A Case of Some Delicacy

by K C Kahler

  It ended in approximately a quarter of an hour, in truth, but it felt an eternity to Lydia. She took Mr Long’s proffered arm, considering how best to approach Mr Darcy where she had last seen him at the edge of the room. She need not have bothered, for the pair’s progress through the crowd was suddenly halted by the gentleman himself.

  He bowed to them both. “Miss Lydia, may I have the next dance?”

  “You may!”

  He bowed again and quickly retreated. Drat! Why was he constantly striding away? No matter, she would dance the next with Mr Darcy!

  She spent the next ten minutes in giddy giggles with Maria and Kitty while Mr Long looked on awkwardly. Kitty grudgingly admitted she was wrong in her prediction that Mr Darcy would only dance two sets the entire night. “Perhaps Mr Darcy is inebriated, for I cannot account for the change in his behaviour any other way.”

  Unfortunately for Kitty, the gentleman in question—looking decidedly sober—had just appeared at her side. “Miss Maria, Miss Catherine,” he greeted. The latter’s mouth hung open while the former burst into laughter again.

  Lydia was torn between laughing at Kitty and being mortified by her. She opted for escape instead. “Mr Darcy, have you come to claim your dance?”

  “I have.” He held out his arm, which she happily took, and they moved towards the dancers.

  After they took their places, she asked, “Are you enjoying the ball, Mr Darcy?”

  “I am,” he replied, far too gravely for the sentiment. “And you, Miss Lydia?”

  “Of course. All ladies, young and old, enjoy a good ball.”

  “I am not sure your generalisation applies to one of your sisters.” He nodded towards Mary standing in the doorway.

  “Oh, do not let her fool you. She loves to observe all these people interacting with each other. In many ways, Mary is like my father. He observes so that he might ridicule, while Mary observes so that she might disapprove.”

  “She does not appear to disapprove. She rather seems to be committing everything to memory.”

  Lydia considered. “She does have a remarkable memory. She can quote any passage from the Bible or from Fordyce’s Sermons. Whenever we need to know the date of someone’s birth or anniversary, Mary will know it—not just within our own family, but every prominent family in and around Meryton.” They had discussed Mary quite long enough. “When is your birthday, Mr Darcy?”

  “In September.” She waited for him to inquire when hers was, but instead he said, “I understand that I owe you my thanks, Miss Lydia, for…your defence of my character.”

  “Lizzy explained what occurred at my Aunt Philips’s house then?” Lydia longed to tell him all about Mr Wickham’s lies and what she had said in reply, but she knew she must not do so here, where anyone might overhear.

  “Yes. I thank you and applaud your discernment.” She glowed in happiness at his praise. “Superficial charms can often conceal a base character, particularly to one as young as yourself.”

  “I am not so very young.”

  He showed the first hint of a smile. “When is your birthday?”

  She beamed. “In June.”

  “Then you are near six months younger than my sister, and she is twelve years my junior.”

  This would not do at all. Lydia contemplated how to get the conversation back to more accommodating subjects as they went down the dance together. My, but he was a splendid dancer!

  After a few moments of standing together in silence, she said, “Lizzy tells me you travel with a collection of books.”

  “When I visit Bingley, I must, for he is not a great reader.”

  She laughed. “No. The last time he came to Longbourn he called Netherfield’s library a ‘pitiful façade’ in comparison to Papa’s library.”

  He smiled, though not enough to reveal his dimples, unfortunately. “I can well believe it. At least Mr Bingley readily admits his flaws.” He paused. “Are you a great reader, Miss Lydia?”

  “Not especially. But I have lately read two books recommended by my sister.” Lydia was terribly nervous now that her efforts over the last week might be discussed. She could easily converse on any number of silly subjects, but she did not wish to appear silly when she attempted a more serious topic.

  “Indeed? Which books?”

  “The first was Twelfth Night.”

  “I trust you enjoyed it. Most people who read it do. It is even better to see it performed.”

  “I can imagine—especially the physical comedy of the Fool and Sir Andrew. Have you seen it performed in London?”

  “I have, twice actually.” He paused, and Lydia felt woefully inept in the face of his much greater experience and understanding. Then he asked her, “Which is your favourite character?”

