“Whyever not, Lizzy?” my sister wondered. “Any man would be fortunate to earn your esteem.”
“Because I believe that most young men prefer a certain docility in a wife, of which I am incapable. They may enjoy my company and flirt with me, but in the end they will choose a lady who defers to them in nearly everything. Since I had rather not spend a lifetime pretending to be someone I am not, I shall end a spinster and teach your daughters to be impertinent and neglect their lessons.”
Dear Jane looked rather worried at that, but my uncle grinned. “Allow me,” he said, “the distinction of understanding my own sex better than a girl from a small village could, and accept my assurance that many men prefer a spirited wife. Jane will certainly have her admirers, but so shall you, and since you are so different, they are unlikely to be the same men, which will keep you from quarrelling over them.” He paused as Jane and I laughed over the very notion, then added, “But for all your mother’s exhortations, I hope you do not think of this time as a husband-hunting expedition. Enjoy yourselves in London, and meet new people. Some of them, no doubt, shall be young men, and if you form a worthy attachment no one will be better pleased than your aunt and me. But if you do not, no one will be disappointed, either.”
“Except Mama,” I retorted.
“In that case, I shall take the blame,” he answered comfortably. “I shall tell her none of your suitors were worthy of you, and I drove them off.”
We laughed again, and the talk moved on to other subjects. We three are well-suited to travelling together, and in amiable conversation the few hours of our journey flew by. Soon we were surrounded by the comfort and elegance of my uncle’s home on Gracechurch Street, in the company of our excellent aunt, who has long been as a second mother to us—and, in my opinion, the better of the two. We had not seen each other since the Christmas season nine months gone, for my uncle’s business and his elevation to a baronetcy had kept him tied to the city, so there was a great deal of news to share on both sides, and much happiness to be had in each other’s company.
Beginning the very next morning, my aunt escorted us through a bewildering array of warehouses, linen-drapers, and milliners, ending in several hours with her own modiste. She was determined that we should suffer not a moment’s mortification for lack of a fashionable wardrobe, and though we protested the expense, she would not be moved.
A music master was brought in to polish my skills at the pianoforte and to work with both of us on our singing, for it was certain we should be pressed to perform at some time or another. Fortunately, we both spoke French well and Italian passably, and were fully educated in comportment and dancing. Neither of us had ever claimed drawing or painting amongst our accomplishments, which my aunt rather lamented, but as we were both adept with stitchery, beadwork, and netting, she declared that we would not suffer by comparison with the ladies of society. Many of those, she confided, had no more claim to real accomplishment than moderate ability at the pianoforte, excellence in the dance, and a fair grasp of French, for all their ‘superior’ educations.
* * *
As soon as our new gowns began to arrive, our exposure to London’s higher spheres commenced. Our first engagement was a dinner party at the home of Sir James Whitley, a baronet of some means and wide acquaintance. Nearly fifty people mingled in his spacious drawing room before the meal, and it was soon apparent that my uncle was the guest of honour. Everyone wished to make his acquaintance, and in so doing they also met his wife and nieces.
My head was swimming with names and faces by the time a handsome young man approached, hand outstretched to my uncle. “Sir Edward,” he said, with the sort of broad, easy smile some call infectious. “I expect you will not remember me, but you and your uncle did some business with my father, Mr Joseph Bingley.”
Uncle Gardiner positively beamed and warmly returned the clasp of hands. “Of course, of course—old Bingley was forever going on about ‘my son Charles’ this and ‘my dear boy’ that. May I say how grieved I was to hear of his death? A great loss to all who knew him.”
“Thank you, sir. He is much missed. May I be made known to your companions?” He favoured us all with a genial smile, which brightened perceptibly when he got a good look at Jane.
The introductions were performed just in time for dinner to be announced. Mr Bingley escorted both Jane and me into dinner, though to his visible disappointment his own place was far from ours. I had my uncle to one side and a most pleasant young man to my other. He, it transpired, was in town to attend to some business related to his upcoming wedding. Our conversation centred upon books and gave me numerous new titles to seek out.
