Chapter 5
Later that afternoon, once the rain stopped, Richard left for St. Albans to meet with the forty-year-old inventor of the steam locomotive, Richard Trevithick. Darcy had wanted to go along since he invested heavily in the future of England’s transportation. Unfortunately, Miss Caroline Bingley had pressed him into service to guide her brother to the twenty-four houses worthy of invitation to Bingley’s ball. For years, Darcy and anyone else who knew Bingley was aware of his appalling sense of direction. More than once, Bingley had to stop and ask the way from his brother-in-law’s townhouse in London to Darcy’s residence on Park Lane even though he traveled the length often.
The task took several hours even though servants had been sent to all but four houses carrying the good news. From the reactions at Lucas Lodge, the Gouldings, and the Longs, Darcy suspected that grand social events were few and far between in the shire. Fortunately, the rain and wind increased to the point that it was no longer comfortable to ride as they made their final stop, Longbourn. Darcy had insisted that Bingley use a carriage. Bingley insisted that he would make a better impression on Miss Jane Bennet should he be mounted on a horse. Darcy’s rationality was no match for Bingley’s vanity.
Rain dripped from another hat, since the windstorm had whipped off the one he wore that morning when they encountered Miss Elizabeth.
His boots were spattered, and his gloves were soaked. When Bingley’s horse shook the water from him like a wet dog, almost unseating his host, Darcy chose to intervene.
“Let us return another day in the carriage. That way, you will not appear to be at a disadvantage with the Bennets.”
Bingley nodded, pouring water from the brim onto his lap. “Very well. I will leave the invitation with a servant.”
On their approach, the door opened, and Longbourn’s butler said, “Gentleman, how might I be of service?”
Bingley’s eyes focused on the windows, possibly hoping for a glance at the eldest Bennet girl as he dug below the layers of his outer clothing to retrieve the parchment. Darcy could not refrain from glancing higher up. His breath stopped.
Seated in the window was Miss Elizabeth, her fingers pressed against the pane, her gaze distant. Her rich tresses were down around her shoulders, possibly to dry from her earlier exposure to the weather. Darcy yearned to trace the same pattern of the raindrops. What was he thinking? That he was an idiot, that is what.
Giving a gentle tug on the reins, he backed his mare away from Longbourn, purposely distancing himself from temptation. For he, who prided himself on his honesty, had lied at the Meryton assembly. Miss Elizabeth Bennet was certainly handsome enough to tempt him.
She saw him.
Through the dampness of the windowpane, her eyes met his icy blue stare—except they were soft and inviting, welcoming, yearning. Elizabeth scoffed at herself. Was it the blurriness from the rain that caused her to see something that, in truth, was not there?
When his horse side-stepped, Mr. Darcy looked away. With a final glance, the gentlemen turned their animals and rode away.
Her chest throbbed from the pounding of her heart. Her damp palms slid down the glass. What was Mr. Darcy about? Since she had no clue, she inhaled and exhaled slowly until her pounding heart calmed.
Settling back in the window seat, grateful the wind had subsided and the rain was but a heavy mist, Elizabeth was two paragraphs into the first detailed account of a hurricane hitting England in Defoe’s The Storm when Jane burst through the door, her face a rosy pink. She waved a folded piece of parchment.
Barely breathing, she said, “Lizzy, Mama was in the kitchen discussing the menu with Cook when this arrived. Papa is in his study, and since I recognized Miss Bingley’s handwriting, I took it from Mr. Hill.” She drew herself up and opened the missive.
“Jane! If you were not able to alert Mama, then good for you.” Elizabeth was stunned that her sister had done something so out of character.
“It is from Mr. Bingley. An invitation to a private ball to be held on the twenty-sixth of November at Netherfield Park. He says it is in my honor to celebrate my recovery from the cold I had last week. We are, all of us, invited to attend.” She twirled, pressing the paper to her chest. “Oh, Lizzy. I am truly the happiest woman alive. Mr. Bingley is just what a young man ought to be. Sensible, good-humored, and lively, with happy manners and ease.”
“He is also handsome,” replied Elizabeth, “which a young man ought to be if he possibly can. I give you permission to like him since he is far superior to his friend.”
“Oh, Lizzy, Mr. Darcy should never have insulted you. That was unfortunate,” Jane said. “I do wonder if circumstances kept him from acting properly that evening. Perhaps a business deal he was pursuing went wrong or a beloved family member was facing injustice. Or perhaps he was unwell. It was ill-judged of him to say what he did, but we might excuse him if we knew the details.”
