Elizabeth’s Happy New Year #2
I opened the door to find myself face to face with the tall gentleman, his hand poised to knock. His eyes were an intense blue, and I had to blink to break our gaze.
“Sir,” I sketched a curtsey and stepped back, as the young lady rushed forward to his open arms.
His hug lifted her up, and he stepped back even as he clutched his sister. I let out a deep breath of relief. She would be well.
His brilliant blue eyes caught mine again, then he nodded. “Thank you,” he said, his voice little more than a whisper.
I nodded, and slipped past them to join Mrs. James, waiting at the end of the hall, his soothing voice following my footsteps.
Both my father’s and Mrs. James’ carriages awaited outside, as did the fine carriage I had noted earlier, which must belong to the brother and sister.
As the grooms transferred my trunks, and I checked the interior of Mrs. James’ carriage for forgotten items, I watched the door, wondering if the brother and sister would emerge.
They did not, and after a formal thanks to Mrs. James, I entered the family carriage for the last portion of my trip home.
Longbourn was as it ever was, crowded and noisy and filled with the essence of home, and the days went past, then the weeks, until a surprising announcement as Michaelmas approached.
“Netherfield is let at last,” my mother exclaimed upon her return from Meryton one day.
And soon the largest estate in the neighbourhood was occupied by a solitary young man from the North, the scion of a tradesman with five thousand pounds a year.
Mr. Bingley, for that was he, was a genial and convivial young man, who was struck dumb by his first sight of my elder sister, Jane, at the Meryton Assembly, and set his sights on her soon thereafter.
At every entertainment, and there were many, as the entire neighbourhood wished to welcome him, he would seek out Jane, and by St. Nicholas Day, they were engaged.
It was only then that most of Mr. Bingley’s planned party, his two sisters and brother in law, arrived.
It was as well that they had been delayed, I had quickly concluded, as they were not well impressed with the idea of a country lady for their brother.
They had higher aspirations, it appeared, and his younger sister, Miss Caroline Bingley, in particular, had barely managed to conceal her disdain for the match.
The final member of the party, Mr. Darcy, who was to have educated Mr. Bingley in the mysteries of managing an estate, had been much occupied with family business.
Some few years older than Mr. Bingley, he seemed to have taken the place of a much-admired elder brother.
Every accolade was accompanied by the assurance that I would like him very well indeed.
Each time Charles shared his enthusiasm for his friend, I demurred, as I did on Christmas Eve, assuring him that on my part, I would be glad to greet his friend, but not to expect more than an indifferent acquaintance between the two.
“For he cannot be such a paragon, you know,” I told him one day, as I chaperoned him and my sister walking in the garden. “He must have some grievous fault, one that you in your generosity, do not recognise.”
I would not, could not for the world, admit that I was half in love with the man he described. Such an admission would lead to nothing but disappointment, when the gentleman turned out to have feet of clay. I could not dare to hope.
It was only in the darkness, after I doused the candle and lay listening to the sounds of the old house settling around me, that I wondered if such a man as Mr. Darcy might be the man for me.
And as I drifted to sleep thinking of him, it was with the vision of brilliant blue eyes and a soothing voice.
***
31st December 1811
“Lizzy!” Jane’s voice drew me from my reverie, and I started, heat rising in my cheeks as I realised everyone in the hall was watching me. My father smirked in his usual way, and my mother looked from me to Jane in confusion.
I cast my eyes downward, to mask my awareness of the gentleman below and, gathering my dignity as best I could, continued my descent of the stairs.
Everything around me was sharper, brighter, than it had been moments before, the sparkle of candlelight against mirrored sconces, the astringent scent of the greenery on the bannister, even the random notes of the musicians setting up in the next room.
Miss Bingley entered the hall as the handsome stranger, who must be Mr. Darcy, stepped forward. Her expression brightened as he moved toward her, then curdled in disbelief as he stepped past her without a word, to stand next to Mr. Bingley.
I reached the foot of the stairs and took my place next to Jane for introduction, my eyes fixed on the intricately folded cravat of the gentleman. It was Mr. Darcy. It was also the handsome gentleman, the thoughtful brother, from the inn.
Mr. Darcy had met the other members of my family as they awaited us, so the introductions were swift.
I was tongue-tied, and did not know what to say, other than ‘a pleasure to meet you’.
Charles began to ask of Mr. Darcy’s travels that day, but was stalled when the footman announced the first guests coming up the drive.
Instantly, there was a commotion, as my mother took charge of arranging everyone to their advantage. She and my father, Jane and Charles made up the receiving line. The rest of us were shooed toward the ballroom to greet and make welcome the guests.
I found Mr. Darcy’s arm offered in escort, and I accepted it, my white glove a sharp contrast to his deep blue jacket.
The ballroom sparkled with candles and mirrors, the greenery softening the sharpness.
Mr. Darcy guided me toward a window overlooking the terrace, the darkness outside dispersed by a generous arrangement of torches.
Our direction was away from the musicians, and Miss Bingley, though I knew our reprieve would be brief.
