Section I, Next Section

Prologue

Posted on Thursday, 30 September 2004

To S., for all her effort and support, with deepest thanks for ‘commissioning’ this in the first place

London, December 1790

“You are out of your mind!”

“What gives you that impression? Wait, please, do not commit yourself. I should hate to think you were not transported with joy at witnessing my finding a life’s companion at long last.”

Of his brother’s indignation there could be no doubt.

His grace, however, seemed to take unmistakable delight in their exchange.

“Or do you perhaps feel slighted as you felt she should have succumbed to advances from quite another quarter?”

“What? How—”

“Oh, yes, I know everything of that little affair.”

“Whatever she told you—”

“What a sad notion you have of the lady’s discretion! She told me nothing. In fact, I have done myself the honour of following every step of your quite breathtaking career. So when inevitably, boredom – or lack of funds, for the muslin company, I grant you, is rather dear – compelled you to move from the usual sort of female companions to young ladies of quality, I was on the spot, as it were. And Cyril,” his grace’s eye rested on his younger brother with barely hidden amusement. “If I happened to like what I saw at that particular spot, I am sure you of all men cannot blame me. I have always wondered, you know, how you managed to fit it all in. Timewise it must have presented quite a difficulty. Well, now you can devote yourself more to your family. Such fine boys. I am sure it is not too late to get them into some sort of profession.”

“You are not suggesting what I think you are suggesting!”

“This syllogism, I find, has a leak or two. Should you wish to compose a paradox, it would perhaps be wise of you to get hold of a dictionary. But I shall not pretend I do not understand your muddled meaning. Yes, I mean to start a family. Dash it, that is what marriage is for! ‘For the procreation of children, to be brought up in the fear and nurture of the Lord’, and so forth. Who am I to meddle with the causes for which this honourable estate had been ordained? Do you presume to meddle with them, Cyril?”

The Duke of Sunderland leaned forward and looked his brother fully in the eye. “For if you do, I promise you will regret it.”

Part I

“Any friend or relative of yours is very welcome!”

Bingley opened his arms wide at the same time as to engulf the visitor in an embrace of welcome there and then.

“Doubly so if it is a lady we are talking about,” he smiled. “Any chance of that?”

To find himself exposed to such remarks was discomfiting enough as it was, but to be so under the scrutinizing eye of Miss Bingley and a rather astonished look from Miss Elizabeth Bennet, was unbearable.

“Well, we are twice blessed, it would seem. It is a female relation of mine, Bingley. Shall I put out an order for fireworks? Excuse me.”

Mr Darcy having not as much left as fled the room, the remainder of company was at leisure to speculate openly on the visitor they expected.

Rosings Park, November 13, 1811

Dear nephew,

I hope this finds you well. I am writing to tell you that Lady Beatrice will soon be traveling to London. It is my understanding you are staying with your friend Mr Bingley. As Lady B. has expressed a wish to see you during her brief visit to Rosings, I suggested her stopping at Netherfield for a few days. I will tell you openly and honestly – the young lady in question is rather opinionated and possesses a tendency to ignore the most well meant advice in all matters.

However, in the interest of promoting family connections, I hope you will be able to overcome any difficulties as may arise from flaws of character. She shall more likely as not make an outstanding match, even though my brother and sister Matlock seem to take but little interest in the matter.

I made it my duty to point out all the advantages of such an arrangement, but Lady Beatrice’s character made it an extremely laborious task. I wish you might have more success with overcoming the blunders of her Continental upbringing. One cannot help but be astonished that an Englishwoman of noble birth should harbour such an irrational notion as to be wed to please herself. I have every faith that you shall reason with her. The very honour of our family depends upon it.

I shall be waiting for you to write after Lady Beatrice has arrived.

Yours&tc.

Catherine de Bourgh

“What were you doing upsetting Mr Darcy like that, Charles? The lady is clearly a disgraced relation. Cannot you be sympathetic? It must be mortifying to be embarrassed by a family member!”

Bingley looked chastised. He was about to stammer something, as Miss Bennet remarked softly,

“It happens in the best of families as well as the worst. Why should Mr Darcy’s be an exception?”

“There, you see, Caroline…”

“Why? Why? May I inform you, Miss Bennet, that the Darcys are one of the most illustrious, most respected families in the country? Not a whiff of a scandal has been associated with their name for over a century!”

“Indeed? I suppose the scandals before that could not have been very bad either.”

“What do you mean, Miss Bennet? What are you implying?”

Miss Bingley was by now completely impassioned. Her eyes, prominent as they were, were by now a little too noticeable. An observer who were disposed to be malevolent, might describe them as bulging, almost. Her shoulders shook in indignation on behalf of Mr Darcy and the eighteen generations of Darcys.

“Caroline! I am sure Miss Bennet was only in jest—”

Mr Bingley took a step or two forwards in an effort to intervene.

“As indeed was I. Nobody disputes the renown of Darcy’s family. Miss Bennet was only making a general remark, which I believe, was taken too seriously.”

He was looking entreatingly, first at his sister, then at Miss Bennet.

The latter was the first to respond.

“I am sincerely sorry, Miss Bingley, if I made an unfortunate comment that could be misinterpreted. I apologise. I hope Mr Darcy would find no fault in what I said. No offence was meant. But…He must be extremely pleased to have a defender in you.”

Elizabeth smiled, and added,

“I think I should better look in on my sister. I have left her alone too long. If you’ll excuse me…”

“Well!”

Miss Bingley stood up demonstratively and crossed the room to indulge in the balm of sisterly comfort. Thus two pairs of reproaching eyes were soon fixed on Charles Bingley from the same angle.

“A-hm. Yes. Very good to have cleared this matter.”

“But we have not, not really, Charles. If I am to endure such treatment under my own roof…”

Mrs Hurst felt it was high time to change the subject lest her sister should persist in making Mr Darcy’s affairs her own before time. She squeezed Caroline’s hand compassionately,

“Yes, my dear, you do have the patience of an angel. But… I must profess myself curious regarding this unexpected guest. Do you perhaps have any idea who it might be, Charles?”

Bingley, with a relief, owned he had none.

“Well, do you think you could possibly find out? Seeing it was you and your witty remark that seem to have deprived us of this information.”

Mr Bingley was more than grateful to be given an excuse to leave the room, and he assured the ladies he would get to the bottom of this affair.

But before he did invade Darcy’s sanctum, surely the only sensible thing was to enquire after Miss Bennet’s health.

Dear Aunt,

I am unspeakably grateful that you choose to inform me of my cousin’s arrival to the house in which I am myself guest.

Dear Aunt,

Many thanks for your last in which you deign to inform me

Dear Aunt,

Thank you for your last. I am deeply thankful that you should notify me beforehand of

“This is hopeless.”

Mr Darcy looked at the sheet of paper in front of him. There was, or at least, should be, a limit to what family obligations included! He wished he were able to communicate this to his Aunt without causing offence. So far, his attempts in this direction appeared futile.

He was just about to embark on another, when somebody knocked on the door. Darcy blinked impatiently.

“Yes?”

One of the footmen stepped in.

“Mr Bingley enquires if you have a moment, sir.”

“Oh! Thank you. Please, tell Mr Bingley…”

Before he had time to finish the sentence, a sound of a cough protruded into the room.

“Never mind. I shall tell him myself.”

Darcy abandoned his position at the desk and walked towards the door. He was correct. Mr Bingley was indeed waiting in the hall.

“Ah! There you are!”

“You are perfectly welcome to enter your own library, you know, Bingley.”

Mr Bingley smiled and said he was extremely happy to hear it. Was Darcy busy or…

“Or…?”

“Well, yes, you see, a slight discussion followed your announcement. And, well, the gist of it, they sent me, well, I was going to ask you anyway, but, as it was, I could not, and so…”

Darcy turned away and assumed his former position exactly, complete with pen in hand.

“You mean, Miss Bingley wishes to know about her guest?”

Bingley breathed out a sigh of relief and admitted that was the gist of it.

