Chapter 10
TEN
Darcy could only be grateful to whatever ‘indisposition’ had seized the ladies of Netherfield Park.
He hardly believed their excuses for not attending the party at Lucas Lodge, but it allowed him a reason to avoid Miss Bingley’s company for an evening and, he hoped, all of tomorrow.
Of course, he would ensure not to distress her, making clear he felt it prudent to keep his distance for fear of worsening her delicate health.
He was concerned enough on his own behalf.
Returning to Netherfield after the assembly, his head ached from the heat, noise, and cheap mulled wine.
Without another sighting of the ‘luminous lady’ since that awful event, it appeared that the disturbing vision was merely the result of his discomfort, nothing more.
But, as a man who liked certainty in all things, he desired to see her again to determine whether she had, somehow, caused his sudden, inexplicable headache.
It was odd, perhaps, searching out the source of a headache to test a theory, but test it he must.
Quickly ascertaining from the sounds and shrieks that all of the Bennets were here at Lucas Lodge, Darcy knew that she—Miss Elizabeth Bennet, whom he now knew as the source of his unease—must be here as well.
Oddly, he had seen no sign of her; there was no unusual light emanating from the small groups gathered round the card tables nor any glow from the sofas arranged near the hearth.
It is nonsensical she is not here, when even her father has deigned to appear in society, he grumbled to himself.
Made excessively warm by his fine wool jacket and irritated by the constant notice of those he wished to overlook, Darcy moved towards the window, cracked open a bit to allow some much-needed fresh air into the room.
Although he prided himself for being above taking notice of prying eyes, in his search for this one lady, he was inviting attention unto himself.
The situation was unpleasant, but he had been laughed at by one member of this dreadful neighbourhood, and she was here, and he would seek her out.
He cursed his foolishness in leaving behind the quizzing glass.
To come into a place where he could see no reason for using it, only to be met by an unforeseeable situation which essentially demanded its use!
A sudden brightness assaulted his vision.
There she was, near the corridor, smiling gaily at some idiot farmer.
She was bathed in a sort of sunny light, more subdued than a few nights earlier, but still awash in some kind of glow.
He moved towards her, less smoothly than he would have liked—nearly stumbling over a table leg and into a bulbous-nosed man snorting at some inanity.
He heard someone call his name—it sounded like Sir William—and although he did not turn, the cry of ‘Mr Darcy!’ roused the attention of his quarry.
Miss Elizabeth Bennet looked directly at him. Rather than appearing startled, she gave him a look he could only call smug.
What is this devilry? Is she knowingly casting this radiance? How?
Darcy stepped closer, looking around to candles lit overhead and a candelabra burning on a table.
There was no mirror on the wall to enhance the light by her.
There was nothing that was not common to a smallish country house.
Even the man to whom she had been speaking was common, a vision in dull brown, from his hair to his boots.
But she in her pale green gown—eyes sparkling, cheeks flushed, a lock of hair curling by her ear. ..she was aglow.
How?
“Mr Darcy,” the chawbacon was saying, “how good it is to have you here at Lucas Lodge. My mother is very pleased that you and Mr Bingley are in attendance.”
Darcy managed a nod before recalling not only the man’s name but how to speak aloud. “Yes, a fine evening, thank you, Mr Lucas.” Swallowing, trying not to squint, he glanced again at Miss Elizabeth, awaiting an introduction.
Mr Lucas seemed to repress a chuckle before saying, “Mr Darcy, have you met Miss Elizabeth Bennet? She is a dear friend of my sister’s and an especially agile dancer.”
A quick glance at Mr Lucas showed him to be smirking. Miss Elizabeth appeared equally amused. Ah, is this because I did not dance?
“A pleasure, Miss Elizabeth.”
“Indeed,” she replied. And with that one word, the first she had spoken to him, the soft golden glow receded, as if tucking itself into her now that she had lured him closer.
Was that it? A siren call? Blast, he was a fool; why had he not brought the quizzing glass?
Dimly, he heard someone beckon Mr Lucas, leaving him standing alone at room’s edge with Miss Elizabeth.
“Sir, are you well? May I fetch you some punch?”
After a quick shake of his head, Darcy attempted a smile. “No, I thank you. I, um—”
“A headache? Your expression is pained, as it was at the assembly. I hope our country air does not afflict you.”
He was perhaps touched in the head, but it was she who was aglow. Though she did not appear feverish, Darcy was compelled to ask, “Are you well?”
Her forehead creased, clearly confused. “This is the oddest conversation I have ever had, and I have a cousin who never ceases asking ‘why?’ after everything I say. Of course, he is only three years old.” Smiling, and with that slight curve of her lips, she added, “Yes, I am well.”
