Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
Asuccession of rain prevented Elizabeth from visiting Meryton and from receiving callers.
For the rest of her family, this was a heavy trial; however, for Elizabeth, the inclement weather proved something of a reprieve.
Mr Lucas could not call upon her, nor could she inadvertently chance upon him in town.
The disadvantage in this prolonged separation meant that she was certain to meet him at the Netherfield ball, and now that the night was upon her, she found that her nerves jangled with unhappy anticipation.
Her sisters were in high spirits throughout their preparations for the evening, but she could only watch in silence, praying Mr Lucas would not use a public event to make his declaration.
“Do you suppose we shall all partake in an adequate amount of merriment this evening?” Mr Bennet leant forwards in the coach. “By the sound of the wails coming from your sisters’ bedrooms, I was beginning to worry if we ought to attend.”
Elizabeth forced herself to smile. “Lydia’s demands for her toilette were more exuberant than usual. I will admit that I am grateful she is in the other coach.”
“You speak as though it was a coincidence that you, Jane, and I travel together. In some matters in this household, I still have a say—and one of them is with whom I share a coach. Fortunately, it was not difficult to persuade your mother of my gallantry in taking a hired vehicle, leaving her to arrive in the comfort of our own carriage. I neglected to mention my own desire to be as far from my youngest daughters’ inevitable raucous behaviour as possible. ”
This disclosure bothered Elizabeth, for she wished her father would trouble himself to check Kitty and Lydia’s conduct.
“How fares Mr Lucas?” Mr Bennet enquired. “Does he still take a keen interest in your godfather’s affairs?”
The question caught Elizabeth by surprise. “I do not know—I have not spoken with him for some days.”
“A prudent decision,” said Mr Bennet, “for nothing of merit passes that boy’s lips.”
“Papa!” Jane protested. “He is one of our oldest friends!”
“The longevity of our acquaintance does not necessitate that I should disregard his stupidity. Your loyalty to others will be your downfall my dear.” He smiled benevolently. “Fortunately, Mr Bingley is wealthy enough to supersede any folly your generous spirit might produce. I wish you both well.”
Even in the dwindling light, it was still possible to see the faint stain of red on Jane’s cheeks, and Elizabeth was ashamed of her father for his speech.
Mr Bennet took no notice of their discomfort and continued, “Your mother would have me believe that you have also caught Mr Darcy’s eye.
Her judgment in many matters is so often incorrect, I can only hope that is the case in this instance.
With regards to matrimonial felicity, Mr Bingley is a far better prospect. ”
Mention of Mr Darcy’s name reminded Elizabeth that this would be their first meeting since his visit to Longbourn a week ago.
Her chest tightened unexpectedly. Should she warn Mr Darcy of Mr Wickham’s slanderous talk against his character?
Would she even get the opportunity? She doubted that he would trouble himself to converse with her—he had scarcely spoken to her or any of her family unless it was necessary.
Their carriage pulled to a faltering stop outside Netherfield Park, joining the long line of guests awaiting their turn to alight.
Elizabeth glanced at Jane and caught the apprehension flickering in her sister’s eyes.
It appeared Elizabeth was not alone in her misgivings about this evening.
Poor Jane, to be so lovely and to detest the attention one’s beauty brings.
Tonight, all scrutiny would be upon her sister and Mr Bingley; it was only natural that she would be nervous.
Elizabeth leant over and found Jane’s hand.
“’Tis just a ball, dearest, not a proposal,” she murmured in Jane’s ear as they both looked out at the house.
“I think a proposal might be more pleasant to endure,” came the soft reply.
Elizabeth thought again of Mr Lucas. “I think it very much depends on who is doing the asking.”
A quick glance around the ballroom revealed the extent of Mr Bingley’s wealth and generosity.
Flowers from Netherfield’s hot-house adorned every available corner.
Mirrors reflected the light from the many candles, casting a warm, inviting glow about the room.
Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst had done an admirable job, it pained Elizabeth to admit.
What a pity that they did not look as though they were enjoying themselves as they circled the room, making indifferent conversation.
Fortunately, Mr Bingley’s boundlessly energetic welcome compensated for his sisters’ ill manners.
Elizabeth concealed a smile as she watched him greet Jane with a heightened colour on his cheeks and an admiring brightness in his eyes.
In one corner, looking suitably uninviting, stood Mr Darcy.
His hands were clasped behind his back, like a convict awaiting deportation.
Elizabeth frowned. Could he not pretend to enjoy Meryton society, if only for an evening?
He sighed sombrely, then turned away from the crowd and towards a window.
Her annoyance at his rudeness softened into something akin to compassion, for it appeared to her that his expression seemed more drawn and tired since their last meeting.
A loud clatter came from one side of the ballroom.
“Watch where you put your feet, you muttonhead!” Elizabeth recoiled as she heard Mr Lucas’s distinctive whine carry across the room.
She watched in horror as he dressed down an unfortunate young servant.
