Chapter Substitute
Substitute
True to his tactical sense, General McConnell not only filled both ladies' cards, but calculated the partners with exactitude.
Despite appearances, Anne was not as robust as one might hope, so half her partners were older men—interesting, but not particularly vigorous.
They could pause midway and converse quietly without attracting notice.
The others were amiable men of varied character, ensuring his grandniece could get a good look at what society offered.
The general, aware of both ladies now, took it as his personal mission to ensure they were well entertained.
Jane naturally watched over Anne like a mother hen, and thus gave her partners only half her attention.
Meeting gentlemen was pleasant, but she was in no hurry.
There was time for all that later should the connection continue.
If not, she could boast at home of attending a real London ball.
Jane had just finished the punch fetched by her previous partner, Mr Silverstein.
He was an amiable man, the owner of a small estate in Bedfordshire, and most eligible.
He stood somewhere between the Netherfield gentlemen—neither so outgoing as Mr Bingley, nor reserved as Mr Darcy.
He was the sort of man she would be happy to know better.
Were he to call on her, it would be no great misfortune.
During the first few dances, Jane made a point of mentioning her stay with relatives in trade near Cheapside, before her return to her father’s small and insignificant estate in Hertfordshire.
She wanted no illusions regarding her station, and anybody who chose to weigh such matters was not worthy of her time anyway.
Mr Silverstein had secured the next set with Anne, so he bowed and went to claim her. Jane sought her next partner, a Mr Pennington, when he approached with a limp.
“Miss Bennet, I must offer you my most profound apologies. I twisted my ankle in the last set.”
The evening had been one of curious ups and downs, so Jane attempted a little of Lizzy’s impertinence. “Not original, but effective enough, sir.”
She was rewarded with a hearty chuckle and a good-humoured smile. “You shall not escape so easily next time. Might I ask you to dance with a friend of mine as a substitute? He is a reserved man who dances but rarely, though he is quite skilled. I would like him to have the enjoyment of a set.”
Jane had little desire to serve as a charity case for some clodpole, but she saw Mr Bingley standing twenty feet away, staring at her unabashedly.
He did not merely glance her way; he was fully engrossed in his observations.
It left her flustered, frustrated, and furious.
Who was he to stare at her? What right had he to make her uncomfortable?
The man had his chance and squandered it.
Unaccustomed and quite strange emotions stirred within her. She glanced to the gentleman's right, only to see a vision of her sister Lizzy speaking to her.
Someday, my dear Jane… Someday Big Sister… someday… someday… and mind you, I really hope to see it… you will FINALLY lose your temper. I can hardly wait, but do try to make sure you have no sharp weapons or firearms handy at the time.
Jane was entirely fed up with the Netherfield occupants and everyone associated with them.
Mr Bingley had watched her all night, far more intently than Mr Darcy used to watch Lizzy, and the scrutiny was unsupportable.
Jane had endured another encounter with Miss Bingley, which left her frustrated that she did not have Lizzy or Lydia to check her, for she was neither vicious nor impolite enough to say what was truly required.
She thought Lizzy’s predicted reckoning might be at hand, but she was not enthusiastic and had no intention of being available for Mr Bingley to ruin the rest of her evening. Anybody who was not Mr Bingley would suffice.
With a serene smile, she replied, “That would be lovely, Mr Pennington. I shall do my good deed for the day. Your friend is safe with me.”
“Wait here, if you will,” he replied good-naturedly. “He is just round the other side of this column.”
Mr Pennington limped away, apparently not lame, but not equal to dancing.
As he left, Jane glanced surreptitiously to ensure Anne did well.
Now that her new friend had stood for several dances, Jane considered her work complete.
Having helped the lady past her first tremors, Anne did not truly need her, and Jane had no idea why the heiress invited her in the first place.
Anne could perfectly well have faced the ball with the general, Lady Clarissa, or one of her other relatives.
Indeed, the key to success was not the presence of Jane, but more likely the absence of Lady Catherine.
Jane had no sooner located her protégée than she turned to see Mr Bingley working his way towards her, looking determined—in a spineless sort of way. She hoped Mr Pennington had done his duty and was glad to hear him approach from behind.
“I found him!”
Jane turned, vexed at Mr Bingley’s obvious attentions, only to see Mr Pennington dragging a gentleman over practically by his sleeves, with the look of a man who had called in a favour. A slight turn of her head left her gasping.
Jane found herself in an extremely uncomfortable position: two paces from none other than Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy.
His bow was deep and polite, at least. “Miss Bennet, it is a pleasure to see you again.”
The whole matter abruptly became clear in her mind, and she felt like the world’s greatest, most trusting, most ignorant, most na?ve fool.
Mr Darcy had quite rudely and unapologetically separated her and her ‘unsuitable connections’ from Mr Bingley and boasted to his cousin Fitzwilliam of his success.
Her sister mysteriously disappeared after a visit to Rosings with Mr Darcy and that same cousin.
It would take quite a lot to rattle Lizzy, so whatever happened must have been terrible.
The heir of Rosings—coincidentally Mr Darcy’s other cousin—abruptly called on her in Cheapside to form an acquaintance under mysterious circumstances, then set about befriending her against all common sense.
Jane had come to her first high society London ball only to find not only Mr Darcy’s good friend Mr Bingley, but Mr Darcy himself, lying in wait.