“Is it not rather awkward to be the messenger?”

Bingley admitted that it was.

“Don’t worry. The shotguns are safely locked away. And I will be almost as forthcoming as my Aunt and let you know that in a few days’ time, you may expect an addition to your company in the form of Lady Beatrice Shelley, the only child of the late Duke of Sunderland, freshly returned from the Continent, and ready to take London by storm in her first season. She is nineteen years of age, and I have not seen her since she was two months old, so I cannot really tell you anything else about her, apart from the customary, ‘she is a young lady of excellent fortune and breeding’.”

“Why, this is splendid!”

Mr Darcy readily agreed that an excellent fortune and breeding were universally regarded as splendid.

“Yes, of course, but I meant how wonderful that we are to meet your… Erm…”

Mr Darcy felt his pen was presenting nothing but an obstruction to the conversation. Consequently, he put it down. This occasioned his hands lacking proper occupation. Thus he very resourcefully brought them together to keep each other company, and failed to be satisfied by his resourcefulness nevertheless.

“Cousin. Of sorts. My cousin’s cousin. Lady Catherine’s niece. Sir Lewis de Bourgh’s sister by his stepmother was the Duchess of Sunderland.”

Mr Bingley’s attention went utterly and completely to the intricacies of the family tree. Now, Lady Catherine de Bourgh was married to Sir Lewis’s half-brother. No. Sir Lewis was Lady Catherine’s husband. His brother was… The Duke of Sunderland. Yes. He was married to the Duchess. And they had a daughter… Lady Beatrice.

“Oh, yes, of course.”

Mr Bingley looked very confident. He would certainly be up to repeating such simple facts to Caroline and Louisa.

“Bingley?”

“Yes?”

Mr Darcy sighed.

“You are in no way… Upset?”

“Upset? Good God, why? Oh! You mean… No, actually, I have had very good news. Miss Bennet is very much better, you know. She shall—”

Bingley leaned forward slightly and whispered triumphantly,

“Come down and sit with us after dinner.”

Mr Darcy’s hands sought further company of his bewildered face.

“This is excellent news. I am glad to hear of it. Is it to be a secret?”

“What? Oh, no.”

Bingley blushed — for the thought did occur to him. He could meet Miss Bennet outside her chamber and carry, err, escort her into the small drawing room. They would sit by the fire and…

“Then why were you whispering?”

“Oh, I was, was I? I somehow thought that her recovery should not be spoken of. Bad luck, you know, and all that.”

Bingley reached his hand out and knocked on the desk, thereby almost spilling Mr Darcy’s ink.

While Bingley fumbled with the ink container, Darcy said,

“Perfectly understandable. Bingley… I am sorry to spring this unknown relative of mine on you like this. It is very inconsiderate, and I apologise.”

Bingley, who managed to dispose of the ink – he placed most of it safely onto his palms and fingers, where no further harm could befell it – lifted his eyes in astonishment,

“Darcy! I meant what I said – every friend or relative of yours is very welcome. Besides, the more, the merrier. Miss Bennet will enjoy the company, I am sure. We need to take her mind off the illness. First step to a complete recovery!”

Mr Darcy could not help but smile. A Duke’s daughter will do to assist the convalescence of a Miss Bennet of Longbourn!

“I am glad you see it that way, Charles. Thank you.”

As the company assembled for the evening meal, Mr Bingley helped himself to whatever was placed closest to him, and proceeded to swallow it down with the eagerness that could imply it was his last supper he was partaking of.

Miss Bingley nibbled on the contents of her plate half-heartedly, Mr Hurst whole-heartedly. Mrs Hurst courageously sacrificed herself to a greater good, and was discussing music with Miss Bennet, and Mr Darcy listened to them attentively.

Such was the situation in the dining room when a footman nervously shuffled in and bent to say something in Mr Bingley’s ear.

“Thank you, Mitchell. We have company, sister. Lady Beatrice has arrived, and will be joining us after dinner.”

Miss Bingley’s eyes widened.

“I was under the impression she was to arrive in a few days! I have only started on the arrangements! Oh, Charles!”

Caroline Bingley once again did not hesitate to look at her brother with an unmistakable glint of reproach in her eye. Who else could be responsible for a completely inadequate reception of a Duke’s daughter? Had she planned to set somebody to watch the road first thing next morning, with the purpose of being alerted on time of a Duke of Sunderland’s daughter descending upon her establishment, or had she not? And now, Lady Beatrice had apparently been received by Mitchell the half-wit and shown to a stone cold bedroom, no water brought up and heated!

Miss Bingley saw the situation for what it was: a household disaster of the highest order.

Part II

Posted on Wednesday, 6 October 2004

“This will have to do. I cannot burst into someone’s home, and then keep them waiting as well, while I put on as much finery as is expected of me. Some sacrifices are in order. I shall prove a terrible disappointment, but I will brave it.”

Christine smiled and assured her mistress that the amount of finery was highly irrelevant to make a good first impression in her case.

“Lady Catherine would surely disagree. She thought me shabby, and said as much.”

The lady’s maid wisely refrained from commenting.

“But tastes differ, fortunately, and I am beyond my aunt’s scrutiny now. Can you summon someone to show me down?”

“Is everybody downstairs?”

“Yes, dear, apart, of course, from the black sheep of the Darcy family.”

Elizabeth made sure that her sister was wrapped up in her own shawl, and had Mrs Hurst’s Indian scarf hang loosely from her shoulders by way of extra precaution and as a mark of gratitude to the lady that had supplied the magnificent article. As she performed this task, she noticed the astounded look on her sister’s face.

“Oh, Jane, I am only teasing you. I do not think there are any black sheep in the Darcy family. Mr Darcy would not have stood for even a light grey one! No.”

Elizabeth went on,

“He was his usual reticent self this morning, telling us – that is, telling his host – that a relative of his would be coming. Miss Bingley apparently ran away with the notion that, considering Mr Darcy was so reluctant to announce her arrival, the lady must be in disgrace. This is yet to be corroborated, but I am very much inclined to ascribe Mr Darcy’s reaction to his usual good humour. It is a Duke some-or-other’s daughter, and she had the grace to descend on Netherfield while we were at dinner.”

“Lizzy! I have never…”

“Well, neither have I. But with your Mr Bingley on our side, we need not be worried about a daughter of a dead Duke.”

“Lizzy!”

Her sister laughed.

“That is right, Jane. Neither Miss Bingley nor Mrs Hurst shall hurt us. And especially not the censorious looks of Mr Darcy. We shall defy them together, Jane. Courage! Courage and faith!”

Elizabeth lifted her right arm in the manner of an army general charging at the head of his troops and looked down on her sister from the corner of an eye. They both burst out laughing.

“My lady?”

“Is everyone assembled downstairs?”

“Yes, my lady.”

“I see.”

Mitchell was not, perhaps, eligible for the Quickness In A Servant Award, but still far from deserving the judgment his mistress had passed on his mental capabilities earlier that evening. The lady might be a Duke’s daughter, he thought, but she was a balm to the eye and of decidedly un-ducal disposition. He immediately came to her assistance.

“There are Mr Bingley, his sisters Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst, Mr Darcy, of course, and Mr Hurst. And we have two other houseguests, the Misses Bennet. The elder Miss Bennet has been ill, but they will both be coming…”

A ripple of laughter penetrated from a room on the other side of the corridor. For some inexplicable reason, this fact caused a certain perturbation in the footman. His perturbation only grew in strength as the said door opened, and two smiling ladies stepped into the corridor arm in arm.

“Shall she be cold and distant, or is she really a black sheep, do you think?”

The dark lady was evidently in a very good mood. The taller, fair one, smiled slightly and covered the other’s hand in hers.

“This will not do and you know it, Lizzy.”

And it did not do at all, as just at that moment, they reached the landing where a flabbergasted Mitchell stood with a tall, slender young lady in his trail.

“Good evening.”

Mitchell was sure of one thing – he must bow and make himself scarce. He had no business introducing the ladies. But what he heard seemed to have fixed his feet firmly on the ground and moving them was quite out of the question for the time being. In whichever manner this encounter was going to unfold, it would be extremely interesting to observe it do so.

