part0010

Much to Miss Bingley’s chagrin, the Netherfield Ball had progressively grown from a passing thought into an overwhelming certainty. There was a point in late October when Charles seemed to have given up the foolish notion, but now it was very much the order of the day. Invitations were sent, and the wheels set in motion for the grandest event this godforsaken place had ever seen.

But of course. With Mr Bennet out of danger, Charles was now confident his lady-love could attend. Bah! He had even insisted they deliver the invitations in person to that… that… family. And Mr Darcy would not even join them when they paid that call. Indeed, who could blame him?

Miss Bingley would not conceal her dismay at her brother’s current infatuation. Neither would Mrs Hurst. The mere thought of a connection with that abominable family made them shudder. It was not to be borne! They repeatedly sought to discuss their concerns with Mr Darcy, but while he agreed it might be a mistake for Charles to offer for Miss Bennet, neither sister could draw anything further from him.

There was something odd about Mr Darcy too, Miss Bingley pondered. He had grown even less inclined towards conversation, and had taken to going for very long walks through the grounds. He would vanish for hours, and on his return he would be withdrawn and taciturn, more so than had ever been his wont.

Bingley was equally unaware of the reasons for his friend’s lack of spirits, and if he had not managed to wheedle them out of him, it had not been for want of trying. That evening, in the billiards room, he decided he would make another attempt.

“I wish you would tell me what is troubling you, Darcy, and that I could be of service. ”

“This is what you have been claiming for a while, ever since our last visit to Longbourn in fact, but it does not wash with me, you know.”

A lesser man would have missed his shot. Darcy did not.

“Pray oblige me and leave be. There is nothing to tell.”

“If your cousin the Colonel were here, he would threaten to drink you under the table until you talked,” he good-naturedly remarked, “but you are quite safe from me. As we both know, you can hold your liquor much better,” he added, and made his friend chortle, as there was a great deal of truth in that, if memory served. Then he set his cue down and advanced towards Darcy with his hand outstretched. “You have been a good friend to me for many years. If you need me, you know where to find me, and this is the last I shall say on the matter.”

“Thank you, old chap,” Darcy replied and shook his hand, leaving Bingley to wonder if the thanks were for his offer of assistance, or for his promise of silence.

True to his word, Bingley changed the subject.

“I hope you will spend Christmas with us.”

It was Darcy’s turn to abandon his cue. Bingley gestured towards the drinks in invitation, and at his friend’s nod he poured generous measures of port for both.

“I fear I cannot,” Darcy replied, walking towards the fireplace. “I should return to town. Georgiana and I have always spent Christmas together, and there are other matters to attend to. But you could come and stay with us in Berkeley Square. I am convinced your sisters would be delighted to quit the country for the festive season,” he added with a barely concealed grimace.

Bingley came to stand beside him in front of the large hearth. A merry fire was burning therein, casting red hues over their faces.

“I cannot leave her,” he said quietly .

“I beg your pardon?” Darcy asked. Not because he had not heard – he had heard him well enough – but because he had not expected Bingley to be so forthright.

“I cannot leave her. I will not leave her,” Bingley replied a little louder, and with the same determination. “Not when her father’s condition is so uncertain.”

“You are not responsible for that.”

Darcy looked up sharply.

“Have you made her an offer?”

“No. Not yet. But I intend to. Very soon.”

“And are you sure this is wise?”

“Whatever do you mean?” Bingley snapped with some irritation, almost spilling his drink.

Darcy fell silent for a while, choosing his words very carefully.

“As you said earlier,” he finally began, “we have been friends, very good friends, for many years. As your friend, I do not believe this connection is in your best interest—”

“Not the disparity in our stations, Darcy, pray spare me,” Bingley impatiently cut him off. “That is Caroline’s tune. Must you take it up as well? Miss Bennet is a gentleman’s daughter. My grandfather was a cotton-mill owner, albeit a very reputable one, and reasonably rich. I should have thought that in the eyes of the world, I stand to gain from the connection.”

“You know too well it will not be seen as such,” Darcy replied, stung by the association with Miss Bingley.

“Do you speak for yourself or for the rest of our acquaintance?”

Darcy pondered. He would not wish to offend his friend, but he had to be truthful.

“Both, I believe…” At Bingley’s gesture of impatience, he laid a hand on his arm. “As your closest friend, I want what is best for you.”

