After the Ball #2
“I mean, if you require fortune, then how much, how soon, and why? It will help my uncle determine which ladies to introduce you to, since your decade in society has not achieved success using your own methods. Are you far enough in arrears to sell off parts of your estate, or simply not as rich as you would like to be? How did you fall into such a poor financial position? Was your father or grandfather a gambler or womaniser? Did you have bad harvests, failed businesses, bad investments, a plethora of high-dowry daughters? Are you staying with Mr Bingley to save expenses? Will you need your bride’s dowry immediately, or is this a longer-term financial difficulty?
My uncle will need to know if you require a rich banker’s daughter (or worse yet, an American); a not quite so rich member of the first circles; or something else entirely! ”
He stood there staring at her in what she thought was a remarkably stupid manner for such a simple question (well—a great many questions to be honest, but each one was simple enough).
He started to speak two or three times, but he could not seem to master the art, so she blithely carried on while he summoned his nerve to answer her first query.
“As for connections, what is it you wish to accomplish? Do you need them to restore your dismal financial state? Stand for parliament? Obtain a title? Invest in a new business? Purchase a shipping company? A mill? Release a relative from gaol? These answers will save you and my uncle time and effort by giving his hounds the right scent before loosing them. There seems little point in romancing a rich banker’s daughter when a poor duke’s daughter might be better.
Naturally, I assume you have already exhausted all the ladies in the London Marriage mart, or I would be having a lovely conversation with your wife. ”
The man seemed entirely unable to answer, and Elizabeth wondered if his status was so dismal as to prevent him even speaking through his embarrassment. Poor man.
She decided to take pity on him.
“I can see these questions distress you, so you need not answer as I have no horse in that race. My uncle resides at thirty-two Gracechurch Street. Perhaps you would find it easier to discuss it with him than with a woman you only know tolerably well. I recommend you give the questions some thought, or perhaps you are better with a pen and can list your requirements in a more organised fashion. He will be happy to help you, if only as a personal favour to me.”
Not wishing to embarrass him any further, she curtseyed and turned to go.
“WAIT,” he cried, a noticeable tremor in his voice, but fortunately not loud enough to alarm the whole room.
She turned curiously, belatedly embarrassed to have asked such personal questions—though, of course, he had opened Pandora’s box of his own accord, so he deserved what he got. She was not the bankrupt party in the conversation!
He stuttered and stammered for a few minutes while she waited patiently (or as patiently as she could when she wanted to strangle her mother).
He finally said, “Your assessment of the situation, while it makes a certain logical sense, is wide of the mark.”
She arched an eyebrow. “How so? If you do not mind my asking.”
“I do not mind at all. You see, I am not the least bit destitute,” he stated emphatically.
“My estate clears a great deal more than is commonly reported. I have no debts, nor did the previous five generations of Darcys. My sister’s very large dowry is invested in the four percents, along with a goodly other sum.
I have profitable enterprises on four continents.
As for connections, I am the nephew and grandson of an Earl, and I am in good standing with the first circles of society.
The Darcys refuse a title every third or fourth generation on average because they become too political.
My estate is lovely. I have sufficient walking paths to satisfy even you!
I am at Netherfield simply to help my friend establish himself just because he is my friend, and friends assist each other—nothing more. ”
Elizabeth stared at him for quite some time, trying to decipher what he attempted to convey.
She finally sighed. “I shall never understand men.”
“How so,” he asked gently while moving close enough that they might speak in a whisper should they be so inclined.
“It all made sense before, and now it does not. I begin to suspect you are somewhat disingenuous, Mr Darcy… though I cannot quite fathom why. Perhaps, you were trying to let me down gently through some belated sense of politeness, but that is a remedy for a non-existent complaint.”
He looked as if he could not quite fathom what she was saying, so she continued.
“You say you need a bride with fortune and connections, and five minutes later assert that you have plenty of both. I suppose that must mean you desire,” then she stared at him hard enough to make him squirm, before finishing, “more! I can understand that many people always want more. I assume your great wealth is because you come from a long line of first sons who always wanted more. That said—”
She paused but held his gaze every time he thought to speak, before finally continuing, “—that said, you might simply have told me you are already richer than Croesus, but even that is insufficient. It would have spared some vexation.”
She looked over to see him thoroughly unable to answer her latest diatribe, and a turn of her head revealed the Longbourn coach finally approaching through the front window.
While she had been endeavouring to help the man and end their acquaintance amicably, a small vindictive streak insisted she have the last word, for revenge if nothing else.
“To be honest, Mr Darcy, I liked you better when you disdained me because I was tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt you, as you were in no humour to give consequence to young ladies who are slighted by other men.”
She cared little that the man looked poleaxed, since she had hoped for the occasion to say that for six weeks.
With a slight smile, she curtseyed and delivered the coup de grace. “At least that was honest. Goodbye, sir. I hope you find your sufficiently handsome, sufficiently dowered, well-connected lady.”
She turned and walked away quickly to join her family, wondering all the while whether her impertinence had undermined Jane’s chances with Mr Bingley or enhanced them.
With an odd man like Mr Darcy, one never knew.
He certainly received enough deference, so perhaps some impertinence would at least make him respect her bravery.
She only glanced back a few times as she waited for her sisters to enter the carriage—a process akin to herding kittens. He disappeared from view for a few minutes, but then startled her when he appeared beside the coach to hand her in.
Not knowing what else to do, she signalled her father to precede her, then allowed the gentleman to perform what he came for, assuming he was on a mission to assuage his wounded pride.
As the footman grasped the door, she turned and studied his face for a moment—still insisting on the last word.
“Goodbye, Mr Darcy.”