  “Sir Toby, I suppose, for pure entertainment. He is clever and jolly, but also a bit cruel, I think.”

  He nodded in agreement. “And what think you of the heroine?”

  “Viola deserves her happiness. She is the only character to consider the feelings of others throughout the play.”

  “That is true. The others are occupied only with their own melancholy, their own ambitions, or the singular pursuit of revelry.”

  Lydia’s mind cluttered with the words of both her father and Elizabeth during their discussions in the library, but she could not think of what to say next. In her indecision, she allowed the conversation to falter. They were quiet for several minutes.

  “What was the second book you spoke of?” he asked suddenly.

  “Oh! Robinson Crusoe. Though I have not quite finished it.”

  He did not seem to approve of the second choice as much as he had the first. “You say your sister recommended these books?”

  “She did. Papa said Lizzy’s mind must be full of the imminent return of John Lucas, who my mother feared would drown in a shipwreck. I think Elizabeth just meant to satisfy my craving for the dramatic and exotic. She knows I am not one to finish a dull book.”

  He smiled slightly, but appeared completely preoccupied. Silence overtook them again, an occurrence that was altogether unusual for Lydia. Eventually, Mr Darcy spoke again, “Your family and the Lucas family are very close. Have you always been so?”

  Lydia felt much more comfortable discussing her neighbours, so she happily seized the subject. “Yes, for as long as I can remember. Sir William bought what is now called Lucas Lodge just after John was born. Jane was an infant at the time also. Mama and Lady Lucas therefore had much in common, as did Sir William and Papa. Charlotte, John, and Jane spent much time together, and then came Lizzy and Mary. Just a few months separate Maria and Kitty in age as well. Poor John was the only boy for the longest time.”

  “I can imagine you did not want for playmates.”

  “To be sure. And we all became quite good at cricket, except for Maria. She is hopeless.”

  He smiled. As the set ended, Lydia could not be quite satisfied with her performance. She had shared more conversation with Mr Darcy than ever before, yet she had frozen up when discussing the books. He had smiled several times but never enough to reveal his dimples. She took his arm again and he led her to where Lizzy, Mr Collins, and Charlotte Lucas were standing together.

  Lydia offered a small shrug at Elizabeth’s questioning gaze. “Lizzy, you have not danced the last two sets. Why ever not?”

  “I do not wish to overstrain my ankle.”

  “Your ankle? But it hasn’t bothered you in ages!” Lydia then noticed Lizzy’s pleading look, accompanied by a glance at Mr Collins. “Oh… Of course dancing might put a strain on it. Better not to risk further injury.”

  “You are very wise, Cousin Lydia. One cannot be too careful when it comes to such matters. I could not bear to see dear Cousin Elizabeth suffer again.” He looked towards Lizzy with the most simpering expression.

  “Mr Collins,” said Mr Darcy, “have you finished dancing for the night as well?”

  “Indeed, I am completely indifferent to dancing. I wish onl
y to make myself valuable to my dear cousin’s comfort for the remainder of the ball.”

  “You do yourself credit. I wish I could refrain from dancing further, but I have not yet danced with our hostess, and as you know, it is a courtesy, a duty almost, which ought not to be overlooked.”

  Mr Collins looked guilty. “I suppose my mind has been too occupied, for I have been remiss in this duty.”

  “It is not too late, Mr Collins. I plan to ask Mrs Hurst for the upcoming set, and then Miss Bingley for the next. Perhaps you could do the reverse.”

  Mr Collins worried his brow. “But Cousin Elizabeth, dare I leave you for so long in your vulnerable state?”

  “Sir, you certainly must observe this civility with our hostess, as we have no other gentleman in our party who could fill the role. I have friends and family enough here to look after me. Be sure to tell Miss Bingley how very much I enjoyed the ball.”

  Mr Collins bowed low over her hand and Lydia held in her laugh at Lizzy’s expression. Mr Darcy then bowed slightly to each of them, saying, “Thank you for the dance, Miss Lydia.”

