Chapter 4 Impolitic Indeed
IMPOLITIC INDEED
The next morning, I examined the journal.
The book was old and fragile, the vellum sheets punched with crude holes and bound to the leather cover by tied cords.
The script grew more old-fashioned on the early pages. I could decipher only a few words on the first, and those were ancient indeed, with spellings and letterforms older than Shakespeare’s.
“That is interesting,” Jane answered absently.
I turned a page. “Our ancestors bound three firedrakes in the last century alone. Mamma’s family originates in Surrey…” My mouth fell open. “Her great-aunt bound a wyvern!” When Papa said our family bound exceptional breeds, he did not exaggerate.
A grim, fantastic idea caught me. What if our mother held our drake after our father’s death?
But that was absurd. In all England, only a handful of widowed wyves held draca. All were formidable personages, and famous—or infamous. I loved Mamma, but an honest summary of her personage would be scatterbrained.
And even holding our drake was no guarantee of security. The world was not kind to a widowed wyfe who held draca. She was the target of jealous men deprived of their inheritance, and of prejudice from extreme factions of the Church. Many bound widows simply vanished.
Jane’s nose grazed the window. “He appears nice.”
“Who?” I said.
“Mr. Bingley. He was visiting Papa. He has just left.”
I hmphed. “You should have called me. ‘Nice’ is singularly unhelpful. You declare everyone nice.”
Jane blushed, but I saw her hidden smile.
I would know soon enough. Mr. Bingley would attend the next ball.
The public assembly hall in Meryton could host six dozen people beneath its plain shake roof and rough wooden beams. For balls, it was done up splendidly, with crisp linen covering the tables, trays of cold meats and winter fruits, punch for the ladies, and brandy for the men.
Chairs were arranged for those who wished to rest from dancing, and for ladies tired of standing without being asked.
Hundreds of candles illuminated a sea of silk and muslin gowns.
The gentlemen’s collars and cravats were white crests on the waves.
Every head turned when the Bingley party arrived.
Mr. Bingley had a disordered mop of light-brown curls and blue eyes that matched his blue coat.
Within a minute, we learned he had brought his two sisters and the husband of the elder sister.
However, his final companion, a gentleman, remained mysterious.
“Bingley has one hundred guineas of marriage gold,” Lady Lucas announced to my mother. “It is piled in a strongbox, ready for a wyfe.”
“One hundred!” Mamma was astounded, as this exceeded her highest speculation at breakfast. “And to think Mr. Bennet and I bound a firedrake with only ten guineas of marriage gold. I have always said that, with another ten, we should have bound a wyvern.”
Lady Lucas frowned. Sir William Lucas had earned his knighthood from a career in trade, and Lady Lucas took great pride in her freshly elevated title. But the Lucases had bound a tunnelworm, the lowliest form of draca, so the prestige of our drake was a sore topic between our families.
“Who is the tall man with Mr. Bingley?” I asked. I had noticed him immediately, and many ladies were following him with their gaze. He was dark-haired and serious. I had yet to see him speak a word.
“That is Mr. Darcy,” reported Lady Lucas. “A fine figure of a man, with the largest estate in Derbyshire.” This provoked gasps from the ladies gathered to listen. “But he was most disagreeable when introduced to Sir William. And, it is said he keeps no marriage gold at all!”
That caused great concern. While various explanations were suggested, I turned to watch him, my curiosity piqued.
No marriage gold. While not unheard of, that was very unusual, something I would associate with a social reformer or vagabond, like a poet or politician.
But there was no mistaking the stance and dress of Mr. Darcy.
He was a gentleman—one who had spent the evening towering behind his friend and projecting forbidding disapproval.
Or was it contempt? It seemed worse than boredom.
I cocked my head, trying to guess more exactly.
Mr. Darcy turned, and our gazes met. He had dark eyes to match his hair. I looked down, feeling a blush rise for being caught staring so boldly.
Mr. Bingley was introduced to my family. His eyes returned twice to Jane while he traversed our row of sisters. When he danced with Jane next, and then a second time, mother declared him a true gentleman.
As gentlemen of any sort were scarce, I had sat down for those two dances. That placed me close enough to hear Mr. Bingley when he finished his dances and spoke with Mr. Darcy.