“You must be the Miss Bennets.”

The ladies curtsied in response, their smiles as good as frozen on their countenances.

“I am Beatrice Shelley. I am sorry if I happened to give you a fright just now. There, let me assist you with this. Beautiful, but highly unserviceable things, these Indian shawls. They either smother you or fall down at the most inopportune of times. The one you have underneath is much more practical.”

Jane Bennet nodded reluctantly – surely ‘practical’ was not an object to this creature in shimmering rose silk and soft white gauze? Elizabeth smiled, unsure of what to think of the apparition.

“I believe you have been ill, Miss Bennet?”

“Yes, I was —” Miss Bennet coughed.

“—Caught in a thunderstorm, and had a bit of a fever. I am much better now.”

“We must get you near the fire right away. I should not have kept you here in this draught.”

Lady Beatrice stopped in front of the door, smiling nervously.

“Do you think the gentlemen are here already?”

Mitchell hovered in the background, awaiting the signal to announce the guest. He was of a good mind to be presumptuous and offer to inquire, when Elizabeth spoke,

“I think so. They are never long after dinner.”

“Oh. Well, you have been kept away from the fire on my account long enough already, Miss Bennet. Please —”

She motioned to Mitchell, who took a deep breath and proceeded to announce in a resonant voice,

“Lady Beatrice Shelley.”

The one to meet her halfway into the room was Mr Darcy. He officiated the introductions.

“Miss Bingley, so good to make your acquaintance.”

Caroline Bingley’s face cracked into a frustrated smile.

“Mr Bingley, delighted to meet you.”

Mr Bingley bowed enthusiastically.

“Mrs Hurst, Mr Hurst. Glad to make your acquaintance.”

Mrs Hurst curtsied solemnly, Mr Hurst bowed, and before his back had time to straighten up, the lower part of his anatomy sought support in the nearest chair. This uncalled-for haste was, unfortunately, disguised not by a wince from his wife, nor by Mr Bingley’s dashing across the room and heralding Jane Bennet back in their midst.

Miss Bingley hurried,

“Will you sit down, Lady Beatrice?”

Mr Darcy cleared his throat. Miss Bingley’s hand stopped short of completing an elegant movement with which she meant to invite her guest to join her on the settee.

“Oh! Allow me to introduce Miss Bennet — and Miss Elizabeth Bennet. The Bennet family are my brother’s neighbours.”

She might as well say, ‘inferior wretches with whom we were forced to co-habit by another irrational impulse of his’, for her tone plainly indicated the level of the esteem in which she held the family.

Mr Darcy made a few energetic steps towards the fire and placed himself there, with his hands on his back, facing the company, wrapping himself in that most comfortable garment, a cloak of silence.

Lady Beatrice acknowledged the ladies with a smile and held out her hand. Should not Miss Bennet be sitting next to the fire? Perhaps her sister would join her? – The settee was meant for three.

But Mr Bingley did not, alas, pay much notice to how many a person could seek repose on that elegant piece of furniture supplied by his excellent sister. He had never had the slightest intention of leaving Miss Bennet’s side.

“Your shawl!”

Bingley charged for the item, which was bent on demonstrating its impracticality. In fulfilling his admirable object, he very nearly occasioned the number of invalids in his home rise to two.

Rushing to the rescue, he supposed the distance between Mr Darcy’s back and the fire ample enough to allow for accidental repositioning of the gentleman without any of his limbs establishing a contact of an intimate nature with the flames.

Unfortunately, he was mistaken.

The flame brushed against Darcy’s fingers for a tiny fraction of a moment before he withdrew them and sat down with an expression not so much pained than bemused.

“Ohh!”

Miss Bingley clutched at her heart and darted to inspect the damage done to the object of her affection. Something needed to be done – help had to be fetched – apothecary worthless – surgeon not to be trusted – Charles, do something!

Just in time to be unobserved against the backdrop of Miss Bingley’s plaintive wail, Elizabeth quietly stepped to the door and communicated something in a subdued tone to Mitchell who was in attendance. Then she returned to her sister’s side.

Miss Bingley still loomed over Mr Darcy who by now wished very much that he had been entirely consumed by the fire. Mrs Hurst offered support to her sister, whilst attempting to pull her away gently. Mr Bingley stood somewhere midway between the two parties, raking now one, then the other, with flustered eyes.

It was evident to her that there was no need to yell murder, and that her cousin was perfectly all right, if somewhat singed about the edges. There was hardly any point in contributing to the ado – as Miss Elizabeth had obviously noticed.

The door opened, admitting the ever-busy footman with a small basin and a towel.

Miss Bingley, who had remained blind insofar to every other visual stimulus but the alleged mortal wound to the apple of her eye, focused now her eye on Mitchell, the basin, and the towel. Her eyes again assumed the unpleasant bulging quality. Miss Bingley was accustomed to every hardship, but such presumption on behalf of her servant was…

Miss Elizabeth’s colour visibly heightened.

“Thank you, hmm… Mitchell.”

Lady Beatrice took hold of the basin and approached the fury in the image of Miss Bingley.

“Cold water should alleviate any immediate pain. Hold your hand submerged for a few minutes, Mr Darcy. What excellent servants you have, Miss Bingley. Where ever did you find them? You must tell me; my Aunt Catherine quite despairs at times.”

This, Mr Darcy knew, was as far from the truth as could be. His Aunt knew not the meaning of the word ‘despair’. Quite understandable, since she was always to be found on the inflicting side of it, notably in the case of her domestic staff, who were so far scolded into submission that they gave no reason for dissatisfaction to their employer.

“Well…I…”

“I must apologise. My arrival, I gather, must have been wholly unexpected. Circumstances obliged me to leave Rosings Park rather sooner than planned. I thank you very much for receiving me so kindly on such a short notice.”

Lady Beatrice went on although her talkativeness surprised her. She saw Mr Darcy obediently holding his hand in the basin still; a few moments more, and he would be quite calm again. She felt Miss Elizabeth eye her curiously. This awkward situation could not persist for much longer.

“Not at all, I assure you. Of all aspects of living in the country, my brother and I particularly enjoy opening our house to friends. You are very welcome, Lady Beatrice.”

Miss Bingley, who had for a moment wavered between positive dislike for this most unexpected house guest, who dared intrude on – as she saw it – her domain of administering healing treatment to Mr Darcy, and the irrefutable lustre of the intruder’s lineage, fell a helpless victim to the latter.

In short, Caroline Bingley basked in ducal glory.

“You have only recently returned from the Continent, I believe?”

Elizabeth had embarked on a solitary morning walk. Her sister was still asleep, exhausted by last evening’s exertion, and Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst were not likely to emerge from their respective chambers soon. She felt now was the perfect time to see if that delightful dog of Mr Bingley’s she had struck acquaintance with the day before, was somewhere about. Instead, she was rather astonished to find Lady Beatrice walking the little grove behind the house.

The two ladies established they shared a fondness of outdoors, and even though Elizabeth felt obliged to propose returning inside in order to give Lady Beatrice the chance to avoid her company gracefully, the latter declined.

Elizabeth’s question awoke her from a reverie, for it took a few moments for her to lift her head and answer,

“Yes, I spent almost my entire life abroad.”

“How is it that you returned after all this time?”

There was a little pause.

Elizabeth thought she had perhaps overreached herself. But it was a valid question – and one that Miss Bingley longed to ask but dared not on account of Mr Darcy’s obvious disapproval.

“Forgive me. I pry.”

“Not at all. It is hardly a secret. I am to be married.”

This had too much of a definite sound for Elizabeth do resist inquiry.

“Oh! May I ask..?”

“At least a Marquess. Or my Aunt Lady Catherine will be very vexed indeed,” said Lady Beatrice with a hollow laugh.

“Your Aunt must be misinformed then.”

Lady Beatrice looked at her questioningly.

