Fifth Dance
By long-established custom, Darcy and Elizabeth turned to face the entrance and discover who arrived.
The motion seemed entirely comfortable, familiar, and natural; astonishing considering they had never laid eyes on each other before that evening, and she had been ready to murder him a few hours earlier.
By then, however, she found him quite possibly the most interesting man of her acquaintance.
She could not say what specifically he had done to earn her approbation, but he certainly had.
Once past his rough veneer, he was an exceedingly charming gentleman, and the only man of her acquaintance to understand and appreciate her ironic sense of humour rather than look down on her education.
His obvious concern for his sister and his duty also spoke volumes.
His face, turned toward the entrance, presented a character study from literature.
From the angle, he must observe the newcomers before she did.
She knew everybody in the neighbourhood, but so did everyone else.
If the newcomers were locals, there would be no commotion; therefore, this must be the fourth unknown person to enter the assembly since the Netherfield party's arrival, and possibly a fifth. It was most singular.
Turning from Mr Darcy to the entrance, a young lady of perhaps five-and-twenty stood dressed in a most elegant, though somewhat rumpled, gown. It was clearly of the finest silk, but she looked as if she had been in a carriage for hours or days.
A man who could not be described as anything other than an oddity followed the new arrival.
He was of middling years, short and portly, with scraggly hair and a bald spot poorly hidden by odd combing, dressed as a parson.
He had apparently occupied the same carriage for the same hours, or possibly been dragged behind with a rope.
He carried on an endless prattle which the young lady completely ignored, but the man did not appear to realise her inattention.
In her new favourite amusement, Mr Darcy’s expression turned from curious, to surprised, to alarmed, much as it had with his sister; he must know the young lady, or perhaps the parson. He was clearly even less happy to see them than his sister and the colonel.
By some curious, unconscious movement, Elizabeth and Darcy had separated from the matrons and others of their little group, far enough apart to speak softly and remain unheard.
A glance around ensured they were safe. “It appears you have more acquaintances visiting our little assembly this evening?”
Darcy’s face settled into a neutral posture for a moment before flickers of amusement crossed it. Apparently, there was some diversion to be had if she were simply patient.
Her forbearance was rewarded a moment later when the young lady saw Darcy across the floor and started towards him. She dragged the parson along by sheer force of presence like a loadstone. She had yet to speak to or acknowledge him, yet he followed like a duckling.
As she started across the floor, Darcy asked with a slightly sarcastic grin, “Is it too late to hide behind your skirts like a toddler?”
She quite liked this humorous, impertinent gentleman. “I fear one skirt would hardly be sufficient for a man of your stature. I do however have several sisters, so we could possibly make a defensive wall, should you crouch down sufficiently.”
This brought the expected chuckle. The colonel, she expected, would be curiously watching the entrance as well.
Oddly though, he was conversing with Mary, not overly curious about the newcomers.
Perhaps he had not noticed the commotion, or he saw the young lady and tried to avoid her. The evening was full of surprises!
The young lady and the parson made a minor stir but did not halt the assembly’s activities as the Netherfield party had on their entrance.
Most of the assembled returned to their business, or at least appeared to do so, since to stare in open-mouthed curiosity would be impolite.
The temptation was there, but most managed to keep their peace—surprisingly including both her mother and Lady Lucas.
Sir William was engaged at the other side of the assembly hall when the pair entered. He headed over to perform the official welcome, but clearly would not make it for some minutes, much to Darcy’s relief.
The young lady marched right up to Darcy and spoke without preamble.
“Fitzwilliam, you must get me out of that madhouse. My mother and Mrs Jenkinson will drive me mad if I stay one more day. I have travelled nearly fifty miles to throw myself on your mercy. I looked for you in town, and you were not there. You could have warned me you were visiting the wilderness. If mother gives me one more bit of advice about how to secure my future, you will have to visit me in Bedlam.”
The outburst surprised Elizabeth. The young lady seemed old enough to have been in society for some years, but did not seem to understand the most basic rules of propriety.
Perhaps she had been locked in a cellar, or kidnapped by the French and only recently returned, or possibly in a nunnery, or the worst finishing school in the country—likely with Miss Bingley. How would Mr Darcy handle the outburst?
