Chapter Four
Every day for the last week, Bingley’s sister had called at Matlock House.
On each occasion, the family had always been fortunate to be away from home, but eventually their luck ran out.
Caroline was something of a joke amongst the gentlemen, for her brother was rather afraid of her, but William and Richard comprehended her well enough to find her amusing.
She was not a humorous creature, but generally those without any sense of humor are the most worthy of being laughed at; the dignity and audacity of this tradesman’s daughter were laughable indeed.
William had the good fortune of being seated beside Elizabeth during Miss Bingley’s visit, and the pair managed to communicate discreetly, sharing private looks that spoke their complete agreement in their assessment of this unwanted visitor.
Elizabeth radiated such sheer glee that William was actually pleased when the dowager countess graciously accepted the invitation for the residents of Matlock House to dine with the Hursts the following evening.
The Hursts had a fashionable house in Portman Square, though their dining room was a little cramped with so many guests. They invited a few extra gentlemen to round out the numbers, and William was dismayed to find Lady Catherine so pleased with the selection of beaux for her daughters.
“I never supposed Miss Bingley to be so clever,” Richard said to him, lingering near the back of the parlor as Elizabeth and her sister were paraded about the room by their mother and their fawning hostess. “She has ingratiated herself quite thoroughly with my aunt.”
“Yes, but not with your mother,” William quipped.
“The dowager countess knows Miss Bingley has been after you for years – or rather, after Pemberley. Your mother is far too pleased by how vigorously you have been falling at Miss Bennet’s feet this last week; she will see that Miss Bingley means to push your fair lady at one of these great coxcombs and clear her own path to you, poor chap.
I should offer to be of service, but I have my own worries. ”
William furrowed his brow as he watched Elizabeth speak with his own longtime friend, Sir Rolland Moore.
She laughed at something that was said, and Sir Rolland looked pointedly at William, mouthing, “Darcy?” William knew Sir Rolland was secretly pledged to his cousin, Miss Delphinia Darrow, but it appeared his old friend was keen to needle him. He grimaced.
“On the contrary, my good fellow; Mother may be relieved that at last she has found a young lady of fortune to take Rupert off her hands.”
Together they watched as Miss Bingley simpered and smiled at the drunken earl, who could not possibly be saying anything pleasing, given the state of him.
He was capable of praising a woman only in a very particular way, which no gently bred girl could possibly wish to hear – but then, Caroline Bingley was no gentlewoman.
Happily, she had always ignored William completely, for in company with her there was generally some greater prize to command her calculating attentions, and tonight was no different.
She seated him in the center of the table, deeming him not important enough to be nearer the host or hostess.
Since Elizabeth was similarly slighted, William could hardly repine his own insignificance.
Elizabeth grinned when she discovered she had been seated beside him. “I have been warned you are a man of many secrets, Mr. Darcy – what good luck for me that I shall have such an opportunity to quiz you.”
William tensed, and his gaze darted to Sir Rolland, who smirked at him before resuming his conversation with Lady Rebecca.
Well, at least he would be soundly punished for whatever he had divulged to Elizabeth.
“Sir Rolland has a great penchant for professing opinions that are not his own,” he grumbled.
“A kindred spirit, then! I suppose I must seek him out again after supper.” She gave William a playful smile that he knew he did not deserve.
He could hardly tell her what Sir Rolland likely wished to taunt him about, that he was not jolly Will Darcy at all, but dull William Worthing.
To reveal the truth now would mean that he must come clean to Richard and Bingley, and after seven years it would be quite the shock to them.
He endeavored to avoid telling Elizabeth any outright lies, for he was still a man of conscience, if given to occasional bouts of mischief that served as a reprieve from his true character.
The easiest path to avoid any deceit was to allow Elizabeth to do the greater share of talking, which suited him just as well, for he felt that he could listen to her witty observants forever.
Elizabeth had a great deal of saucy impudence to bestow upon him, at the expense of the three gentlemen she had become acquainted with that evening.
She took the measure of Sir Rolland Moore with alacrity, deeming him a rabble-rouser of the first order, and then she proceeded to make a very charming mockery of the impoverished viscount Lord Bellingham and his cousin, the bespectacled baronet Sir John Dawson.