Elizabeth leaned forward and said in a conspiratorial whisper,

“Not as much as an Earl within ten miles. If there had been, my mother would have put up a tent for me and my four sisters outside the manor.”

Elizabeth was relieved to see Lady Beatrice laugh. She had a lovely, quiet laughter, that seemed to make her entire body tremble – it was as if she laughed only within herself, and dared not be vocal in the expression of mirth.

“I see! A very unfortunate situation.”

“Indeed.”

“I must do my Aunt justice, though. She had no intention I should put up my tent in Hertfordshire. That was due entirely to Mr Darcy.”

“Mr Darcy!”

Lady Beatrice was now the one to observe her companion’s face closely. There was an interesting degree of astonishment.

“Yes, I wish to consult him on a matter his sister thinks he would be able to assist me with.”

“Mr Darcy’s sister! I have heard so much about her. Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst think the world of her.”

Lady Beatrice nodded, “So I gather.”

“Pray, what is Miss Darcy like? Is she much like her brother?”

Lady Beatrice smiled as she replied,

“That rather depends on your opinion of Mr Darcy. If you, for instance, believed him cold and distant, I would have to answer, ‘No’.”

Elizabeth pursed her lips and blushed crimson.

“You shame me, Lady Beatrice, and quite rightfully. I apologise.”

“No need, Miss Bennet. First impressions may be misleading. I hope!”

They readily agreed on this point, and as Lady Beatrice soon after admitted to being in need of breakfast, they repaired indoors.

Part III

Posted on Friday, 15 October 2004

“If it is not too much trouble, I would like to consult you on a family matter, sir, at any time you should find convenient.”

As it happened, Mr Darcy found it extremely inconvenient that any such consultation should take place, then, or at any time in the future. To do him justice, it should be pointed out that his unreadiness stemmed from the fact that he had spent a good half an hour before coming downstairs on yet another series of unsuccessful attempts at a diplomatic missive to his aunt.

In the end, he concluded it would be best to postpone writing until he had something material to say. Unfortunately, he had also been blessed with the realization that for such a communication to be forthcoming, he would be obliged to engage in a discussion of his relative’s marital prospects with the said relative.

“I trust all is well with your family, Lady Beatrice?”

Miss Bingley had cocked an ear towards the cousins, and the query left her lips before she had time to check herself.

This prompted Darcy to answer, in a subdued tone,

“I am at your disposal, madam. Would you perhaps care for a ride?”

Lady Beatrice acquiesced readily enough, however, she uttered a slight protest – would not a walk be better? His hand could not be…

“My hand is perfectly well,” rasped Darcy. “Shall we?”

Darn curiosity! Darcy stormed in the direction of the stables. Lady Beatrice murmured something about a riding habit, and almost ran upstairs. Darcy was not particularly surprised. Miss Bingley’s inquisitiveness had a rather similar effect on him.

His maneuver had been rather transparent. Should he not let matters take their own course? The sooner she got used to impertinence, the better.

“Well, there is an obvious solution to the matter. He must go away and stay away. If I need to be in the marriage business, I shall not be accused of doing both the selling and the buying.”

“Gerald! I beg you not to use such crude expressions!”

“Would you rather have me use my sister’s elevated rhetoric of…”

Lord Matlock fumbled in the pocket of his dressing gown with his right hand, then he fumbled some more in it with his left. He frowned at the piece of paper on the table before him, until miraculously, his eyeglass materialized in front of his nose.

“Oh! Where was that confounded thing?”

“In your breast pocket, as usual.”

“Humph. Where was I? Yes, Catherine’s is a delightful phrasing – ‘see to it that she does not leave your house unmarried…’ uhm-uhm-uhm-- Ah yes, there it is.”

Lord Matlock, not being of a disposition to glare at his wife, and wishing very much to be able to glare at his sister, glared at her missive instead, and he went about it with dedication. He read, his never particularly subdued voice growing louder with every word,

“ ‘I realize her fortune may appeal to many; I trust you shall ensure it does not present a temptation too close to home.’ ”

“Confounded insolence! What she means, of course, is, what a pity she has not a son herself. Then there would be no talk of temptation, but rather a little quiet family occasion in the presence of the Hunsford vicar instead!”

If ever one could describe a peer of the realm as ‘fuming’, this, perhaps, was the occasion to hazard such a description. His own sister implying that his own offspring would descend on his young niece, clearly a pawn in the very same sister’s marital game, like a hawk on a helpless fox, well!

“Gerald, stop hollering. There is no reason for everybody to hear what they know already, namely that Catherine can be a bit…trying at times. Have a little talk with Edward. He’ll be more than happy to kick the dust off his feathers and fly free.”

“Fly free! That is precisely what I am worried about, his flying free! Remember what happened the last time he flew free?”

Lady Rebecca winced. Perhaps having one’s son and heir labeled a mercenary could nevertheless be viewed in a more favourable light than seeing the very same son and heir engaged to a French theatrical person.

She did not keep him waiting; just as he had resigned himself to it, she came half-running from the house, and off they were.

The first mile or so passed in discussion of Hertfordshire. Darcy had little information to impart, but what he knew, he shared with uncharacteristic eagerness. The flora being on decline, he concentrated on the neighbourhood.

He found an attentive listener in his young cousin. Her face grew quite animated when, at last, he was compelled to admit the small village in the valley before them was Longbourn.

“The home of the Miss Bennets? I should gladly form a closer acquaintance with them. I understand the elder Miss Bennet is Miss Bingley’s particular friend.”

Darcy, who had grown quite uncomfortable at the very mention of Longbourn, let alone its inhabitants, deemed the disposal of the subject advisable. He was very tempted to comment that his cousin would undoubtedly have her wish granted, since the Misses Bennet were firmly encamped at Netherfield, but he bit his tongue and said instead purposefully,

“Miss Bingley’s friendships are perhaps not as easily formed as her brother’s affections, yet the outcome is surprisingly alike.”

“You approve of neither, I take it?”

Lady Beatrice slowed the pace of her horse, and eyed Mr Darcy questioningly.

“It may not matter what I approve of or not.”

“I beg your pardon; I merely ask on my own behalf. It may be concluded from your words that you disapprove of my wish to get better acquainted with Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth. If I misunderstand you, I apologise.”

Darcy felt as if he had been cornered in an open field.

“And Richard?”

“What about him?”

“We cannot banish one son from his home and hearth and then welcome the other, dear. It may give rise to some unpleasant talk.”

Lady Rebecca hesitated for a while. The simple truth was that she had always enjoyed the company of her younger son. She was not certain she could give it up. But would Richard behave? However difficult it was, she had to confess to some doubt.

Then again…

She contemplated. The presentation at court. The breakfasts. The balls. The visits to the milliners’ and suchlike nonsense, all of it forming a vast slough of despond before her.

Who could blame her ladyship if she viewed her younger child as ‘a sunbeam in a winter’s day’?

So she said firmly,

“Richard will behave. As for talk, there will be plenty of it no matter what we do or say.”

“I cannot make her out, Louisa.”

“Mhmm?”

“Lady Beatrice. I cannot make her out.”

Mrs Hurst laid aside the sheets of music she had been sorting, and looked up.

Her sister was brooding, and worse still, she was brooding by the window. She had stood there ever since Mr Darcy had taken Lady Beatrice for a ride, and she undoubtedly would continue to do so until she would hear of their return. She could have, Mrs Hurst supposed, stood guard in one of the rooms overlooking the stables, but either her sister perceived that notion as unworthy of her, or she merely had not thought of it – yet.

Whichever it was, it was a small mercy, and Mrs Hurst welcomed those as they came.

“Well…”

“She put on quite a performance of the angel of mercy, did she not, yesterday? As if I do not have the presence of mind to send for cold water!” scowled Miss Bingley. “And he – cutting me short the way he did just now! What has she done? Whatever it is, it must be quite bad.”

“One reason more for you not to mention it, dearest.”

Miss Bingley shrugged her shoulders helplessly and brooded some more.