Bingley turned towards him, and for the first time that evening they looked each other steadily in the eye.

“I love her,” he said simply.

“But does she love you? Or would she accept your addresses only because her mother requires it of her, or because she feels she must secure her sisters’ fortunes, should anything befall their father? ”

“She has no need to secure their fortunes. Have you not heard? They have just learned that an old friend of Mr Bennet’s had left him some property in Devonshire.”

It was good to be told that everything was falling into place, and the fruits of his labours had reached their intended destination. He knew of the outcome of his endeavours of course, but his information had only come from his attorneys. He had not visited at Longbourn ever since he had decided he could not possibly make Elizabeth an offer of marriage. He could not bear to see her and know she would never be his, nor did he wish to raise expectations he could not fulfil.

He would have liked to know her thoughts on the entire scheme, though. Had she ever been to Devonshire? Did she like it? Would she be distressed to have to live there? Of course she would, that was a very foolish question. The very circumstance that might require their removal to Devonshire was reason enough to be distressed, and the separation from everything familiar and everything she held dear was bound to make matters worse.

Darcy sighed. It could not be helped. It was not in his power to secure them Longbourn. Not that he would have, even if he could. He would have stood no chance of accomplishing it in secret.

It suddenly occurred to him that Bingley was the only means of learning how the intelligence had been received at Longbourn, so he cautiously pressed on with a necessary falsehood – another.

“I have not heard, no. Did Miss Bennet give you any particulars?”

“Nay, she did not even mention it. Whatever knowledge I have on the matter comes from Mrs Bennet.”

“Actually, what makes it so very odd is that the testator insisted he remain unnamed.”

“And have they no suspicions?”

“Mrs Bennet said her husband could think of a name or two.”

So much the better. If Mr Bennet credited the deception, then everyone else was bound to follow suit.

“This inheritance would obviously not be subject to the entail, so the Miss Bennets and their mother would be protected if the worst were to befall their father,” Bingley resumed .

But of course he could not tell him that.

“How did you learn of the entail?” Darcy asked instead.

“Miss Lydia let it slip when we walked with them from Meryton, do you not remember? Was it not how you yourself heard of it?”

“Mr Collins made a reference to it at some point. But surely the entail should not make you rush into a proposal—”

“Pray do not be obtuse, it does not become you. ‘Tis not the entail that gives me the incentive to rush, as you put it, and besides it is no longer that much of a threat to the Miss Bennets anyway, ever since Miss Mary had become engaged to Mr Collins.”

“Had she?” asked Darcy, surprised in no small measure. He knew nothing of it, which was no wonder, since by his own design he had severed all connections to Longbourn, save for Bingley, of course. But his friend was too engrossed in his own affairs to return daily with accounts of the affairs of others.

“Aye, a few weeks ago. I do not know the particulars, just that he proposed and was accepted, before returning to his parish in Kent.”

Darcy would have imagined that even Miss Mary knew better than to accept that man’s hand in marriage, but then there was no telling. And in truth, she probably was better suited to him in temper and inclination than any of her sisters. So Longbourn would remain in the family, after a fashion, and it was becoming increasingly obvious that Bingley would not be dissuaded from offering for Miss Bennet.

Seemingly, his concern had been for naught, but Darcy harboured no regrets over the Farringdon bequest. Elizabeth’s affection for Longbourn notwithstanding, sooner or later she would have grown uncomfortable as a guest in her sister’s and, more to the point, Mr Collins’ house. She might have been happy to live with the future Mrs Bingley, but that still did not come close to having one’s own home. Moreover, it would have increased the difficulties of his situation, were he to encounter her every time he visited his friend.

The thought gave him pause. Was that his reason for choosing Devonshire? Because it put her even further out of his reach? Nay, not as such. It was his only choice in the matter, but there was no denying that the distance, his lack of connections in that part of the country and the unlikelihood of him ever visiting there were advantages that highly recommended it .

“But we are digressing from the main point of our discussion,” Bingley resumed with a mild smile. “I believe I owe you an answer.”

“I do apologise. I was not attending.”

“Clearly. You asked me whether I thought she loved me. Yes, I believe she does. But I should like to know what makes you doubt it, just the same.”

Once again, Darcy chose his words with great deliberation.

