One Thread Pulled: The Dance With Mr. Darcy (21 page)

He turned his thoughts to Pemberley, that grand haven of hearth and home. As much as he loved it, the great house felt so empty with his father gone and Georgiana at school. The solitude at Pemberley had driven him back to London, with its myriad attractions and diversions. Charles was there, and it had for a time driven away that deep loneliness that relentlessly dogged him to introduce Charles and his sisters into the circles of society that his own position afforded. Charles' gentlemanly behavior and cordial manner, combined with the fortune he had inherited from his father had allowed the Bingleys to gain some footing in town.
 
Their superior manners gave them an air of respectability, and their fashionability distracted from their roots in commerce. Eventually, after calling in favors and gentle, persistent persuasion directed at those in power to decide, he had obtained the coveted vouchers to Almack's on their behalf.

Caroline Bingley had, Darcy realized in hindsight, allowed this social triumph to alter her—Louisa, somewhat less so. As the daughters of a successful tradesman who could afford to do so, they had been sent to fine schools and dressed in fine clothes. According to what Charles had told him, his sisters had been subjected to much disdain and snobbery due to their lower station in society, in spite of their family fortune. Upon finding a degree of acceptance in London, they now demonstrated the very attitudes of superiority that had so cruelly mortified them and genuinely appeared to have forgotten that the Bingley fortune was acquired through trade.

Mr. Darcy recalled with a shiver that he had initially been impressed with Caroline's beauty, grace and comportment in society—else he would not have assisted the Bingleys in gaining access to the
 
ton
, for his own reputation was tied to that act. It was not until they had come to Hertfordshire that their vicious natures were fully exposed, although their oft-times callous treatment of Charles had led him to suspect that there was a certain meanness about Caroline in particular. Noblesse oblige was bred into you, and Caroline was proof of it.

Caroline. Darcy sighed. She was naively convinced that she would someday be the mistress of Pemberley. That had become evident these past weeks as she spoke with increasing possessiveness of his estate, pretended a greater intimacy with his sister than she had, and had flirted outrageously with him. Her behavior toward Elizabeth Bennet was unpardonable, but through it, Caroline had revealed her perception of Elizabeth as a rival. This was amusing in a way, for as the daughter of a tradesman, Caroline was below even Elizabeth Bennet in station. Her fortune could not purchase a revision of heritage and history, however much she might wish it—just as all of his wishing could not change the situation of Elizabeth Bennet.

With her family estate entailed away from her line, one uncle an attorney, and the other in trade, her connections, although respectable, were not sufficiently elevated to recommend her as an eligible marriage prospect for a man in his position. It was perverse! The magnificent and spirited woman of his every desire was torn away from him merely by her situation in life!

His every desire
. The phrase repeated itself mercilessly in his head, along with the dream-born images of those desires. He saw it all, clearly, indelibly written in that part of his mind that remained open to possibilities. It is there that his lovely bride, Elizabeth, graciously receives their guests as mistress of Pemberley. In that private world, they confide in one another, tease one another, growing ever dearer to one another as the years pass. She would kiss their children the way she kissed his dog, with affection and abandon and tenderness ... and he would watch her and marvel that this wonderful woman was his own. He dared not think, not consciously anyway, of the intimacies that they would share as man and wife. It was too much loss to bear.

It came to this. He, Fitzwilliam Darcy wants Elizabeth Bennet as his wife more than he has wanted anything in his life, yet cannot harbor the slightest hope of having her. He is powerless to change her situation.

Mr. Collins, who is perhaps the most ridiculous person he has ever met, also desires to marry Elizabeth Bennet. Through a cruel twist of ill-fated luck, in all probability he will be successful in that quest. Knowing that the union would resolve much of her family's burden, it would seem best for all were he to step back and allow another to claim what he cannot, yet the thought of it was abhorrent to his every sensibility. He knew that he had no right to interfere, and yet, as the sun cleared the last dusky colors from the sky, that is exactly what Mr. Darcy determined he must do, although the means whereby he was to accomplish it was yet to be discovered.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Ribbons, Lace AND Notions

F
ive days, girls!” Mrs. Bennet exclaimed happily at breakfast. “The ball is in five days, and we have a great deal to do! Lydia, we must make over your blue gown with new ribbons and lace! You shall look so well in it then!”

“Five days!” Lydia groaned. “I must wait
 
five whole days
 
to dance with the officers? It will seem like a year, I am certain!”

“You can still
speak
with them, Lydia.” Kitty reassured her. “One but has to walk into Meryton to speak with the officers.”

Mr. Bennet looked over his glasses at Kitty. “I am certain that the officers are about more important errands than to speak with silly girls in the street, my dear.”

“Mr. Bennet, we must make the best of the militia’s being quartered so close while they are here.” Mrs. Bennet admonished him. “Besides, the girls must go to Meryton for the ribbons and lace for the ball. If the officers are standing about in the street, it would not do to snub them. It would not be civil.”

“Let them go then,” Mr. Bennet sighed, “but I beg you—spare me further talk of ribbons and lace, madam; spare me the lace. I would rather talk of your nerves than to speak of lace.”

“Mary.” Mrs. Bennet turned to her third eldest daughter curiously and sniffed. “You look very well today.”

