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Darcy detested dinner parties even more than he did impromptu dances, for one was confined at a table and expected to provide conversation. The meal with Sir William and Lady Lucas was, however, unavoidable. Resigned, Darcy marched into the dining room resolved to do his best at playing the role of Mr. Harvey, knowing it would take forbearance.
He was at first aghast when he found himself seated between Miss Lydia Bennet and Mrs. Bennet. He shot Elizabeth, whom he’d been somewhat avoiding since the shock he’d given himself in the carriage after the dance, a reproving look. She smiled at him, the expression somehow confirming his suspicion that she’d something to do with arranging the seating, and returned to speaking with Sir William.
Soon, however, Darcy realized Elizabeth had done him a favor. Mrs. Bennet ignored him completely, to his relief. Miss Lydia, much like her mother, alleviated all responsibility of conversation. She was completely capable of filling every moment with the sound of her own voice, and quite willing to do so. Also, he didn’t have to work as hard at pretending to be Mr. Harvey, as Miss Lydia didn’t seem interested in Mr. Harvey or intelligent enough to take note of discrepancies.
After listening to her talk for over half the meal, Darcy found himself in a new state of dismay, this time for Elizabeth and Mrs. Bingley. Miss Lydia was a scandal waiting to happen. Her family would be lucky if she confined her improper activities to the double engagement. She was even more thoughtless than Mr. Wickham, who at least knew enough to pretend to be good. With Mrs. Bennet’s encouragement, Miss Lydia was bound to do something horrendous that tarnished her entire family.
Fortunately, Miss Lydia was not interested in him, since he neither flattered nor flirted, and all of Hertfordshire believed he was poor and without a home. She devoted most of her energy to describing the two men she’d been corresponding with, seemingly unaware of the inappropriate nature of her actions or discourse. He listened in spite of himself, further taken aback that he could detect no greater regard for one over the other.
Finally, spurred by the same sort of fascination one might exhibit for an afore undiscovered species of mammal, he asked, “What do you want?”
“Well, sometimes I like Captain Carter, but Denny is so much fun. Today, I think I want Denny.”
“I didn’t ask which one you want, but what do you want?”
“I don’t understand.”
Well, finally she admitted it. “Do you want to marry one of them? Do you want to find someone else? Do you want to marry an officer? Do you want to marry anyone?” When she didn’t immediately respond, he asked, “Do you want to become a governess?”
“A governess? What a joke. I could never be a governess.”
They both agreed on that, he thought. “What else don’t you want?”
“I want to be married,” she said, her mind apparently only now getting around to his earlier questions. “I want to go places without a chaperone. I don’t want to live with a father who thinks I’m a silly girl. I want to be a woman, not a girl. Papa can be so disagreeable at times.”
Not often enough, Darcy suspected. If ever there was a girl who needed more discipline, it was Miss Lydia. He stared at her, wondering what it was about young women that made them so rash. What would Georgiana give to be a girl again? Once that step was taken, there was no turning back.
He hadn’t had enough warning to save Georgiana from making a rash choice. Should he try to ensure that Miss Lydia didn’t take a similar step in a disastrous direction? What right did he have to intervene? None, of course, and yet he did owe Bingley something. He allowed her to babble on for the remainder of the meal uninterrupted, paying enough attention to see if she showed any understanding of how the choices she made at this time could impact her whole life. She didn’t. It was a relief when the time came for brandy.
Darcy didn’t sleep well for yet another night, having found little solace within his own thoughts since his revelation about his desire to take Elizabeth to wife and her overwhelming lack of suitability. He rose late, and wasn’t surprised to find, when he came down, that only Mrs. Bingley remained in the breakfast parlor. Taking in her kind face as she greeted him, he decided he must attempt to give some warning, at least, of his fears for Miss Lydia.
Darcy served himself and took the seat across from her. He waited until there were no servants about and said, “I’m concerned that Miss Lydia is going to do something rash.”
Mrs. Bingley shook her head, still smiling. “I hope that she has learned from her behavior and will be more cautious in the future. I know Papa was quite firm with her.”
Somehow, Darcy doubted Mrs. Bingley’s version of firm matched his own. “If I may be so bold, I don’t think she has. Perhaps I am overly sensitive in light of Georgiana’s situation, but Miss Lydia seems ripe for doing something that will hurt herself and the reputation of her family.” He tried to modulate his tone into one that was firm but kind. “Of course, you will be unaffected because your husband will never think less of you because of Lydia’s behavior, but your other three sisters could be hurt.”
She shook her head again. This time, though, her smile was gone, replaced by an anxious, worried look. “I hope it won’t come to anything like that.”
“Perhaps I can think of something to be done,” he said, feeling bad for having upset her. He should have waited and spoken to Bingley.
“If only you could,” she said with a small sigh, returning her attention to her food.
Darcy had his permission. As soon as he was done eating, he excused himself and returned to his room. He wrote the man who handled his investments and charities in London. He told himself he was doing it for the Bingleys, to repay their kindness, but it was a vision of Elizabeth that kept him company as he wrote.
