Given the party from Netherfield Park had been late at the few events they had attended since the assembly—beginning with that event—no one was surprised when they entered the house half an hour after the time guests had been invited to arrive.
Bennet leaned towards his second daughter. “You are quite correct, Lizzy. Those two dress like they are going to St. James, not a simple country get-together,” Bennet stated amusedly. He loved to laugh at the follies of others. “So that isyourMr. Darcy.”
“He is not myanything.” Elizabeth knew there was detectable asperity in her reply and her father would find a time to tease her. Before he could unleash his sardonic wit on her, she spied Charlotte and made her way towards her friend.
Charlotte was speaking with three of the officers Sir William had invited for the evening. “Eliza, may I introduce Colonel Forster, and Captains Carter and Sanderson. Colonel and Captains, Miss Elizabeth Bennet, the second of five Bennet sisters.”
Elizabeth curtsied to the men who bowed to her. “To what battalion does your regiment belong, Colonel?” Elizabeth enquired.
All three officers were surprised. “A lady who knows about battalions and regiments! How is that, Miss Elizabeth?” Captain Sanderson enquired.
“I am an avid reader, Captain. My father has a book on the army and the structure within,” Elizabeth explained.
“Very impressive young lady,” Forster allowed. “My regiment is part of the Derbyshire Militia.”
Elizabeth felt eyes on her and looked to the one side and did not miss Mr. Darcy standing close enough to hear what was being said and as was his wont of late, staring at her to find fault.
She decided to have some sport with the haughty man from Derbyshire, so she chose a topic she was sure would be anathema to him. “If you want to ingratiate yourself with the local populace rather quickly, I suggest you hold a ball, Colonel,” Elizabeth teased. “People hereabouts love a good ball, especially the residents of Netherfield Park.”
“I will take your suggestion under advisement, Miss Elizabeth,” the Colonel averred.
The three officers walked away to join some of the gentlemen which included Sir William and her father. As soon as the three were out of earshot, Elizabeth decided to have some more fun at Mr. Darcy’s expense.
“What does Mr. Darcy mean by it, watching me and listening to my conversation with the Colonel and his officers?” Elizabeth asked Charlotte impertinently at a volume she knew the man would be able to hear. “I am sure he does it with a satirical eye.”
“That question, Eliza my dear friend, is something only Mr. Darcy is able to answer,” Charlotte stated. “You may ask him yourself as he is approaching us now.”
“Did you not think, Mr. Darcy, that I expressed myself uncommonly well just now, when I was teasing Colonel Forster to give us a ball at Meryton?” Elizabeth challenged as Mr. Darcy drew level with her.
“You did, but then I am not surprised. A ball is something which always makes a lady excited,” Darcy replied.
“Is that all you think ladies care about, Sir?” Elizabeth returned.
“That is not what I said, Madam,” Darcy responded.
Charlotte could see her friend was about to say something she would regret. “Come Eliza, it is your turn to be teased now,” Charlotte interjected. “I am going to open the instrument, and you know what follows.”
“You are a very strange creature by way of a friend! Always wanting me to play and sing before anybody and everybody, even though you know I play very ill! If my vanity had taken a musical turn, you would have been invaluable; but as it is, I would rather not sit down before those who must be in the habit of hearing the very best performers.”
“Eliza, we both know you do not play ill, and your singing is capital,” Charlotte called Elizabeth out on her mischaracterisation of her musical abilities.
“Very well, if it must be so, it must.” Elizabeth turned to where Mr. Darcy was still standing, “There is a fine old saying, with which everybody here is of course familiar: Keep your breath to cool your porridge, and I shall keep mine to swell my song.”
She played a song without singing first and Darcy, thanks to his having heard Giana play the piece more than once, was aware of the mistakes, however, when she played, Miss Elizabeth infused the music with so much feeling it caused any mistakes to be forgot.
When she began to sing with a perfect mezzo soprano voice, Darcy could not remember hearing better. Not even at the many musicales he had attended in London had anyone who was not a professional singer come close to the sweet tones emanating from Miss Elizabeth’s mouth.
While he was thus transfixed, Darcy smelt Miss Bingley’s overapplied scent which did not suit at all. She sidled up next to him and would have grabbed onto one of his arms had he not put them behind him with determination.
“I can guess the subject of your reverie,” Miss Bingley cooed.
“I very much doubt that,” Darcy replied impatiently. He wanted to listen to Miss Elizabeth’s sublime singing voice, not Miss Bingley’s grating one.
“You are considering how insupportable it would be to pass many evenings in this manner—in such society. Indeed, I am quite of your opinion. I was never more annoyed! The insipidity, and yet the noise—the nothingness, and yet the self-importance of all those people! What would I give to hear your strictures on them!” Miss Bingley asserted. From the look on her face, Darcy could see she was in no doubt of his agreement with her statement.
“Your conjecture is totally wrong, I assure you. My mind was more agreeably engaged. I have been meditating on the very great pleasure which a pair of fine eyes in the face of a pretty woman can bestow,” Darcy returned before he managed to stop himself.
Miss Bingley preened and immediately fixed her eyes on his face. She was of the opinion he meant herself. “Who is this lady who has the credit of inspiring such reflections in you?” Miss Bingley enquired, batting her eyelids at Mr. Darcy.