“I… A misunderstanding there has been, and I am to blame for it. I have no reason to recommend you not to associate yourself with the elder Misses Bennet. Not at all. I am honoured that you consider my opinion so closely, Lady Beatrice.”

Mr Darcy, his cheek flushed with embarrassment, was gratified at least with the knowledge of his being correct in the assumption that the conversation would be an uncomfortable one.

Lady Beatrice, grasping at the reins, brought her mare to a halt.

“Mr Darcy – Miss Bingley just now asked about my family. You very kindly stepped in. – I… The fact of the matter is, of the little family I have left in England…”

She paused, and straightened herself up.

“I hardly know whom to trust. Forgive my bluntness. I do not wish to appear ungrateful. Aunt de Bourgh has done a lot for me, but our recent meeting… Makes me doubt she has my best interest at heart. You have a sister—”

She went on under his surprised gaze,

“You have a sister who will soon be in a position similar to the one in which I find myself today. I know that Lord Matlock is a good and kind man…”

Her fears, meditated upon for months, burst forth and clutched at her throat. She had been imagining this conversation ever since that fateful morning at Rosings. Her voice was high-pitched and strained; she strove to speak slowly and calmly.

“And I have every faith in him as my guardian. But I need… I should so much like to be able to consult a disinterested – forgive my choice of words – person, one who would give me their opinion openly and clearly, whenever I would ask for it, and, perhaps even more importantly, when I would not. A person who would…”

She looked at him closely. Her face, invested with an unnatural pallor a moment earlier, now flushed crimson.

“…Not view me above all, or merely, as one who should be disposed of into matrimony to the highest bidder as soon as possible. I have reason to believe you might consent to act as such person. Would you consider it?”

Part IV

Posted Sunday, 24 October 2004

Dear Madam,

Thank you very much for your last. I shall be bold and point out the obvious: both you and my Father worry too much. If the poor girl knew the number of sleepless nights she had cost you, she would take refuge in a closet and never come out again.

Think calmly and tell me, are you not a little appeased by Aunt Catherine’s account of her? Headstrong, stubborn, possessing no family feeling…! For myself, I am quite enraptured already. Instead of bowing, I think I shall simply lay myself prostrate at her feet and present this wonder of a woman immediately with my dashing person and meager allowance. No, that is not a hint for you to have a discussion with my Father, and I shall hide – or worse, read! - all your novels if you do.

I beseech you, write and tell me she is ugly so that I can return to the bosom of my family firm in the belief there is no such thing as Perfection!

I am, yours & etc. obedient as ever,

R. Fitzwilliam

P.S. Of course I shall behave, madam. I always do behave. One way or the other.

“Oh dear,” mumbled Lady Matlock into her chin.

“I don’t mind confessing I am a bit surprised by your request. You do me a great honour by suggesting it, of course. May I in turn assure you that your guardian is a most trustworthy person? Lord Matlock,” hesitated Darcy a little, “has shown to have your interest very much at heart.”

Her pale face again became flushed.

“You refer to the fact that I have him to thank I have a home in England to return to. And a name to—”

Her voice broke and she fumbled with her reins. Darcy dismounted quickly and helped her do the same.

“Looking forward to the addition to the family?”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, don’t look so d—ed virtuous, Fitzwilliam. The Sunderland girl, of course. What a prize!”

Colonel Fitzwilliam smiled,

“Do spare me your usual subtlety. Why don’t you say plainly what you mean and I will beat you to a pulp, and we can settle down to our drinks in peace afterwards.”

“I didn’t know I was treading on any toes.”

Captain Sykes tapped his glass. The servant filled it and evaporated just as the claret shortly would, although not quite into the same direction.

“Can’t say my toes feel any pain; my head does, though, it quite spins with your clatter.”

“So you’re not the designated prize-winner, I take it,” persisted his friend and leaned over conspiratorially. “The older brother carries the day, eh? I feel for you, Fitzwilliam, old boy.”

“I am touched by your concern, but as neither of us has any ambition in that respect, you may as well save your sympathy for the lady.”

“What does she need sympathy for?”

“Well, seeing that she is generally regarded fair game, she may actually benefit from that sentiment, at least. Didn’t know you had matrimony so close at heart, Sykes. Inspecting the field, are you?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean her ladyship’s guardian knows you too well for you to be entertaining such notions. I am sorry,” the Colonel patted his friend’s shoulder in consolation. “He’d eat you for breakfast, my father would. I know; he’d nibbled on me many a time.”

“What he did, he did gladly.”

“I owe them much as it is, Mr Darcy. I am not ignorant of at what personal expense and that of his family Lord Matlock secured my inheritance for me.”

Darcy looked distinctly uncomfortable. His father had referred to the events following the demise of the Duke of Sunderland only once in his presence. He spoke of it as ‘a nasty affair’. Details would have been withheld from his son until time had come for him to go up to Cambridge, if it were not for Lady Catherine, who had always been of opinion that the Duchess, if she had to die, should have taken her daughter with her, and she did not hesitate to say so.

‘Maria was always one to cause trouble. I would be surprised if her daughter would turn out any different. Anne is barely three years old. How am I to bring up two girls on my own? And what if transpires…? Anne’s reputation shall be blemished as it is! I cannot be expected to harbour a love child!’

Darcy never heard this complaint of Lady Catherine’s, but his father did. For Mr Darcy, senior, it was one more cause to allude to the whole business as he did.

Oddly, the lady was far less ill at ease than the gentleman. She had dreaded and anticipated this conversation for months. If it had not been for Georgiana’s encouragement, she would never have approached him. But the sister was so vehement and insistent in the praise of her brother that Lady Beatrice had ceased to view him as a perfect stranger. Together with details of Miss Darcy’s close escape from a fortune hunter, she heard of her brother’s reactions, and was impressed.

To one who had been her whole life censured for the alleged mistakes of one of her parents, such understanding treatment was an instrument of hope, and she clung to it.

“I was kept in dark, of course, but the entire history did reach me in bits and pieces, even before the Auerspergs decided to prepare me for, as they put it, my disappointment. It was my great aunt that saw to my entry into the society. My grandmother’s family had suggested that due to my frail health…”

Lady Beatrice stopped in her stride and shrugged her shoulders with a smile, as if to say, ‘Clearly, I am at death’s door,’ while her entire appearance put that statement to a lie. She had not felt so good in years. Her burden was, at least momentarily, passed from her shoulders, and she looked revived. Darcy observed this change and saw before him a young girl that she was.

“You see I am such a delicate creature! – it was quite out of the question. And the result… I was not snubbed by anyone but…”

“Your own family.”

She stopped abruptly. How…?

Darcy hurried on, embarrassed,

“My uncle shared the gist of Sir Arthur’s letter with me. He was, and is, most anxious on your behalf. Be assured you shall find a welcoming home with him and Lady Rebecca.”

“Poor Miss Bingley.”

“What is the matter, Lizzy?”

“Why, nothing, as far as I can see. But then I do not feel it so keenly if Mr Darcy goes riding and walking about the country with a very handsome young lady of noble birth and large fortune. Miss Bingley might not be so indifferent regarding the matter, that is all.”

For Elizabeth Bennet shared her occupation with the principal sufferer, and was in addition much more fortunate in being able to actually observe the gentleman in his occupations, which Miss Bingley was not.

Miss Bennet said,

“You seem interested enough, though, Lizzy.”

Elizabeth turned away from the window quickly and went to her sister’s side.

“What else, pray, am I to do in this dull house? I cannot stay downstairs – if Mr Bingley is there, I cannot talk to him in peace since his sisters have so much to say to him; if he is away, they have nothing to say to me, or, on the other hand, too much. No matter which way I turn, I have only two companions in this house whose presence is not —”

Elizabeth stopped, and corrected herself, “No, three. I think.”

“Lady Beatrice?”

“No. You, myself, and Mr Bingley’s dog.”

“Lizzy, you’re impossible!” Miss Bennet laughed, seeing her sister’s shoulders shake in an unmistakable manner.

“I was only reluctant to count the latter in since it is not actually forced to be within if it refuses to. The lucky animal,” added Elizabeth.

