Chapter 4
Darcy’s first duty as king was to partner his mother-in-law in a Scottish reel.
The considerable difference in their heights made it impossible for them to dance with any modicum of dignity.
It did not help matters that Mrs Bennet attempted to compensate for the mismatch by hopping exuberantly at every opportunity.
She insisted Darcy remove his domino mask, but any happiness he felt at this consideration to his feelings was swiftly tempered by the fact she forced him to wear an overlarge wooden crown instead.
The smell of sherry on Mrs Bennet’s breath was quite strong, and Darcy suspected she was beginning to succumb to its effect. When the steps changed, she would spin unsteadily, forcing him to hold out a rescuing hand before she stumbled.
“Such gallantry! Such strength!” she said breathlessly.
“Now that we are family, you must not mind me complimenting you.” She cast her eyes appreciatively over his body.
“I cannot remember the last time I danced with a man of your physical prowess. I hope my old joints do not put you off. You move very elegantly, if I may say.”
Utterly mortified, Darcy could only nod. “As do you.” This was a lie, but it was hardly chivalrous to reveal what he was really thinking—that dancing with Mrs Bennet was akin to swinging a sack of alcohol-soaked potatoes around the floor.
“What a courteous king! And so handsome too! I shall be the envy of all the mamas of Meryton! Lizzy tells me that you have never partaken in a Twelfth Night party.” Her cheeks glowed red. “How delightful that mine should be your first!”
He gave another polite nod before saying truthfully, “This will be the one with which I shall compare all others.”
“You do me a great honour, sir. It will be one to remember, mark my words. We shall have some merriment tonight!”
A wicked smile crossed Mrs Bennet’s face, and she stopped abruptly, causing the portly gentleman behind Darcy to collide with him.
At the pianoforte, Miss Mary’s fingers slipped, and there was an almighty discord of notes.
Everyone looked expectantly at Mrs Bennet—and, to Darcy’s embarrassment, him.
Mrs Bennet swayed dangerously. “I wish to make my first royal decree,” she announced.
Darcy braced himself. “All requests to a servant must be sung. You will face a forfeit if you do not.”
“And what will that forfeit be?” A spotty young neighbour of the Bennets’ was clearly keen to make mischief. “A kiss from our queen?”
A raucous cheer echoed around the room, and Mrs Bennet waggled a scolding finger at him. “Enough of your cheek, Master Langford!”
From the corner, Darcy heard Mrs Wickham mutter, “Surely spending five minutes in conversation with our king would be punishment enough.”
He glanced at her, and she raised a defiant brow.
She thinks that I shall not participate, he thought.
That I consider myself above this frivolity.
Suddenly he realised how sorely he wished to prove his sister-in-law wrong.
Drawing himself up to his full height, Darcy stood next to Mrs Bennet in what he hoped was a suitably regal pose and imperiously looked down his nose at the youth.
His posture was perhaps too effective, for Mr Langford paled at the sight.
Darcy linked his arm with Mrs Bennet’s. Taking no notice of her squeak of surprise, he said with mock gravity, “Insolence to the queen must be punished. What do you think, Your Highness?”
Revelling in his deference, Mrs Bennet did not waste a moment. “Off with his head!”
Another spirited cry rang out. Darcy glanced nervously at Elizabeth.
The situation had taken an unexpected turn.
Floundering wildly out of his depth, he had no idea what to say or do next.
Elizabeth’s eyes were watering with suppressed laughter.
He could only imagine how ridiculous he appeared.
Before he could say another word, Mrs Bennet continued, warming to her role as despot queen with alarming enthusiasm.
“Cover his face with a shawl! It will be as though he has met with the executioner’s axe!
” This command was greeted with groans and hoots of laughter.
Relieved that he was not required to act out a beheading, Darcy turned to a nearby maid and repeated his mother-in-law’s request.
Mrs Bennet jabbed him in the stomach, clearly relishing her new-found power. “What’s this? The king thinks he is above my rules! I decreed that all requests to a servant must be sung. Even the king must obey.”
Everyone turned to face Darcy. The skin under his cravat prickled uncomfortably.
The young lad who had instigated the rebellion grinned at him, this turn of events evidently to his liking.
Darcy opened his mouth to protest but then caught sight of Mrs Wickham’s scornful expression.
Suppressing all his natural instincts to refuse, he bowed so low that the top of his head nearly scraped against the corner of a nearby coffee table. “As my queen commands.”
A shocked hush descended. All eyes were on him.
Darcy caught sight of Bingley; his friend was biting his knuckles to stifle his mirth.
For a moment, Darcy considered fleeing. I wonder how much I shall need to pay Bingley to keep him quiet about this moment, he thought desperately.