Once again, the gentleman surprised her with his reply.
“Anne, it is indeed lovely to see you. Are you in good health? What say you of the roads since you have covered so much of them? How is the weather? Is it still fine or has it started raining?”
Whether this was chastisement or teasing was difficult to determine, but Elizabeth suspected the latter. She did her best to suppress a cheeky grin to see what came of his unusual reply.
The young lady took it as chastisement, perhaps unable to believe Mr Darcy capable of teasing. “Oh! Where are my manners? Am I becoming my mother? My apologies! Pray forgive me. Perhaps, introductions are in order, if you would be so kind.”
She looked chagrined, so Elizabeth was inclined to give her the benefit of the doubt, particularly given her own family’s usual standards of behaviour. “Perhaps it is slightly outside the usual bounds, but do not be alarmed. We do not stand on ceremony. All is well.”
Darcy gave her a smug little grin at her reference to odd orders of introduction at this particular assembly, given how their evening had begun, and perhaps gratitude for her ability to smooth over the situation. He turned thoughtful.
He was apparently in a humour to mete out either punishment or valuable lessons in life, for he quite surprisingly looked at his sister. “Georgiana, you know everyone present. Perhaps you could make introductions.”
Miss Darcy had been enjoying the spectacle and was not in the least happy to be put on the spot.
Elizabeth was satisfied when Jane took the young girl’s hand and smiled encouragingly—as expected.
Mr Bingley had allowed Miss Darcy to monopolise Jane’s time, but he seemed anxious to remedy the situation, for he moved their way from the corner where he had been conversing with one of the local gentlemen.
With all appropriate ceremony, Miss Darcy introduced the assembled group to her cousin, Miss Anne de Bourgh. Elizabeth may have heard the name de Bourgh at some point but could not recall exactly where or when—if at all. Perhaps she would ask Jane if things ever settled down.
No sooner had the introductions been made, than Elizabeth noticed that the parson was in fact not introduced. It seemed that nobody besides Miss de Bourgh knew him, and she had entirely forgotten.
The parson drew himself up to his full height, which unfortunately was hardly more than Elizabeth’s, and spoke pompously.
“Mr Darcy, it is a delight to meet you. You will be happy to know that my illustrious patroness, the Lady Catherine de Bourgh, was quite hale and hearty this morning when we departed Rosings—”
He seemed inclined to carry on in such a vein, but Miss de Bourgh hissed menacingly, “Mr Collins! You have not even been introduced. You must not speak to Mr Darcy in such a forward manner.”
The parson puffed out his chest and spoke in a voice audible only to Miss de Bourgh—and everyone else within two dozen paces.
“My dear Miss de Bourgh, I will trust your fine judgement on such matters in all ordinary circumstances, but I am of the clergy and as such we go by entirely different rules—”
Whatever he intended to say may have been interesting, or at least diverting, but Miss de Bourgh would have none of it.
She held her hand up just long enough to slow the man down and snapped, “Mr Collins, we really must work on your manners. At this point, you will need to either be silent, or get some refreshment, or I may need to have you dragged out and shot. Pray give the alternatives some consideration, as I can see it is a difficult choice, fraught with moral peril.”
Elizabeth tried her absolute best not to giggle, or snigger, or make any unladylike noises at all, and was moderately successful. Apparently, Mr Darcy was not the only member of his family with a wicked sense of humour.
That gentleman struggled similarly, but finally said, “I must say Anne, being away from your mother is… ah… good for your forcefulness.”
The little group still attracted the attention of nearly everyone in the assembly hall, and Elizabeth was certain the gossip the following day—or week—would be heavy.
It might be to her advantage, however, if the story of Miss de Bourgh were sufficiently diverting to keep her bloodhound of a mother off Mr Darcy’s scent for a few hours.
Perhaps she could help the matter along?
By long standing and well-established precedent, she nudged Mr Darcy with her foot again and nodded towards Miss de Bourgh.
Darcy perceived the wisdom in her choice, and since he had not yet asked Jane to dance, nor even hinted he was under orders to do so, he sought to quell discussion and move them out of the very centre of the story. “Anne, would you care to dance?”
