Chapter Four #4
Mr. Bennet waved his hand. “Never mind, son,” he said.
“And you are fortunate you are courting Lizzy, for my son you must be after that performance.” He reached to the side table for his glass of wine.
“We shall remain here a suitable amount of time, for appearances’ sake, you know.
” He shook his head and grinned. “As my aunt has already given her permission and all of Hertfordshire will shortly be made aware that you are in love with my daughter and she with you, I think we can call this business concluded.” His nose wrinkled and he scratched the back of his head.
“Unless you wish to make your speech. Did you spend much time preparing it?”
Could it be this simple? “No, sir,” he stammered. “Truthfully, I was more concerned about my speech for your daughter.”
“Was it a good one?” Mr. Bennet asked, a faint smile lingering on his lips.
Darcy shrugged. “Not particularly, no. It matters little, as she did not require that I deliver it.”
“Then she spared you both.” Mr. Bennet sipped his wine. “Of course, you will need to present the marriage contract to His Grace. I do not envy you that.” He relaxed against a cushion. “I suspect Olivia has him working on Elizabeth’s already.”
Darcy sat on the nearest chair, astonished Mr. Bennet was not more hesitant to hand off the duty of arranging Elizabeth’s settlement, but upon reflection, he supposed the decision had been made some years ago.
Frankly, he was overwhelmed at how the evening had progressed and was thankful for the brief respite.
He felt completely content. Here the ball was only just beginning and both he and Bingley were engaged.
His attention drifted, wondering when they might wed. Would she make him wait for the season? He hoped not, though he felt secure now that he knew she would be his. He closed his eyes and remembered the look in her eyes as they danced together. He could wait. He could.
Mr. Bennet’s voice broke through his reverie. “You should know, Mr. Darcy, that asking for a woman’s hand is not the same as being married to her. The asking is easy. Facing everything together—that is hard.”
“I believe we will do very well together,” Darcy replied stiffly.
“I believe that, too,” Mr. Bennet replied solemnly. “I would not be so sanguine about offering my permission did I not.”
Darcy felt some of the tension leave his shoulders.
“All I am saying, son,” the older man continued, “is that you must never forget that she is the first person you must consider in everything you do—and she will have to consider you first as well.” His face clouded over. “Life is much more difficult when you do not have this agreement between you.”
Darcy nodded. “I will remember.” He held out his hand. “Would you call me Darcy?”
“If you call me Bennet.” Mr. Bennet shook Darcy’s hand and held up his wineglass. “Let me finish this and then we should head back. Shall we make it official with another announcement?”
Darcy leaned back and crossed his legs. “Are you trying to catch me out already, Bennet?”
Elizabeth’s father laughed again. “Ah, well done, my boy. Let us ask Lizzy what she desires.”
“I think it might actually do Miss Bingley in at her own ball,” Elizabeth said contritely. “Besides, I should hate to make Jane share her night.” She gave Mr. Darcy an apologetic look. “Would you mind very much if we waited? It does not make the engagement any less real.”
Mr. Darcy took her hand. “I am just happy you said yes, Miss Elizabeth.”
“A politic answer!” cried Mr. Bennet with a chuckle. “You are a quick study, Darcy.”
“I do my best, Bennet,” Darcy replied, his eyes never leaving his betrothed.
“Now, the both of you—it is time for other partners,” Mr. Bennet said, shooing them away. “I believe you are meant to be dancing with another of my daughters, Darcy,” he said. “And you, miss,” he said fondly, taking Elizabeth’s hand and giving it a squeeze, “are with me.”
“I should be very pleased to dance the next with you, Papa,” Elizabeth said, hugging his arm to her side.
The next hour passed agreeably enough. She danced with Papa and then with Mr. Fitzwilliam, who welcomed her into the family with his usual good cheer.
Then it was halfway through the evening and time for the supper dance. Mr. Darcy collected her and they lined up for what would be a form of quadrille.
This dance was different than the first. The eye contact was still continuous throughout the set, but it was tender rather than heated. There are many different facets to love, she thought, and I shall experience them all. She was anxious to begin.
Before she knew it, the second dance was ending.
Elizabeth released Mr. Darcy’s hand and curtsied.
He bowed and offered her his arm. Their side of the room was near the end of the line and Darcy realized, to his chagrin, that they would be fortunate to even reach the food before the supper break was over.
He ought to have paid more attention to their position.
They stood together, the rest of the crowd pressing through the doorways and out of the now-stifling ballroom.
The musicians stood, setting down their instruments, wiping their brows with large handkerchiefs and shaking their jackets to cool themselves; several made for the balcony and the cold night air.
Despite being rather hungry, Darcy was content to stand with Elizabeth and slowly make forward progress toward the food.
Being at the very end of the line offered some privacy, and he thrilled each time the back of her gloved hand brushed his own.
“Perhaps we would be better served to head directly to the kitchens,” Elizabeth said drolly.
