Chapter 1.8 #2
Darcy attempted to ignore the scene before him as he could see from the corner of his eye how Elizabeth cast worried glances in his direction.
Indeed, thought Darcy, she had every reason to be embarrassed as Mrs Bennet’s behaviour was completely improper, and though he could understand her efforts to find proper husbands for her daughters, her lack of sense and decorum could not be forgiven so easily.
He leaned slightly towards Elizabeth, smiling, and was about to ask her something—anything—just to distract her and show her that he did not blame her for her family’s behaviour.
Yet, in the next second, Elizabeth’s already crimson face turned from red to white when Mrs Bennet declared how nice a man Mr Collins was and how much he admired her second daughter.
“However,” continued Mrs Bennet, “Lizzy seems to favour Mr Darcy more, which is a very wise turn: such a tall and handsome gentleman…and ten thousand a year! Lizzy was always very clever.”
Elizabeth was so shocked and startled that her reaction made Darcy lose the hold on his glass and, as a result, he spilled the wine on himself. He rose to his feet instantly, while Elizabeth, not daring to look at him, was praying she could disappear forever.
Darcy tried to calm her, assuring her gently that there was no reason to worry, as he would simply change his clothes.
He retired as discreetly as he could, but the damage had been done.
There were few among the guests who had not noticed the scene, a fact that made Miss Bingley deeply satisfied with the evening.
Darcy felt angry, offended, and humiliated by Mrs Bennet’s outrageous behaviour.
He had been pushed beyond any acceptable limits of civility.
He could well imagine that this was the way she spoke and thought about him within her house, but to speak aloud in that manner while he was within hearing was unthinkable!
In any other circumstances, he would retire and never accept that person’s company again. Unfortunately, she is Elizabeth’s mother, he thought with chagrin. Elizabeth’s embarrassment and consequent grief pained him even more than his own distress.
This supper, which he had anticipated with pleasure, turned out very badly indeed.
Wickham’s impertinence, Sir William’s boring conversation, everybody’s eyes scrutinising his behaviour, and finally, Mrs Bennet and her comments ruined what could have been a most agreeable time for both Elizabeth and him.
Thinking of her, he put his own hurt feelings aside, imagining how dreadful she must have felt with all the laughter around her and Miss Bingley’s contemptuous, self-satisfied smile.
No doubt her tongue was already spreading sharp retorts about the Bennet family.
He knew all too well that his prolonged absence would only raise more talk and increase Elizabeth’s embarrassment, and she did not deserve that.
In a great hurry, he called for his servant and changed his clothes as quickly as he could, intent upon returning to the supper room.
∞∞∞
Before rejoining Elizabeth, he decided to escape for a few minutes outside the house in order to calm himself and regain his stoic patience before having to face his table companions.
The night was serene, and he took a few steps into the yard, remaining there to admire the almost-full moon.
I should bring Elizabeth outside to see this sky; she would be enchanted.
Suddenly, his attention was caught by male voices piercing the night’s silence from the corner of the house. He turned to leave, in order not to intrude on someone’s private conversation, until he recognised the voices.
“Wickham, you are becoming quite boring with all your talk of Miss Elizabeth. Can you change the subject to something more interesting?”
“You are a fool, Denny! Miss Elizabeth is a very interesting subject, but you are not clever enough to understand it.”
“Oh, spare me! She is handsome, I admit, but not the handsomest woman around. And she is far too outspoken, has a terribly sharp tongue, and no dowry at all. I would never marry a woman like her.”
“Neither would I, Denny. On that, we are in complete agreement. However, a man can have many other interests in a woman apart from marriage.”
“Well,” added Sanderson, “Darcy seems to find her interesting too. There must be something about her—”
“Exactly, Sanderson,” answered Wickham more to himself.
“Never in my life have I seen Darcy show such attention to a woman and accept so graciously the offences associated with her. You know,” continued he, as though he were telling a good joke, “there have been many pretty, young ladies around him who tried to gain his attention since he was eighteen, but he only looked at them to find fault. He was so ridiculous with his solemnity and sense of honour. One might suspect he has no interest in women at all.”
