Page 1 of May I Have the Pleasure
Retroactive
“Mr Darcy, might I ask a favour.”
The words were not even halfway out of my mouth before I wished I could take them back. I thought these might be the seven worst words in history; despite the fact I immediately recognised the sentiment as utter hyperbolic nonsense. I considered turning purple with embarrassment but since I was just about to spend an evening at the Netherfield ball with the Bennet family, things were due to get far worse before they got better. I had a mother and three sisters who were almost guaranteed to mortify me as usual. Naturally, since it was the 26thof November, it being an even number, even my father might come in for his fair share of odd behaviour. All that was an ordinary part of life for a Bennet, but I did not expectmyselfto be the one to start the improprieties.What in the world was I thinking?
The Netherfield entry hall was crowded with our friends and neighbours. Everyone was trying to be somewhat circumspect in staring at the grand ballroom, with varying degrees of success. I had to sheepishly admit that, if you threw enough money at Miss Caroline Bingley, she could serve as a superior hostess (assuming I need not endure her presence, of course). The ballroom was exquisite and much more tasteful than I would have expected, based on her behaviour or how she dressed. Maybe she had more depth than I gave her credit for, although I have no idea how much pride she could take from exceeding such modest expectations.
I had abandoned my sisters while attempting to hide from both my mother and Mr Collins, when I encountered Mr Darcy in a quiet corner of the entry hall and made my shocking request. I faltered briefly, contemplating how to withdraw the words.
These thoughts flitted through my mind in but a moment which was entirely enough time for me to turn red from head to toe. I thought if I examined my dancing slippers, I wouldno doubt find my shoe roses changed as well. I had an embarrassing request to make and somehow, in my distress, I managed to mortify myself by askingthe last man in the world whom I could ever be prevailed on torequest a favour.
Eventually recovering, I tried to salvage what was left of my dignity.
“My apologies, sir. I spoke out of turn. Pray, forget I said anything. Enjoy the ball. I must give my compliments to the hostess.”
With that, I executed a reasonable, though somewhat hurried, curtsey and turned to walk away quickly, looking for Jane, Mary, Charlotte, or anyone who was not Mr Darcy. I thought even my mother would be an improvement over my current awkwardness.
I had only made it a few paces before the gentleman startled me by effortlessly catching up. I cursed the fact that men could practically run in their trousers without raising any eyebrows, while we ladies had to glide along like swans in our gowns and could not escape elegantly.
He replied with a surprising foray. “Miss Elizabeth, if there is a service you require, it would be my privilege to perform it.”
Worse and worse.
“Pray, think nothing of it, sir. I let my tongue run away from my head. I would consider it a boon if you forgot I said anything.”
The man looked at me in his odd staring way, which had the effect of vexing me instead of amusing as usual, but it did not seem the ideal time to lose my temper or make a scene. Not knowing what else to do, I curtseyed with a bit more elegance (or truth be told, less sloppiness) and turned to walk away again, but he surprised me by interrupting my progress yet again.
“Pray, wait a moment.”
I paused mid-stride and looked at him in surprise. It was the firmest fixture of my mind that he would be scowling atme in disapproval as usual but… well… he was not. He was… well… to tell the truth, I had no idea what he looked like. I expected he would soon change his expression to one more appropriate for dealing with a simpleton because that is certainly what I was acting like. He actually… looked… concerned perhaps?
When I coupled that expression with the gentleness of his voice, I had the strangest feeling that something was happening that I did not comprehend. I wondered how it was possible that I was surprised a man of his standing could show simple courtesy. He was acting in agentlemanlike mannerwhich was… unexpected. With a little bit of surprise at myself, I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt, despite the fact that revising first opinions had never been my strong suit.
While I was busy debating with myself about what to do, the gentleman surprised me yet again.
“Evidence suggests youare, in fact, in need of a favour, but you are reluctant to ask it of me. I would speculate that you find the request… embarrassing, perhaps? Maybe you think it a task of which I will disapprove, or perhaps you think I will find it beneath me?”
I had to admit that he was more perceptive than I gave him credit for. Being unable to really answer, I simply nodded while I stared at my shoes, only briefly glancing at his face which had a slightly different expression from any I had seen before.
“Would you be willing to enter into a small agreement?” he asked gently.
At this point, my surprise was complete and absolute, but my natural curiosity overruled my embarrassment (by a tiny margin). Ladies were not supposed to enter into agreements with gentlemen except in vary narrow and frankly ridiculous constraints, according to the myriad rules of propriety.
However, he seemed in earnest, and nobody was here to witness so I screwed up my courage to ask, “What sort of agreement?”
Once again to my surprise, he replied with the gentlest voice I had yet heard him use.
“Something like I have with my solicitor. We will sometimes have a confidential conversation. In the law, it is called attorney-client privilege. Anything said is strictly between the two parties and no judgement or censure may be rendered. If you tell me the favour you require, I will promise to never repeat what you say, nor make any whatsoever.”
I was probably looking at him very oddly because his face… well, it seemed tosoften. I was probably being overly fanciful, and maybe it was nothing other than the fact that he had made such an unusual offer; but at that moment, I was inclined to not dislike the man quite so much as usual. I had always assumed he would be a stickler for propriety and protocol, but here he was offering to step outside of all the normal bounds of public discourse, at probably some minor risk to his own sensibilities and reputation.
I like to think that I am somewhat cleverer than the average female, or even the average person in general, and my father likes to assert that I’m a bit less silly and ignorant than the rest of my sisters. I imagined I should be able to work my way through such a simple problem, given an hour or two to think; but I did not really have an hour or two, so I simply did what my instinct suggested.
“You are correct. I need a service, but is both embarrassing, and …”
I paused, trying to see if I was willing to say the next few words, but finally continued, “… and well outside the bounds of propriety.”
He gave me a little bit of a perplexed look, then much to my surprise, followed it with a bit of a lopsided grin. It was the first time I had ever seen any expression on his face other than his usual haughty mien, and it surprised me enough toactually smile back at him, which I imagine was probably the first time I had ever done so. For some reason, a very minor bout of silliness seemed to encompass both of us, because we simultaneously softened both expressions to where we could almost be thought to be smiling at each other.