Palms sweaty, he took a breath and, pretending he was alone, sang his instructions to the poor little maid, who looked as embarrassed as he felt.
When he finished, the whole room remained painfully silent.
To Darcy’s unending gratitude, Bingley came to his rescue.
“Long live the king!” he shouted, encouraging the other guests to join him in a rousing clap.
Suddenly hands were patting Darcy on the shoulder, all the gentlefolk of Meryton eager to congratulate him on his fine voice.
He had no idea whether they were being sincere, but it did not matter—his embarrassment was worth the look of pure affection on Elizabeth’s face.
She came to his side and drew him away from everyone else. “Do you know, that is the first time I have heard you sing?”
“And for good reason. I detest performing in front of others.”
“I do not know why. You are blessed with a wonderful voice.” She traced her fingers along his arm and murmured in his ear, “Can I confess I find it rather alluring? Will you treat me to a private performance later?”
Darcy raised his eyebrows—her favourable response was completely unexpected. Buoyed by the admiration in her eyes, he was now more determined than ever to prove himself to his wife. With a grin, he replied, “Find me a glass of punch, and I might indulge you with another song.”
“Is that a promise?”
“It depends how large the glass is.”
She leant into him, laughing softly. He was about to reply when there was a tap to his shoulder.
It was Gallagher. Eager not to sing any instructions to his gruff valet, Darcy excused himself from Elizabeth and indicated he wished to speak to Gallagher privately with a discreet gesture to follow him to a quieter room.
As soon as they were alone, Darcy asked after the arrangements.
“It is done, sir.” Gallagher looked excessively pleased with himself.
“Where did you place the surprise?”
“In Mr Bennet’s book-room, sir. All the guests will be confined to the principal rooms at the front of the house, and I took the liberty of informing the other servants that the book-room should be left undisturbed.
Once all the others have departed, you may take Mrs Darcy’s family there.
Say the word, and I shall instruct a maid to light the candles just before you enter. ”
“Commendable work,” observed Darcy, making a mental note to suitably reward his valet for his efforts.
Gallagher’s chest swelled at this praise, and he bowed before regarding Darcy expectantly. “Is there anything else, sir?”
Desirous that he should not have to share any of his musical talents with his valet, Darcy replied, “Unless there is an emergency, I ask that you do not seek out my presence for the rest of the evening.”
A shriek came from the saloon. It was Mrs Bennet, demanding to know where her king had gone.
Gallagher’s mouth twisted into a smirk, but it quickly disappeared at Darcy’s scowl. “Very good, sir.”
The evening went from bad to worse. Not only did Mrs Bennet insist on Darcy staying by her side at all times, but he found himself in the uncomfortable position of de facto attendant to Longbourn’s new queen.
Every one of her whims fell to him to enact, and he was required to assist her in all the parlour games.
He bore it as well as he could, but his mother-in-law’s attention towards him was so overt that the other guests began to conceal titters of laughter behind their hands.
Even Mr Bennet—who had rid himself of his costume at the first opportunity—pulled Darcy to one side to thank him for occupying so much of Mrs Bennet’s time, proclaiming that he was soon becoming his favourite son-in-law.
The glass of punch procured by Elizabeth did much to lessen his pain.
As a rule, Darcy did not drink excessively; however there are times when rules are meant to be broken, he thought, watching Mrs Bennet plunge her fingers into a flaming pewter dish to retrieve brandy-soaked raisins.
“Oh, Mr Darcy, you must take a turn in our little game of Snapdragon. A man of your youthful vigour will surely stand a better chance than I.”
There was nothing in this world that would prevail upon Darcy to participate in such a foolhardy venture. “Regretfully, madam, I must decline.”
“Oh, do not be so dull!” Mrs Bennet sounded alarmingly like her youngest daughter.
He indicated to the other players, many of whom were nursing scorched fingers. “I would hate to prevent your other guests from partaking in the fun. Besides, I am not familiar with the particulars of how best to play this game.”
“We need not abide by such nonsense!” She gave him a saucy wink. “It does not matter if you do not know how the game works. The king and queen may change the rules if they see fit. We are in charge, are we not?”
Given that Darcy was yet to make a suggestion that Mrs Bennet listened to, this felt like something of an overstatement. He caught Elizabeth’s eye, and she turned away, her shoulders shaking.
When she looked back, he detected a glimmer of compassion in her expression. Addressing her mother directly, she said soothingly, “Mama, I wish for Darcy to accompany me to find Jane. I beg of you to spare him a little for me.”
“And deprive me of my king on Twelfth Night!” Mrs Bennet placed a theatrical hand on her chest. Her eyes unfocused, she stepped unsteadily towards Darcy, her smile giddy. “Very well, but you must return to my side as soon as you can—your queen commands it!”