As far as she could tell, the entirety of the ton was conspiring to bring her to this moment, merely to sport with her and see how far her manners and good breeding would carry her.
She stared at the man in absolute consternation and tried to think of what to say, with little to show for her efforts, desperately wondering if ‘someday’ had finally arrived, and if so, where she would find a mill pond.
Mr Darcy, unaware she was the lady Pennington had called in his favour for, started trying to dig out of the hole he had created for himself.
He scarcely managed to get out the basic pleasantries and a bow before he found that, for the second time in less than a fortnight, he was staring at the back of a Bennet sister who was unwilling to say a single word.
With a terrifying feeling of familiarity, like a bad dream repeating itself, Darcy watched Jane Bennet turn and cross the floor as fast as decorum allowed. She stood ramrod straight and tall, no tension in her bearing, moving with surprising speed, as if she were gliding rather than walking.
Genuinely concerned, he said a few words to Pennington and followed her. In a crowded ballroom, he was constrained to be even more subtle than when pursuing her sister, but this time he was unwilling to let her from his sight, regardless of the consequences.
He reached the ballroom door as the eldest Miss Bennet stepped into the chilly April evening without even retrieving her wrap or overshoes.
With a sinking feeling, he followed in helpless pursuit as she ran down the steps.
She hurried to the first hackney in the queue, spoke to the driver for mere seconds, then jumped in and slammed the door without waiting for the approaching footman.
The driver signalled his horse, and they departed—he imagined for Cheapside.
Truly alarmed, and feeling guiltier than ever, he summoned a passing servant, entrusting him with a message for General McConnell: he was not to worry about Miss Bennet, but should escort Anne safely to Darcy House along with Miss Bennet’s belongings.
He approached the next hack and climbed to the box beside the driver.
Feeling a villain, he instructed the man to follow the other coach, just disappearing from view, but to remain unseen.
Forty minutes later they drew up a few hundred yards behind the other hack, enabling him to see the elder Miss Bennet exit, pay the driver, and run to the house. She was shivering, near frozen, and she ran up the steps and within while he watched from his perch.
The driver seemed nervous about the enterprise, so Darcy did something unprecedented: he delivered a barefaced lie with all the aplomb of George Wickham.
He claimed the lady was his cousin, that she had suffered a disagreement with another relation, and he was simply ensuring she reached home safely.
He paid triple the usual fare and returned to the ball.
He had his carriage and did not wish the driver to know exactly who he was or where he lived.
On his return, Darcy sought Lady Clarissa. She gave him a withering look but led him to a small anteroom where he found an irate Anne de Bourgh pacing and cursing. As soon as he entered, she began.
“What have you done, William?”
Darcy sighed and poured a brandy. He had no real need for the drink but required a moment to compose his thoughts.
“Anne?”
He indicated the bottle, but she regarded him a shocked expression.
“Partake or not as you choose,” said he, “but do not pretend it would be your first drink, or even your twentieth. You will get no censure from me. I try to keep my hypocrisy strictly within bounds that do not involve drinking.”
Anne sighed and nodded for a glass.
Lady Clarissa declined and said, “May I safely leave you two, or must I search you for knives? Darcy, you will deliver Anne safely to Darcy House?”
“Yes, my lady,” he replied with a grim chuckle, “though she will likely be in my carriage with me on foot.”
“Yes, but exercise is so good for you young boys. Keeps your looks.” She patted his cheek much as one would a favourite old hound—lovable, but too stupid for its own good.
Darcy chuckled, bowed, and waited for her to leave before turning to Anne.
“Shall I answer your question now?”
Anne took a sip and nodded.
Darcy related the substitute dance debacle and Miss Bennet’s abrupt, silent departure.
“What can it mean?”
“It likely means she knows something, though I have no idea what. Did you know Bingley was at the ball?”
Anne laughed softly. “What is left of him is still out there dancing.”
“Left of him?”
“Everything except his pride—though to be honest, that did not seem to amount to much in the first place. Jane put him in his place but good, and you would have loved what we did to his viper of a sister.”
“I suppose she either discovered something about the debacle between me and her sister, or the debacle involving Bingley, or something else. She turned and ran like the wind the moment Penington presented me as a substitute dancer. Much as she vexed me, I must admit I was impressed. She can move whilst still looking as quiet and demure as you please.”
Anne sat in a chair, appearing quite subdued.
“Why the long face? She is sensibly avoiding me, not you.”
It took a moment for him to see a tear sliding down her cheek, and a sob escaping her throat. Feeling like the biggest heel in the world, he handed her a handkerchief.
“Thank you, Cousin. Perhaps Jane is just angry with you, but considering the astounding number of coincidences my friendship with her is founded on, the very short time we have been acquainted, and the fact that I have done more than one thing that would appear at least at first blush as dishonest, and that her sister is fleeing some combination of Darcys and de Bourghs—do you not think it possible or even likely she believes we were all involved in some scheme to deceive her?”
Darcy gasped at the insinuation, then sat opposite to consider the possibilities. Each moment of reflection presented even more ways for Anne to be correct, but he finally replied.
“It is not only possible, but likely. It is time for me to call on her and confess all.”
“If she will even see either of us.”
“Yes—well, if not, we shall devise a plan. Can you be ready for a call to her uncle’s house tomorrow?”
“I will be ready.”
“Come, Anne. Let us go home. Tomorrow is another day, and you are not to be defeated by a single setback.”