Chapter 2 In Which Darcy Plays the Part of Chimney Sweep with Disastrous Results #2
The entire house party gathered in the drawing room before dinner, and Lizzie had yet to look at him once.
She and Charlotte were sitting on a settee near the window, and Darcy sat in a nearby chair, hoping that he might be able to join their conversation, but despite a few sympathetic glances from Charlotte, Lizzie had steadfastly ignored him.
Instead, Darcy was left to observe the others spread about the drawing room—Mrs. Bennet had engaged Bingley and Jane in an exhausting and animated discussion about the house’s renovations and her opinions on particular design choices while the two youngest Bennet sisters cavorted about the room inspecting the various fixtures and objets d’art, whispering noisily to each other.
Mary sat next to her mother, frowning with disapproval at talk of replacing the old furnishings, and Mr. Bennet was, unsurprisingly, reading a newspaper he’d brought with him from London.
Caroline looked on from her position in a chair near the empty fireplace, bored.
Darcy didn’t even have Guy as a distraction—one of the maids had whisked him off to the kitchens, and the little dog had been more than happy to abandon his humans in favor of table scraps.
It was enough to make him wish he’d tossed back another drink.
When there was finally a lull in the conversation, Bingley stood and cleared his throat. “Excuse me, everyone. Might I have
your attention briefly?”
Darcy tried to catch Lizzie’s eye for a brief moment as she turned to look at Bingley, but her gaze slid right over him.
“I’m just so pleased that you’ve all joined us here at Netherfield Park. Jane and I hope that you will all feel very welcome
here for many years to come. We want this estate to be a retreat from London life and a place to build many happy memories.”
“I have a question,” Lydia interrupted. “Kitty and I saw the ballroom—is there to be a ball while we’re here?”
“Oh,” Bingley said, looking to Jane. “Er—”
“Lydia, that’s impolite,” Lizzie chastised when it was clear that Mrs. Bennet was also eagerly waiting for a response to her
youngest daughter’s question.
“We haven’t planned one,” Jane said.
“Oh, but dear, you must consider it,” Mrs. Bennet insisted. “It’s your first summer in your new home. Surely there are enough
families of good standing in the area to hold a simple ball?”
Darcy had not ever in his life known a ball to be “simple,” but Mrs. Bennet looked at her new son-in-law expectantly.
“A ball? In the country?” Caroline scoffed. “Who will come, farmers and their sheep?”
“Sheep might make for more interesting conversationalists,” Lizzie muttered, and Darcy bit his tongue to keep from laughing.
“There are a number of genteel families in the neighborhood,” Jane said. “Not as many as in London, of course, but we shall
not want for company here. It’s only that with the repairs—”
“Do throw a ball, Jane!” Kitty implored. “Please.”
“You simply must—Jane, tell your husband he must!” Lydia looked as though she’d stamp her foot if she didn’t get her own way.
“Perhaps we can discuss it?” Bingley said, posing the response as a question as he glanced to Jane. And Darcy knew that this
was a fatal error, for the youngest Bennets took this as confirmation and began to squeal and clap their hands.
“We shall certainly discuss it,” Jane said firmly, “but that doesn’t mean—”
“We’re going to a ball! We’re going to a ball!” Lydia and Kitty chanted, and then Lydia broke off and said, “Mama, can we
have new dresses?”
“Of course you shall have new dresses,” Mrs. Bennet said. “I’m sure the modiste in the village won’t be as fine as anything
in London but should be quite serviceable.”
Bingley seemed to realize the magnitude of his error just then, and looked wide-eyed over to Darcy. Good luck, Darcy mouthed.
“Girls, hush,” Lizzie said. “Now is not the time—Bingley was in the middle of a speech.”
The younger girls collapsed on a settee, giggling to each other, but they did quiet down.
“Hmm, they can listen,” Caroline remarked. Lizzie shot her an open glare, one that Darcy was absolutely certain no one in the room had missed—except
for maybe Mr. Bennet, who was already looking back toward his folded-up newspaper.
Bingley cleared his throat again. “Jane and I will discuss the matter of the ball. But in the meantime, I hope you’ll be very
comfortable here, and if there is anything you should want or need, you have only to ask . . .” He trailed off quickly, as
if realizing he was opening himself up to more requests from Kitty and Lydia.
“It’s cold in here,” Caroline proclaimed. “Can’t you ring for a maid to light a fire?”
“Caroline, it’s June,” Bingley said.
“And?” She glared at her brother and made a show of rubbing her arms. “I feel a draft.”
“Of course,” Jane said, nodding at the butler standing unobtrusively in the corner. “I’m terribly sorry, Caroline. And it
may be summer, dear, but these old houses can be chilly in any season.”