“Possibly. Dearest Jane, you wish to think all the world is respectable, and are hurt if I speak negatively of anybody. I do not see universal goodwill in everyone I meet. There are few people whom I really love, and still fewer of whom I think are genuinely kind. Every day confirms my belief in the inconsistency of all human characters and of the little dependence that can be placed on the appearance of either merit or sense. The more I see of the world, the more I am dissatisfied with it.” Elizabeth studied her sister’s expression carefully when she revealed, “There is a new arrival at Netherfield Park, an officer recently returned from the continent. His name is Colonel Fitzwilliam. He is a cousin of Mr. Darcy’s.”
To Elizabeth’s pleasure, Jane asked, “Is he an amiable man?”
“Yes, I believe he is.” After explaining the circumstances of their introduction, Elizabeth wondered, “Shall he be at the ball, do you think? Being so long on the continent, would he be familiar with our dances?”
The image of her and Colonel Fitzwilliam standing up on one side of the quadrille opposite Jane and Mr. Bingley grew more detailed as she held the picture in her mind. They would smile at each other when he realized they were of even temperament. His gloved hand would be firm under hers as they moved around the other couples.
Jane interrupted her reverie. “Even if he is not, Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst could see that he practices before the music begins. Or a dancing master could be brought from London. Meryton is a mere four hours from Town, do recall.” Jane spun around the room. “Oh, Lizzy, what a glorious evening it will be.”
Elizabeth was happy that Jane, the most deserving of all her sisters, was joyous. She, too, was happy with the invitation. She loved to dance. She loved to laugh. She loved to spend time with her neighbors…except Mr. Darcy. She disliked him, though not to the same degree as before when she spoke with Mrs. Hammond. Would he ask her to dance? Of course not.
The following day,there was not even a hint of wind or rain. Elizabeth stopped at Mrs. Hammond’s cottage to check on her welfare. Again, her mother packed enough food for a small army in case the weather turned bad again and it would be days before Elizabeth could walk into Meryton. As it was, the rain soaked into the thirsty earth, so there was not one puddle to jump over.
The vivid blue sky and the few gold and orange autumn leaves carpeting the ground delighted her. The lingering fragrance of damp soil soothed her while the crisp air invigorated her. Seeing water finally flowing in the brook reassured her. She loved each season. Winter was a time for rest and restoration. Spring for new growth and reawakening. Summer for joy and abundance. Autumn for slowing down and taking stock of the more important things. It was a time when families gathered and celebrated the year’s harvest. Autumn was her favorite time of the year.
“Miss Lizzy, do come in, for I have something of great importance to show you.”
Jane, Kitty, Mary, and Lydia greeted the widow but did not stop.
“Will they not join us?”
“Dear Mrs. Hammond, I have no doubt they appreciate your kind offer, but they are on a mission to the haberdasher for new ribbons. Mary, who prefers reading to dancing, will search for a new piece of music to torment everyone with until she achieves proficiency.”
Mrs. Hammond ushered her inside. Beside her rose-colored teapot sat an invitation to the ball. However, it was the small basket covered with a fine, cream linen cloth with the letter D elegantly stitched in the corner that captured Elizabeth’s attention. As she considered who the bearer of the present must have been, her breathing shallowed. Mr. Darcy? What was he about?
“Do look inside, Lizzy.”
Before she could step toward the table, Hannah took the food basket from her. Touching the corner of the linen, the maid said, “Oh, Miss Elizabeth, it’s the most elegant thing I’ve ever seen.”
Not needing any more encouragement, Elizabeth pulled back the corners of the cloth to reveal two daintily decorated chocolates, four orange-flavored sweetmeats, and a length of ribbon the same shade as Mrs. Hammond’s tea set. Within the folds of paper was a piece of exquisitely designed lace. On one side of the enclosed calling card, in a masculine hand, was written: We appreciated your port in the storm. Please join me for supper at the ball. My carriage, along with a maid, will be provided as your escort. Engraved on the other side was Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, Esq. Park Lane.
Elizabeth simply had no words. Few individuals recognized Mrs. Hammond’s value. Over the years, unthoughtful neighbors would leave their young children with the widow for the simple reason that she had no children of her own. Others took advantage by insisting she help with their sewing since she had no husband to occupy her time. That Mr. Darcy, a stranger, in fact, a rude stranger, had given the lady consideration would certainly elevate her at the ball, for few would have as fine a trim to wear. Possibly, only Mr. Bingley’s sisters would embellish their gowns with the equal.
Elizabeth’s gaze moved from the precious items to the lady. Was Mrs. Hammond standing taller? Her cheeks were flushed with a lovely shade of pink. Her eyes twinkled from the light coming through the window, or was it from the gifts?