“Miss Elizabeth?” his voice rumbled, and he paused until I raised my eyes to meet his icy blue gaze. “Might I request your first dance, if it is not already spoken for?”
I nodded, swallowing hard, and dropped my eyes, catching the motion of Miss Bingley’s determined approach.
“Thank you, I accept.”
“Mr. Darcy!” I shook myself from my daze and smothered a grimace as Miss Bingley arrived. “Oh, Mr. Darcy, we are so pleased you are finally here. I know Charles has desperately missed your company, and your guidance, these last few months.”
She glared pointedly at my hand resting on Mr. Darcy’s arm. Not inclined to give up the field, I returned her look with a bland smile, and felt Mr. Darcy tighten his arm, trapping my hand.
So, the gentleman was not such an intimate of Miss Bingley as the lady had suggested.
A good endorsement of his character, I hoped.
Miss Bingley had suggested they were of one mind on issues great and small, leaving me to wonder whether the real Mr. Darcy was the one described by Mr. Bingley or his sister.
“Estate and family business,” Mr. Darcy responded to her unspoken query with an answer that told her nothing. “But I understand Bingley had assistance and guidance from the other estate owners. And now will have the best of company with his soon to be wife.”
Miss Bingley’s nose twitched, but she did not quite sniff. “And do you intend to grace the ballroom by dancing?” She batted her eyelids and I considered asking her if there was an insect in her eye.
“Only a few. I am somewhat fatigued from my journey.” His voice was stiff and aloof. Had I not seen him with his sister, and known who was questioning him, I would think him most unobliging.
Across the room, I saw our neighbours, Sir William and Lady Lucas, and their daughter, my good friend Charlotte Lucas, enter and turn in our direction. Mr. Darcy shifted to face them.
“Miss Elizabeth, might you introduce me to your friends?”
Mr. Darcy seemed determined to keep my company, and avoid that of Miss Bingley, requesting introductions to many of the four and twenty families of our neighbourhood as they arrived, until the dancing began.
The first dance was a lively one, with little opportunity for conversation.
So it was not until the second dance that we were able to speak, as we awaited our turn to go down the line.
He did not, as I had somewhat expected, refer to our encounter at the inn. It was not formal enough to earn the term of meeting.
“Might I offer congratulations on your sister’s match with Bingley?” he said, somewhat stiffly.
“Thank you,” I said, looking toward the head of the line where the aforesaid couple danced, oblivious to the rest of the world.
“I think they are well matched. His open character draws her from her reserve, and they both, I am convinced, have such good hearts they could never think ill of another-” I followed his gaze to the side of the room where Miss Bingley stood with a sour expression “-even should they deserve it.”
He coughed, to cover a laugh I had no doubt, and the motion of the dance separated us. When we reunited he made no effort at conversation, and I did not attempt to draw him from his thoughts.
The strains of music drew to a close and we bowed formally, before he offered his arm to lead me toward my mother and sisters. Seeing Miss Bingley approaching, he spoke quietly.
“If your supper set is not spoken for, might I ask for your hand in that dance?”
I laughed lightly.
“I do not know if you seek my company or my protection, but in any case I will grant you the supper dance.”
The following dances passed quickly, Charles with me and Mr. Darcy with Jane, then dances with other gentlemen of the neighbourhood. Soon it was time for the supper dance, after which there would be a surprise, Charles had informed us.
Once again we stood in the line of the dance, but this time Mr. Darcy appeared more relaxed, less aloof.
“I looked for you, you must know,” he said, just loud enough for my ears.
“Beg pardon?”
“After I settled my sister with her maid, I looked for you.”
So he did recognise me. I had wondered, as his intent stare had suggested such, but his words never acknowledged it.
“I wished to thank you.”
My heart sank. His reason for seeking my company was simple gratitude for my service to his sister. A hope I did not know had taken root began to fade.
“I believed a lady who showed such compassion to my sister, but who did not seek to impose herself on me, might be a lady well worth knowing. The innkeeper informed me that your family name was Bennet. When Bingley began to rhapsodise about his ‘angel’ I questioned whether she might be the same angel who assisted my sister,” he continued.
“When I first saw your sister crying I wished, for a moment, that it was Jane there,” I replied, wondering at his words. “She is much better at comforting distraught young ladies than I.”
“He was most complimentary about you, as well, and learning there were five Bennet sisters gave me hope. I am very pleased to find you are not attached to my friend, and wish for the opportunity to get to know you better.”
I looked up to see the same intent expression as earlier, this time with the hint of a smile, and my hidden hope grew anew.
As the dance drew to a close, Charles urged everyone to the terraces for his surprise. We stood at the railing, Jane and Charles to one side, Mr. Darcy to the other, his presence comforting and exciting at the same time.
As the clock began to toll midnight, a blast of sound heralded fireworks bursting into the sky.
I blinked at their brilliance against the black velvet of the night, as the other guests gasped in pleased surprise.
Then Mr. Darcy patted my hand as it lay on his arm, and I looked up, to see the fireworks reflected in his eyes.
I grasped his arm more tightly, my heart so light with my growing hopes that I might float away at any instant.