“You have scratched my buckle. I shall have the repair from your wage.”
The poor footman could not be much older than sixteen.
Lady Lucas came to her son’s side and made a comment in his ear to which Mr Lucas answered loudly, “But to present oneself with an imperfect appearance—there can be no greater insult to one’s host.” In a quieter voice, he hissed, “And what of Miss Elizabeth? A man must look his best if he intends to ask for a woman’s hand in marriage. ”
The instant she heard her name on Mr Lucas’s lips, Elizabeth knew that she had to be as far from him as possible.
Her eyes returned to the tall, broad-shouldered frame of Mr Darcy.
No man had better mastered the art of appearing discouraging; she could do with some of his aloof indifference.
Impulsively, Elizabeth swiftly crossed the room to stand by him, under the pretext of looking out of the same window.
Mr Darcy gave a small start of surprise and a quick bow of welcome.
“A fine view,” she said, peering through a gap in the curtain.
Mr Darcy frowned. “Only the garden wall is visible.”
Undeterred, she continued, “Then why do you regard it so intently?” She had half-expected him to take offence at her interruption of his privacy and was surprised when his lips twitched in amusement.
“I take a keen interest.”
He is teasing me, Elizabeth realised with a start, and her playful spirit could not resist responding in kind. “How fortuitous! For I, too, am a great advocate of a good wall. Which materials do you favour? Brick or wood?”
With the merest hint of a twinkle in his eyes, Mr Darcy replied gravely, “Derbyshire dry stone.”
“Oh, but naturally! A man with an estate in that esteemed county could hardly choose anything less.” The ridiculousness of their conversation amused her. Mr Darcy gave another of his enigmatic smiles, looking so devastatingly handsome that Elizabeth momentarily forgot her plan to evade Mr Lucas.
They were both silent for a moment until Mr Darcy spoke. “Are you enjoying the ball, Miss Elizabeth?”
“Yes, very much.”
There was another awkward pause, and Elizabeth was thankful for the lace sleeves of her ballgown, for she felt suddenly hot and foolish at her forward manner.
He looked at her in curiosity and she felt compelled to find a reason for their conversation.
Remembering her previous desire to inform him of Mr Wickham’s conduct, she said in a low voice, “Forgive my intrusion, I meant to speak to you of-of a particular gentleman.”
A dark shade of hauteur passed across the masculine planes of his face; all his previous good humour vanished in an instant. “This is not a place to discuss—”
“Why, this is just the place,” Elizabeth interrupted.
“For when else would we have a conversation? I shall be very quick. I want to tell you that he is speaking disparagingly of you to others—about how you disregarded your late father’s wishes, which consequently left him in financial peril.
” She spoke very softly so only he might hear; he took a step closer to her as she briefly outlined all that had been disclosed.
When she finished, Mr Darcy did not move away, rather he stared at the floor, the sharp outline of his cheekbone visible as he clenched his jaw.
“I am sorry,” Elizabeth said quietly, a pang of guilt darting in her stomach. She had not contemplated how her revelation might hurt him. “On reflection, I should have remained silent.”
“No.” His deep voice rumbled through her. “One must speculate as to the game he is playing, what benefit it is to him to spread his poison about me.” He opened his mouth, but a sight over Elizabeth’s shoulder caused him to stop and stare.
“What is it?” she said, alarmed.
“Mr Lucas approaches.” He glanced at her. “Is everything resolved between the two of you? There is an air of jubilation in his step.”
“If I had refused him, do you think he would approach me so gaily?”
His lips twitched. “I suppose not.”
Before she could say another word, a voice called out behind her. “Miss Elizabeth! You must forgive the disorder of my attire, but such was my desire to be with you that I could do nothing but draw near to your beauteous presence. Curse this weather that has delayed our precious time together.”
“Yes, it has been dreadfully wet this week.”
Mr Lucas continued as though he had not heard Elizabeth speak. “You understand the urgency with which I come to ask—nay, to beg—for a dance. For what could make a man happier than to stand up with the loveliest woman in the room? Perhaps I might claim the next?”
Elizabeth opened her mouth to say goodness knows what, for she had no partner for the next dance, but to her astonishment, Mr Darcy interjected, “My apologies, Mr Lucas, but Miss Elizabeth has granted me the pleasure.”
Mr Lucas’s eyebrows soared so high up his forehead they almost disappeared under his hair. “I must congratulate you on your choice of partner.”
Half-astounded by Mr Darcy’s gallantry, half-annoyed at Mr Lucas’s propensity to talk as though she were not there, Elizabeth hid her emotions behind a graceful curtsey. “Thank you for your kind request.”
“Perhaps the set following, then?” Mr Lucas’s voice rose to a hopeful tenor.
“I believe the music has started.” Mr Darcy took Elizabeth’s hand and placed it into the crook of his arm. “This conversation must wait, Mr Lucas. I am impatient to dance with the loveliest woman in the room.” And with bold, decisive steps, he led her away.