Chapter 10 Wilful Misunderstandings #3
Despite the first three days of her marriage having turned out to be extremely agreeable and Bingley nary raising an eyebrow at her dismissal of the maid, Jane yet dreaded seeing any symptom of regard when he was reunited with Elizabeth.
To her chagrin, her sister arrived looking astonishingly well, in a gown and jewels that would have seen Mrs Bennet calling for her smelling salts.
Jane continued to watch until the Darcys had spoken to their relations and moved to the refreshment table, only then daring to look at Bingley to judge how he had been affected.
Alas, the dimness of the ballroom’s periphery made his features indistinct, and she was unable to determine aught but the unwavering direction of his gaze.
“You look exceedingly well, Jane,” Mr Darcy said, turning from the refreshment table to hand her a glass of wine.
“Thank you,” she replied, as pleased by Bingley’s silence on the matter of Elizabeth’s appearance as by Mr Darcy’s compliment on hers.
“May I have the honour of dancing with you this evening?”
“Of course. I should be delighted.”
“You have anticipated me, Darcy,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam, arriving to join them. “Might I, too, claim a dance, Mrs Bingley?”
“Why, yes, of course.”
“It is my ball,” Lord Ashby announced, appearing with his wife beside the colonel.
“I shall have my share of the dancing.” Then, quite mistaking where the conversation had been tending, he turned to Elizabeth and asked her for the next set.
Jane did not miss the manner in which Lady Ashby glowered at him. She quite sympathised.
“The next is mine, Ashby,” Mr Darcy said, quietly but firmly.
“You have had this stunning creature all to yourself for three days, man. I think you could be a little more generous.”
“The next is mine,” Mr Darcy repeated.
“Then I shall have them play a jig!”
“I should be happy to dance a different set with you,” Elizabeth said.
“’Tis my turn after Darcy’s, though,” the colonel said, grinning.
“I beg to differ, old boy,” Bingley objected. “’Tis mine!”
“Either way, Ashby, you will have to wait your turn.”
The four men continued to argue over who would next dance with Elizabeth while she grinned brazenly between them, basking unashamedly in the attention.
Lady Ashby glared with alarming venom at them all.
“Really, my lord,” she said coldly. “There are many single ladies in attendance yet to bring off a coup as great as Mrs Darcy’s, who do not have a wealthy husband with whom to dance.
You cannot believe she is so deficient in good breeding that she would slight every one of them by stealing all the dances. ”
Elizabeth bore the remark with civility though Jane did not think for one moment that her sister would pay the reproach any heed.
Darcy paid only the vaguest attention to the conversation, unable to think on aught but that, surely to God, Elizabeth’s dress had been designed to bring men to their knees.
It celebrated her every curve, accentuated her slender waist and drew his eye again and again to the generous swell of her bosom—and he was damned if he could refrain from envisaging how its gauzy layers had pooled about her hips as he loved her not an hour ago.
The woman had ruined him! After but three days of marriage, he could no longer hold a rational conversation for want of a thought in his head that did not centre upon loving her.
Hearing the musicians strike up, he made his excuses and led her to join the line, never in his life so desirous of dancing or so enamoured of his partner.
“Say what else you will, Philippa, you cannot deny her dress is exquisite.”
“Yes,” Lady Ashby said with a strained smile. “Thank you for bringing it to our attention again, Daphne.”
“Be not jealous of our praise,” said another of the little coterie of ladies, a Miss Valerie Floyd. “A fine dress is a fine dress, regardless of who wears it. Do you know where she had it made?”
“I have no idea. Do you know?” Lady Ashby enquired, glancing at Jane.
Miss Floyd turned to her also. “Does this lady know Mrs Darcy?”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Valerie, this is Mrs Darcy’s sister. Do keep up.”
“We were introduced earlier, madam,” Jane said quietly. “I am Mrs Bingley.”
“Oh, well you never said you were Mrs Darcy’s sister. I should have remembered that. But, now that I know who you are, you simply must tell me how your sister met Mr Darcy. I have heard such varying reports that I know not what to believe, and I cannot stand to be in ignorance of such things.”
“Why, yes, of course,” Jane replied. “My husband leases an estate near my father’s and—”
“Your father has an estate?”
“Yes. Longbourn.”
“Then Mrs Darcy is a gentleman’s daughter?”
“Yes. We both are.”
“Well, that is quite the revelation. I was led to believe her family was in trade!”
Undesirous of inviting derision, Jane made no mention of her aunts or uncles. Lady Ashby was either unaware of Elizabeth’s connections or similarly disinclined to divulge them, for she also said naught. “Mr Darcy stayed with my husband last autumn. We all met at an assembly in the local town.”