“Miss Bennet’s manners are cheerful and engaging, no doubt, but I have not detected any symptom of peculiar regard, and although she receives your attentions with pleasure, there is a certain reserve about her, which leads me to believe she does not invite them by any participation of sentiment.”

Bingley shook his head with a diverted smile.

“Reserved, is she? That is quite an indictment coming from you, for of course you have always worn your heart on your sleeve.”

“That has nothing to do with it,” Darcy retorted, rather offended.

“Quite so, I grant you, for I harbour no inclination whatsoever of making you an offer of marriage.”

“This is no laughing matter, Bingley! We are discussing the rest of your life,” his friend snapped, having come close to the limits of his patience, as he stalked towards the billiards table.

“I do apologise, I could not resist it,” smiled the other, without much contrition. He approached his friend, and his countenance lost all unholy merriment, to become earnest and almost solemn. “I have the highest opinion of your judgement and the firmest reliance on the strength of your friendship, and I thank you for having my best interests at heart, but on this occasion pray allow me to doubt your powers of perception. You have seen her but – what? Five, six times maybe? And only in company. Miss Bennet is a fine lady, Darcy, of genteel breeding and impeccable manners. What would you have her do, to be assured of her interest? Pursue me in the same fashion that you yourself are pursued by many ladies of our acquaintance?” Bingley’s delicacy prevented him from mentioning his own sister, but there was no need for him to do so. “Believe me,” he continued, “there are ways for a lady such as Miss Bennet to make her feelings known to the object of her affection, without attracting the untoward interest of the world at large. ”

He clapped his friend on the shoulder, in an elder-brother fashion that surprised them both, for it suggested a complete reversal of their ages, and their usual rapport.

“When you meet the future Mrs Darcy, you will understand.”

Darcy nodded, an overwhelming emptiness within.

He doubted very much that he would.

Elizabeth smoothed her attire as she emerged from one of the carriages that had brought her family to Netherfield, on the night of the ball. She was filled with anticipation, not so much for herself as for her sister Jane, for this, the grandest event they had attended in a long time, was now for all intents and purposes her engagement ball. It could not fail to be seen as such, ever since it had become common knowledge – with the invaluable assistance of Mrs Bennet, Mrs Phillips and Lady Lucas – that Mr Bingley had proposed, and had been joyfully accepted.

She followed her parents into the drawing room, happy that her father was sufficiently recovered, that her mother was at his side, as subdued as she had thankfully learned to be in his presence, and that a warm glow of requited love shone in her sister’s countenance when Mr Bingley approached to greet them, and offered Jane his arm to lead her to the receiving line. Even Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst’s greetings were civil and almost warm, although obviously insincere – but there was only so much that could be expected of them.

Netherfield looked at its very best, adorned with exquisite garlands and glittering with an abundance of light. Strains of remarkably well-performed music mingling with the buzz of conversation filled the rooms, adding to the all-pervading air of delighted anticipation. Elizabeth’s eyes were alight with pleasure as she looked around, her enjoyment complete.

Rooted to the spot by the dark panelling, Darcy could do nothing but stare.

That was the picture he would take with him on the morrow, when he left Netherfield, Hertfordshire and Elizabeth behind. Her beauty, her joy, the sparkling laughter in her fine eyes. He would remember her and love her for as long as he lived .

Darcy tried to turn away, but knew he could not. He would have been better advised to leave for town before the ball, he had always known it, but he could not slight Bingley in this fashion—

He stopped. Who would believe that was what had kept him? Certainly not himself. The only reason he had not left Netherfield before the ball was that he could not bear the thought of not seeing her for one last time.

People milled between them, a moving sea of muslin and lace dotted with dark hues and the scarlet of military tunics, and Darcy simply stood there, drinking in the sight of her, and committing to memory every detail of her appearance.

Elizabeth’s enjoyment of the evening could only grow, as familiar faces greeted her and were cheerfully greeted in return, and snippets of friendly conversation were exchanged with people she had known all her life – that is, until a brief exchange with Lieutenant Denny, a close acquaintance of Mr Wickham’s, turned her mind to less agreeable matters. He had been commissioned, the Lieutenant said, to give her Mr Wickham’s most particular regards and let her know that his friend had regrettably been obliged to go to town on business that could not be delayed. Then Mr Denny added with a knowing smile that in all likelihood the said business would not have called Mr Wickham away just then, had he not wished to avoid a certain gentleman there.

