Chapter 4 #2
Darcy was silent. She surely took his silence as agreement, but he refused to acknowledge the lady’s vitriol. Thankfully, she did not long remain at his side. Miss Bingley’s next partner came to claim her hand.
Bingley approached as the set formed. “Come, Darcy. You must dance.”
“I shall not.” He had a headache, partly from Miss Bingley’s constant harping.
“You were agreeable about the assembly when the invitation was given.” Bingley frowned, his disapproval written on his face.
“That was before.” Before your sister.
Bingley understood. “Yes, Caroline has been a trial. I do not think she anticipated sharing you upon her arrival.”
“Sharing me? Your sister has no claim on my person nor on my affections.” Darcy shook his head. “I have tried to be a gentleman, but she tries my patience.”
“Then you had best show her she has no claim. Come, I know you were not attending during introductions. Let me introduce you to my partner’s sister.” Bingley pointed at the lady seated a little away.
“She is tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me. Go, enjoy your lady’s smiles and leave me in peace.”
The words left him as if he had no control over his tongue. Darcy saw the moment they were heard.
The young lady stiffened and then rose, gliding away without a backward glance. Regret followed soon after.
“That was badly done, Darcy. I had not thought you capable of such behavior.” Bingley shook his head. “I shall leave you alone. I can tell there is nothing that can be said to convince you to be amiable.”
Darcy knew he needed to find the lady and apologize. He sought her out, but each time he drew close, she moved away. Once. Twice. And then a third time. She eluded him with every approach.
Frustration took hold. The evening continued and he was unable to properly apologize to the young lady he had insulted. By its end, one thought had settled with unwelcome clarity—
He had been wrong. And he could not easily set it right.
The return from the assembly was quieter than the journey there.
The air within the carriage still held remnants of the evening—light strains of music lingering in memory, the press of voices, and the warmth of crowded rooms gradually yielding to the cool stillness of night.
For some time, no one spoke. Jane sat beside Elizabeth, her hands in her lap and her expression serene in a manner suggesting contentment rather than fatigue.
Mary appeared thoughtful, her attention turned inward.
Mrs. Bennet seemed satisfied, though disinclined to immediate commentary.
Mr. Bennet, for his part, seemed content to observe in silence.
Elizabeth kept her gaze fixed upon the darkness beyond the window.
She had derived little pleasure from the evening.
The realization, though simple, carried a weight she had not anticipated.
The evening had begun well enough. There had been music, conversation, and the expectation of something new.
Bingley had proven utterly agreeable—attentive, cheerful, and wholly without reserve.
Jane had been engaged for nearly every set, and no one could have failed to observe the pleasure she inspired and received.
Mary had acquitted herself respectably. Even the company at large, though far from remarkable, had been thoroughly tolerable.
Elizabeth’s own experience had taken a different course.
She had danced once, and without any particular distinction. The scarcity of gentlemen had been felt throughout the evening, leaving many ladies seated more often than they might have wished. That circumstance alone would have caused her little concern.
It was the other matter.
The words, spoken carelessly, had never been intended for her ears. Their effect, however, was undiminished.
She had not attempted to overhear them.
She had heard them all the same.
There had been no hesitation in the delivery, no attempt to ease the remark. It had been given as though it were a simple truth, unworthy of further consideration.
Tolerable.
The word returned now, unwelcome and persistent.
She shifted slightly, drawing her shawl more closely about her shoulders.
Jane glanced toward her, her expression attentive, but said nothing.
Elizabeth was grateful for it.
By the time they reached Longbourn, the house was dark, the servants already prepared for their return. Lamps were brought; cloaks removed; the transition from public to private space completed with practiced ease.
They entered the parlor.
The familiarity of the room did not immediately ease her.
Mr. Bennet assumed his customary position, his demeanor relaxed, while his focus intensified as he observed his daughters.
“Well,” he said, “how has the evening passed?”
Jane spoke first, her tone warm. “Very well, indeed. The company was agreeable, and the dancing most enjoyable.”
Mrs. Bennet nodded. “It was a very proper assembly. Mr. Bingley is a most pleasing young man.”
Mary added a measured account of the music, noting its strengths and occasional deficiencies.
Elizabeth remained silent.
Mr. Bennet’s gaze shifted.
“And you, Lizzy? You appear to be in a brown study.”
She hesitated.
It was seldom Elizabeth’s habit to dwell upon such matters, and still less to share them. The question, so plainly asked, seemed to call for an equally plain answer.