“Well, maybe he has not,” laughed Denny. “I have heard about some gentlemen having other…preferences…in that area.”
“Oh, that is not his case, as far as I know. He is too ridiculously moral to enjoy all the pleasures his situation and fortune offer him. Would that I had been in his place… So you see, Denny, there must be something very special about Miss Elizabeth Bennet to make Darcy act so…lively. She is charming and witty, and her figure is very attractive and no doubt tempting, but she is just a country girl. I have seen him surrounded by far more beautiful women with better connexions and fortunes, but he showed merely the slightest interest. So what is it that is sustaining his attention?”
“Perhaps he just wants to have some diversion with a pretty girl. Maybe her lack of connexion is precisely what is appealing for him. He can take his pleasure with her and then leave,” said Denny, laughing again.
“Yes, perhaps; thinking back to that story about him encountering her in the storm, I am tempted to agree with you. Meeting in the wood in the storm and, according to Miss Lydia, with their clothes muddy…I would wager that Darcy just discovered how delightful nature can be if one has the proper company.” All three burst into laughter so loud that Darcy was certain that, were it not for the music, they would have been heard from inside the house.
“Still,” continued Wickham, “if that is the case, could he be so stupid as to accompany her home afterwards? I doubt that very much. And let us think of this evening; he certainly would not show such an obvious and public interest in her in a room full of people—not to mention in front of her family—if all he wanted was some pleasurable private time with her. I am sure there is something more, and that makes Miss Elizabeth Bennet all the more interesting to me in many ways.” They began to laugh together and added something in a lower voice that Darcy was unable to make out.
As disturbed as he was by all he had overheard, his calm almost at the edge of his limits, Darcy felt an overwhelming rage take control of him.
He felt a savage need for physical release—a wild desire to cause pain to those men.
The feeling was so powerful that it frightened him.
These men pushed him beyond the limits of his civility.
He breathed deeply a few times, clenching his jaw and his fists in an effort to calm himself.
He could not allow himself to be drawn beyond those limits.
He moved forward until he appeared within sight of the three men, his voice reverberating like thunder.
“Good evening, gentlemen!”
His sudden appearance was such a shock that they instinctively reacted by taking a few steps backwards. Though his face was lighted only by the moon, Darcy’s countenance projected a dangerous disposition that none of them could fail to notice.
“Good evening, Mr Darcy,” answered Denny, obviously embarrassed, wondering how much of their conversation Darcy had overheard.
Wickham’s shock was even greater, and he could not articulate a single a word; that Darcy was outraged was obvious to him.
It was the first time since the Ramsgate incident that Darcy had actually addressed him.
During their recent encounters in Hertfordshire, not one word had been spoken.
He shortly regained his composure though, and when he spoke, his response did not hold any trace of embarrassment.
“Mr Darcy, what a surprise. Do you want to join in our conversation? We were just talking about the lovely Bennet daughters.”
“Wickham, I have no desire to join you in any conversation you may be having, especially one that dishonours your positions as officers and as men.”
“Mr Darcy—” Denny tried to interject, but Darcy stopped him fiercely.
“Lieutenant Denny, do not insult me more by presuming you could possibly find an excuse for your offensive words. And I strongly advise you not to trifle with me. I am not a patient man. Your friend Mr Wickham should have told you that. I have a disagreeable temper and a resentful character. I should not hesitate to use my wealth and connexions to ruin you all for far less than what you have done. At the end of this ball, I can easily have you lose your present commissions and be unable to secure others anywhere in England. Then you would have plenty of time to spend in moronic jokes and dishonourable gossip.”
His cold, poignant words were spoken neither in anger nor in haste.
He was not especially menacing, but simply informed them of what they could expect as a result of his ire.
None of them doubted the solemnity of his statement.
An evening of capers could cost them more than Sanderson or Denny was willing to lose.
Sanderson decided to make any effort required to repair their earlier mischief.