“Seriously, Lizzy, how do you like Lady Beatrice?”

“Really, how am I to judge someone in every way so superior to my humble person?”

Elizabeth was resolved on avoiding being serious. Miss Bennet observed her sister walk back to the window, smilingly, and look outside again. Her face acquired a peculiar expression. She looked at something closely, then suddenly averted her eyes, only to look again moments later. Then she blushed and hastily removed herself from the window.

“Lizzy?”

“Yes? Oh, Lady Beatrice. I hardly know her, Jane, but I dare say I wronged her yesterday. She is perfectly amiable. I think I am not alone in my opinion.”

Elizabeth sat down, and brushed the skirt of her dress absent-mindedly, in a way that said plainly, ‘All correspondence on this matter now must cease’*.

Miss Bennet wisely desisted from any further inquiry.

What Miss Bennet saw through the window apparently did not leave her wholly unruffled, but the consequences of witnessing the same scene would require immediate fetching of a doctor and a restraining jacket – not necessarily in that order, or for the same sufferer – if Miss Bingley had been more fortunate in her choice of a window to peer through.

“Could I ask…? I am looking forward to meeting Lady Rebecca and Lord Matlock. What are they like?”

She could not stop herself. The question escaped her before she could recognize its awkwardness. Really, to ask a nephew to… But whom else to ask? And he did not mind questions, obviously. Except those regarding himself, Beatrice presumed. But on that point she was fairly well informed.

“Well…”

Darcy hesitated, but when he saw her flushed face, he smiled.

“What can I say?”

She interrupted him, “Oh everything – anything!”

“‘Everything’ would keep us outside for much too long. I shall give ‘anything’ a try then, if I may.”

She laughed at her own impatience. Georgiana had been right. He was quite easy to talk to.

Days passed, and the Miss Bennets left Netherfield upon the complete recovery of the elder Miss Bennet. Mr Bingley and Lady Beatrice were openly sorry to see them go, and said so; the master of the house repeatedly, to the ones who were leaving and to those staying, on every possible occasion; his guest once and quietly, to Mr Darcy.

“I shall come and see you at Longbourn, if I may, Miss Elizabeth,” she said, warmly shaking hands with her, “that is, if I am not summoned…” She glanced at Mr Darcy who stood not far off, waiting to take leave of the guests.

“You will be very welcome,” Elizabeth curtsied.

“I am expected in London shortly, but shall call on you at least once before I leave.”

“What, what? No more talk of leaving, I beg you!”

Mr Bingley, who had been hitherto much preoccupied with Miss Bennet’s shawl, approached. The previous day or two had made him an expert in shawl- arrangement. They would, for who but himself had walked the gallery up and down by Miss Bennet’s side, lifting that piece of finery from the floor, whence it had slipped unobserved on more than two occasions during his animated conversations – or equally animated silences (of which, truth be told, there were not many to be had) with Miss Bennet?

Miss Bingley, too, had heard the last part of Lady Beatrice’s sentence.

We must give credit to her steady heart and note that her initial reaction was a small sigh of relief; but her next thought was even more practical, even if it was a statement of a quite opposite feeling. For at that very moment, in her writing desk, there was a pile of very elegant notes, thus worded:

‘Miss Bingley requests the pleasure of ---- at an evening party on Tuesday, November 26. The party is held in honour of Lady Beatrice Shelley.
An answer will oblige.

Dancing.’

One could not the fruit of one’s toil go to naught as simply as that. Miss Bingley was at Lady Beatrice’s side before her brother could protest further.

“Lady Beatrice, we are counting on your presence at our ball. Such a small affair, quite between friends. You cannot leave us before the ball. You cannot!”

Lady Beatrice hurried to express proper regret, but she was anticipated in her effort.

“I am sure it can be arranged, Miss Bingley. I am to write my uncle; I shall gladly inform him of the situation.”

Miss Bingley was quite struck by his kindness – the operative word being ‘struck’. The one on the receiving end of Mr Darcy’s kindness was in a similar predicament, though she failed to express her feelings in words. She smiled and looked at him with gratitude.

If a footman were anywhere in sight, Miss Bingley would have, at that moment, ordered him to go to her writing desk, extricate the bundle of notes from it and reduce it to ashes with some kindly assistance from the kitchen fire.

“What are you doing at home? Nobody wants you here, I’m sure. I know I don’t. What business had you leaving Netherfield?”

This was the welcome Mrs Bennet extended to her daughters upon their return. Mr Bennet came from the library, as if answering this shrill summons, his book in his left hand, his reading spectacles in his right. He did not say anything, but he very eloquently stepped over to Elizabeth first and hugged her, then bent over Jane, who was sitting in front of the fire, and looked at her closely. Apparently satisfied with what he saw, he nodded to himself, planted a kiss on his eldest’s forehead and retired as noiselessly as he appeared.

“Liiiiii-zzzzzzy!”

The cry came from upstairs and was closely followed by another.

“Jaaaaaaane! Come and see my ball gown! Now!”

Lydia was not favoured with an answer. Miss Bennet got up and intended to do as she was bid, but her sister stopped her. “Don’t, Jane. Don’t walk upstairs on a fool’s errand. She’ll be down before I finish… There.”

And surely enough, Lydia appeared in the doorway, closely followed by Kitty, both of them giggling and out of breath.

“Isn’t it simply gorgeous? Mamma got some lace for me in Meryton, and I have a new…”

Kitty jumped in with a vehement protest at this case of favoritism and injustice against her.

“Hogwash! I haven’t had anything new for ages, and you had your bonnet last week, don’t you unjustice me! And Jane, you have to have something, too, you know, for the ball. What are you wearing? What is Lady Whatshername wearing? Will she have the family jewels? She isn’t a Duke’s daughter for nothing, and I haven’t seen one before yet, but still I know. Lady Lucas says…”

They were never to hear what Lady Lucas said, for Mrs Bennet wanted some first-hand information as well. She shushed her youngest, and turned to Jane and Elizabeth,

“Well, since you are here, you might as well tell us of this fine lady. Who is she?”

Elizabeth dryly supplied the information.

“Indeeed? One of the lesser Dukes, I suppose, for I sure never heard of him!”

Elizabeth remarked that as vast as their acquaintance was, it did not quite extend to such elevated circles.

“Hoity-toity, are we, Miss Lizzy? What, no one gave you a second thought with her ladyship in the room, did they?”

Her daughter explained that she merely wanted to remark, if she might, that the Duke has been resting in peace for quite some years, and…

“You can have Denny, Lizzy! He is such a bore!”

Lydia’s interest in Mr Denny as well as in Lady Beatrice Shelley apparently decreased by the minute. She swirled in front of the glass-paneled cupboard, and yawned.

“If he is such a bore, you’re perfectly welcome to keep him.”

Lydia demonstrated to her sister how short, against all expectations, her tongue actually was, and danced back upstairs.

The letter from London came, but it was not the summons that had been expected. Lady Rebecca wrote that Lady Beatrice may come at a day’s notice; everything was ready for her, and she and his lordship were expecting her in the days after the ball. If the epistle was perhaps a tad on the dry side, it was because Lady Rebecca tried to avoid the hustle and bustle that was to accompany her niece’s arrival for as long as may be, and not because of any lack of warm feeling for her husband’s charge.

Thus, Lady Beatrice Shelley was most happy to inform Miss Caroline Bingley she would be honoured to attend the Netherfield Ball. The invitations were sent out, and that one copy of Peerage that the neighbourhood possessed was much in demand in the days prior to the ball.

Part 5

Posted Thursday, 4 November 2004

“Miss Bennet, I shall miss your company. I don’t know how much time we will have for any sensible conversation before I leave; I have no great hopes for the ball in that respect. Therefore, tell me, is it true you have family in London?”

“Yes, my Uncle and Aunt Gardiner who, as you have heard repeated often enough, live near Cheapside.”

