CHAPTER EIGHT
Despite the light shower of rain, Darcy allowed his horse to amble along the road to Hunsford.
The unfavourable conditions meant the journey would take more than half the day, but, ignoring the incredulous look of his butler and insisting he would not require his valet in advance, he had set out early in the morning.
Time had failed to wipe Miss Elizabeth Bennet from his mind, and he would try any means at his disposal.
While in town he had filled every waking hour with matters of business, letters to his sister Georgiana, and calling upon acquaintances and friends.
For a moment it seemed as if his application to industry had the desired effect.
He knew there was little chance of returning to his initial indifference of Miss Elizabeth, but he wanted some relief from the frequency with which her bright eyes haunted his reverie.
He had at first scarcely allowed her to be pretty, had looked at her without admiration at that first ball, and when they next met, had looked at her only to criticise.
But no sooner had he made it clear to himself and his friends that she hardly had a good feature in her face, than he began to find it was rendered uncommonly intelligent by the beautiful expression of her dark eyes.
To this discovery succeeded some others, equally mortifying.
Though he had detected with a critical eye more than one failure of perfect symmetry in her form, he was forced to acknowledge her figure to be light and pleasing; and in spite of his assertion that her manners were not those of the fashionable world, he was caught by their easy playfulness.
She, however, did not seem to reflect the same level of interest in him. At a party assembled at the Lucas home, wishing to know more of her, he had moved toward her. His doing so had drawn her notice, and she turned unhappily to her friend, Miss Charlotte Lucas.
“What does Mr. Darcy mean,” said she to Miss Lucas, “by listening to my conversation with Colonel Forster?”
“That is a question which Mr. Darcy only can answer.”
“But if he does it any more I shall certainly let him know that I see what he is about. He has a very satirical eye, and if I do not begin by being impertinent myself, I shall soon grow afraid of him.”
Taken aback by her remarks, Darcy stood awkwardly where he was. He had not intended to be caught eavesdropping and could not now invite himself into their conversation.
Miss Lucas defied her friend to speak, which immediately provoking Elizabeth to do it, she turned to him and said:
“Did you not think, Mr. Darcy, that I expressed myself uncommonly well just now, when I was teasing Colonel Forster to give us a ball at Meryton?”
“With great energy,” he replied, “but it is always a subject which makes a lady energetic.”
“You are severe on us.”
“It will be her turn soon to be teased,” said Miss Lucas. “I am going to open the instrument, Eliza, and you know what follows.”
“You are a very strange creature by way of a friend, always wanting me to play and sing before anybody and everybody! If my vanity had taken a musical turn, you would have been invaluable, but as it is, I would really rather not sit down before those who must be in the habit of hearing the very best performers.” On Miss Lucas's persevering, however, she added, “Very well, if it must be so, it must.” And gravely glancing at him, “There is a fine old saying, which everybody here is of course familiar with: 'Keep your breath to cool your porridge'; and I shall keep mine to swell my song.”
Her performance was pleasing, though by no means capital.
After a song or two, and before she could reply to the entreaties of several that she would sing again, she was eagerly succeeded at the instrument by her sister Mary, who having, in consequence of being the only plain one in the family, seemed impatient to display her accomplishments.
Miss Mary had neither genius nor taste, but possessed a pedantic air and conceited manner.
Miss Elizabeth, easy and unaffected, had been listened to with much more pleasure, though not playing half so well; and Mary, at the end of a long concerto, was glad to purchase praise and gratitude by Scotch and Irish airs, at the request of her younger sisters, who, with some of the Lucases, and two or three officers, joined eagerly in dancing at one end of the room.
Darcy stood near them in silent indignation at such a mode of passing the evening, to the exclusion of all conversation, and was too much engrossed by his thoughts to perceive that Sir William Lucas was his neighbour, till Sir William began:
“What a charming amusement for young people this is, Mr. Darcy! There is nothing like dancing after all. I consider it as one of the first refinements of polished society.”
“Certainly, sir; and it has the advantage also of being in vogue amongst the less polished societies of the world. Every savage can dance.”
Sir William only smiled. “Your friend performs delightfully,” he continued after a pause, on seeing Bingley join the group, “and I doubt not that you are an adept in the science yourself, Mr. Darcy.”