“You must dance, Darcy,” Mr. Bingley said.
“I detest meeting people.” Mr. Darcy’s voice was baritone and haughty. “I cannot suffer the endless banalities on weather and fashion.”
Mr. Bingley was not at all put off. He said cheerfully, “Your sister would encourage you to dance.”
“Georgiana is not here to persuade me.”
“Why not? She was most mysterious about her other commitment.”
“My sister is repairing the damage inflicted by our military foolishness.”
I perked up my ears at that. The war with Napoleon was raging in Spain, but it rarely affected us. How could a sister be involved with the military?
“Then it is my responsibility to persuade you,” Mr. Bingley announced.
“I have made the most wonderful acquaintance in Miss Jane Bennet. She is a beautiful and charming woman. And look”—Mr. Bingley lowered his voice, which made me listen more closely—“one of her sisters is sitting behind you. She is very pretty, and quite alone. I believe she is a kindred spirit! Let me ask Miss Bennet to introduce you.”
I was watching the dance while listening, but I could tell Mr. Darcy had turned to see me.
The silence stretched. I became awkwardly conscious of my isolated status among the empty chairs, and my comfortably slumped pose.
Then Mr. Darcy’s voice pronounced, “She is tolerable, but not enough to tempt me. Return to your new friend and enjoy her smiles. You are wasting your time with me.”
It was impossible not to feel hurt. Fuming and flushed, I stayed in my seat, not wanting to reveal I had overheard. But his entitled presumption gradually seemed ridiculous, and when I finally rose to visit Jane, I was relieved to discover my bruised vanity had healed into vast amusement.
Jane, glowing with a slight smile that only a sister would recognize as delight, described her dances with Mr. Bingley.
“He is just what a young man ought to be,” she concluded, “sensible, good-humored, and lively!”
I studied Mr. Bingley as he spoke with one of his sisters. “He is also handsome, which a man ought to be if he possibly can.”
“I was very much flattered by his asking me to dance a second time.”
“I have thoroughly exceeded you. Let me tell you my own great compliment.” I recounted Mr. Darcy declaring me tolerable but untempting, which became such a spirited recital that my good friend Charlotte Lucas came to ask what was amusing, and there was a second and even more animated retelling.
“That was most unpleasant,” Charlotte said. “Everyone has agreed that Mr. Darcy is a horrid man. And poor Lizzy, to hear yourself called only tolerable. I should have been—”
Charlotte stopped, her eyes widening, and Jane blushed prettily. Biting my lip, I turned to see Mr. Bingley approaching with an eager smile, followed by most of his party, displaying various degrees of enthusiasm.
“Miss Bennet,” he said to Jane, “may I present you to my sisters?” We met his elder sister, Mrs. Hurst, whose husband was absent in search of wine, and the younger Miss Bingley, who had hair as yellow as Jane’s.
I curtsied through this with wicked anticipation because Mr. Darcy was standing with the apprehensive air of a man awaiting a dentist. I was not disappointed, for when Mr. Bingley ran out of sisters to spark conversation, he cast about for other opportunities.
“Darcy, stop lurking back there. Allow me to present my new friends!”
Mr. Darcy stepped forward, although he had retreated so far that, even with long legs, it required several paces. He met each introduction with a slight, silent bow. I found that an amusing affectation.
I had not anticipated that Mr. Bingley would then speak with Jane while his sisters engaged Charlotte, leaving me paired with Mr. Darcy.
We faced each other in silence. Mr. Darcy was very tall, rigid, and expressionless, and apparently engrossed by the wall behind me.
“Do you admire my hat, Mr. Darcy?” I asked.
After a delay, doubtless because I had no hat, he deigned to glance down. “Your party arrived before ours.” His gaze rose again. “I had no opportunity to admire your hat.”
“Oh. I thought I must have left it on. Something above my head fascinates you. I hope you do not see my thoughts? That would be impolitic indeed.”
This provoked astonished silence, perfectly interrupted by the arrival of Sir William and Lady Lucas with my mother, whom they introduced to Mr. Darcy.
Mamma joined our conversation with exuberance.