She waited for a reaction. There was none. Apparently, her ladyship was much less struck by that fact than Miss Bingley had been. Indeed, she could afford to be above these geographical details, Elizabeth supposed. That, or the implied meaning had been entirely lost on her, not having even been to Town before.

“I have heard it, yes. I asked you because…” hastened Lady Beatrice. “It is likely I shall stay in London till after New Year. Should you… If you find yourself in Town, would you let me know beforehand? In fact, I should very much like to hear from you even if you don’t go to Town. Will you write to me?”

“If your ladyship wishes…”

Lady Beatrice glanced at her in surprise and smiled,

“My dear Miss Bennet, this will not do. I have quite an impressive array of first names, and you may take your pick amongst them, but this, this will not do. I absolutely refuse to be ladyship-ped by you.”

There was, it seemed, no end to surprises. From the very first private conversation Elizabeth had had with her, this offspring of nobility persisted to astonish her. A year younger than herself, she sometimes gave the impression of one much more experienced. Elizabeth had assumed this was due to being so much used to society. Nothing could be further away from the truth, it seemed, for the lady owned that she had insofar attended one ball and three opera performances.

All the more surprising then, how this young woman skillfully eluded Miss Bingley’s rather impertinent questions. And… Perhaps the most astonishing part of it all was her effect on Mr Darcy.

“Really, someone should take the matter up with the magistrate. I am convinced that someone has crept into Netherfield one night and kidnapped him.”

Miss Bennet smiled at her sister’s frown in the mirror as she was brushing her hair on the evening of their return to Longbourn.

“Yes, and substituted him for the Emperor of China, I suppose?”

“How do you know?” Elizabeth turned to face her sister sharply, whereupon they both burst into laughter. When the attack subsided, Elizabeth returned to the topic at hand.

“Really, that is about the only explanation I can find for such a transformation.”

“Really?”

Elizabeth lay in her bed and Jane’s innocent retort rang in her ears.

Well, if she were to be entirely truthful… Not really. The obvious explanation was not in favour of the kidnapping of Mr Darcy and replacing him with a congenial twin of his. Elizabeth could not help perceiving that his conversation had become more wholesome and he had been taking pains to make Lady Beatrice comfortable, whilst his efforts were met with warm appreciation.

Indeed, no one was better suited to observe this as Elizabeth herself. Lady Beatrice had taken a great liking to her, and they had established something akin to friendship. Mr Darcy was always close by, and their conversations had become more frequent of late. Elizabeth was intrigued; not by Mr Darcy showing a preference for one lady’s society, though – no wonder he found her handsome enough to tempt him!

Elizabeth bit her lower lip. This was dangerously close to envy. Or worse still, jealousy.

‘That’s Miss Bingley’s domain, you know. You should not trespass! Tomorrow morning, we shall all walk to Meryton. Lydia’s gibberish will banish Mr Darcy from my head, if nothing else will.’

This, Elizabeth concluded, half-asleep, was ridiculous. What if he appeared so tall and handsome… What if he had kissed her hand and smiled… Never had she seen him smile before… Not a wholly unpleasant feeling, seeing him smile… No.

And Elizabeth Bennet proceeded to give Mr Darcy her undivided attention that night, carrying the vivid image of him kissing, this time her own hand, to her dreams.

Miss Bingley’s feathers swayed to and fro as she observed first her left, then her right profile in the mirror of her dressing table. This was excellence. This was greatness. This was… Defeat.

Caroline Bingley might not have seen the sight Elizabeth Bennet had witnessed a week ago, but she had eyes. She noticed how Mr Darcy all but ran into the drawing room after the ladies; he was almost as bad as Charles. Invariably, he would then not so much sit down than station himself somewhere near Lady Beatrice and hardly spoke a word to anyone else. Her ladyship, in turn, would not be separated from Miss Eliza, and there they were, a trio most unwilling to become a quartet.

Well, no wonder the country was going to the dogs, and that Bonaparte had his way everywhere if Dukes’ daughters made their confidantes out of country girls with but a penny to their name!

It was up to her to show people what true elegance and superiority meant, and it was a task she did not shrink from.

“Darcy, old fellow, you don’t frightfully mind, do you?”

“Mind what?”

Mr Darcy was too busy hovering in the hallway to mind anything, the draught in the aforementioned hallway included. The ladies were not down yet, so this, he thought, was the perfect time and place to… Well, hover.

Bingley looked at him in astonishment. His friend was in for it! Oblivious to his surroundings, obviously.

“Mind what, Bingley?”

“Well, the thing I’ve explained to you just now. I am to dance the first with Lady Beatrice. I must.”

Darcy remarked with a flitting interest,

“Naturally. She is the lady of the highest rank.”

Bingley felt relieved. Good old Darcy always knew what was proper.

“That’s what Caroline said. I knew you wouldn’t mind. You can have the next two, you know, I’ll stay away and everybody will be too intimidated to dance with her anyway.”

Bingley continued, apologetically,

“Err… So everything’s as it should be?”

Darcy, who had by that time taken his position at the window, staring intently into the dark, answered,

“I suppose so.”

“R-rright. Then I’ll just hop up and change the waistcoat, shall I? I am quite convinced that the ivory one would go much better with… If she wears white, which she most likely will, then…”

Mr Bingley ran upstairs, discussing with himself the potential fatal consequences his wearing the waistcoat of the wrong shade might have on his future happiness.

“You look very pretty, Lizzy.”

“Tha—”

“Only don’t you think you can have him all to yourself! That’s not fair. I saw him first!”

Lydia, having made her demands clear, stormed out of the room accordingly.

Elizabeth made a face at her image in the mirror.

“I saw him first,” she mimicked her youngest sister’s possessive remark. What if Lydia had seen him first? There was no doubt in Elizabeth’s mind that she was George Wickham’s favourite.

“Careful, milady. If you would but hold your head a little bit lower…”

Lady Beatrice obeyed and held her breath as Christine gently and swiftly put the diadem in her hair.

“Oh!” was the reaction when she looked up again.

“Quite, milady.”

“But isn’t this rather too fine?”

The maid looked slightly hurt. It was obvious to her, if not to her mistress, that some outer display of rank was unquestionably called for.

Lady Beatrice, whose question had been purely rhetorical, lifted her chin and examined herself in the mirror. Her gown was simple enough, white silk with a strip of gauze in the neckline, embroidered with white flowers and with a touch of gold ribbon where the puffed sleeve tightened around her upper arm. Matching gold ribbon about her waist, and the gold diadem in which pearls were embedded, in her brown hair.

“Would milady prefer feathers?”

Christine ever obligingly produced some white specimens, and her eyes darted about to find suitable headdress to attach them to.

“No!” Horror flashed in her ladyship’s eyes. “No feathers, please, as long as it can be helped.”

“Yes, milady.”

“Thank you. It is only that I think I shall be fully occupied with the task of getting downstairs without any serious harm to anyone. This train…”

Lady Beatrice sighed. Why one would drag yards of cloth behind one first, only to have it stepped on, torn, and eventually have the bit of it that had survived that far, pinned up for dancing, had always been beyond her.

Nevertheless, let it be stated that her ladyship did precisely that, and with dignity. She descended the staircase, only to have Miss Bingley take in her breath sharply. She had her train stepped on within seconds of arriving downstairs, by her eager host who wished to secure her hand immediately, lest any dawdling on his part should be interpreted as a slight.

“Perhaps it would be best… I promised your father you should behave, Richard.”

Lady Rebecca, the initial excitement accompanying the arrival of her younger son being over, sat on the edge of the sofa, eyeing the very same son anxiously.

Lord Matlock had come and shook his son’s hand warmly and then retired, for his wife was much better in having what she persisted in referring to as ‘little talks’ with her younger son. Lord Matlock had, on the whole, no trouble at all discussing things with his heir – one simply took a deep breath and embarked on a long series of protestations, entreaties and, ultimately, threats.

With Richard, on the other hand, one had no unsettled business. All was perfectly clear – he was to make his own way in the world, and he seemed rather comfortable with that. And, Lord Matlock thought, maybe even better – every conversation one had with Richard was far from being one-sided. Which was quite satisfactory, until it came to the aforementioned ‘little talks’.

