine about being too hot while Kitty moaned about being cold, Elizabeth was thankful that Netherfield Park was only a short distance away.

  When they arrived at Netherfield Park, Elizabeth’s heart tightened in her chest. An Assembly was nothing compared to the grandeur of what she saw. In Meryton, the hall would be modestly decorated with only the barest hint of attention paid to the punch and food offered to guests. The musicians were usually from Hertfordshire, and their presence was a steadfast reminder that the dancers would be able to reliably predict the order of the dances and choose their partners accordingly.

  But a ball at Netherfield Park was an entirely different affair. The courtyard that had been grand when Elizabeth and Jane had arrived on foot not so many weeks ago was lit by dozens of flaming torches that smoked in the darkness and provided a welcoming orange light for the guests to follow. Uniformed footmen waited to open the carriage door and Lydia squealed when she laid eyes upon all of the officers in their regimental jackets who milled about in the courtyard.

  Light spilled from the high windows of every room in the house and Elizabeth could not keep the smile from her face as Lydia and Kitty shrieked with joy as they jumped down from the carriage and made their way to the front door without waiting for anyone else.

  “Lydia! Girls!” Mrs. Bennet scrambled from the carriage with no thought for propriety and Elizabeth stifled a giggle as she caught the eye of the footman who held the carriage door. He was as shocked as she to see their mother galloping after her youngest daughters.

  “Mama has the invitation,” Jane said quietly. She had not moved from her seat and Elizabeth could see the nervousness in her sister’s eyes. “What if they do not allow us to come in without it?”

  “I do not believe for a moment that you will need an invitation, Jane,” Elizabeth said with a reassuring smile. Jane did not look convinced, but Elizabeth took her sister’s hand and pulled her gently from the carriage. They walked the short distance to the front doors in silence, but Jane’s grip on Elizabeth’s hand was tight. Jane needn’t have worried, for Elizabeth saw a nervous-looking Mr. Bingley waiting just beyond the tall front doors. “See, Jane, you are expected,” Elizabeth whispered.

  “Hush,” Jane whispered unnecessarily.

  A smile spread over Mr. Bingley’s boyish features and lit up his blue eyes as he spied Jane, and Elizabeth released her sister’s hand. “Miss Bennet!” he called out. He was distracted with greeting other guests, but his eyes always came back to Jane and Elizabeth felt her heart warming as she saw her sister’s expression relax into a smile and her shoulders lose some of their stiffness as they waited to enter the house.

  When it was finally their turn, Mr. Bingley greeted them so warmly and effusively that Elizabeth had to smother her laughter at his eagerness to welcome them inside. A maid took their wraps and shawls, and Mr. Bingley himself escorted them down the hall toward the ballroom.

  While other guests gasped in amazement at the grandeur of the house, Jane only had eyes for Mr. Bingley. Elizabeth walked half a step behind to allow them some privacy, but in doing so, she fell back amongst the other guests who made their way to the ballroom. All around her was conversation regarding Hertfordshire’s most eligible bachelor, and his aloof and angry friend. Elizabeth listened carefully for any other comments about Mr. Darcy’s character, but if there were any other observations made, she did not hear them. It seemed a general assumption that Mr. Darcy felt that he did not belong in Hertfordshire, something that Mr. Wickham’s comment about the gentleman’s snobbish preference for a ‘better class’ of people seemed to confirm.

  But of Mr. Bingley, the guests around her had nothing but glowing words. They complimented the beautifully decorated hallway, hung with yards of dyed muslin in vibrant autumnal colors. Bowls filled with bright colored apples, dried leaves, and nuts adored every surface and Elizabeth wondered how much of a hand Miss Caroline Bingley and Mrs. Hurst had taken in the preparations of this evening’s festivities. She could not resist the thought of assisting Jane with preparations for her own events and parties when she was the mistress of this house and Miss Bingley had been banished to dreary old London where she belonged.

  Music swelled from the ballroom and the conversation around Elizabeth changed to one of breathless anticipation as the knot of guests turned to enter the room. She had not seen the ballroom when she and Jane had been at Netherfield last, but it was every inch as grand as she had expected it would be and Elizabeth’s breath caught in her throat as she tried to take in every detail of the room.

