Chapter 26 Business and Good Deeds
“Mr Darcy, what are you doing here?”
The question might have sounded abrupt or nosy in most situations, but in the three weeks since what they euphemistically called the Spanish Wine Incident, Darcy had come by the shop more often.
While their newfound friendship was still somewhat tense, and Mrs Thorne was still guarded when sober, their meetings had become regular events.
Amanda seemed to expect nothing from the gentleman save his friendship, and he gave every sign of thinking similarly.
Darcy smiled, enjoying the abrupt but unpretentious question. “The same as you, I imagine.”
“I think not! I am here for business and the occasional good works.”
“How so?” Darcy asked, genuinely curious about what type of business could be performed in that setting.
“Who is the best hunter—the one who takes his hounds, traps, and guns out actively seeking his prey; or the one who dumps a bit of bait on the ground, and sits around waiting to see if one wanders by?”
Darcy chuckled. “You and your analogies! Very well, I will bite and believe you are here to drum up business in some way I am unaware of.”
“Correct. Shall I walk you through it?”
Amanda swept her hand around to indicate the room at large.
“It is obvious. Bored men can think of any number of things, and books are one of those. Get them thinking about reading, and some will come in for a purchase, especially if you can describe a story with some excitement without giving it away. Can you imagine any place in the world with a higher density of bored men than an assembly hall? All those fathers, uncles, and brothers who would much rather be anywhere other than protecting their daughters, nieces, and sisters.”
Darcy had to chuckle. “When you put it that way, I must agree. I did my duty to my sister, and I can see merit in your argument, because it was sometimes tedious beyond belief. Fortunately, she is well married now, so it will be some years before I take up the yoke again.”
His laugh turned rueful, and then to a frown. “I first encountered my late wife in an assembly hall much like this. It was in a small town in Hertfordshire. I was in bad humour and acted even worse. I slighted her before we had even been introduced.”
Amanda raised an eyebrow. “I suggest you discontinue that practise. It seems counterproductive.”
“I learned my lesson and abandoned it years ago.”
Amanda seemed thoughtful herself. “I used to love assemblies when I was younger. I still enjoy the occasional dance, but they are not magical like they once were. I imagine they are not the drudgery you feel they are, but not wonderful either.”
“You said you are here for business and good works?”
“Yes, let me finish my tale of business. I also wander about the hall, and if I see a bit of lace, a sleeve, or something else I find interesting, I might mention I have seen similar in a fashion magazine. I get a few matrons and maidens the following week. Not much profit in that, I admit, but they enjoy the process so much I feel honour bound to guide them towards their guilty pleasure.”
Darcy laughed. “Guilty pleasure, indeed.”
Amanda just shrugged and smiled.
“Tell me about these good works if you are of a mind to do so. I have found doing good works to be one of my greatest pleasures in life, and I now dedicate a sizeable portion of my time and income to it.”
Amanda looked around as if disclosing a deep dark secret that she did not want to be overheard.
“It is nothing, really. You see, there are certain types of young men who would like to ask a young lady to dance but lack the fortitude. You can no doubt jump a six-foot hedgerow, but I assume you must have started with a branch, and worked your way up?”
“Yes, I believe so.”
“Young men often have their mother, aunts, sisters, or maybe occasionally a dance instructor or cousin to practise on. Unfortunately, unless they are very brave, the gap between that and a girl you might like can seem insurmountable—herculean even. That is where I come in. I am well known as a widow of middling age, thoroughly uninterested in matrimony. To such a young man, I would seem as safe as his grandmother, but much closer in age and beauty to the one he is interested in. I can act as a stepping-stone, someone safe to practise with. I get a dance with a nice young man with no expectations, and he gets to see what it is like dancing with someone who is not a relative. I might even suggest topics of conversation he might employ or avoid. Everybody benefits.”
Darcy just stared, wondering if this was a common occurrence among women, or if Mrs Thorne had invented the practise.
It all made sense, and if it were common, he would never have known.
In his analogy, being the heir to Pemberley, he was expected to go from the tree branch to the hedgerow in a single dance.
Everything was loaded with meaning in a dance in his earlier life.
Every request for a set, smile, or even just conversation felt as if it were being dissected for meaning and matrimonial intent before the first dozen words were spoken.
