The whole matter abruptly became clear in her mind, and she felt like the world’s greatest, most trusting, most ignorant, most naïve fool. Mr Darcy had quite rudely and unapologetically separated her and her ‘unsuitable connections’ from Mr Bingley andboastedto his cousin Fitzwilliam of his success. Her sister mysteriously disappeared after a visit to Rosingswith Mr Darcyand that same cousin. It would take quite a lot to rattle Lizzy, so whatever happened must have been terrible. The heir of Rosings—coincidentallyMr Darcy’s other cousin—abruptly called on her in Cheapside to form an acquaintance under mysterious circumstances, then set about befriending her against all common sense. Jane had come to her first high society London ball only to find not only Mr Darcy’s good friend Mr Bingley, but Mr Darcy himself, lying in wait. As far as she could tell, the entirety of the ton was conspiring to bring her to this moment, merely to sport with her and see how far her manners and good breeding would carry her.
She stared at the man in absolute consternation and tried to think of what to say, with little to show for her efforts,desperately wondering if ‘someday’ had finally arrived, and if so, where she would find a mill pond.
Mr Darcy, unaware she was the lady Pennington had called in his favour for, started trying to dig out of the hole he had created for himself. He scarcely managed to get out the basic pleasantries and a bow before he found that, for the second time in less than a fortnight, he was staring at the back of a Bennet sister who was unwilling to say a single word.
With a terrifying feeling of familiarity, like a bad dream repeating itself, Darcy watched Jane Bennet turn and cross the floor as fast as decorum allowed. She stood ramrod straight and tall, no tension in her bearing, moving with surprising speed, as if she were gliding rather than walking.
Genuinely concerned, he said a few words to Pennington and followed her. In a crowded ballroom, he was constrained to be even more subtle than when pursuing her sister, but this time he was unwilling to let her from his sight, regardless of the consequences.
He reached the ballroom door as the eldest Miss Bennet stepped into the chilly April evening without even retrieving her wrap or overshoes. With a sinking feeling, he followed in helpless pursuit as she ran down the steps. She hurried to the first hackney in the queue, spoke to the driver for mere seconds, then jumped in and slammed the door without waiting for the approaching footman. The driver signalled his horse, and they departed—he imagined for Cheapside.
Truly alarmed, and feeling guiltier than ever, he summoned a passing servant, entrusting him with a message for General McConnell: he was not to worry about Miss Bennet, but should escort Anne safely to Darcy House along with Miss Bennet’s belongings. He approached the next hack and climbed to the box beside the driver. Feeling a villain, he instructed the manto follow the other coach, just disappearing from view, but to remain unseen.
Forty minutes later they drew up a few hundred yards behind the other hack, enabling him to see the elder Miss Bennet exit, pay the driver, and run to the house. She was shivering, near frozen, and she ran up the steps and within while he watched from his perch.
The driver seemed nervous about the enterprise, so Darcy did something unprecedented: he delivered a barefaced lie with all the aplomb of George Wickham. He claimed the lady was his cousin, that she had suffered a disagreement with another relation, and he was simply ensuring she reached home safely. He paid triple the usual fare and returned to the ball. He had his carriage and did not wish the driver to know exactly who he was or where he lived.
On his return, Darcy sought Lady Clarissa. She gave him a withering look but led him to a small anteroom where he found an irate Anne de Bourgh pacing and cursing. As soon as he entered, she began.
“What have you done, William?”
Darcy sighed and poured a brandy. He had no real need for the drink but required a moment to compose his thoughts.
“Anne?”
He indicated the bottle, but she regarded him a shocked expression.
“Partake or not as you choose,” said he, “but do not pretend it would be your first drink, or even your twentieth. You will get no censure from me. I try to keep my hypocrisy strictly within bounds that do not involve drinking.”
Anne sighed and nodded for a glass.
Lady Clarissa declined and said, “May I safely leave you two, or must I search you for knives? Darcy, you will deliver Anne safely to Darcy House?”
“Yes, my lady,” he replied with a grim chuckle, “though she will likely be in my carriage with me on foot.”
“Yes, but exercise is so good for you young boys. Keeps your looks.” She patted his cheek much as one would a favourite old hound—lovable, but too stupid for its own good.
Darcy chuckled, bowed, and waited for her to leave before turning to Anne.
“Shall I answer your question now?”
Anne took a sip and nodded.
Darcy related the substitute dance debacle and Miss Bennet’s abrupt, silent departure.
“What can it mean?”
“It likely means she knows something, though I have no idea what. Did you know Bingley was at the ball?”
Anne laughed softly. “What is left of him is still out there dancing.”
“Left of him?”
“Everything except his pride—though to be honest, that did not seem to amount to much in the first place. Jane put him in his place but good, and you would have loved what we did to his viper of a sister.”
“I suppose she either discovered something about the debacle between me and her sister, or the debacle involving Bingley, or something else. She turned and ran like the wind the moment Penington presented me as a substitute dancer. Much as she vexed me, I must admit I was impressed. She canmovewhilst still looking as quiet and demure as you please.”
Anne sat in a chair, appearing quite subdued.