  Heavy damask curtains tied back with golden ribbons that cascaded down to the highly polished floors adorned the high windows and long tables groaned under the weight of ornate crystal punch bowls and towers of fruit, pastries, and sweetmeats. Dancers swirled over the floor and Elizabeth could hear Lydia’s high laughter above the music. The musicians were different, too. A sound and tempo that Elizabeth had not experienced in Hertfordshire filled the room, and Elizabeth did not recognize the notes, but it was somehow comforting and exciting all at the same time.

  Always Lydia.

  But amid the colorful guests, the familiar, and unfamiliar, faces she caught the dark eyes of Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy. Elizabeth’s eyes swept over him quickly. His dark hair was perfectly unkempt, effortlessly rumpled. His jacket was as well-fitted as always, the vest snug, and his boots shined to perfection. From the tip of his expensive boots to the ends of his wildly ordered hair, he was abhorrent. Elizabeth narrowed her eyes at him briefly and then averted her gaze. He was the last person that she intended to speak to this evening, and she would have to do her best to stay out of his way.

  She passed her mother who was speaking to Lady Lucas with Mr. Collins hovering closely. Elizabeth had no intention of pausing, but her friend Charlotte reached out and stopped her as she walked by. “Lizzy, where are you going?”

  Charlotte Lucas had been Elizabeth’s friend since they were girls, but where Elizabeth was in possession of a more carefree nature, Charlotte was quiet and steady. She was an accomplished young woman, and her father had the distinction of being one of the only gentlemen in Hertfordshire with a proper title and a grand house to go with it. Lucas Lodge may have fallen into disrepair in recent years, but Charlotte’s prospects were far better than Elizabeth’s and Lady Lucas was a notorious matchmaker.

  Despite all that, Charlotte was still unmarried, and Elizabeth had begun to notice a sort of sadness shroud her friend’s eyes when they spoke of weddings, or when Elizabeth tried to draw her into the game she and her sister’s played.

  Elizabeth smiled at her friend, but her eyes darted nervously to Mr. Collins who was in the process of edging closer to speak to them. “I am very curious to taste the punch Mr. Bingley has set out for his guests,” she said quickly. “Will you come with me?”

  Charlotte nodded quickly and excused herself from the conversation. Mrs. Bennet did not pause in her chatter and simply waved them away and Elizabeth made a determined beeline for the banquet tables.

  “Are you quite all right, Lizzy?” Charlotte asked breathlessly.

  “I thought I would be,” Elizabeth said as she ladled out two glasses of pale peach-colored punch and handed one to Charlotte. She poked at a slice of apple floating in the liquid and sucked on her finger thoughtfully. “Charlotte, I have a dilemma.”

  Charlotte took a sip of her punch and regarded her friend carefully. “A dilemma? But you so rarely have those.”

  “I know,” Elizabeth agreed ruefully. “I have heard something about a certain gentleman, which I believe to be true, but I cannot be certain…”

  “Can you not speak to the gentleman about it? Surely he would want to know of any slander said against him.”

  Elizabeth sipped at her punch and tried to think of a good reason why she could not speak to Mr. Darcy about it, or why what Mr. Wickham had sai
d to her mattered so much. Did she feel some affinity for him as another innocent party who had been wronged by Mr. Darcy’s cruel words and manners? That must be it.

  “I do not know if this gentleman would even speak to me,” she said finally, “or if my words would be welcomed.”

  “Nevertheless, perhaps it is the correct thing to do. If falsehoods were being spoken about town in association with my name, or my family, I should want to know about it.” Charlotte had always been a practical sort of girl, and it should not have surprised Elizabeth to hear that her friend would want to meet any sort of difficulty head on. “Would you prefer not to know?” Charlotte asked curiously.

  “I am not certain,” Elizabeth said honestly. “For when I have overheard unfair things said about me in the past, I have not been in a position to question their speaker…” And what would she have said to Mr. Darcy if she had confronted him for his words at the Meryton Assembly? What would he have said if she were able to voice her hurt at his insults?

  “Lizzy, who is that with Lydia?” Charlotte asked suddenly.

