Elizabeth’s nod, followed by a shake of her head, served as confirmation. She had offences enough, but was sufficiently well-mannered that she would not air them with a stranger.
Lady Matlock sighed. “I imagine they have done something regrettable, but they are both good boys. Richard has been fighting nearly ten years, and while he is amiable and well-mannered, he is very direct and has lost whatever subtlety he once possessed.”
“Your son has done me no harm. In fact, he did me a great service, and his manners are all they ought to be.”
“And yet, it was painful; I surmise he let slip something regarding Darcy that distressed you.”
The young lady stared back without pretence to politeness, as if wondering how Lady Matlock had struck so close to the bone on so little evidence.
“Did you know Darcy lost both parents when he was your age, and had to assume the management of a great estate and the care of a sister more than a decade his junior? When other men were carousing, or on their grand tours, or learning from their fathers—or more importantly, learning to engage the fair sex—he was diligently ensuring the prosperity of the hundreds who depend on his estate. He has done as well as a young man ought, but he is very shy and reserved, and it has not always served him well. His parents taught him to be overly proud and somewhat arrogant, which also does him no service, but he is at heart an exceptionally good man. There is not a person who knows him well who will not give him a good character, but he does not shine in crowds.”
Lady Matlock wavered between relief and distress at the reappearance of the spitfire, when Miss Bennet apparently lether temper get the better of her, as she replied icily, “He is most assuredly not a man who knows how to treat a woman with respect and courtesy, my lady. Pray forgive me for taking so much of your time.”
Distressed by the encounter, the lady resolved to send an express to those two gentlemen within the hour. They had some explaining to do.
Substitute
True to his tactical sense, General McConnell not only filled both ladies' cards, but calculated the partners with exactitude. Despite appearances, Anne was not as robust as one might hope, so half her partners were older men—interesting, but not particularly vigorous. They could pause midway and converse quietly without attracting notice. The others were amiable men of varied character, ensuring his grandniece could get a good look at what society offered.
The general, aware of both ladies now, took it as his personal mission to ensure they were well entertained. Jane naturally watched over Anne like a mother hen, and thus gave her partners only half her attention. Meeting gentlemen was pleasant, but she was in no hurry. There was time for all that later should the connection continue. If not, she could boast at home of attending a real London ball.
Jane had just finished the punchfetched by her previous partner, Mr Silverstein. He was an amiable man, the owner of a small estate in Bedfordshire, and most eligible. He stood somewhere between the Netherfield gentlemen—neither so outgoing as Mr Bingley, nor reserved as Mr Darcy. He was the sort of man she would be happy to know better. Were he to call on her, it would be no great misfortune.
During the first few dances, Jane made a point of mentioning her stay with relativesin tradenearCheapside, before her return to her father’s small andinsignificantestate in Hertfordshire. She wanted no illusions regarding her station, and anybody who chose to weigh such matters was not worthy of her time anyway.
Mr Silverstein had secured the next set with Anne, so he bowed and went to claim her. Jane sought her next partner, a Mr Pennington, when he approached with a limp.
“Miss Bennet, I must offer you my most profound apologies. I twisted my ankle in the last set.”
The evening had been one of curious ups and downs, so Jane attempted a little of Lizzy’s impertinence. “Not original, but effective enough, sir.”
She was rewarded with a hearty chuckle and a good-humoured smile. “You shall not escape so easily next time. Might I ask you to dance with a friend of mine as a substitute? He is a reserved man who dances but rarely, though he is quite skilled. I would like him to have the enjoyment of a set.”
Jane had little desire to serve as a charity case for some clodpole, but she saw Mr Bingley standing twenty feet away, staring at her unabashedly. He did not merely glance her way; he was fully engrossed in his observations. It left her flustered, frustrated, andfurious. Who was he to stare at her? What right had he to make her uncomfortable? The man had his chance and squandered it.
Unaccustomed and quite strange emotions stirred within her. She glanced to the gentleman's right, only to see a vision of her sister Lizzy speaking to her.
Someday, my dear Jane… Someday Big Sister… someday… someday… and mind you, I really hope to see it… you will FINALLY lose your temper. I can hardly wait, but do try to make sure you have no sharp weapons or firearms handy at the time.
Jane was entirely fed up with the Netherfield occupants and everyone associated with them. Mr Bingley had watched her all night, far more intently than Mr Darcy used to watch Lizzy, and the scrutiny was unsupportable. Jane had endured another encounter with Miss Bingley, which left her frustrated that she did not have Lizzy or Lydia to check her, for she was neither vicious nor impolite enough to say what was truly required.
She thought Lizzy’s predicted reckoning might be at hand, but she was not enthusiastic and had no intention of being available for Mr Bingley to ruin the rest of her evening. Anybody who wasnotMr Bingley would suffice.
With a serene smile, she replied, “That would be lovely, Mr Pennington. I shall do my good deed for the day. Your friend is safe with me.”
“Wait here, if you will,” he replied good-naturedly. “He is just round the other side of this column.”
Mr Pennington limped away, apparently not lame, but not equal to dancing. As he left, Jane glanced surreptitiously to ensure Anne did well. Now that her new friend had stood for several dances, Jane considered her work complete. Having helped the lady past her first tremors, Anne did not truly need her, and Jane had no idea why the heiress invited her in the first place. Anne could perfectly well have faced the ball with the general, Lady Clarissa, or one of her other relatives. Indeed, the key to success was not the presence of Jane, but more likely the absence of Lady Catherine.
Jane had no sooner located her protégée than she turned to see Mr Bingley working his way towards her, looking determined—in a spineless sort of way. She hoped Mr Pennington had done his duty and was glad to hear him approach from behind.
“I found him!”
Jane turned, vexed at Mr Bingley’s obvious attentions, only to see Mr Pennington dragging a gentleman over practically by his sleeves, with the look of a man who had called in a favour. A slight turn of her head left her gasping.
Jane found herself in an extremely uncomfortable position: two paces from none other than Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy.
His bow was deep and polite, at least. “Miss Bennet, it is a pleasure to see you again.”