Elizabeth pursed her lips, remembering Mr Wickham’s boast that he had no fear of seeing Mr Darcy – that Mr Darcy might leave the country, but he would stand his ground. And yet there he was avoiding him, only a few weeks later.

She civilly thanked Mr Denny for his communications and excused herself, rather pleased to be proven right in her estimation of Mr Wickham and his tissue of lies.

A few nights earlier, Elizabeth had told her sister Jane everything that Mr Wickham had seen fit to mention during the encounter at Mrs Phillips’ house. Once everything was shared and turned on every facet, they both agreed that despite Mr Darcy’s objectionable manners on first acquaintance, his later conduct had shown nothing indicative of an unprincipled or unjust nature. That no man of common humanity, no man who had any value for his character could treat his father’s favourite in such a manner, and that the friendship between someone capable of it and an amiable man like Mr Bingley would have been incomprehensible.

“I believe you like Mr Darcy more than you used to, Lizzy,” Jane teased once they had reached their conclusions, and Elizabeth returned the smile.

“I have to admit that he does improve on acquaintance.”

“And pray, how much has he improved in your estimation?”

Leaning on her elbow across her sister’s bed, Elizabeth confessed:

“I never thought I would say this of Mr Darcy, of all people, particularly given the beginning of our acquaintance, but he might live in my memory as one of the most intriguing gentlemen I have ever met. But that is all. You must be aware, dear Jane, that there is a great disparity in our stations. He will never show any real interest in me. He has made it abundantly clear that he has no wish for our society. After all, he has not joined Mr Bingley in his visits to Longbourn in over a month, and I for one have no intention to make myself unhappy over him.”

Elizabeth was roused from her reminiscences when Sir John Ashworth of Ashworth Park, who had engaged her for the first set, approached to claim her hand. He was a well-educated man of pleasing appearance, with a talent for intelligent conversation and a good sense of humour. He was recently returned from his travels in the south of Italy, and his account of the places he had visited, as well as the anecdotes he had to relate, kept Elizabeth well-entertained for the duration of the first two dances.

Darcy walked along the set, grimly determined to steer himself away from the galling picture of Elizabeth dancing with her personable young man. Yet, mere moments later, he spun on his heel and walked slowly back, woefully unable to tear his eyes from her, her beauty, her laughter and her joie de vivre drawing him like nothing ever had – and the sight of that long, enticing curl let loose at the back of her neck, bouncing with every move and caressing her creamy skin, was driving him to distraction.

He could not stir, as a fresh wave of jealousy swept over him. Was this the gentleman she had alluded to, that morning in the Netherfield library, nearly a month and a half ago?

He was a pleasant-looking man, with an air of good breeding and more than a spark of intelligence in his countenance – but of course he would be. Elizabeth would not be attracted to a pompous fool. Was she attracted to him, then? She might well be, given her smiles and her obvious enjoyment of his conversation.

‘So much the better. She could do far worse,’ Darcy told himself, but it served no purpose. There was not a single part of him that would believe it was for the best – so he turned and walked away again, lest he give in to the fierce compulsion to go to her and say everything that should be left unsaid.

Her second set was promised to a young officer who thankfully neither reminded her of Mr Wickham, nor spoke of him, and her enjoyment of the dance was unspoilt. When those dances were over, she discovered Charlotte Lucas amongst the guests, and walked over to greet her and exchange their news.

Elizabeth was in conversation with her friend when she found herself suddenly addressed by Mr Darcy, who took her much by surprise by asking for her hand for the next set.

When the dancing recommenced and Elizabeth took her place, she was amazed anew at finding herself standing up with Mr Darcy, and read equal surprise in her neighbours’ expressions. If memory served, at the Meryton assembly he had danced only once with Mrs Hurst and once with Miss Bingley, which led many of those now present, Elizabeth included, to wonder at his choosing to stand up with someone who was not of his party.

The gentlemen bowed, and received a curtsy in return. Then, with slow, stately grace, everyone advanced towards their partners, and gloved hands met and held, and so did their eyes. Elizabeth’s gaze settled upon Mr Darcy’s solemn, almost stern countenance, and wondered why he would give himself the trouble to dance, if he clearly took no pleasure in it.