  Elizabeth looked up from her drink and saw Mr. Wickham, looking dashing and handsome in his regimental jacket standing with her youngest sister on the edge of the dance floor. Lydia’s face shone with mischief as she did her best to drag the smiling officer into the line of dancers. “That is Mr. Wickham,” Elizabeth replied quietly, “a new member of the garrison he—” she was about to tell Charlotte everything that Mr. Wickham had recounted to her when Mr. Darcy strode toward the couple.

  Elizabeth watched in horror as Mr. Wickham’s expression darkened as Mr. Darcy approached. He stepped close and spoke privately to Mr. Wickham, who paled and pulled his hand from Lydia’s grasp. The youngest Bennet girl pouted and spun away to seek another partner as Mr. Wickham glared at Mr. Darcy.

  “Whatever could he be saying?” Charlotte whispered in a shocked voice. “Are they arguing? In front of everyone? Poor Mr. Bingley to have him cause such a scene.”

  “I daresay,” Elizabeth murmured but her anger at how unfairly Mr. Darcy had treated Mr. Wickham already flared in her chest and she set down her glass of punch with a determined click.

  Mr. Wickham said nothing in all the time that Mr. Darcy spent in berating him, he simply stood there and accepted what Elizabeth could only guess were heated and angry words. But it was not until Mr. Wickham nodded shortly and strode from the ballroom with Mr. Darcy following hard upon his heels.

  “Lizzy, what are you doing?”

  But Charlotte’s horrified whispered did not slow Elizabeth's steps as she followed the two men through the ballroom and out into the hallway. She lingered at the door as Mr. Wickham stalked toward the entrance and Mr. Darcy stood and watched him with his arms crossed over his chest. Mr. Wickham did not look back, but pushed past the footman who stood at the door and disappeared into the darkness.

  Elizabeth’s anger boiled in her stomach and her small hands balled into fists as she stepped out of the doorway. “And what has Mr. Wickham done to you to deserve being escorted out of Mr. Bingley’s ballroom?” The words tumbled from her lips before she could stop herself and Mr. Darcy turned sharply, clearly surprised at being watched.

  His expression was one of abject surprise and Elizabeth felt a small stab of victory at having caught him off-balance. “Miss Elizabeth Bennet,” he said sharply. “What concern is it of yours whom I speak to or remove from my presence?”

  “It is every concern of mine when you are cruel to a friend,” she replied boldly.

  “A friend?” Mr. Darcy scoffed. “Surely you cannot claim to know George Wickham well enough to call him a friend.”

  Elizabeth bristled at the tone of his words, but she did not move from her place in the hallway even as Mr. Darcy strode toward her. “I doubt you would know a friend if they looked you in the face,” she retorted. All of her manners forgotten, Elizabeth seethed with anger at Mr. Darcy’s insults.

  Mr. Darcy stopped in front of her, so close that she could smell the expensive tang of his shaving soap. “You are speaking of matters which do not concern you,” Mr. Darcy said quietly. “I have done you a favor by sending Mr. Wickham away, and I shall be speaking to Colonel Forster in the morning.”

  “Colonel Forster?” Elizabeth cried. “How dare you! You would set yourself against Mr. Wickham a second time and remove his only livelihood for spite?” Elizabeth saw something flash in Mr. Darcy’s eyes, but she could not tell what emotion it had been. All she knew was that she had progressed into dangerous territory. If anyone heard the way she was speaking to this gentleman—

  “This is neither the time, nor the place, for such a conversation,” said Mr. Darcy stiffly. “But I will say that whatever Mr. Wickham has told you, it is a falsehood, and he is not to be believed in any case.”

  Elizabeth opened her mouth to reply, but her words were interrupted by the arrival of a smiling Mr. Bingley with Jane upon his arm. “Darcy!” he cried merrily. “You are missing all of the very best dancing. I do confess I have not felt so lighthearted in years.” He took Darcy’s arm firmly and tugged him toward the ballroom. “Come now, I will take no arguments. You will have a dance and Miss Elizabeth Bennet shall be your partner.”

  Before Elizabeth could decline the invitation, Jane swooped in and clutched her arm tightly and pulled her along. So escorted, with neither party accepting any protestations of unwillingness to comply, Elizabeth found herself standing opposite the dourest of partners, and the most disagreeable gentleman of her acquaintance.

