Chapter 7
Fitzwilliam Darcy
Though Bingley’s impulsive proposal of hosting a dance at Netherfield Park had clearly delighted the neighbourhood, Darcy could not say he felt the same on the day that had been arranged for the event.
He had never been one to look forward to a ball, and still less when that ball would bring the prospect of dodging Miss Bingley’s hints, watching Bingley’s increasing infatuation with Miss Jane Bennet, and fighting his own growing fascination for her sister.
The drawing room at Netherfield was already arranged for the evening, though the company for whom it had been prepared had not yet begun to arrive.
Though professing herself less than eager to give a ball for such rustic guests, Miss Bingley had not wished an occasion that reflected so much on herself to be anything less than perfect.
The result was elegant, if somewhat stiffly formal.
Miss Bingley stood near the fireplace, dressed with a richness that suggested she had wished to outshine all her guests and show them the superior firepower of a London modiste.
Looking at her dispassionately, Darcy wondered if the day would ever come when his sister made such a point of asserting her place and insisting that all eyes ought to be on her.
Surely not, he thought with a sudden smile.
At sixteen, Georgiana was shyness personified.
And while he hoped she would one day grow in confidence, there was no reason to fear that the result would be anything like the selfish egotism that marked Miss Bingley’s personality.
Even at sixteen, Georgiana was a person of more character than he had ever seen from Caroline Bingley.
“Whatever can you be thinking of, Mr Darcy?” Miss Bingley asked him abruptly, breaking into his thoughts. To his disgust, she was so bold as to flutter her eyelashes at him. Why, oh why, did a certain type of woman think that a man could be undone by rapid blinking?
“You are smiling, Mr Darcy,” Miss Bingley persisted. “Perhaps you are thinking of the evening to come? At least we may be assured of some good company,” she added with a sidelong glance at him.
“I was thinking of Georgiana,” Darcy told Miss Bingley, “and of how very proud I am of her.”
Miss Bingley blinked again, although in surprise rather than flirtation. She rallied quickly. “Ah, dear Georgiana! How I long to see her again.”
“As do I,” Mrs Hurst added.
Darcy bowed to them both. “Thank you, you are very kind,” he said. Knowing how ill at ease his sister felt with both ladies, he was not tempted to offer a reciprocal compliment, and still less any suggestion that they might visit her.
“What?” Mr Hurst said abruptly, having nearly nodded off to sleep. A glass remained in his hand, and had almost come to grief. With a look that suggested annoyance rather than concern, Mrs Hurst went to him and began to whisper in his ear.
Bingley alone seemed to look forward to the ball with unalloyed pleasure.
“It will be a delightful evening, do not you think?” he said, turning toward the others with a confident smile.
“Everything is prepared exactly as it ought to be, and I cannot think that anything will fail to please our guests.”
Miss Bingley wrinkled her nose at this. “Indeed it is. We must only hope,” she said, “that the company will do justice to the arrangements.”
Mrs Hurst inclined her head in agreement. “It would be a pity,” she added, “if such care were not properly appreciated.”
Mr Hurst, roused sufficiently to speak, gave a brief nod. “Very true,” he said. “A great deal depends on the company.”
Bingley’s smile fell for only a moment before he rallied. “I have no reason to expect otherwise,” he said. “Our neighbours are very agreeable.”
Miss Bingley’s smile was rather stiff. “Some of them, certainly,” she allowed.
There was a moment’s pause. Bingley glanced toward Darcy, as if seeking some confirmation that had not been supplied.
“There is every reason to expect a pleasant evening,” Darcy said firmly. “You will be a great favourite in the neighbourhood, Bingley. I see nothing wanting in your arrangements.”
Bingley’s expression brightened at once. “I am glad you think so,” he said. “It would be unfortunate if any part of it disappointed Miss Ben — I mean, disappointed our neighbours.”
“It is not likely to do so,” Darcy replied.
Miss Bingley sighed. “We have taken great pains,” she said, addressing her brother. “One can only hope that they will be properly understood.”
Bingley laughed lightly. “I am content if they are enjoyed,” he said. “Is there really so much to understand in a ball?”
Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst exchanged a significant look. “It is not everyone who can understand true elegance,” Miss Bingley said loftily.