“An assembly?” Miss Floyd cried, her expression an unflattering mix of amusement and disgust. “Philippa, had you any idea Mr Darcy was so liberal?”
“None at all.”
“I am not surprised to hear he took a fancy to her at a dance, though,” said Lady Daphne, “for she treads uncommonly well. Did you see their dance, Philippa?”
“Everybody saw it, Daphne, because everybody was watching,” Lady Ashby replied indignantly.
“Let it not make you uneasy. People are only intrigued.”
“If the Darcys wish to intrigue people, let them hold their own ball for the purpose!”
“I doubt they have time to arrange one this late in the Season. Oh, but I should like to go to a ball at Pemberley. Do you think they will hold one there before next spring?”
Jane listened in silence as the ladies’ curiosity flowed long—as did Lady Ashby, who stared vindictively in Elizabeth’s direction.
“See how brazenly she makes love to them all!” her ladyship muttered to no one in particular.
Jane looked and saw, with no great surprise, that Bingley had been waylaid amongst the throng of gentlemen surrounding Elizabeth. His desertion prompted a painful surge of resentment. “My sister wields her charms liberally and indiscriminately.”
Lady Ashby looked at her sharply. “Well, would that she not wield them at my ball!”
Elizabeth and Bingley both laughed loudly at some shared joke.
“She is well versed in stealing thunder,” Jane mumbled.
“I pity you, Mrs Bingley. I have been her cousin for less than a week, and already I am grown weary of her brilliancy. You have borne being shone down by her for a lifetime.” With a disdainful snort, she turned her back on both Elizabeth and the gaggle of women yet engrossed in discussing her.
“Fie! Let us cheer ourselves by examining those parts of her that do not shine so brightly.”
Overcome with a violent sense of vindication, Jane did naught to discourage Lady Ashby from cataloguing Elizabeth’s faults.
Her form lacked symmetry. Her smile revealed too many teeth.
Her voice was too deep, her wit too keen, and in her manner was such shameful coquetry as would surely invite disaster.
“Her manners have already invited disaster,” Jane admitted. “Only a few days ago, Mr Darcy was obliged to rescue her from the clutches of a man who claimed she had willingly received his addresses.”
“Is that so? Was it anyone I know?”
“Oh, um…I do not know, your ladyship. His name is Mr Greyson.”
Lady Ashby beamed. Encouraged to have finally pleased somebody this evening, Jane continued, “And earlier this year she was knocked insensible by an officer with whom she had previously been on very friendly terms after they quarrelled in the street.”
“How delicious!” her ladyship replied. “I am, indeed, vastly cheered.” She peered closely at Jane for a moment, apparently deep in thought, then abruptly delivered a most welcome elixir to her bedevilled spirits. “You must call me Philippa, Jane. I should dearly like us to be friends.”
Matlock took one look at his supper companions and sent a man to fetch him another glass of punch, of a mind that his fortitude required fortifying.
He was imprisoned between his sister on his right, her ever-loyal playfellow Lady Metcalfe on his left, and opposite him, Mr and Mrs Darcy and his own omnipresent demon Mrs Sinclair.
There passed some minutes of barely-civil conversation, seasoned with enough sour glares to curdle every reserve of the cook’s white soup—and then proceedings took a turn for the worse.
“I must say, Mrs Darcy,” said Lady Metcalfe, “I was excessively diverted to hear you never had a governess.”
Matlock glared at his sister, whence that nugget had undoubtedly sprung.
“I am very happy for you,” Mrs Darcy answered, seeming not in the least perturbed. “I, too, dearly love a laugh.”
Mrs Sinclair cackled gleefully into her soup. Catherine harrumphed into hers.
Lady Metcalfe sallied forth more determinedly. “And now, I understand, you have taken to schooling tenants on your father’s estate. You feel an affinity for them, I suppose?”
Matlock winced at his nephew’s flare of anger but was intrigued to observe how easily his new niece quelled her husband’s rage with a discreet touch of her hand to what he hoped was only Darcy’s leg.
“It is quite an absurd notion,” Lady Metcalfe continued, oblivious. “People of that class have not the wit to be properly schooled. You must not expect to have any success in the scheme.”
“Entrenched ignorance will always be exceedingly difficult to overcome,” Mrs Darcy replied.
Her ladyship gave a firm nod. “Quite so. Good breeding is essential if one is to achieve true erudition.”
“You were not so resolute in your opinion on the matter though, were you, Lady Catherine?”
Matlock raised his eyebrows. She meant to draw his sister into the fray as her advocate? Interesting.