Mary, who was unaccustomed to compliments about her appearance, colored and replied with a degree of discomfiture, “I have recently read a passage in Fordyce's Sermons, Mama, about the divine nature of our personages as temples. Care in our appearance, so long as it is modest and not excessive, cannot be censured, for indeed, the natural beauty of God's own creatures should not be inordinately suppressed.”

“Yes, yes, that is all very interesting, Mary.” Mrs. Bennet looked around the table at her other daughters. “Jane! What a glow there is upon your cheeks! I daresay Mr. Bingley can have no doubts that you are the most beautiful girl in the entire world! But, of course, he already knows this full well, for why else would he single you out for courtship if you were not so beautiful?”

Jane, although very accustomed to compliments about her appearance, also blushed. “Thank you, Mama.”

“Miss Lizzy.” Mrs. Bennet frowned at her second eldest. “Where
 
did
 
you find that dress? It does not look well on you at all. You look quite ill-favored and unfashionable today. You must change, if not for your own sake, you must consider the reputation of your sisters. And your hair, Lizzy! What have you done with your hair? That will not do at all!”

“My dress, Mama,” Elizabeth replied with a smile, “is most serviceable and will do very well about the house. My hair likewise will do fine. I have promised Mary that I will help her with her dancing this morning, and this arrangement is more fixed than my usual, so I may better apply myself to Mary's lesson.”

“What a fine idea!” Mrs. Bennet exclaimed excitedly with a clap of her hands. “You must
 
all
 
practice your dancing, for my girls must be the most elegant at the ball! You must all be admired for the fineness of your dancing, or I shall be greatly disappointed.”

Mr. Collins entered the dining room as this exchange was occurring and looking around the table, bowed slightly. “Am I to understand that the morning's activities at Longbourn are to include a dance rehearsal? If I may be of service to my fair cousins in practicing the steps, I am at your disposal, for I believe, and I know that Lady Catherine would support me in this, that an understanding of all of those social graces we are called upon to demonstrate in society are our duty to perform. My participation in your preparations for the ball would be an honor, indeed, for I am certain that it cannot fail to improve your performance as well as mine.”

“We cannot practice
 
too
 
long, Lizzy,” Lydia pouted. “We must have time to look at the shops; and do not forget that we are to go to Aunt Phillips’ again today. She has invited the officers, and they have accepted.
 
I would far rather play cards with them today than to dance with my sisters.”

“That is an evening engagement, Lydia.” Elizabeth reminded her sister. “There will be time enough for cards
 
and
 
dancing.” She then turned to their cousin and answered his offer. “Thank you, Mr. Collins. You are welcome to join us in our practice.”

After breakfast, the sisters, tailed by Mr. Collins, repaired to the sitting room, where they rearranged the furniture to make room to conduct their rehearsal. Lydia and Kitty were paired, and Elizabeth declared that she would play the music so that Mary could practice, with Jane as the instructor. Mr. Collins, after an ingratiating bow to Elizabeth at the piano, was paired with Mary, and they spent the next hour marking the steps and figures of the dance.

At the hour mark, they stopped for some refreshment, and both Jane and Elizabeth seized upon the opportunity to compliment Mr. Collins and Mary on what a fine couple they made in the dance and how well suited they were as partners. It was not, in fact, insincere, for while Mr. Collins was clumsy and forgetful of the steps, Mary was patient and forgiving of his errors. Their strides being rather well matched, the effect was not altogether dreadful, particularly after they had practiced the most difficult portions a few times.

The encouragement was well placed in Mr. Collins, for having a high opinion of himself, he took any compliment aimed at him as absolute. “I hope,” he cried enthusiastically, “that I may expect to dance with all of my fair cousins at the ball!”

Lydia, who was behind him, rolled her eyes in annoyance, but the only one of the Bennet sisters who replied to Mr. Collins was Mary. Mary only spoke after Elizabeth poked her side, but upon this prompt, she said, “Mr. Collins, it would be an honor to dance a set with you.” Then, as he was opening his mouth to respond with another stream of platitudes, Mary smiled at Mr. Collins. It was not a vague smile nor an insipid one. It was a smile filled with warmth and admiration and perhaps even a little bit of silliness. Such a smile had never been bestowed on the Reverend William Collins in the whole of his life. Had Mary spoken to him in Latin, he could have interpreted it, but her countenance in that moment was beyond comprehension to him. It struck him, though, and sufficiently so that he was momentarily discomposed and rendered into the unlikely state of speechlessness.

The group returned to their practice, and both Elizabeth and Jane, reflecting on the activity later, observed that Mr. Collins had settled in the second hour, into seeming quite content to practice with Mary, and somewhat improved in his general manner, having ceased for that period with the banal commentary to which they had become accustomed.

~*~

The daytime trip to Meryton was a fruitful one. The walk into town was much as it had been on the previous day, with the exception that Elizabeth and Jane were determined to keep Mary walking next to Mr. Collins while keeping themselves as distant as possible.

What ensued would have appeared to a casual onlooker to be as orchestrated as any dance, for there was a distinct rhythm to the changes in position, falling behind, moving forward and constant switching of places as they strolled into town. If Mr. Collins was frustrated by the chase, he did not reveal it, causing Elizabeth to muse on whether he was accustomed to walking partners who avoided him. The sisters were not required to offer much in conversation, but Elizabeth and Jane, when there was a break in Mr. Collins' speech, would interject and ask Mary's opinion on a matter related to the parson’s rambling, and she proved herself in this most admirably.