“Being a cold shrew must affect her temperature,” Lizzie muttered, so quietly that only Charlotte and Darcy could hear. He
let out a bark of laughter that he quickly smothered in a cough.
Lizzie looked in his direction, and for a moment he saw merriment dancing in her eyes. Hope fluttered in his chest, but then
Caroline had to ruin the moment by addressing him directly. “Mr. Darcy, are you to stay the entire summer with us?”
He resisted the temptation to narrow his eyes at her in suspicion. “Yes.”
Caroline arched one eyebrow. “Really? Isn’t that an awful lot of time away from your precious work?”
“I can take the time,” he said, although he really shouldn’t. When his father found out that he’d left London for weeks to
spend the season in the countryside, there would be hell to pay.
But what was his work to Lizzie’s safety?
“How fortunate,” Caroline said, settling herself into the chair by the empty fireplace. “I’ve often thought it must be tiring,
working so much day in and day out.”
“I don’t find it tiring doing work I enjoy,” Darcy said.
Caroline let out a brittle laugh. “And I’ve never found work to be something I enjoy doing.”
“Perhaps that is because you don’t work?” Lizzie suggested. “After all, one can hardly recognize the value of a thing they’ve
never undertaken.”
From the smug look on Caroline’s face, this was exactly the sort of response she’d been hoping for. “Too true, Miss Bennet.
I’ve never had to debase myself with anything so pedestrian as a job.”
The air in the drawing room went still as a tense silence followed. Lizzie recovered from the shock first. “There’s nothing
debasing about honest work. We all must eat and have shelter and clothes on our backs. If we aren’t laboring for those comforts
ourselves, then I assure you that someone out there is. The only thing shameful about that is acting as though you’re better
than those who work hard for your comfort.”
Lizzie’s speech had the misfortune—or perhaps it was fortune, really—to be interrupted by the arrival of a housemaid carrying
a bucket of hot coals from the kitchens. Everyone turned to look in her direction and she made a squeaking sound not unlike
a mouse before dropping a sloppy curtsy to the assembled party.
Caroline sniffed and said, “Oh, good. It’s gotten rather frosty in here.”
The maid scurried to the fireplace, not looking at any of them, and Caroline stood, as if she didn’t want to be too close
to the actual labor of starting the fire she required. “Besides, I think you’re mistaken, Miss Bennet.”
Lizzie raised one eyebrow, and Darcy mentally begged her not to fall into Caroline’s trap. “Oh? About what?”
“There is a difference between a job, and work. It is unseemly for a lady to hold a job, but work is unavoidable, even for
members of the ton. Why, is it not work to find all your daughters good matches, Mrs. Bennet?”
Mrs. Bennet appeared surprised to be singled out in such a way, but it passed quickly. “Oh, a tremendous amount of work,”
she agreed eagerly. “Five daughters! One would be trouble enough, but you haven’t the faintest clue the lengths I’ve gone
to—”
“Exactly,” Caroline said, neatly cutting her off. “But it is our duty, as ladies, to keep our husbands’ homes and run households
and raise children and see them properly settled in life. And there is nothing more sacred than a woman’s role in the home.”
Lizzie’s mouth was a hard line, and Darcy didn’t have to guess at what she was thinking—but surely whatever would come out
of Lizzie’s mouth would only fan the flames of this conversation, which is why he made the impulsive decision to cut in.
“You won’t find me arguing that women don’t work, even at running households, but I hardly think it fair to say that it’s
all women ought to do. Why not leave room for other occupations?”
“Surely you can’t be advocating for women to find work outside the home, Mr. Darcy?” Caroline asked aghast. “It is one thing
to take an interest, to dabble, but only until marriage.”
Lizzie laughed, a sharp sound. “Caroline, you ask that question as though it’s not something ladies do every day.”
“Women,” Caroline corrected. “Not ladies.”
Darcy saw Lizzie’s spine go rigid and Charlotte’s expression become fixed. Of course Caroline would not consider the many
young ladies who needed to work in order to keep themselves out of poverty, like Charlotte. She was an educated and well-mannered
lady, but whatever her parents had left her when they died had not stretched into adulthood.
“I think men deserve a little competition,” Bingley declared. His cheeks were pink, and Darcy knew what it must have cost
his friend, who was normally very conflict-averse, to speak up against his sister. “After all, if not for Lizzie and Charlotte,
our business would have been lost.”
“Why does it always come back to that?” Caroline snapped. “I don’t see why young ladies should be doing the jobs of men. You
don’t see gentlemen engaged in women’s work.”