“Mrs. Thistlewaite will be sure to feed us, and the food will still be hot.”
To their right, Mr. Collins was speaking with Miss Lucas, something about beekeeping and rendering wax for candles.
Darcy thought the young woman unusually interested in the discourse, or he would have inquired of Elizabeth whether he should intervene.
Collins pointed at one of the candles to demonstrate something to his companion.
Darcy turned away, hoping not to hear any more of the parson’s intricately detailed lecture on—did he say slumgum?
“Oh!” Elizabeth gasped, and grabbed her skirt before scurrying away.
Darcy turned back to see Collins gesticulating wildly with a lit candle as he continued to speak.
It took several seconds before the pastor realized he had lost his student.
He glanced around, oblivious to the blue flame that now licked up the curtain beside him.
When he at last noticed it, he twisted awkwardly this way and that, blowing at the fire frantically and apparently seeking help.
Miss Lucas had already hurried to a table by the opposite wall, where a pitcher of water sat.
She was joined by Elizabeth, who had retrieved a pitcher from another table.
Before either could reach the spot where Collins remained, uselessly flapping his arms, candle even yet clutched in one waving fist, Darcy had taken advantage of his long legs to quickly cover the thirty feet or so to the curtain, pull it off the wall, and stamp the flames out as the heavy brass rod clattered to the floor.
Elizabeth handed him her pitcher, and he poured the water over the burnt cloth.
“Collins,” he snarled, grabbing the man by the front of his jacket, “what the devil are you about? Have you any idea the panic that would ensue were there a fire in the ballroom?” He looked over his shoulder; only one or two people other than the musicians seemed to have noticed. Everyone else was finally at supper.
Darcy released Collins, bending to slide the ruined curtain from the rod and pick up the cloth.
He shook it at the man, trying to contain his fury.
“There are hundreds of people in this house tonight. Even were nobody hurt by the fire, there would certainly be injuries as a result of the inevitable flight outdoors.” He rolled up the heavy fabric, hoping to secret it downstairs and get the servants to air out the room as well as they could before the dancing resumed.
He felt a small hand on his arm. “Mr. Darcy,” he heard Elizabeth say, “we will see to things here. Just take the curtain away.”
He closed his eyes and brought his anger under control. He nodded once and moved towards the servant’s entrance. At that moment, several footmen entered from the adjoining room, bearing jugs of fresh punch to refill the bowl. When they saw the mess the first man set his jug down and hurried over.
“Fisk,” Miss Elizabeth said, “thank goodness you are here. There has been a mishap, and Mr. Darcy has taken care of it. Would you be so good as to remove that curtain?”
Fisk’s eyes went first to the burnt material in Darcy’s hands and then shot briefly over to Collins.
Without a word, he accepted the material and disappeared through the servant’s door.
He reappeared to heft the brass rod up in his hands and place it inside the servants’ hallway before closing the door firmly.
Darcy pinched the bridge of his nose and prayed for patience. Collins, to his credit, did appear embarrassed as he shoved the beeswax candle back in its holder.
“I was only explaining the many benefits of keeping bees,” he muttered. “I thank you for your assistance, Mr. Darcy. Your aunt has always extolled your ability to think well under duress, and I believe she has been proven correct this evening. She is extraordinarily…”
“No more, Collins,” he said gruffly. Miss Lucas had approached the remaining footmen and was speaking quietly to them.
“Come, Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth said softly. “Let us go to supper. Charlotte has things well in hand, and Mr. Collins will help her. Is not that the case, cousin?” she asked.
“Of course, of course,” Collins mumbled, his face and neck flushed. Darcy allowed himself to be led off.
He took a deep breath. “Thank you, Elizabeth.”
“You know,” she teased, “I do not recall you ever asking to use my Christian name, sir, yet you are making rather free with it. It is rather a presumption on your part.” She gazed up at him, humor sparkling in her eyes. “Should I be concerned about this flaw in your character?”
He frowned at her, but he could not hold it, and she laughed and pressed her cheek briefly against his shoulder. “You know,” he responded, “I was going to ask you when we were on the balcony, but you stopped my lips.”
“Truly?” she asked pertly. “Then my interruption caused you to propose?”
“As I recall,” he said confidently, “you answered before I could ask.”
“Arrogant man,” she laughed. “Come, you must feed your impertinent betrothed.”
They stepped into the hallway that separated the ballroom from the supper rooms, and Elizabeth suddenly stopped walking, forcing him to pause mid-stride.
“What is it?” he asked, then followed her line of sight.
A man with thin, reddish-brown hair stood at the end of the hall, closest to the front entry, Mrs. Nicholls beside him.
He was unwinding a long woolen scarf and handing it over to the housekeeper.
His expensive greatcoat and highly polished Hessians indicated that he had not come to dance. Darcy took a second look.
“Tavistock?” he asked aloud. He glanced down at Elizabeth, who had not moved and whose face had paled to a sickly white.
“Francis?” she whispered.