Though she seemed to wish further inquiry, it was not to be. The sound of wheels on the gravel announced the arrival of the first guests, and whatever further remark might have been made was set aside.
Bingley turned at once toward the door with renewed animation, his uneasiness entirely forgotten in the expectation of company. “They have come,” he said. “Now we shall see everything in motion.”
Darcy moved to take his place among the rest, steeling himself for the business of the evening.
The first arrivals were received with all the attention Bingley could command, and in a short time the quiet order of the room gave way to the movement and sound of company assembling. Cloaks were relinquished, greetings exchanged, and the initial formality soon softened into conversation.
Bingley moved happily from one guest to another, welcoming each with a warmth that required no effort and was returned with equal readiness. His satisfaction increased with every new arrival, and whatever uneasiness had been produced by his sisters’ unenthusiastic remarks was no longer to be seen.
The room, which had seemed ample before, grew gradually more animated as the number of guests increased.
Conversation rose and fell in uneven currents, punctuated by laughter and the occasional calling of names across the space.
The musicians, stationed at one end, began to prepare, their instruments producing brief, uncertain notes that carried through the room and drew the attention of those nearest to them.
Darcy took little part in the general exchange. He had been previously introduced to several of those present and acknowledged them with the civility that was expected, yet he did not seek out conversation beyond what circumstance required.
There was much in the scene that differed from what he had been accustomed to admire.
The eagerness with which some entered into the evening, the openness of their expressions, and the freedom of their manners were all in contrast with the reserve he preferred.
The want of restraint in some and the want of refinement in others showed the roughness of a country evening only too clearly.
And yet, even as he tried to tell himself that his attention was engaged elsewhere, Darcy knew he was watching for the arrival of one family — of one woman.
As it happened, the arrival of the Bennet family could hardly have been missed.
They were accompanied by a gentleman of perhaps five-and-twenty Darcy had not previously met, who tripped and nearly fell as he made his bow.
Mrs Bennet’s over-loud voice could be heard thanking Bingley from halfway across the room, and the two youngest sisters had hardly entered it before they were running after one of the officers of the militia.
Two among their party were wholly free of the improprieties and absurdities of the rest. Miss Bennet responded to Bingley’s welcome with a gentle smile that was entirely free of grasping or flirtation, and Elizabeth Bennet — well.
He should not pay any particular attention to her, and yet he could not seem to look away. Her manners were faultless, at once elegant and warm. There was something so vital, so alive in those sparkling eyes, the smile that seemed to find something to laugh at everywhere she went.
Standing among her family, there was nothing in her conduct that sought distinction, yet her ease was unstudied, her expression even.
She turned slightly as she spoke, and for an instant her eye met his.
The moment was brief, and she looked away without hesitation, as if the exchange carried no consequence.
For her, perhaps it did not. Darcy could not claim equal indifference.
But though he had intended to keep well away from the Bennet party, they did not appear to have the same intention.
“You are Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley, I presume,” someone said at his elbow.
Upon turning to face the stranger, Darcy found it was the gentleman who had entered with the Bennets. “I am,” he said briefly. What on Earth could the man mean by presuming to speak to him without so much as an introduction?
The stranger bowed with great formality. “I am Mr Herbert Collins,” he said, “and I am most happy to make your acquaintance.”
“Most kind,” Darcy said coolly.
“Doubtless you will think it strange of me to introduce myself to your notice, but allow me to explain. Soon all will be made clear. You see, I am the parson of Hunsford Church, in Kent. I have the distinguished honour of being patronised by Lady Catherine de Bourgh, who I believe to be your aunt.”
Darcy gave him a brief nod. “That is so.”
Mr Collins’s satisfaction increased visibly.
“Now you will see, sir,” he said. “How could I do otherwise once I realised it was actually within my power to assure you that only a week ago, your aunt was in excellent health, for it was on that day that I last saw her! Naturally, I could not be in company with you without sharing this intelligence. Then, too, I cannot express how much gratification it affords me to find myself in the company of a gentleman so nearly related to that illustrious lady. Her condescension and generosity are beyond all praise, and I consider myself most fortunate in the enjoyment of her favour.”