He found it exhausting, while others, like Richard or Bingley, rode the beast with hardly a second thought.
He finally said, “That may be the nicest thing I have ever heard.”
She laughed. “Thank you for the compliment, though its veracity is suspect.”
Darcy chuckled along with her, and they both looked around as they heard the musicians warming up for dancing.
She said, “We have established that our purposes are not the same, unless of course you are here scratching for customers for your estate’s wool, so I do believe you have not answered my original question. What are you doing here, if it is not too impertinent to ask?”
“Following your instructions, of course.”
A thoroughly confused Amanda asked, “Which instructions are those?”
Darcy retrieved a small paper from his vest. “Here it is, I wrote it down.”
He held the note in front of him and read. “Step 1: Go to a ball. Step 2: Dance with a woman. Step 3: Converse with said woman. Step 4—”
Amanda cut him off. “I may have been overly influenced by the wine that night. Your marital status is none of my business, and you hardly need instruction.”
Darcy grinned somewhat evilly and asked, “Are you implying this is a bad plan? I hope not. I wrote the steps down at once… well… almost. I wrote them down as soon as I got out of bed and took enough of my man’s vile concoction to feel slightly human again.
It is not as good as my old valet’s was, but good enough.
I took a bath, drank four cups of coffee, and then wrote it down. I am quite certain it is accurate.”
Amanda had a tough time not falling into a fit of giggles, but she kept them to a manageable level.
When they were done laughing, she said, “Let me see this list.”
He handed it over, so she examined it and commented, “The list is good, but this is just an outline. You are supposed to fill in the details. For example, when I said, ‘ball’, I meant ‘ball’, not ‘public assembly.’ I am quite literal, you know.”
Darcy looked around. “Are you implying there are no eligible women here?”
“Not at all! There may be a few, but the hunting would be much better at a private ball.”
Darcy pouted a bit. “Noted—but since I am here, I believe I will proceed with Step 2.”
Amanda glanced and saw that was ‘Dance with a woman’, so she said, “That at least will be good practise, I suppose. Who is to be your first victim?”
“You, of course.”
“Me?” Amanda yelled, gasping and coughing in surprise.
“Yes, you! Who else?”
“Who else indeed? You know perfectly well that ‘dance with a woman’ means ‘dance with a marriageable woman’. That is why I suggested a private ball. If you are following those suggestions, then you need to dance with women of your own station.”
“I am a gentleman; you are a gentleman’s daughter; so far we are equal.”
“True. I am a gentleman’s daughter, but in case you had not noticed, I was a lady.
Now I am a tradeswoman, two entire social classes below you, and that does not even count the fact that I am a woman doing a man’s work.
Not to mention that I would not bring any real dowry, or a single worthwhile connexion—except Miriam, of course. ”
“Bah! I once thought in those terms, and it did naught but poison my soul. You are my equal, if not my superior.”
Darcy wondered why it was so blasted hard to get women he liked to dance with him, while women he did not like had been clamouring for his attention for fifteen years.
He remembered he had asked Elizabeth for a dance three or four times before she acquiesced at the Netherfield ball.
Even then, he later learned, she did it only because she did not want to give up dancing for the rest of the evening.
That, however, was not a topic he wanted to explore further.
Undaunted, Amanda ignored his reply. “Perhaps, I did not adequately explain the details of my ‘remain a widow’ plan.”
“Meaning?” Darcy asked, exasperated.
“Meaning, sir, that I am not indifferent to the idea of matrimony. Marriage is not something that I could take or leave. I am actively opposed. I do not want to remarry.”
Darcy snapped back, “You said you might wed again some time—” but then paused in confusion.
Amanda felt sorry the whole conversation was going so badly. “I apologise if I was unclear, so let me be explicit. I do not want to marry again any time soon, and if I ever did—”
She paused, unsure of herself, and Darcy observed what seemed a vulnerability he had never noticed.
Mrs Amanda Thorne mostly seemed as tough as old shoe leather, but something about this conversation was paining her to the point where he noticed her gripping her hands together tight enough to draw blood to keep them from shaking.
Darcy kicked himself, wondering if he would ever in his life get an important conversation with a woman he liked right. So far, his success rate was dismal.