“If they did not possess titles, I am sure Lady Catherine would think them very stupid fellows,” she concluded, after a bemused recitation of their many faults, all of which delighted her.
“I believe I shall like London well enough, if I am always to meet with such fine sources of incomprehensible babble and unconscionable self importance. Lord Bellingham may believe himself too grand to further our acquaintance, but Sir John is a promising new connection indeed, as an aspiring poet.”
“Are you fond of poetry, Miss Elizabeth? You have never said so.”
“No, not at all – and therefore I am greatly looking forward to hearing another recitation from Sir John. He bestowed a bit of verse upon me in the parlor, with such magnificently contrived gravitas – I cannot wait for a lengthier sample of his composition. His style is quite remarkable. His inspiration seemed to be derived from an excessive consultation of the dictionary, as if he has shaken loose every word commonly overlooked by others, and sprinkled them liberally into his own address. I should rather listen to more of this than any mere banal recitation of Scott or Cowper.”
William laughed and shook his head. “You puzzle me exceedingly, Miss Elizabeth. I had always believed ladies to be universally fond of poetry, and sincerely impressed by a gentleman employing such methods to recommend himself.”
“I find I am partial to such displays, but not for the reason you have imagined. You know I dearly love to laugh, and nothing amuses me more than the sheer absurdity of fools using flowery language. That is my opinion of poetry, sir.”
“And here I had imagined you to be a true romantic,” he chided her. He knew himself to be smiling stupidly, entirely in her thrall, but with Lady Catherine quite distracted in her efforts to rouse Richard’s jealousy over Jane Bennet, William saw no reason to conceal what he was feeling.
“I am”, she heartily agreed. “But what captivates me, what stirs my deepest nature and captures my dearest fancies – such sentiments as these have nothing at all to do with what is produced by the pens of men who care only to be congratulated for their genius.”
“Then what do you recommend to encourage affection? I dare not write you a sonnet – perhaps a song?”
“I infinitely prefer music to arouse ardent feelings – dancing is even better. But I like a bit of mystery, of yearning, desperation to the point of madness.”
“Must I abduct you then?” William raised his brows and then realized he had been completely taken in. “Miss Elizabeth, you are a menace.”
She gave an unrepentant laugh. “I told you, I am not unlike your censure of Sir Rolland Moore – I am sure I should say anything that comes into my head, if only to provoke.”
She was provocative indeed, the way she smiled at him then. Perhaps he should compose a sonnet, a ballad to the way her dark eyes sparkled with mirth as she teased him. “I believe you are a fanciful creature; it cannot be merely pretense and posturing.”
“I am not entirely convinced of the efficacy of poetry in driving away love, though I cannot imagine really being wooed in such a way without some little mortification. You asked me before what I recommended to encourage affection, and it is simply robust conversation, Mr. Darcy.”
That he could certainly manage, and he applied himself for the next hour to the delightful task of amusing her in the mutual study of their dinner companions, interjecting quotes from the great poets until she threatened to stab him with her dessert fork.
He might have died a happy man, to keep her laughing so long.
***
Elizabeth would have been content to sit beside Mr. Darcy and traverse every subject imaginable – certainly they must have remained in a state of harmonious and perpetual agreement, as they had done for the last week – but she was far from lamenting her mother’s demands that she speak to the other guests after supper.
When the ladies left the dinner table and gathered in the withdrawing room, Mrs. Hurst entreated Jane to open the instrument, and Miss Bingley sought Elizabeth’s company with alacrity.
It was evidently a coordinated attack, for Miss Bingley’s abundant flattery and subsequent inquisition made Elizabeth wary that the lady’s sister had distracted Jane by design.
After praising Elizabeth’s new gown and inquiring after her impression of London and her plans to enjoy the many diversions of town, Miss Bingley reached the topic she had been warming Elizabeth up to. “You must be vastly content to be residing with your charming cousins at Matlock House.”
“Yes, I am. It is a great blessing to have a large and lively family of such varied dispositions.”