  Lydia watched in confusion as the two gentlemen walked off together, but Elizabeth soon addressed her. “Did you impress Mr Darcy with your newfound literary prowess?”

  She sighed. “I clung to generalities, like a coward. I feared I might say something foolish if I attempted more.”

  “Nonsense! You articulated your views perfectly well with me and Papa. You must only gain confidence with further study. Besides, you promised you would read two more books.”

  “Yes, yes. I shall keep my promise. But I wish to finish Robinson Crusoe first.”

  “Excellent! I am so proud of you.”

  “Oh shush!” Lydia blushed at the sincere praise and then said sternly, “Now Lizzy, did you tell a fib about your ankle to our cousin?”

  “You cannot blame me, can you? You and Charlotte know only too well a second dance with Mr Collins might result in permanent injury to my toes.”

  “He’s just dreadful!”

  The three of them giggled over the horror of dancing with Mr Collins, and then Gussy Goulding came to ask Lydia to dance. She danced the set after that with Mr Pratt and the final set with Denny again.

  The Longbourn party were the last of all the company to depart and, by a manoeuvre of Mrs Bennet, had to wait for their carriages after everybody else was gone. Mr Bingley and Jane were standing together, a little detached from the rest, and talked only to each other. Mr Collins plagued poor Elizabeth with repeated inquiries after her health and comfort. Kitty yawned loudly, and Mary and Mr Bennet watched it all. Mrs Hurst and her sister scarcely opened their mouths except to complain of fatigue. They repulsed every attempt of Mrs Bennet at conversation and, by so doing, raised Lydia’s ire.

  While Mr Collins gave a long speech to Mr Darcy, who, for some reason, sought conversation with the parson, Lydia addressed Miss Bingley. “I congratulate you, Miss Bingley, on the elegance of the entertainment. Your hospitality has induced even those who normally dance little to dance much tonight.”

  Miss Bingley raised her chin so that she might peer down her nose at Lydia. The adjustment was necessary, as they were about the same height. “Indeed. Some of the early pairings were unusual, but I believe everyone ended the night as they ought.” She referred, of course, to her being Mr Darcy’s last partner of the night.

  “I hope you did not feel slighted by Mr Collins's late application for your hand. He corrected his error as soon as Mr Darcy reminded him it is an expected courtesy to favour the hostess with a dance.”

  Miss Bingley narrowed her eyes. “Not at all. Like all your family, your cousin’s manners cannot possibly fail to impress.”

  Lydia shrugged. Miss Bingley would have to do better than that. “How kind of you to say so.”

  Miss Bingley turned away towards Mrs Hurst, and Lydia winked at Elizabeth’s grin.

  * * *

  “Oh, no one knows what I suffer! Ungrateful girl! Who will keep her when Mr Bennet is dead? Not I! Not I! I cannot keep her when I am starving in the hedgerows myself!”

  Lydia wished for a sudden loss of hearing, or better yet, she wished her mother would suffer complete laryngitis. Even from downstairs, she could hear every fretful exclamation. How was she to finish her book with all this uproar? After a late night of dancing, today should have been a day for rest and relaxation. As such, Lydia had slept later than anyone. When she had come downstairs, she learned that Mr Collins had made an offer to Lizzy, and Lizzy would not have him. Mrs Bennet had appealed to Mr Bennet’s authority to compel Lizzy into the match, but Mr Bennet had been most unaccommodating.

  While Mr Collins was present, making everyone uncomfortable with his resentful silence, Mrs Bennet had directed a stream of peevish complaints at poor Lizzy. Then Charlotte had come to visit. Upon her arrival, Mrs Bennet renewed her inventory of grievances, seeking a more sympathetic ear in their neighbour. Probably wishing to give her friend relief, Charlotte had invited Mr Collins to Lucas Lodge for dinner. When the two left together, all the Bennet girls were glad of it.

  But they soon wished Mr Collins would return. His removal had unleashed a new level of agitation they had heretofore never witnessed in their mother. Sensible that any attempt to reason with or sooth her would only increase the irritation, her daughters left Mrs Bennet to Hill’s experienced care, and the pair removed above stairs. That had been over an hour ago, and in that time, Mrs Bennet’s lamentations had lessened neither in volume nor frequency. Nor had any sign of the much-wished-for laryngitis made itself known.