  With Jane and Mr. Bingley standing too close to allow either of them to slip away, Elizabeth pressed her lips into a thin line and tried to focus on the steps of the dance. She could feel the anger radiating off her partner, but Elizabeth refused to meet his eyes, and kept her gaze steadfastly upon anything but Mr. Darcy. He made no attempt at conversation, and Elizabeth was grateful for that small mercy. She did her best to smile at Jane, but feared at the effect was more of a grimace than anything.

  Jane, for her part, looked like an angel come down to earth. Her eyes shone with admiration for her partner, and her cheeks were pink with laughter and happiness. This was what Jane deserved above all other things.

  As the dance ended and Elizabeth finally forced herself to look at her partner, she met a pair of dark eyes that glittered with barely contained emotion, but once again, Elizabeth could not tell what sort of emotion it was. He was angry, to be sure, but there was something else as well. But it did not matter, for there was nothing he could say to persuade her that he had been anything but horrible to his former friend, and Elizabeth could not forgive such heinous behavior.

  The music died away and the dancers bowed and curtseyed to their partners, and as soon as the applause began, Mr. Darcy turned away and disappeared into the crowd of dancers trying to get to the dance floor. Elizabeth was left standing alone as Jane and Mr. Bingley took up their positions again and she stepped back to the sidelines to collect herself.

  What had come over her? How could she have dared to speak to someone like Mr. Darcy in the manner that she had? She had taken Mr. Wickham’s defence so quickly that she had not stopped to wonder why. But as she stood there, the answer came easily: He had been wronged by Mr. Darcy once before, and she could not allow that to happen again. She had confronted him boldly and the thrill of the argument they had shared trembled through her veins. Charlotte would never have said such things, Jane would be scandalized when Elizabeth could tell her what had happened…

  The music and dancing swirled around her, and Elizabeth did her best to smile and maintain some small conversation with those who stopped to talk to her, but she could not forget that Mr. Darcy was still in the ballroom, and on more than one occasion she had the distinct feeling that he was watching her. More likely as not, he wanted to find her alone so he could berate her for her harsh words, but she would not let that happen. She had said everything she needed to say, and had no interest in anything that might be plaguing his mind. She wanted Jane a
nd Mr. Bingley on the dance floor and knew that her sister would not want this evening to end. But for Elizabeth, the night could not be over soon enough.

  8

  When the guests began to thin, Elizabeth did her best to extricate her mother from her circle of friends and gather her sisters. It was more difficult than usual to pry Lydia from the dance floor, but Mrs. Bennet proved to be almost impossible to remove. She had imbibed far too much of Mr. Bingley’s fine rum punch, and Mrs. Bennet’s cheeks were rosy and her already loud voice had become even louder.

  “I daresay, what great luck for our girls. If Jane were to marry Mr. Bingley it would put my daughters into the path of other rich men,” Mrs. Bennet declared as Elizabeth plucked a sherry glass from her mother’s fist. “Mrs. Clarence I do recommend it most highly!” Elizabeth shot an apologetic glance at poor Mrs. Clarence, who, like the Bennets, was in possession of four young daughters of her own.

  “Mama, do lower your voice,” Elizabeth said. “It is time for us to say our goodbyes. Papa has already left with Mr. Collins.”

  “Oh, no, Lizzy, Mr. Collins is speaking to Mr. Darcy!” Kitty piped up helpfully as she arrived with her arms loaded with shawls. Elizabeth’s stomach dropped as she spied Mr. Collins standing near the window with Mr. Darcy. The latter was glaring down at the rather shorter clergyman with what could only be identified as complete disdain.

  “No,” Elizabeth whispered, but it was too late. She could tell by the expression on Mr. Darcy’s face that Mr. Collins had mentioned his patroness and her estate at Rosings Park no less than thrice in the time that he and Mr. Darcy had been speaking. And from the look in Mr. Darcy’s eyes, it was no less than three times too many. Elizabeth groaned inwardly and focused on her mother once more. If they could remove her from Netherfield Park, perhaps all would be well. Mr. Collins was an easily explained relative who did not know how to speak in the company of his betters… but Mrs. Bennet would be far more difficult to neutralize, and Elizabeth could only focus on one calamity at a time.