“I enjoyed the evening less than the others.”
Mrs. Bennet’s expression showed mild surprise. “Less? Why ever was that?”
Elizabeth drew a breath.
“There was… an incident.”
Mr. Bennet’s interest piqued. “Indeed?”
She recounted it without embellishment.
The introduction. His failure to engage. The moment by the wall. Bingley’s encouragement. Darcy’s reply.
She repeated the words without emphasis. None was necessary.
The effect was immediate.
Mrs. Bennet straightened. “He said that? Of you?”
Elizabeth inclined her head.
“It is insufferable,” Mrs. Bennet declared. “A gentleman of his supposed standing ought to know better than to speak in such a manner.”
Mr. Bennet’s expression, though less animated, conveyed clear disapproval. “It was ill judged.”
Jane leaned forward slightly. “Perhaps he meant less than his words suggested.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “I cannot imagine how it might be meant otherwise.”
“He may not have known you were within hearing,” Jane said.
“That scarcely improves the matter,” Elizabeth replied.
Mary, who had been listening with careful attention, spoke at last.
“I observed something of his companion’s conduct,” she said. “Miss Bingley seemed most determined to engage his notice throughout the evening. It is possible that her influence contributed to his manner.”
Elizabeth considered this.
Mary continued. “She was seldom far from him, and when they were apart, she spoke of him in terms suggesting a degree of familiarity his responses did little to encourage.”
Mrs. Bennet frowned. “I found that young woman rather disagreeable.”
“She may have hoped to elevate herself by diminishing others,” Mary said.
Elizabeth allowed the possibility, though it failed to explain the matter fully.
The door opened.
Thomas and Toby entered.
No one had summoned them, and by every reasonable standard they ought to have been asleep. Even so, there they stood, alert and plainly consumed by curiosity.
“Mama,” Thomas said.
“You ought to be in bed,” Mrs. Bennet replied.
“We heard voices,” Toby said.
“And we wished to know what had happened.”
Mrs. Bennet regarded them steadily.
“What has happened is that you have left your beds without permission.”
The boys remained where they were.
“Was Mr. Darcy there?” Thomas asked.
Elizabeth turned toward them.
“He was.”
Toby’s expression brightened. “He is very agreeable.”
Elizabeth’s lips curved slightly, though her amusement was restrained. “You think so?”
“He gave us coins,” Thomas said.
“And told us he was once a boy who climbed trees,” Toby added.
“When did you meet Mr. Darcy?” Mrs. Bennet asked, her expression clearly disapproving.
The boys exchanged guilty glances. “We met him at Netherfield on Michaelmas.”
Mrs. Bennet raised a brow. “We shall discuss your excursion at another time. That said, giving two boys a coin apiece is no guarantee of proper conduct in a ballroom.”
“He is a gentleman,” Thomas insisted.
“Gentlemen sometimes say disagreeable things,” Toby observed.
Elizabeth met their gaze. “Sometimes,” she said, “they do.”
Mrs. Bennet nodded. “Your sister is correct. A gentleman may possess every outward advantage of his station and still behave in a manner unworthy of it.”
The boys exchanged another look.
“He did not appear unworthy,” Thomas said.
“He seemed very sensible,” Toby added.
Mrs. Bennet’s expression eased slightly. “Even sensible men may err.”
She rose. “And you will return to bed.”
There was no argument.
“Yes, Mama,” they said together.
They turned, though each cast one final glance toward Elizabeth.
The door closed behind them.
The room settled once more.
Jane rose and crossed to Elizabeth, her expression gentle.
“You must not be troubled by it,” she said. “His opinion cannot alter what is evident to all who know you.”
Elizabeth met her gaze.
“You are very kind.”
“I am only just,” Jane replied. “Anyone blessed with two seeing eyes must perceive your merit.”
Elizabeth smiled, though the warmth reached her only in part.
“I thank you.”
Mrs. Bennet resumed her seat. “You shall put him thoroughly from your mind. There are others far more deserving of your attention.”
Elizabeth acknowledged her mother with a wave of her hand. “I shall endeavor to do so.”
The conversation moved on, though with less animation than before. The evening, which had begun in anticipation, concluded in a quieter spirit.
At last, the family dispersed.
Elizabeth withdrew to her chamber.
The room received her as it always did—familiar, unchanged, and removed from the impressions of the evening.
She closed the door and rested against it for a moment before crossing to the bed and sitting down.