“And I assured you I would.”

“You see, this is precisely the sort of behaviour… Oh!”

Her ladyship shrugged her shoulders in sheer exasperation.

He took pity on her and inquired quietly,

“What is it?”

“We sent Edward away, and your father thought it best we should hint to you to stay away as well, but I just couldn’t bear it! Not with the silly merry-go-round we’re supposed to embark on. I never could stand that sort of thing! My own presentation drove me insane, nearly – ‘tis an idiotic institution and should be abolished.”

“Madam, this is an entirely new side to you. I was raised by a rebel – all my precepts shake and crumble in the face of this horrifying discovery!”

“Be quiet, dear,” said Lady Rebecca.

He was very much amused by the entire proceedings. What ado about a nineteen-year old child! A child fit to be married, and with a hundred and twenty thousand pounds to her name, true, but a child nevertheless. The whole house was in uproar. ‘After Lady Beatrice arrives’, ‘When her ladyship is here’ were by far the most popular phrases. Even Sykes brought the subject up. As did Edward. And his mother, repeatedly.

Not that the hundred and twenty thousand would not come in handy. But the whole thing would be too embarrassing by far.

“In spite of what everybody seems to think, I wouldn’t marry for money alone. I would try to get a bit of fun in as well as a purse more full than empty. I am in no mood to run and play, so you may be at ease.”

Lady Rebecca protested most vehemently. Lady Beatrice was a young lady!

“Young ladies are all very fine— What?”

His mother furrowed her brow at him.

“I have ears, sir. And they hear things. Young ladies indeed,” Lady Rebecca emphasized the plural ending.

“Precisely! Such tiresome creatures, albeit rather ornamental on the whole. I am glad we see eye to eye on the subject. I infinitely prefer my ladies well out of the nursery. Besides, I’m afraid my heart’s already engaged. I am bound in honour.”

“What? What can you mean?”

Lady Rebecca clutched at the fabric of the sofa.

“Richard! What is your meaning?” Oh, dear God, let it not be an actress or one of the Jersey girls! She could cope with anybody else! Oh, or a Frenchwoman, please, God, let her not be a Frenchwoman if it can be at all helped!

Her son leaned back in his chair and shook his head disbelievingly.

“Mother, how could you forget? I engaged myself to Nurse Fosset when I was five. If I woo anybody else, she may sue for breach of promise, for there were witnesses! I did not quite go by my ‘out of the nursery’ rule back then but since her being there, that is, in the nursery, was very convenient at the time, I think we can… Ouch!”

Lady Rebecca had in the meantime picked up a literary volume she had been trying to forget her worries in before her son’s arrival, and used it to a decidedly non-intellectual purpose.

After being dismissed in such an unambiguous manner by his mother, the Colonel went in search of his other parent, speculating whether his father too would feel inclined to discuss the impending addition to his family circle.

Apparently, the family concerns were not at that grave stage when Lord Matlock would feel compelled to bring the subject up. They discussed some common acquaintance, and as the name of Lady Catherine came up, his lordship shook his head in an unmistakable manner, and said,

“The poor girl!”

Somehow, the poor girl’s identity needed no clarification.

“Any admirers skulking around the house yet?”

“Humph,” said Lord Matlock.

“Indeed! Dare I ask who has presented himself as a suitable candidate?”

“Well, the young Worcester was here, taking several minutes off from one of his persistent attempts to break his neck, I suppose. We weren’t in,” confided his lordship.

“You weren’t in, or you weren’t in for him?” inquired his son.

“Does it matter? This was a week after we first heard she was coming!” Lord Matlock huffed with indignation. “I thought it best to take a firm line to begin with.”

“Would you do me the honour…” Darcy was bowing to Lady Beatrice as it struck him he was forgetting his manners.

“…of dancing the second with me?”

On receiving an affirmative answer, he turned immediately to Miss Bingley.

“And madam, will you give me the pleasure of the first dance?”

That appeased the hostess a little and her feathered headdress swayed majestically as she indicated her consent. Well, he could hardly do anything else, could he, her common sense whispered to her. But he had done it, and in consequence she would be seen at his side, opening the ball in her brother’s country seat. Her common sense silenced and her vanity all but whooping with joy, Caroline Bingley was, for the moment, perfectly content.

“May I beg for the honour of being introduced to your charming friend?”

Mr Wickham was a little late in arriving; the first four dances had gone by when he entered the ballroom in the company of Messrs Denny and Chamberlayne. But arrive he did, and Elizabeth saw her youngest sister gasp at the sight of him. The regimentals did become him very well indeed, and there was little doubt he was the handsomest man in the room. And she was his first object. She smiled warmly and felt the colour in her cheek rise as his look took her in from head to toe. The very next moment, he was standing next to her, and saying,

“You look remarkably well this evening, Miss Elizabeth.”

“Of course. Lady Beatrice Shelley, Mr Wickham of the —th Militia regiment.”

“I am honoured to make your acquaintance. May I be so bold and inquire whether her ladyship is engaged for the next dance?”

“She most certainly is.”

“Quite right, sir, quite right.”

Fitzwilliam smiled at his father’s determined face. He took in breath to continue, but did not. Would he say anything else? Should he…? Yes, why not. Let them put the cards on the table. He continued,

“It is only fair that I tell you that Sykes was testing the ground today at the club. I cannot decide which strikes me as more ridiculous, he trying to enlist my services as a matchmaker, or supposing that either Edward or I would have the first shot at whisking her ladyship before the nearest vicar.”

“If you would excuse us…”

Darcy, bowing slightly, pale as a ghost, took Lady Beatrice’s hand and led her to the set.

“Forgive me. What I did just now, was rather rude and presumptuous of me.”

“It did seem so, certainly. You must have had a very good reason for it.”

He looked at her closely, inclining his head in recognition of her confidence in him.

For a few moments, they were separated, and when they faced each other again, she said, glancing down the set,

“Perhaps others should be made aware of it as well. Not that this is the time or the place…”

Elizabeth found herself dancing after all. Mr Wickham had recovered his wits charmingly, and entreated her to oblige him with her hand, for ‘there was nothing like enjoying oneself in the company of old friends’.

A protest as to their ‘old friendship’ was at the tip of her tongue, yet she held herself back. What was going on?

“I dare say you are used to my insufferable curiosity by now,” started Elizabeth, when she and Lady Beatrice conveniently met at the punch bowl, both rather flushed from dancing.

“You are wondering about Mr Darcy’s curt treatment of Mr Wickham?”

Elizabeth coloured a little, “Yes.”

“I am afraid I have no information to impart on that subject. I am certain that Mr Darcy must have had a reason for acting as he did, though. It would be quite unlike him, I believe, to treat a complete stranger in that manner without a proper reason.”

Lady Beatrice sipped from her cup and observed her companion closely.

Elizabeth was not quite so certain as to Mr Darcy’s incapability of treating people he did not know, harshly. But even if his own treatment of her on the first occasion they had met, had come to her mind, she was not at that moment concerned by Mr Darcy’s social skills or lack of them.

“You trust him so much then?” She had not been able to stop herself.

“Yes,” her ladyship acknowledged.

Elizabeth bit her lip and said nothing more.

“Is that so? I’m glad to hear it. Not this bit about Sykes – well, you know what I mean, sir. You’ll have more than your fair share of the ridiculous, what, in the near future? I suppose your mother mentioned…”

Lord Matlock was distinctly uncomfortable.

“My banishment to the Darcys’? I had that in mind myself. And there is the club, too, so you need not be concerned—”

“Do not be absurd, sir,” his father interrupted him. “I mean, there is a limit to… Edward, well, you know what he is like within twenty yards of a petticoat. You at least… Oh, hell and damnation!”

Lord Matlock waved his arms about helplessly.

“Don’t get overexcited, sir. He looked steadily into his lordship’s eyes. “There is no need, I assure you.”

Continued In Next Section