  “I have done with her from this very day! Oh Hill! My salts, my salts! My poor nerves!!”

  Lydia slammed her book shut and spoke over the racket. “Hadn’t someone better go try to quiet her?”

  “You mean someone who is not yourself,” said Kitty.

  Lydia whined. “I just wish to finish my book.”

  “How much longer can she possibly carry on this way?” Even stoic Mary showed signs of annoyance.

  “I shall try to calm her,” offered dear Jane. She really was too good, though she scaled the stairs like a woman condemned.

  The four girls were quiet for some time, hoping for a cessation of the wailing. It finally came. Instead they heard plaintive whimpering, a vast improvement indeed. Hill came down the stairs for a much-deserved reprieve.

  Lydia turned to Lizzy and spoke quietly so that she might not be heard upstairs or through the library door. “Where is Papa? He has not shown himself all day.”

  Elizabeth sighed. “Do not expect to see him for some time.”

  “How can he let Mama abuse you so?”

  “He supported my refusal. I should not imagine two acts of such bravery in one day.”

  Lydia wished to have her suspicions confirmed. “During Mr Collins’s first visit, you purposefully deflected his attention from Jane to yourself, did you not?”

  Lizzy paused for a long moment before admitting the truth to three sets of attentive eyes and ears. “Yes. I did everything in my power to separate Jane from Mr Collins, and I rejoice in my success.”

  “But you would not have done so had you known he would turn his hopes towards you,” Kitty stated the obvious.

  “I certainly would. You know Jane is too good. She may have felt an obligation to accept him. I am a much less dutiful daughter.” Lizzy smiled wryly.

  Lydia was taken aback. “But what you have endured for your kindness towards Jane! You were plagued by Mr Collins at the ball so much that you even had to stop dancing too early. You love to dance! And now you must face all of Mama’s ire without any hope of relief from Papa.”

  “I am quite willing to suffer through Mama’s disapprobation if it saves Jane from a loveless marriage to a prancing fool. And my small sacrifice is doubly rewarded in seeing Jane so well matched with Mr Bingley.”

  “Oh Lizzy. I begin to think you are too good.”

  Elizabeth waved away the praise. “You had best take advan
tage of the lull to read your book.”

  Lydia silently resolved to help shield her sister from their mother’s further ill humour. She felt it was the least she could do after all of Lizzy’s assistance with her first foray into literature.

  Just as Lydia found her place in Robinson Crusoe, Mrs Hill announced from the doorway, “Mr Bingley.”

  He stepped into the room, his eyes fruitlessly seeking Jane.

  “Mr Bingley,” said Lizzy warmly. “How wonderful to see you. My mother is feeling a bit under the weather today.”

  Just then some pathetic keening reached their ears from upstairs. Mr Bingley appeared confused, “Oh, I am sorry to intrude. I had wished to speak with Miss Bennet.”

  “It is hardly an intrusion, I assure you. Please sit and we shall fetch Jane for you. Lydia, may I speak with you?”

  Lydia followed her into the hallway. Lizzy whispered, “I am sorry, but you must go up. Bring Hill if you wish. My presence would only make things worse.”

  Lydia nodded, “What shall I do?”

  “Send Jane down, and for pity’s sake, do everything you can to control Mama’s exclamations. Mr Bingley’s attachment to Jane is strong, I suspect, but every man has his limit.”

  Lydia giggled, and the sound carried up the stairs.

  “No one knows what I suffer!! No one takes my part!!”

  Elizabeth winced, “Go now, before it gets worse. I will send Hill up directly.”

  Lydia climbed the stairs. She would not fail Jane or Lizzy.

  They were dancing together again. It must have been the last set, for most of the guests had already departed. In fact, there were no other dancers, only Darcy and Elizabeth.

  He reached for her hands—where had his gloves gone? More importantly, where had her gloves gone? It was as if she had read his thoughts during their first dance and discarded the despised things sometime in the interim. Oh, but the feel of her hands thrilled him! How perfectly they fit in his, how soft was her skin. How he wished to never let her go.