“In all Hertfordshire,” she exclaimed, aiming a frosty look at Mr. Darcy, “I am quite alone in having bound a firedrake. So, I was most disturbed to hear there are now gentry who do not even prepare marriage gold. Do you not agree, Lady Lucas?”
I suppressed a wince at Mamma’s transparent boast, and at her unsubtle attack on Mr. Darcy—or at least, on his rumored lack of marriage gold. Of course, I had just assaulted him myself, but I flattered myself that I had been bold and clever.
“Yes,” sniffed Lady Lucas. “A binding is most important for marriage. Although, the specifics of draca are perhaps given too much attention.” She frowned at my mother, and there was a pause.
“I imagine the fashion on binding varies,” I said. “The society in London, or other shires, may have different trends.” Having tried to disarm my mother’s insult, I could not resist undermining that by adding, “How do you find our country society, Mr. Darcy? Tolerable?”
He gave one of his short, sharp bows. “Indeed, I find it more than tolerable.” I wondered if he had caught my meaning. He was watching me now, rather than staring above my head, and his gaze was steady. I remembered that I was sparring with a man of consequence.
Miss Bingley hastily excused herself from Charlotte and circled around Mr. Bingley and Jane, who were deeply engaged, to join our expanding group.
“Miss Elizabeth Bennet,” she said, “you are insightful to recognize that high society is distinct. London would doubtless seem most foreign to you.” That was not what I had said, and I enthusiastically prepared to argue.
But she continued, “London society is excessively biased to refinement and accomplishment, and hardly values marriage gold at all. I fear wild beasts in draca houses will soon be relegated to the rustic lifestyle.” Her laugh tinkled.
“You must agree, Mr. Darcy, as you have such an accomplished sister.”
Mr. Darcy had always shown precise posture, but now it became exact. Even his cheeks hollowed. “As I reside more often in the country than in London,” he replied, each word distinct, “I defer to your opinion.”
Miss Bingley’s tinkling laugh choked. Hurriedly, she said, “Of course, Pemberley itself is a center for society.” I gathered that Pemberley was Mr. Darcy’s fabled Derbyshire estate.
“Do you advocate binding draca, sir?” Sir William said to Mr. Darcy. “I greatly support the keeping of draca by gentry. It is one of the grand refinements of polished society.”
Mr. Darcy’s pose stiffened further. “It is popular even with less polished societies. Every savage keeps animals.” He strode away, leaving expressions that ranged from astonishment to offense.
I was simply mystified. He was disagreeable—rude, really—but I could not find a pattern in his comments. It seemed that draca, or marriage gold, caused a strong reaction.
Mr. Darcy’s departure left a sizeable gap which was filled by Lydia and Kitty, who between them had captured Colonel Forster. The colonel commanded the militia regiment quartered in Meryton, and he was a favorite of society despite many ladies’ despair over his recent engagement.
“What do you say, Colonel, to draca?” Sir William asked, unwilling to let the subject end.
“Draca are a great topic among our military planners. The regulars are eager to commission married, bound gentry as officers.” The colonel then addressed the women, explaining, “The Spanish, and French for that matter, have no draca. So if the English can apply them in battle, and our opponents cannot, we should have an advantage.”
I thought his explanation was superficial, but not all ladies purloin pages of the Times and Examiner from their father. My mother’s brow was furrowed, as was Miss Bingley’s.
“So they are being trained,” I said. This must be the “misguided attempts by our military” that Papa had mentioned. That reminded me of Mr. Darcy’s comment about “damage inflicted by our military foolishness.” Could they be related?
“They are attempting to train them,” the colonel said with a smile. “I cannot say if they succeeded.”
Lydia’s eyes had narrowed while I conversed with Colonel Forster. She cried, “Lizzy, you are so dull! The musicians are ready. Let us dance!” There was a brief contest for the colonel’s attention between Kitty and Lydia, then Lydia set off with the colonel as prize.
Mr. Bingley excused himself from Jane and invited Miss Bingley to dance, casting forlorn glances at Jane as he departed. Kitty was claimed by another officer, and Jane and I settled in chairs to compare our impressions of the evening.
Mr. Darcy stood proudly, staring at a wall.