When the ladies withdrew, Jane and I were introduced to several young ladies we had not met earlier. One of them was entirely too willing to ask probing questions about our family, and the rest were insipid. Jane, saintly creature that she is, found them all quite pleasing.
As the gentlemen joined us, our little party thankfully broke apart, our new acquaintances removing to the sides of various gentlemen, though whether these were brothers, beaux, or prey, I could not determine. Mr Bingley was quick to find us and engage us both in conversation. His interest in Jane was entirely obvious, but he was far too polite to exclude me from the conversation. When I spoke he showed no impatience, unlike many a previous fellow enraptured by my sister’s beauty. The Gardiners were in great demand, but still they found us several times in the course of the evening to assure themselves of our wellbeing.
Naturally, I could not but tease Jane over her admirer on the return to Gracechurch Street, raising her blushes and laughing protests that she had known him for mere hours. She did concede that on short acquaintance he appeared to be everything a young man ought to be: sensible, good-humoured, and lively.
“His father was much the same,” my uncle rumbled sleepily. “A most excellent fellow. I give you leave to like the son, Jane—you have liked many a stupider person.”
Aunt Gardiner chided her husband for that jest, though it was apparent even in the dim compartment of the carriage that she, too, was amused by it. I laughed, of course, and even Jane chuckled and admitted that it was not untrue.
“I expect we shall see him again soon,” he remarked after accepting my aunt’s admonition in good humour. “For he asked our direction and stated an intention of calling.”
* * *
Mr Bingley appeared in Gracechurch Street with admirable promptness, allowing only a day to lapse between the initiation of our acquaintance and the continuation of it. He was all smiles and amiability, and the bulk of his attention was still reserved for Jane. He repeated his visit both of the next two days, and struck me as rather puppyish—winsome and eager. My aunt and I were united in the opinion that if there was some backbone beneath that genial exterior he might prove a good match for my sister, who was too trusting and complying to be put into the care of a man who could not be firm when the occasion demanded it. We resolved to watch the development of their acquaintance with both hope and caution, and in the whirl of parties and balls over the next weeks, we saw little to alarm us.
CHAPTER2
FITZWILLIAM DARCY
Before I had so much as set foot within Lord Alvanley’s home, I deeply regretted having agreed to attend his ball. Alvanley himself was unobjectionable, though I was certain to be pressed into dancing a set with whichever of his seemingly endless stream of daughters was out at that moment. I do not generally care for balls, but resolved upon accepting the invitation that my friend Bingley might introduce me to Sir Edward Gardiner, whose shipyard seemed a likely investment. One cannot always rely upon the whims of the land to provide for the future of one’s estate and family, and Alvanley’s ball had one other point in its favour: I was certain to find my uncle in the card room, and his company is ever a pleasure. No, the event itself was not the reason for my regret. That sat across the carriage from me.
“Dear Mr Darcy,” purred Miss Caroline Bingley. “I do hope we shall have the pleasure of seeing you dance tonight. Such skill in the art as you possess ought to be displayed.”
I glanced at my good friend, her brother, Charles Bingley. He looked apologetic, as he often does when we three are together. A gentleman does not visibly shudder when confronted with an avaricious female, so I held myself rigid and attempted to fend her off with words.
“It is unlikely that I shall dance more than my duty to my host requires. I had meant to decline the invitation altogether, but your brother informed me that it would be my chance to meet Sir Edward Gardiner.”
“I had not thought you interested in such persons,” she replied, surprised. “While it is true that he is all the rage at present, he is a tradesman, and no doubt shall be largely forgot in a twelvemonth.”
“I am interested in the potential for a good investment. Even when society no longer welcomes him, his business is likely to remain as stable and prosperous as it has been these past years. Forgive me for speaking of business matters, but you might be surprised how much is conducted even at the most exclusive events.”
