After the Ball
The Longbourn party were the last of all the company to depart, and, by a manoeuvre of Mrs Bennet, had to wait for their carriage a quarter of an hour after everybody else was gone, which gave them time to see how heartily they were wished away by some of the family.
Mrs Hurst and her sister scarcely opened their mouths, except to complain of fatigue, and were evidently impatient to have the house to themselves.
They repulsed every attempt of Mrs Bennet at conversation, and by so doing threw a languor over the whole party, which was very little relieved by the long speeches of Mr Collins, who was complimenting Mr Bingley and his sisters on the elegance of their entertainment, and the hospitality and politeness which had marked their behaviour to their guests. …
~
Elizabeth Bennet regarded her party with nearly as much frustration as the superior sisters.
Mrs Bennet’s machinations might, at best, have afforded Mr Bingley and Jane another quarter-hour to fall in love.
However, Elizabeth judged that if the preceding six hours spent mostly together, following six weeks in company since the Meryton Assembly were insufficient; another quarter hour of the man’s sisters and best friend being vexed by the rather obvious and annoying tactic would probably not suffice either.
She thought that with respect to the latter gentleman; even if he did not appear ready to rend his cravat in frustration, her mother’s performance at dinner would certainly have done Jane’s suit no favours.
Not content to proclaim Mr Bingley openly and repeatedly as much as shackled within the Derbyshire gentleman’s hearing; Mrs Bennet had also gone out of her way to disparage the man himself.
She had no idea if Mr Bingley would listen to Mr Darcy, but the best she could hope for was that Mr Bingley was either stone deaf or willing to disregard a great deal of mortifying behaviour.
On the one hand, he had been extensively trained by his own sisters to ignore a great deal—but on the other hand, one could not choose their sisters, but a man could certainly pick his wife.
With a sigh, she turned her gaze to her other sisters.
Even Lydia was too much fatigued to utter more than the occasional exclamation of “Lord, how tired I am!” accompanied by a violent yawn.
Kitty was thankfully sitting on a chair half-asleep, and Mary appeared to be recollecting memorised witticisms from Fordyce while not paying the slightest attention to anyone or anything.
To Elizabeth, it appeared that, had her family made an agreement to expose themselves as much as they could during the evening, it would have been impossible for them to play their parts with more spirit or finer success.
She only hoped, probably in vain, that their behaviour would not sink Jane’s modest hopes.
“Miss Elizabeth—”
She uttered a startled cry upon being unexpectedly addressed, but she eventually turned to the gentleman who was wearing his usual inscrutable expression, accompanied by a surprisingly proper bow for the end of a long and tiring evening.
“Mr Darcy,” she replied, barely recovering her wits, and wishing to conclude the miserable business—whatever its nature.
“I shall leave the neighbourhood soon.”
“I wish you a pleasant journey, sir,” she said with as much courtesy as she could muster.
She belatedly thought she could at least behave better than her mother, and who was to say what the proper definition of pleasant was. She ruefully remembered their dance and thought that just perhaps, her mother and sisters were not the only ones with rudeness on their accounts.
“I hoped to speak to you quietly before my journey.”
“Now is as good a time as any, if you are succinct.”
The man appeared to have grown tired of gnawing his cravat and had turned to his nails, as his jaw worked in a rather uncomfortable fashion.
He finally summoned his nerve. “I fear I may have been unfair in singling you out for attention this past month, which is not my usual custom. I hope I have not been so incautious as to raise expectations that cannot be fulfilled, but lest I have, my duty as a gentleman compels me to be explicit.”
She stared at him in confusion. His sentence appeared to consist of well-formed English words, but they made no sense whatsoever.
“Expectations for… what… exactly?” she asked, her puzzlement complete.
“Courtship,” he replied, as if it were obvious.
She did her best not to laugh in his face and settled for wrinkling her nose in confusion. She finally decided she might as well be done with the vexing man.
“Have no fear, sir. Of expectations, I have not the slightest inkling. If I may be so bold, may I ask what you could possibly have done to raise expectations?”
“You are the only lady I spoke to at any length. You are the only lady I walked out with. You are the only lady I asked to dance, and in fact, I have asked you thrice. You are also, it happens, the only lady ever to refuse me.”
“One dance does not a courtship make—nor does a refusal, for that matter. You may depart with a clear conscience. I have not the slightest expectation of any kind.”
“I thank you.”
She thought they just might have concluded the most awkward conversation of her life—though to be fair, she expected a far worse one with Mr Collins within the week.
As he bowed to depart, she could not quite allow him to escape unscathed. Such hubris required reward or punishment, though she was not certain which was appropriate, and even less sure which she might deliver.
She had to admit that, with a mother like hers, the man had every right to expect the matron to think him half in love with one of her daughters and behave just as she had with poor Mr Bingley.
Of course, the corollary was that, if Mrs Bennet had the slightest whiff of matrimonial intent, everyone within a dozen yards would be well aware of the fact, and Mr Darcy would likely be halfway to London and running for his life already.
She decided to do him a good turn, little though he deserved it, just to show herself the better person. At the very least, based on the reaping what you sow principle, a little kindness for the taciturn man did not seem to be the worst possible idea with respect to her sister’s prospects.
“At the risk of sounding impertinent, may I ask a question?”
“Of course,” he said, looking more interested than usual.
“Ordinarily I would avoid such topics like the plague, but since you broached the subject, my curiosity is roused. What exactly is it you seek that I lack… aside from being handsome enough to tempt you, obviously?”
She watched him like a hawk to see if he would recognise his own words from the assembly, but alas, he had apparently forgotten them, which seemed a pity from a chastisement standpoint. She would have enjoyed seeing the dawning realisation on his countenance.
He blithely answered, “I do not mind—though it is the sort of subject propriety says we should dance around,” then he paused a moment in thought before continuing, “A man in my position requires considerably more in the way of fortune and connections to enhance the family position in society.”
Elizabeth felt no shock at the assertion.
Such considerations were hardly confined to the first circles—they were quite common.
She and Jane had sworn to marry for love (or at least respect and affection), but she seemed far more likely to spend her life teaching Jane’s ten children to be naughty than to accomplish her aim.
For that matter, she thought herself more likely to witness pigs flying than to marry for love.
However, the fact that the man offered such an incongruous warning left her in a generous mood.
After all, he was Mr Bingley’s particular friend, and a good turn for Mr Darcy could easily result in a good turn for Jane.
For all she knew, Mr Darcy might oppose Mr Bingley’s suit and doing him a favour might mitigate his distaste.
It was certainly more likely to than any petty act of revenge she could dream up.
She decided to assist him to the best of her ability.
“Out of curiosity, may I ask more specific questions? You need not answer, but I have an uncle in town who knows more people than the spies in the war office, from tradesmen to gentry to aristocracy to royalty. He could probably help you find what you seek in a more organised fashion, and a man at your age really should give due consideration to succession.”
The man looked as if she had just asked him to sell his firstborn son (haughty as the lad was likely to be), but she was not to be put off by a scowl, so she simply launched her questions.
“Exactly how bankrupt are you, and how much fortune would your bride require to restore your finances?”
His scowl doubled or trebled, while it also mingled with some confusion, which she had to admit was a feat. She doubted her countenance could achieve it.
“What do you mean?” he snapped in apparent vexation.
She took that to mean he wanted her to explain why she asked such an untoward question, rather than what did her words literally mean.