“You saw me dance at Meryton, I believe, sir.”
“Yes, indeed, and received no inconsiderable pleasure from the sight. Do you often dance at St. James's?”
“Never, sir.”
“Do you not think it would be a proper compliment to the place?”
“It is a compliment which I never pay to any place if I can avoid it.”
“You have a house in town, I conclude?”
Darcy bowed.
“I had once had some thought of fixing in town myself—for I am fond of superior society; but I did not feel quite certain that the air of London would agree with Lady Lucas.”
He paused in hopes of an answer, but Darcy was not disposed to make any for Miss Elizabeth at that instant was moving towards them.
“My dear Miss Eliza, why are you not dancing?” Sir William called out to her. “Mr. Darcy, you must allow me to present this young lady to you as a very desirable partner. You cannot refuse to dance, I am sure, when so much beauty is before you.”
And, taking her hand, Sir William would have given it to Darcy, who was not unwilling to receive it, when she instantly drew back.
With some discomposure, she replied, “Indeed, sir, I have not the least intention of dancing. I entreat you not to suppose that I moved this way in order to beg for a partner.”
Darcy, with grave propriety, requested to be allowed the honour of her hand, but in vain. Miss Elizabeth was determined, nor did Sir William at all shake her purpose by his attempt at persuasion.
“You excel so much in the dance, Miss Eliza, that it is cruel to deny me the happiness of seeing you, and though this gentleman dislikes the amusement in general, he can have no objection, I am sure, to oblige us for one half-hour.”
“Mr. Darcy is all politeness,” she said.
“He is, indeed, but, considering the inducement, my dear Miss Eliza, we cannot wonder at his complaisance—for who would object to such a partner?”
Miss Elizabeth looked archly, and turned away. Her resistance did not injure her, however, with him, and he was thinking of her with some complacency when accosted by Miss Caroline Bingley.
“I can guess the subject of your reverie,” she remarked.
“I should imagine not,” he replied.
“You are considering how insupportable it would be to pass many evenings in this manner—in such society, and indeed I am quite of your opinion. I was never more annoyed! The insipidity, and yet the noise—the nothingness, and yet the self-importance of all those people! What would I give to hear your strictures on them!”
“Your conjecture is totally wrong, I assure you. My mind was more agreeably engaged. I have been meditating on the very great pleasure which a pair of fine eyes in the face of a pretty woman can bestow.”
“Indeed? What lady has the credit of inspiring such reflections?”
“Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”
“Miss Elizabeth Bennet!” repeated Miss Bingley. “I am all astonishment. How long has she been such a favourite? And pray, when am I to wish you joy?”
“That is exactly the question which I expected you to ask. A lady's imagination is very rapid; it jumps from admiration to love, from love to matrimony, in a moment. I knew you would be wishing me joy.”
“Nay, if you are serious about it, I shall consider the matter is absolutely settled. You will be having a charming mother-in-law, indeed, and, of course, she will always be at Pemberley with you.”
He listened to her with perfect indifference while she chose to entertain herself in this manner, and as his composure convinced her that all was safe, her wit flowed long.
*****
“Darcy!” Abby greeted him upon entering the parlor.
Her radiance and joy warmed him in an instant and set him at ease, making him believe that she welcomed his appearance though he had sent no forewarning of his early arrival.
He had written her that he was to visit his aunt for Easter and intended to call upon her after he had arrived at Rosings.
“Pray forgive the unexpected intrusion,” he said after he had kissed her hand.
She pressed his hand with affection, her smile never failing to make him feel adored. She looked to be in good health, her cheeks rosier than he last remembered. He fancied she flushed in delight at his presence for she had often told him that he was a favourite of hers.
“Nonsense!” she chided before taking a seat facing the hearth. “You know that you are welcome any time here at Trenwith House.”
His riding breeches still damp from the rain, Darcy remained standing in front of the fire.
“But how reckless of you to ride through this weather,” she admonished. “Mr. Singh informed me that you came on horseback.”
“I met with rain only when I neared Hunsford.”
“Do you mean to ride on to Rosings? Lee tells me the roads are quite wretched.”
“That is my intention,” he replied, though his aunt did not expect him till the following day and he much preferred the company of Abby to Lady de Bourgh.