Chapter 19 #3
As Collins wrung his hands and shuffled his feet, the officers quietly withdrew. “My humblest apologies, sir,” he said with stricken eyes. “I meant no offense. It’s only that Lady Catherine is most desirous of the match.”
Since Charles was certain that Darcy harboured hopes for another lady’s hand, he didn’t hesitate to refute the man’s claim. “I’m afraid her ladyship is destined for disappointment.” Charles politely excused himself and left the toady parson to his reflections.
Still in a quake over the clergyman’s blunder, Charles wondered how to handle this recent development.
While pacing the back of the hall, he overheard Mrs Bennet speaking to a group of matrons.
“My dear Jane has captured Mr Bingley’s interest, to be sure.
No one compares to her, so he couldn’t help falling in love with her. ”
The lady beside her nodded her agreement. “I daresay, we shall soon see her installed at Netherfield,” she said with a triumphant air.
“How promising for my other daughters to be put in the way of other rich men.”
Good Lord! Charles cringed at this outright announcement of his impending marriage. How could they make such an assumption when he’d had no opportunity to declare himself or even speak to Jane this past fortnight? The idea was equal parts shocking, mortifying, and appalling.
It was one thing to hope for the match, but to announce it to the community was quite another.
Of course, he was thoroughly enchanted with Jane and hoped to win her affections, but he had yet to do so.
However, to subject a young lady to the idle speculation of the community was beyond the pale. What was to be done?
“How are you enjoying the evening, Mr Darcy?”
Jolted from his dark reverie by a female voice, he assumed a pleasant facade. “Very well, indeed, Miss King,” he said, thankful for the distraction. “May I procure a cup of punch for you?”
She accepted, and he escorted her to the refreshment table. Despite the turbulence in his mind, he recalled that he had secured the lady’s hand for the last set, and they passed the time in polite conversation. However, this latest complication weighed heavily on his mind.
***
At long last, the master of ceremonies announced the Boulanger, the final dance of the evening.
Darcy couldn’t draw undue attention to Elizabeth by dancing with her again, but he had yet to secure a partner.
He dared not incur Charles’s censure by reneging on his promise to participate in every set.
Scanning the hall for an available lady, he spotted a familiar woman seated with the matrons who was probably close to his own age.
He recalled that Charles had whispered her name after Sunday Services, Mrs Fletcher, the butcher’s wife.
He approached and bowed, inspiring gasps and giggles from the tabbies.
“Would you care to dance the Boulanger with me, Mrs Fletcher?”
She blushed bright pink and waved him away. “No, indeed, Mr Bingley. You are exceedingly kind to ask, but I couldn’t think of accepting.”
In the next instant, Mrs Fletcher found herself forcibly hoisted from her chair by her companions and her hand extended towards Darcy’s. “Of course, Mr Bingley, our friend would be delighted to accept,” one of the matrons said, possibly the green grocer’s wife, whose name Darcy couldn’t recall.
Mr Fletcher, a tall burly man, stepped forward with a broad smile. “Go on then, Charity, and have your dance with Mr Bingley.”
She relented and accepted Darcy’s escort to the dance floor where they joined a group that had already formed for the Boulanger.
When the music began, everyone joined hands and circled to the left.
By her performance, Mrs Fletcher seemed familiar with the steps and had no difficulty keeping up with the other dancers.
Observing her precise, graceful movements, he suspected she had performed this dance many times in the past.
The slower pace of the dance allowed Darcy to collect his thoughts. He could honestly say that he had thoroughly enjoyed the evening. For the first time in years, he had danced every set, and couldn’t think of a single complaint.
“Thank you, Mr Bingley. This is a wonderful reminder of my younger days,” Mrs Fletcher said with a wistful smile.
How curious that a woman close to his age would harken back to the assemblies of her youth with fondness, when he recalled his earlier attendance at similar events with abhorrence.
How he had dreaded all those dreamy-eyed maidens expecting him to single them out.
The hopeful mammas, whispering behind their fans, undoubtedly planning their daughter’s trousseaus and imagining them installed someday as mistress of Pemberley.
With his family’s pressure to make the right choice, he had felt the weight of the world on his shoulders.
What if he had been allowed to please himself, as Bingley apparently had?
Shouldn’t he have had the same opportunity to mingle with the ladies, without a care in the world?
However, he doubted he would have found a woman like Elizabeth Bennet in the first circles of society.
Even Bingley had never done so. It seemed that coming to Netherfield had been a stroke of good fortune for them both.
After escorting his partner back to her husband, Darcy was well satisfied with this night’s work. He and Charles had successfully made it through the assembly without exposing themselves. But upon further consideration, he could hardly claim this as a victory.
In Veritate Victoria? Hardly.
In reality, he was merely living in a masquerade; an imposter no better than George Wickham, pretending to be something other than his true self.
Just like Wickham, he was a dissembler, a deceiver, and a fraudster.
If Darcy had any hope of resuming his normal life, he must take decisive action, otherwise he could never claim to be an honourable gentleman.
Somehow, he must find the elusive solution to this perplexing puzzle.