Chapter 2
Mrs Lydia Wickham was shown in, and, with the exception of Darcy, greeted all her family with her usual brazen enthusiasm.
“Dear Wickham has decided to stay away.” She cast a withering look in Darcy’s direction. “He did not want to attend a party where his presence would not be welcomed.”
“How glad I am to learn that Wickham can finally consider the sensibilities of those other than himself.” Elizabeth’s voice rang out from the doorway, where she stood, her arm linked with Mrs Bingley’s.
Darcy caught her gaze, and she crossed the room to stand by him.
He guessed, by the bright glow of her eyes, that she knew of the Bingleys’ joyful news.
“Are you well, Lydia? I cannot remember the last time I received news of you.”
“I am exceedingly well. But our rooms in Newcastle are so dreadfully uncomfortable. If only we could afford better—but I shall say no more on the subject, for I am sure to receive a scolding.”
Mr Bennet did not rise to his youngest daughter’s complaints. “If you desire a good night’s sleep, then you will be pleased to learn that you are in your old bed.”
“I am not to stay in the guest room?”
“It is occupied by your sister and her husband.”
“So I am to share with Kitty and Mary? But I am a married woman!”
“Only by your swift intervention,” Elizabeth muttered in Darcy’s ear as Lydia began to make her spirited protest to Mrs Bennet. “I am sorry for her behaviour, but you must remember she is not much more than a child.”
Darcy privately reflected that he had encountered infants able to conduct themselves with more decorum, but he refrained from comment.
He drew Elizabeth to one side as her youngest sister’s objections grew louder.
“Marriage to Wickham cannot be easy. She will never know true comfort. We must remember that amidst all her complaining.”
“That is remarkably generous of you.” Elizabeth tilted her face towards his, her dark eyes shining with an earnest admiration.
His breath caught in his throat. Even now, after months of marriage, she still had the power to silence him with her beauty.
Blissfully unaware of the hold she had over him, Elizabeth continued, “Would you like to ride into town this morning? My investigations have yielded that our Twelfth Night party will begin this afternoon. From a gentle interrogation of my family’s little maid, I have gleaned that many of our good neighbours are expected to arrive from one o’clock.
Party games and drinks will be underway until four o’clock, when we shall stop for food.
More merriment will be had, I am informed, until midnight—upon which chimes all our guests will strip away the decorations to burn on the fire. ”
“That does not sound so terrible, Elizabeth. From our conversation this morning, I had feared much worse.”
“Well then I have the misfortune to tell you that there is to be an element of masquerade—hush, do not groan.” Elizabeth giggled at his horrified response. “Mama will supply the costumes, and we must select from what is on offer. Fear not, I shall ensure that yours befits your lofty station.”
“Pardon my scepticism, but I doubt you will secure any type of fancy dress that I would be comfortable wearing.”
“Not even Hercules?” A suggestive twinkle danced in Elizabeth’s eyes, and her gaze lingered over his chest and shoulders. “Or Adonis?”
He lowered his voice. “Only if that meant you were Aphrodite.”
She spluttered with laughter, and the argument between Mrs Wickham and the rest of her family halted abruptly. All eyes were fixed upon them.
“I suppose you would be happy, Lizzy, for you have the most comfortable room.” Mrs Wickham broke the silence, her expression still highly indignant.
“No, I—” Elizabeth’s cheeks were flushed. “Our conversation was not about you. We were debating what characters to be at the party.”
“Liar! As if we are to believe that your dull stick of a husband would know how to have fun!” Mrs Wickham flung her shawl over her arms with a regal swoop and made to flounce out, but her shoe caught on the threshold, and she stumbled forwards with an angry shriek.
“I shall go to her.” Mrs Bingley followed in Mrs Wickham’s wake.
No sooner did she leave than Mrs Bennet began chastising her husband for upsetting her beloved and most misunderstood daughter.
Elizabeth’s shoulders slumped at their argument, and she glanced at Darcy, her brows contracted in a wordless apology.
He touched her arm gently to let her know he was unaffected by Mrs Wickham’s rudeness and ventured carefully, “I should imagine you would wish to help Mrs Bingley?”