“I do not know what to say, Mrs. Hammond. In a million years, I would not have guessed that an act of kindness of this magnitude would have originated with that man.” Elizabeth glanced back at the items. “Unless he intended them as gifts for his hostess, he would not have brought these things with him to Hertfordshire. This meant he sent to London for them last evening so that they would be delivered today. I am astonished! You have a discerning admirer.”
“I would not presume to say so. My dear Lizzy, again, I am wondering if you might have been too hasty in your judgment of Mr. Darcy. He treated me with respect yesterday, an old woman with whom he was under no obligation. He holds as a close friend someone who would not be welcomed in many homes of the ton.” She hurried to add, “And I am meaning Mr. Bingley, whose father and grandfather worked for their money rather than inherited it. This means that the stink of trade, as is proclaimed by many of the elite of British society, would force the upper ten thousand to reject Mr. Bingley and his sisters out of hand.” She picked up the calling card. “I heard whispers of a ball being held at Netherfield Park as each lady in our community received their invitation. Most did not hesitate to wave their summons under my nose, asking boldly if I received one. I told no one of Mr. Darcy’s special invitation.”
“You will go?” Elizabeth asked, hopefully.
“I will. My finest gown is out of date, but I will wear the ribbon and lace with pride. And I eagerly anticipate sharing a table with Mr. Darcy. I have every confidence that he is a brilliant conversationalist.”
Elizabeth’s confusion almost choked her. She could not be so wrong about Mr. Darcy, could she? There must be something missing or something that she overlooked. She simply could not refute this act of kindness.
Perhaps it was Colonel Fitzwilliam who obtained the gifts and coerced Mr. Darcy to write the note. Indeed! But why would he not have sent his own card? And why would Mr. Darcy set aside the coveted supper spot for conversation with Mrs. Hammond if it was not him who procured the gift?
Completely perplexed, Elizabeth offered, “Perhaps if we looked at your gown together, we might be able to adjust it to a more modern style. After all, to be the supper partner with the wealthiest unattached man at the ball is worth the effort, is it not?”
“Not ‘man,’ Lizzy,” Mrs. Hammond said. “Gentleman.”
Exhaling quickly, Elizabeth sued for peace. “Very well. Gentleman.”
Darcy waited impatientlyfor Richard’s return the next day. Once they were seated with Bingley and Hurst in the study, Darcy quizzed him about his interview with Mr. Trevithick and the railroad. He was particularly interested to know the engineer’s progress as well as speak of the potential for growth in the northern portion of England.
Richard was barely able to sit still in his excitement. “Darcy, Trevithick is a dreamer as well as an inventor. Why, the potential for this new industry will change the world as we know it.”
“What of the man himself?” Darcy asked, pleased at seeing his cousin captivated by anything other than the weapons of war.
“I am convinced that he is as knowledgeable about business as he is about machinery.” Richard gained his feet to pace the room. “He is willing to risk everything of his personal fortune before inviting others to invest. I got the impression that he is not one to admit failure easily. After explaining what went wrong with his first two steam engines, he consulted the writings of Robert Fulton, whose steamboat plies the rivers in America. He believes that the recommendationand information will enable him to increase the speed and duration while reducing the overall weight. It surely will lead to success.”
“Did he provide a prospectus for his plans?”
“He did. We can review them later.” The colonel returned to his chair after glancing at the other two men in the room. Gilbert Hurst was almost asleep. Bingley’s eyes were glazed over. His interest was not business.
A trickle of a breeze entering the room from the gap between the windows and the casing chilled the back of Darcy’s neck.
“Speaking of making sound business decisions, are you certain you want to remain in this house through the cold of the winter, Bingley? You will have a miserable time keeping the rooms warm enough. Was there a reason for burning wood in the fireplaces instead of coal?”
His host shrugged. “I do not know. It was a beautiful day with not a hint of wind when I toured the property. According to the steward, the current owner, who inherited from his father, has no great memories of living here. I assumed something bad had happened in the family. Now that the weather is turning colder, I realize how poorly constructed the main house is compared to the older buildings. Nonetheless, its proximity to Town keeps my sisters from complaining too much. And I enjoy the neighborhood.”
Richard noted, “It is a lovely parcel of land, and the house itself does not look too bad…”
“From a distance.” Darcy was disappointed that Bingley had not asked his advice prior to signing the lease. Wood-framed buildings were rare in England for a reason. Not only was there danger from fire, but selling timber to the Admiralty was a far smarter business decision than using it for construction. Brick and stone were more stable and easier to heat. Besides, the workmanship of Netherfield was less than stellar, something Darcy would never allow for one of his residences.