‘Speak, fool!’ Darcy’s remaining shreds of sanity urged, but his mouth was dry, and his mind empty of everything but the acute awareness of her proximity, as she circled around him in the pattern of the dance. He breathed in the delicate, barely perceptible scent that surrounded her – jasmine? lily-of-the-valley? – and reached once more for her hand, as the dance required. He surreptitiously caressed her fingertips with his thumb, not wishing to let go of the small gloved hand that fitted perfectly in his, any more than he wished to let go of her . She had little white flowers and delicate ribbons woven in her hair, and she looked the very picture of loveliness.

Elizabeth wondered if their silence was to last for the entire duration of their dances. At one time, she might have been inclined to break it, simply because she thought it would be a punishment to her partner to oblige him to talk. She no longer felt driven to tease and plague him though, and was prepared to leave him to his own devices when, to her surprise, Mr Darcy suddenly began:

“Allow me to congratulate you on your sister’s engagement to my friend. I am very pleased for them,” he added, hoping he had not betrayed just how much he envied Bingley’s happiness.

With a smile, Elizabeth turned her head to follow his gaze towards Jane, who was dancing with her betrothed a few steps away, the gleam of unadulterated joy lighting up their features.

“I thank you. I believe they will be very happy.”

“Yes,” Darcy replied grimly, giving her the mistaken notion that in fact he disapproved of the connection.

This angered her in no small measure, and she pointedly retorted:

“There is no doubt about it, and precious little wonder, too. I have never seen two people better suited to each other.”

The dance separated them once more, and Darcy was left baffled as to what he might have said or done to earn the unmistakable look of censure she flashed him before turning away to walk down the set, hand in hand with Bingley. He gave his hand to her eldest sister, and his turmoil was marginally quelled by the look of serene happiness in her countenance. How had he ever thought her placid and devoid of any real feelings for his friend ?

Unwilling to miss the opportunity to make amends for the involuntary slight, Darcy spoke to her of Bingley with great affection for his friend and offered his best wishes, and she thanked him warmly for his sentiments.

When Elizabeth was returned to him, she could not fail to note the genuine kindness in his address to her sister, and her previous displeasure was softened somewhat, making her more disposed to refrain from arguing with him, for her future brother’s sake.

“I understand you will see Miss Darcy soon,” she said, choosing a safe topic. “She must be delighted to be reunited with you.”

“Aye,” he quietly agreed. “We are very close. My sister is very young, and not much in the habit of making friends of her own. I wish she could have made your acquaintance. She could only benefit from knowing you. And the future Mrs Bingley,” he hastily added.

The unexpected compliment took her completely by surprise, and Elizabeth cast him a swift glance, wondering what might have prompted it. Perhaps… It was not an unreasonable notion, nor one she could truly fault him for: although he disapproved of the majority of her relations, perhaps the sentiment did not necessarily extend to her eldest sister and herself. It was a small concession of course, but the distinction gratified her.

“Will you return to Pemberley for the Christmas season?”

“Possibly. Our plans are not yet fixed.”

Their dances had come to an end, and Darcy escorted her towards the edge of the room. He should leave her now, he knew full well. Still, he remained rooted to the spot.

“I thank you for the pleasure of this dance, Miss Bennet,” he said softly, not yet ready to relinquish her hand. “I am glad I had this opportunity to see you this evening, and bid my adieus. It was an honour to make your acquaintance.”

“Thank you, and likewise. Safe travels, Mr Darcy,” she whispered, her beautiful face tilted up towards him, her eyes more bewitching than ever, as they shimmered in the candlelight.

The finality of the moment tore at his heart, and words caught in his throat. There was so much he ached to tell her, but there was nothing more that could be said. Certainly not now, and very likely never. He could not offer for her, and that was the end of it .

He remained before her, lost in the beauty of her eyes, as the achingly perfect notion of a lifetime of happiness with her washed over him. There were no words, no other thoughts, just longing and overwhelming sadness, and he stood there in silence – until all of a sudden he bowed and took his leave.

Darcy left the ballroom and returned to his chambers. He left Netherfield at dawn on the following day. Despite his better instincts, he sent his apologies and declined the honour of standing alongside Bingley as his best man, at his wedding. He did not return to Hertfordshire for Jane and Mary’s double wedding, held just after Christmas, nor for Mr Bennet’s funeral, which followed less than a month later. On both occasions, he wrote to his friend and the new Mrs Bingley, expressing his sincere sentiments. Both letters were dispatched from Pemberley.