“I am glad to hear it.” His lips twitched in amusement, but unable to think of more to say that was not too familiar, he turned and stared into the crowd, unconsciously reaching for the pocket where he kept the quizzing glass.
“Is it simply Hertfordshire, or do you dislike engaging with the hoi polloi that gathers for country assemblies and card parties anywhere?” Miss Elizabeth smiled up at him, her eyebrow arched as it had been in that short glimpse he had previously had of her.
It was undeniably dazzling. “We are fond of our entertainments, but they are not to everyone’s taste. ”
“Bingley is pleased by the neighbourhood, and as I am here at his service, I find it pleasing as well.” Darcy had never spoken so stupidly in his life.
His mind was occupied with too many questions as to the lady’s ethereal aspect, his eyes too engaged with looking at her.
He had no control over whatever words he was speaking, and her bemused expression showed it.
Rather than the sceptical measuring smile she had given him at the assembly, she appeared impatient. With him!
“I am glad to hear it.” She tilted her head, one brow raised in seeming amusement. “I have doubted your pleasure in our company, although you and Sir William appear to have found something in common.”
Darcy nodded, trying to recollect any memorable intelligence from the knight’s effusions.
“He wears a quizzing glass, which I understand is often part of your costume.”
“Ah yes. In town.” Blast, Miss Bingley has not missed sharing a detail.
“Not here?”
“No.”
“I see. If you will excuse me.”
Startled, he watched her make her way towards Miss Bennet, who stood with a small group of young ladies whom he also had undoubtedly flouted at the assembly.
Cursing himself for his inability to actually converse with Miss Elizabeth, and to learn something of her that could explain the light that danced around her and the thrumming it inspired within him, Darcy stalked towards the refreshment table, utterly dissatisfied with the evening.
When had an eligible young lady ever walked away from him?
When had he been left standing alone at any social gathering when it was not his own choice? Never.
A shriek of laughter caught his ear as the youngest Bennet girl ran past, nearly knocking into him in her haste.
Darcy stepped back to avoid the young redcoat in pursuit of her.
Whatever confusion he may have felt about Miss Elizabeth Bennet, the behaviour of her younger sisters could be easily—and meanly—measured.
This one was a sounding brass, her laughter ringing through the room.
She was not only too young to be out, but her unruly behaviour was wholly unsuitable in company.
One required only eyes and ears to see it.
Idly, he wondered what he would see with the quizzing glass.
What would it discern underneath such silliness?
Would Mrs Bennet emanate the dark hues of cunning vulgarity he knew from London society?
I have no need of it here, he reminded himself. I shall leave this place, my life untouched by anyone I meet, and thus there is no need to look or think more deeply upon them.
Despite walking a few steps away, Mrs Bennet’s loud, carrying voice continued to reach him.
“How wonderful it is to see all the girls in such fine spirits this evening!” she was exclaiming to a lady he easily recognised must be her sister.
“If only you could witness the admiration Jane has received from the Netherfield party. Nothing is more gratifying to a mother than seeing her most deserving daughter appreciated.”
Her remarks continued for some time. Her audience of fellow matrons listened to her hints of potential suitors for her eldest, the estimable Miss Jane Bennet, and even, on occasion, her youngest, wildest hoydens, with nods, knowing smiles, and impatient sighs.
Darcy’s brow furrowed as he listened, appalled by her unabashed efforts to discuss eligible gentlemen as though they were biddable creatures in some market.
Will she mention Bingley’s teeth or my height, or will it grow even worse?
Once again, his eyes sought out Miss Elizabeth, her shining presence easily detected near the card tables with Miss Lucas.
For an instant, their eyes met, and he noted the blush that crept across her cheeks as she looked down, clearly within hearing of and deeply mortified by her mother’s indiscreet remarks.
Her glow was dimmed but not extinguished; she squared her shoulders, and with an expression reflecting both grace and resignation as she endured her mother’s boisterousness, turned back to her friend.
In that moment, Darcy felt an uncommon admiration for her composure, impressed by the quiet dignity with which she bore her mother’s indiscretions.
As the evening progressed, he found himself standing by the pianoforte, a vantage point from which he could admire the lady more discreetly.
Clearly her spirits had lifted; her light was brighter, her laughter was gentle and infectious.
Just as her glow bewildered him, the sound of her mirth resonated in his chest in a way he could not explain.
Unsettled as he was by her presence, it was apparent no one else saw her differently. He was the one person aware of it.
Is she aware she is extraordinary?