“Your comments about Miss Elizabeth Bennet at the Alvanley ball were overheard, Darcy,” he informed me in clipped tones.
I searched my mind for a moment. I remembered the night of course but his words provided no illumination as to the circumstances. I had spoken of a young lady? And not in a manner of which my friend approved, by his demeanour. I hoped it had not been very bad; I was at times abominably ill-tempered at such gatherings. “I apologise, Bingley, but though the name is somehow familiar, I have no notion to what or whom you refer.”
He gaped at me as though I had sprouted horns. “Miss Bennet’s sister. Sir Edward’s niece. The lady I suggested that you dance with early in the evening. You said she was not handsome, and that she had been ‘slighted by other men’. She heard you, Darcy. She and others, at least one of whom was happy to spread it about. Though I only learnt of it the next day, none of the so-called gentlemen who had requested a set of her after supper came to claim their dances, and last night at the Winterbourne do, I was the only man other than her uncle who danced with her!
“By God, I wish I had never importuned you! But I am not the one who has turned society against Miss Elizabeth, and I would very much like to know what you intend to do about it.”
Oh, Lord. He meant the dark-haired girl with the beautiful blonde sister who was his latest ‘angel’. I recalled the lady now, and Bingley’s little speech about my failure to dance. I passed a hand before my eyes, wincing as I understood that my uncharitable refusal had been overheard, and had caused her embarrassment beyond the moment itself. “I hope it will blow over in a few days,” I told him hesitantly. “Something else will capture the attention of the quidnuncs soon enough, surely? I am sorry that she has been made uncomfortable by my unguarded speech, but I fear that any attempt to rectify on my part would only feed the gossip. Perhaps it would be best to let it lie until some more entertaining story arises.”
“Well, I hope it may be so,” he said with unusual sternness. “Miss Bennet is very upset over the treatment of her sister, and I do not like to see her upset. Miss Elizabeth presented a happy appearance last night, but I am certain that she suffered more than a little mortification.”
If he was disturbed by the shunning of Miss Elizabeth, I was now alarmed by the apparent intensity of his attachment to Miss Bennet. He had been in love many times, and had even speculated on the possibility of matrimony once or twice, but he had never shown such protectiveness, and this for a lady he had known for perhaps a month. “You seem more attached than usual to your current flirt,” I commented. This was, as it turned out, unwisely phrased.
“I will thank you not to refer to Miss Bennet in such a dismissive manner,” he snapped, his expression darkening further. “I have never met a lady so suited to me, and when our acquaintance reaches a more appropriate length it is likely I shall offer for her.”
“Pardon me, Bingley, I have only seen her once, and was not aware that you viewed her differently from the others,” I replied in a placating tone which did not come easily to me. If Bingley’s dubious expression was anything to judge by, I did not do it well, either.
“She is not like ‘the others’, as you call them, whose pretty faces and pretty manners were enough to captivate for a time, but not a lifetime,” he replied after a moment, less heatedly. “She is genuine, kind, and intelligent. She even shares some of my interest in entomology,” he related to my surprise. “She herself has made a study of botany, and her father keeps bees. She is familiar with all the species to be found on and around garden plants, and was interested to learn more of them from me.”
He seemed quite proud of this, and though I risked raising his ire again, I felt I must express my own doubts, for his benefit. She would not be the first lady to have feigned a common interest to gain a man’s favour. “Are you certain that her attention is for your insects, and not your income?”
His eyes narrowed sharply and that furious expression, so rarely seen before, returned. “Quite sure. She is not at all mercenary.”
I attempted a placating tone again. “I do not know the lady as you do, and only ask out of concern for your happiness. You could do quite a bit better, you know.”
“Could I?” he asked with a snort. “I might perhaps catch the daughter of an impoverished baron, or of a younger son, who would look down upon my lineage while happily spending the money my father drove himself into an early grave to earn. Miss Bennet is the daughter of a gentleman and the niece of a baronet, so no one could say I have not ‘married up’. But her uncle, whom she loves, made his fortune in trade, and she is not in the least concerned that I have such ties. Sir Edward will give her two thousand upon her marriage, and she is to have another thousand upon the decease of her mother. Three thousand pounds is more than most ladies who would have me can boast. And more importantly than any of that, Darcy, is the simple fact that we suit.” He sat back heavily after this impassioned argument, and there was little I could do but concede.