Elizabeth’s whole being transformed at this mention of her sister. She straightened her spine, her eyes aglow with understanding. “Have you spoken with Mr Bingley, then?”
He nodded and gave her a reassuring smile. “Unsurprisingly, he was unable to contain his joy. Go to your sister’s side and do not worry yourself about me. I have decided to ride into the town. Upon my return, I shall dutifully accept my fate.”
“I shall do my utmost to mitigate any damage to your dignity this evening. You have my word.” Elizabeth squeezed his hand before rushing off to rescue her eldest sister from Mrs Wickham’s petulance.
A ride had been just the thing to clear Darcy’s head.
As he reached Meryton’s principal street, he remembered the task with which he had entrusted Gallagher.
What if his valet could not procure all the items?
On impulse, Darcy decided to purchase a few more, suppressing a smile as he imagined Elizabeth’s delighted response.
An extra coin into the shopkeepers’ hands meant that the parcels would arrive at Longbourn addressed to Gallagher and not Darcy, thus concealing his plan from his unsuspecting wife.
He returned to his horse, Mrs Wickham’s criticism echoing through his mind.
He could hardly be accused of being dull now.
When Darcy returned to Longbourn he found it charged with a frenetic energy.
Servants were rushing about, pushing chairs against the walls of the dining room and adjacent saloon.
Fires burnt brightly in every fireplace, and the atmosphere was oppressively hot.
The rich smell of cooked meat wafted through the house, and Darcy’s stomach growled in anticipation.
A quick consultation of his watch told him it was nearly twelve o’clock; time enough to change before the other guests’ arrival.
He asked a harassed-looking footman where Mrs Darcy could be found and was informed that she and some of her sisters were in the sitting room.
The door had been left open, and the sound of his name caused him to stop in the corridor, just out of sight of those in the room, before entering.
It was Elizabeth’s voice. “Do not force Darcy to participate. He will detest it, and I love him too dearly to insist he join us. I must plead an exemption.”
“But all members of our family are to take a card. We cannot help it if your husband is a dead bore.”
“Lydia! That is unkind. Darcy has an excellent sense of humour. My concern is that he is reserved, and I do not think he would be comfortable—”
Darcy could not remain concealed any longer. “What are you discussing?” All the women turned to face him. Elizabeth wore a particularly guilty expression, whereas Mrs Wickham looked completely unabashed.
Motioning for Darcy to sit beside her, Elizabeth answered, “Lydia has brought a set of Twelfth Night cards. They detail a character you must adopt for the entire evening.”
“And you are assigning them now?”
“Yes, before we were interrupted.” Mrs Wickham glared at Darcy before turning her attention to her other sisters.
“Here you are, Mary. You are Mistress Holly. It says, ‘May your words be as sharp as your spines’. Now you can make all your cruel observations without pretending they come from a place of Christian virtue.”
She thrust the card into her sister’s hands and turned away, not waiting for an answer. “And Kitty, you may be Mrs Laurel. ‘To win the day you must be clever, to be the victor in all endeavour’. That means that you must actually try to succeed at something for once.”
She spun round, a wicked glint in her eye. “Lizzy, you can be Miss Ivy. ‘To irritate is your skill, make sure to give others your ill-will’. Why, I cannot think of a better character for you!”
Affronted at Mrs Wickham’s offensive mode of address, Darcy opened his mouth in swift defence of Elizabeth, but he was silenced by a calming touch of her hand to his arm. “Pray, what character will you be, Lydia?” she enquired lightly.
Mrs Wickham shuffled through the cards. “I shall be Mistress Mistletoe,” she announced. “I am to carry a sprig and ensure that everyone is to get their kiss. What a shame Wickham is not here. I shall have to content myself with an embrace from some other handsome gentleman.”
Miss Mary snorted. “You speak as though such gentlemen would welcome your presence. I have heard it said that many men consider your charms to have faded considerably since your unfortunate marriage.”
Mrs Wickham gasped. “How can you be so horrible!”
Paying no heed to the peals of laughter from Miss Kitty, Miss Mary lightly tapped the holly-edged card. “I am merely embracing my character, dear Lydia, just as you asked.”