He looked at Bingley, who, to his surprise, seemed to revive, though with an expression of irritation. “Why do you consider Lady Axton’s gatherings more virtuous or elegant than the one we had at Netherfield?”
It was evident that his friend had not yet reconciled himself to what he had left behind in Hertfordshire. It was too soon; still, such an irritable tone was uncommon in Bingley, and the moment was awkward.
“More virtuous—I cannot say. More elegant and better conducted—certainly,” Darcy replied with caution.
“So elegance and style are of greater consequence than virtue?” Bingley asked, with some bitterness, and then he closed his eyes again, as if unwilling to hear the answer.
Darcy chose silence. It was a difficult question, and he was no longer certain he possessed a clear answer. Besides, he doubted whether “virtue” was the proper term for a young woman in eager pursuit of a husband. At least, that had been his impression of Meryton—and of the Bennet family.
∞∞∞
It required many arguments on Darcy’s part to persuade Bingley to accompany him to Lady Axton’s. He protested that he was tired or not in spirits; still, Darcy prevailed, and at seven o’clock they were received in the imposing vestibule of Axton Hall.
More than twenty-five years earlier, Lady Roberta Axton—then Miss Roberta Ashley—had married the Earl of Axton. Hewas old and impoverished, and the ton scarcely remembered him, for he had long withdrawn from London society. His only remaining possession had been the family house, in a state of neglect. Before meeting Miss Ashley, he had resolved to sell it. She, the daughter of a wealthy tradesman who had made his fortune from watermills, had been raised in London in comfort and with ambition. The earl offered her precisely the distinction she desired. It had taken her nearly ten years to secure the respect of society; now, five-and-twenty years later, she was almost an institution, and many advantageous marriages had begun in her elegant rooms.
It was a place where the best society assembled, one of the rare occasions on which entire families were present. Fathers played cards; mothers conversed and observed, while the young people were permitted to meet and speak, under the watchful eyes of their elders, and to exchange confidences in low voices.
Lady Axton was strict in her invitations; still, she had not forgotten her origins. When a man of fortune such as Charles Bingley was introduced by one so well established as Fitzwilliam Darcy, she would sometimes overlook strict distinctions—if only to allow a young lady of family but little fortune to marry well, or the reverse.
Darcy was one of her partialities.Had he been twenty years older, he might have been my great love, she sometimes thought. He and Bingley required no invitation; they were always welcome. It had been at her house, some two years earlier, that Bingley had nearly become engaged to Miss Anabella Mansfield. Though he had been deeply attached and ready to propose, Lady Axton had quietly warned Darcy that the young lady was unsuitable. Within eight months, she had borne an heir to Lord Arundel, whom she had married only days after Darcy had persuaded Bingley to leave for Pemberley.
It was, perhaps, this circumstance that had strengthened Bingley’s reliance on his friend’s judgement.
He now sat stiffly in the carriage that conveyed them to Axton Hall. “I do not know why we are going there.” His nights had been restless, and the day brought him no comfort.
“Come, Bingley,” Darcy said with firmness. “Miss Mansfield was but one unfortunate instance among many deserving young women to be met at Lady Axton’s.”
“I am not sure I wish to meet anyone,” Bingley replied faintly. “Indeed, I must thank you for your hospitality, but tomorrow I shall return to my own house, which is now ready.”
Darcy regarded him with concern. He did not like the idea of his being alone; yet Bingley seemed determined.
“We might go to Bath for a week or two,” Darcy suggested. “My uncle, Lord Matlock, is soon to depart there with his family, and would be glad of our company.”
But again, Bingley shook his head vigorously. Bath was another place where he thought he had found love only to leave after two weeks. But that time, he did not need Darcy to tell him he was about to make a mistake. He discovered on his own that the lady he liked was more interested in his money and properties than in himself.
“It is so often the case,” Darcy continued. “I have myself been inclined to marry more than once, only to discover some irremediable defect.”
Jane has no flaws, Bingley was inclined to tell Darcy, but he kept the thought to himself. He did not wish to begin an argument on that subject. He remembered her on the night of the ball; she had looked at him as no woman ever had, the candlelight gathered in her two compelling eyes. She was shy, yet eager to believe his words. “You dance divinely,” he had told her. She blushed, and he could have sworn she thought the sameof him. There had been confidence in her eyes; and yet, only a few days later, he left without a word.
He looked with indifference at the people gathered in Lady Axton’s salons. They were people of the ton, and in other circumstances he would have enjoyed such company. That evening, however, the feminine laughter seemed false, and their eyes spoke as vainly as the subjects they offered. Had it been left to him, he would have departed; instead, he found a table of whist in need of a player and sat down, somewhat relieved to be in male company. He played well, and his partner appreciated his skill; for the first time since Netherfield, he felt more at ease.
Lady Axton looked for Darcy, and when she at last found him, she drew him away from the group he was entertaining.
“Pray excuse Mr Darcy,” she said. “We have some important matters to discuss.”
Taking his arm, she led him firmly to the music room. “I wish you to listen to a very talented young lady,” she added. She was the unquestioned mistress of the evening, and all her guests yielded to her gentle authority. For some time, she had sought a suitable wife for Darcy. Yet, it was no easy matter to discover a jewel equal to Pemberley and its exacting master.
“Lady Axton”—he smiled at his dear friend with great kindness—“I believe I know all the young ladies in London…”
She tapped him lightly with her fan. “You are impossible, sir. With such an attitude, you will still be a bachelor ten years hence.”
“And what is so very wrong in that?” he asked, with assumed composure.
“My dear, you have had more than a decade to enjoy the pleasures of a single life. It is time you established a mistress at Pemberley.”
He cast a glance in her direction; it was the first time Lady Axton had spoken to him so plainly on the subject. She had longobserved his adventures with amusement, but lately it seemed that her keen perception had detected some change in him.
“I have asked you to be my wife many times,” Darcy said, teasing, and Roberta Axton laughed heartily.