“Indeed, it seems your situations are not unsuited,” I admitted. “And personal compatibility must outweigh a certain dearth of connexions. If you still feel this way for her when your acquaintance is of greater duration, I shall be pleased to dance at your wedding.”
“Even with her ‘tolerable’ sister?”
“For you, Bingley, yes. Even that.”
CHAPTER5
ELIZABETH BENNET
Two nights after the humiliation of the Winterbourne ball, we attended a dinner party at which a marquess’s younger son, who fancied himself an arbiter of society, declared that I hardly had a good feature in my face. I did not hear this directly, though I was aware from the moment of our arrival of the stares, whispers, and laughter my presence provoked. No, I learnt of this further indignity from Miss Bingley, whose glee was as ill-concealed as her sympathy was false. Why she should have any interest in me, for good or ill, I could not determine. I supposed she must see me as a rival for suitors, though she had a lavish dowry at which she hinted with tiresome and vulgar regularity. Then again, I possessed something which all her funds could never secure—a gentleman father. Perhaps that was the source of her dislike.
The next morning over breakfast, I suggested that perhaps I ought not attend the Frobisher ball that evening, concluding, “Mr Darcy’s words might be sooner forgot if I am not before society as a reminder.”
My aunt immediately objected. “My dear girl, I fear your absence would not have the effect you hope. You might rather be perceived as having been driven away. It could be tantamount to admitting that he was correct. I would urge you to reconsider.”
The mere thought of another night spent pretending to be unaffected and unembarrassed wearied me. Pretending to enjoy oneself was, I now knew, very much more taxing than truly doing so. And yet, the notion of in any way confirming that conceited man’s scornful words roused me to defiance.
Thus, to the ball I went, and having greeted my hosts, I retired to the chairs where the chaperons and wallflowers were already gathering. There I saw a well-dressed, prettyish young lady whom I had noticed at previous events but had never seen dancing. I selected a seat near hers, reasoning that neither of us would appear quite so isolated in such a configuration, and perhaps she might appreciate that small fiction as much as I.
During the second set, having surrendered Jane to another gentleman, Mr Bingley approached to secure my hand for the fourth. Having done so, he smiled and bowed to the other young lady. “Miss Downing, good evening. I hope you are well.”
She replied that she was, and he asked whether she and I had been introduced. Upon learning that we had not, he happily performed the office, adding cheerfully, “You are both, to my certain knowledge, lovers of books, and therefore sure to be great friends.” With this, he excused himself to speak with an acquaintance.
I indicated the empty chair next to Miss Downing and asked if I might keep her company for a time, unless she was expecting any particular friends to join her. She replied that I might, and we were soon speaking with each other quite easily. She pointed out her mother, ensconced in a large cluster of matrons, and her brother, Mr Vernon Downing, moving easily through the dance. Her father, I learnt, was surely in the card room. In my turn, I pointed out my own relations, and then we spoke of books as Mr Bingley had suggested. Jane and the Gardiners were all introduced to her over the course of the hours before supper, but aside from the set I danced with Mr Bingley we spent most of our time in each other’s exclusive company.
When the supper set concluded and the crowd began exiting the ballroom, Mr Downing came to fetch his sister and looked surprised to find her laughing with me. He and I were introduced, and then we separated to attend our own family parties. As I entered the dining room, I witnessed my new friend up ahead, leaning heavily upon her brother for support, moving with a slow, lurching gait. I suddenly understood why I had never seen her dancing, and could only admire her cheerful demeanour at an event such as this.
Miss Downing and I found each other again after the meal, and I took it upon myself to draw two other young ladies into our orbit. Miss Walton was the granddaughter of a viscount, afflicted with spots, crippling shyness, and a very pretty younger sister also out; Miss Prentice was descended from the younger sons of several noble lines, but was an acknowledged bluestocking and, she admitted openly, rather poor. Miss Prentice entered into our banter readily, and after a time Miss Walton ventured to assay a comment or two.
Mr Downing approached us and was introduced to our new acquaintances, and gallantly secured the last three sets of the night, one with each of us. During our set, he thanked me for befriending his sister, commenting that he had never seen her enjoy herself so much at a ball. “But Mother will insist,” he added wryly. “She drags Harriet to every event, convinced that one day some fellow will sit next to her and fall madly in love. And I hope it shall happen! Yet it seems to me that a ball is a most unlikely place for it.”