Anne de Bourgh looked at him as if he had gone insane, as she had never known him to dance voluntarily in his life. Fortunately, she had recovered her manners somewhat. “I shall be delighted, cousin.”
Darcy held out his arm, and Colonel Fitzwilliam, with what Elizabeth could swear was a nudge from Mary, asked Jane, “Miss Bennet, might I have the honour of the next?”
By then, Mr Bingley had worked his way over to the little group, but since he had already danced two sets with Jane, he obviously could not do so again unless he wanted to enter the parson’s mousetrap.
He contented himself with asking Mary, and the three couples left for the dance floor, leaving Elizabeth, Charlotte, Miss Darcy, and the very odd Mr Collins.
Elizabeth took pity on the poor man, who looked much like the duckling without his mother.
After forcing Mr Darcy into a dance, talking to a clergyman without a formal introduction seemed a minor offence, so she said quietly, “Mr Collins, is it?”
This started the man on a bout of bowing, scraping, prostrations, and long-winded descriptions of his patroness and her fine domicile.
Elizabeth had just about had enough and was ready to summon the men Miss de Bourgh had intimated might be willing to drag him out and shoot him, when he abruptly changed tactics and asked a direct question.
“Are you perchance Miss Bennet, of Longbourn?”
Elizabeth eyed him. He had easily learned her name from Miss Darcy’s introduction, but the name of Longbourn was unspoken. Perhaps he heard it on the way into the assembly, so she answered, “Yes.”
The next ten minutes passed in an endless stream of chatter.
She understood only one word in five, but eventually she gleaned, much to her horror, where she had heard the name before.
He was the dreaded cousin! Her father had told her all about him not a fortnight earlier, though in his usual way he told no one else.
Because of the entail, this ridiculous man was to inherit Longbourn, and apparently, from what little Elizabeth determined from his endless prattling, he had designs on marrying one of the Bennet daughters.
Elizabeth knew not which idea was worse, since both were so mortifying; once her mother was on the scent of the heir, she would be insufferable until she forced one of her daughters into the shackles of matrimony.
She was so put off that she could not speak for some minutes, which the parson did not even notice, such were his effusions.
Eventually, she grew desperate. She tried every stratagem she could devise to force the insufferable man to cease his endless prattle, but nothing worked.
She tried interjecting, raising her voice, and waving her hands in front of his face.
She even grew desperate enough to kick him on the boot, though not hard.
The parson was obviously not as astute as Mr Darcy, since he droned on without interruption.
Finally, she could endure no more. Fortunately, in her hour of need, she recalled that she was quite in Charlotte’s debt for a prank.
They had played tricks on each other for years, and the last one ended with Elizabeth covered from head to foot in mud, and well—best not to speak of what else she was covered in.
Now was the perfect time for revenge, and she had the most horrid, utterly reprehensible, downright evil prank in mind. Charlotte would never top it.
Seizing the moment when even Mr Collins must take a breath, she interjected, “Mr Collins, are you fond of dancing?”
“For while some would consider it improper, in an assembly such as this with such gentlefolk as the current company, it could be no evil. I must say that several people, including my noble patroness herself, have commented on my lightness of foot, and I dare say I may acquit myself most admirably on the dance floor, and—”
Elizabeth took his first breath as an opportunity to step into the breach. “Excellent! My friend Miss Lucas is also quite fond of dancing, and as you can see, she currently lacks a partner. Allow me to introduce you.”
A moment sufficed to secure the introduction and the offer for a dance, and Mr Collins was off with Miss Lucas, much to Elizabeth’s immense relief.
She did not know how much Charlotte overheard, but she was so happy to be rid of Mr Collins, she would not repent her actions; though she suspected Charlotte’s revenge would be extensive and extravagant if she devised something sufficiently horrible, yet not quite fatal.
She drew a deep breath, revelling in the momentary silence, and hoped that with Miss Darcy settled by Jane’s ministrations, she might have a short conversation with her, followed by a much longer one later.
Mary, who had uncharacteristically abandoned her book, said the most extraordinary thing.
“Lizzy, do you realise you probably just made Charlotte Lucas the next mistress of Longbourn?”