Bingley poked his thumb at his chest, his chin rising about two inches. He said with a grin, “Colonel Fitzwilliam, I do hope you plan to be here on Tuesday next. I am hosting my first ball to celebrate Miss Bennet’s return to health.”
“Has Miss Elizabeth been ill? She appeared to be the picture of vitality yesterday.” Richard looked worried, which made Darcy fret—though why he could not say, or rather, he cared not to admit.
“No, not Miss Elizabeth, Miss Jane Bennet, the eldest Bennet daughter, the closest female I have ever met to an angel.”
Hurst groaned and rolled his eyes before mumbling, “Did you not say the same with your last ‘angel’?”
Bingley waved his hand in dismissal. “I have even forgotten her name, such is the superiority of Miss Bennet.”
Hurst snorted. “You are fickle to show as much interest in a lady as you do so quickly. If I were her father, I would chase you away like the mischievous pup that you are until you are fully convinced that she is the only woman to capture your heart. Her mother would chain you to her daughter’s bed if she thought it would force a proposal from you even upon a slight acquaintance.”
Though he said nothing, Darcy agreed with Hurst’s comments about the Bennet parents. Bingley was a good man at heart. However, he was untested in handling wealth and responsibility. He was also ripe for being taken advantage of by an avaricious, ambitious mother. As far as Darcy had observed, Mr. Bennet was a disinterested parent, not having attended one social event with his family in the last month. It would be a degradation to be attached to them, even for Bingley.
“And what of you, Darcy?” Hurst asked. “Those Bennets are fine-looking gals. I suppose they are too low for you to consider as anything more than entertainment.”
“Hurst!” Darcy was appalled. Gilbert Hurst might have been raised as a gentleman, but his speech and actions were as low as some of the sailors at the docks. Certainly, the man could not know Darcy’s character or he would never have made such a statement.
Hurst only exerted himself when it came to the pursuit of pleasure. How Bingley could bear his constant company was a puzzle. The fact that the sot was married to Bingley’s eldest sister was the reason. Nonetheless, had Hurst been related to Darcy by marriage—he shuddered at the thought—he would never keep rooms at Hurst’s townhouse. No matter the cost, he would move into rented rooms anywhere else in London.
Richard said, “I look forward to an introduction to the rest of the family. If they are like Miss Elizabeth, then it will be my pleasure.”
Bingley had the insight to blush. “I would not say that all five daughters are similar. What say you, Darcy?”
Darcy pressed his lips together, pondering how he could change the topic of conversation.
Before he could reply, Richard asked, “In what way do they differ? Darcy?”
Darcy wanted to put his hand over Richard’s mouth. “Meryton contains a collection of people in whom there is little beauty and no fashion. I have paid little attention to them. But I…well, I agree with Bingley that the Bennets are each quite different. Miss Bennet would be considered a classic beauty by most, I believe. Nevertheless, she smiles too much. The three youngest lack proper training for being out.”
“Does this include Miss Elizabeth? What of her?” Richard pressed to Darcy’s irritation.
Before Darcy could defend himself, Hurst blurted, “Darcy and that second Bennet girl? They do nothing but argue.”
“Argue? We most certainly do not argue.” Irritation at Hurst’s observation sharpened Darcy’s tone.
“Balderdash! Call it what you may, Darcy. We know the truth. Why, Colonel, they abhor each other. The three days she was here caring for her sister, the two of them bickered like an old married couple. If he said he liked something, she loathed it. If she said she liked something, Darcy denigrated it. I say, it was highly diverting having them both in the same room.”
Darcy barely kept his mouth from gaping open. “If you understood our characters, you would recognize our conversations for what they were: a debate.”
Bingley said, “If you ask me, which nobody has, I agree with Hurst. There was no peace between them.”
“Interesting,” Richard mused as Darcy felt heat creep up his neck.
Blast it!During Darcy’s adolescence, that telltale crimson only appeared with any attempts at telling a fib.
He did not hate Elizabeth Bennet. In fact, he did not hate her so much that his dreams the past two nights were vivid portrayals of a life together with her.
He quickly reassured his cousin. “There is nothing of interest. She expressed opinions that were not her own for the sole purpose of breaking the monotony of the drawing room. I did the same.”
“Bah!” Hurst was unwilling to give up. “You will see on the eve of the ball, Colonel, that he will refuse to dance with her. Instead, he will watch her from the corner like a lion does its prey as she bounces across the floor with one partner after the other. The only thing you will see in Darcy’s expression is utter loathing.” He stood. “Enough about the ladies. Is anyone for a game of billiards before we need to return to the shrews in Netherfield’s parlor?”
“Those are my sisters,” Bingley defended.
“Shrews, I say.” Hurst vacated the room, seemingly without a care whether anyone followed him or not.