Page 4 of Transforming Mr. Darcy
One thing Elizabeth did not mind sharing was secrets—as long as it was with Jane. Not long after the assembly, Elizabeth cornered her eldest sister to discover what she thought about Mr. Bingley. As she had surmised, Jane was very well pleased with him.
“He is just what a young man ought to be,” Jane effused, continuing to list his myriad good qualities—sensible, good-humoured, lively, and though Jane did not say as much, Elizabeth understood that he was kind. A man who was not would never draw Jane’s approbation in such a way. Elizabeth listened cheerfully. She was happy Jane had found a man who pleased her—it was not so easy a thing, not even for Jane. Of course, Jane had Priscilla, but Jane’s fairy godmother had not been in evidence since the assembly. Would that the same could be said for Mildread.
“Jane,” she said slowly, “do you think Priscilla brought Mr. Bingley here to you?”
“Perhaps,” was the response. “She does not speak to me often about her magic. I know what you do—that the fairies bring together couples they believe are well suited, but that we are all allowed our own choice, in the end. Why do you ask?”
Elizabeth shook her head. “No particular reason. Only that we know so little of Mr. Bingley. He rides a black horse, wears a blue coat, and is charming enough in company.”
Jane’s brows pinched together. “But?”
“Should we not also judge a man by the friends with whom he elects to spend his time?”
“Do you believe Mr. Darcy to be so very bad, Lizzy?” Jane did not sound convinced.
“I cannot say,” Elizabeth replied and shook her head at Jane’s silent reprimand. “I am simply not sure, Jane. He was not at ease at the assembly, that much is certain. However, he was abominably rude to nearly everyone in attendance even before he slighted me, and each time he opens his mouth, I must make the most inane conversation to prevent him from invoking Mildread’s further displeasure. Turnips, Jane. I have resorted to discussing turnips.”
Jane laughed softly. “Every lady from a landed family must be able to discuss turnips, Lizzy. You have only proven how accomplished you are.”
Elizabeth smiled and shook her head. She had not really had a moment to turn her mind to Mr. Bingley. She had been kept busy at first by preventing Mildread from turning the boorish Mr. Darcy into a frog, although a rat, a snake, and a mermaid had also been mentioned. Given that the ocean was too far away, Mildread had discarded the last rather quickly. The rest of the week Elizabeth had simply attempted to stay out of the way, butMildread now appeared to have forgotten, if not forgiven, Mr. Darcy’s insult of her best work.
“Well,” Jane replied with a smile, “we are all entitled to a poor showing from time to time. Do you not recall your slight of poor Martin Goulding?”
Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “I was sixteen! Mr. Darcy is a man full grown. And in my case, it was an accident!” She had not even considered it a slight, but Jane had made her see that it could certainly be taken as one.
“An accident on your part for having spoken the words, or only because he was close enough to hear them?” Jane pressed.
“Very well,” Elizabeth replied with a shrug and a knowing smile. “I shall reserve judgment on Mr. Darcy until we see him again.”
“And perhaps allow him to speak freely, should he choose to do so?” her sister asked.
“Very well,” Elizabeth acquiesced reluctantly.
“That is all I ask,” Jane replied calmly as she picked up her sewing.
Darcy followedin Miss Elizabeth Bennet’s wake from the moment she arrived at Lucas Lodge, attending to her conversations from a distance so as to hear without being required to participate. He had no desire to be talked to death. When she turned to shake her head at him and offer a bemused smile, he involuntarily smiled back but did not approach. He merely listened.
The woman was quite different when she spoke with other people. In her conversation this evening, she demonstrated intellect, insight, and a keen wit. Miss Bingley was not deficient in wit, but her words were often cutting. Miss Elizabeth’s teasing was turned upon herself as much as any other, and her jests exuded warmth and affection.
He had been wrong. The way she spoke with him was not due to any desire for a closer acquaintance, nor had she been awed by him. It was clear now that she had been trying to put him off.
The shock of it almost overpowered him. He had been wrong. But he was never wrong.
ThisMiss Elizabeth was delightful. Prettier than he had allowed at the assembly. More than pretty, despite the imperfections he had so coldly noted at their first meeting.Well spoken. Clever. Not that her mother was any less vulgar or her youngest sisters any less improper, but she and her eldest sister were both elegant and well mannered. How had he been so entirely mistaken? He could only blame his illness. He had notfeltill, but it was the only explanation.
He reproved himself. It was a coward who took refuge in excuses. He was a gentleman, and he would admit, to himself at least, that he had been in a foul mood at the assembly and his judgment of Miss Elizabeth had been in error. He could not doubt his eyes, but he could doubt his interpretation, given the evidence now before him. It was the gentlemanly thing to admit he had been mistaken.
A feminine voice interrupted his self-congratulation. “I presume you have followed our conversation so intently because you also wish the colonel to throw a ball while the militia is quartered in Meryton, Mr. Darcy?”
Darcy’s thoughts shifted to his young sister Georgiana and how she loved balls. She was too young to have attended one, of course, but she had watched the guests arrive at their uncle’s home in town more than once. Their eldest cousin had wed last spring and for days she had spoken of little more than the ball in the bride’s honour. The memory made his mouth tug up on one side.
“I would not have taken you for a dancing man,” Colonel Forster said, a hint of laughter in his voice.
“I am not,” Darcy replied stiffly. He danced rather well; his aunt the countess had seen to that. He enjoyed the exercise for what it was, but his partners generally had other motives. He had been away from society for two seasons as he both mourned his father and learned to shoulder the burden of his early inheritance. During the following three, he had been required to dance with an endless parade of women who did not understand that being Mrs. Darcy meant assisting him with those responsibilities. He was not interested in a woman who desired little more than to be an ornament on his arm. Heexpectedto wed for money and connections, but herequireda woman with intellect, compassion, a genuine sort of charm, and . . . he blinked at Miss Elizabeth.
He took a breath. “A ball makes all ladies energetic. My younger sister . . .” he began, but he did not continue. Could not continue. He swallowed. It was the strangest thing.
Miss Elizabeth grimaced, and both she and the colonel were staring at him, waiting for him to complete his statement. Miss Lucas came to join them, glancing between Miss Elizabeth and Colonel Forster before turning her gaze to him. Darcy had wanted to explain Georgiana’s love of music and dancing, but nothing came out. After briefly but effectivelyspearing him on the end of a pert, quizzical gaze, Miss Elizabeth resumed ignoring him and instead addressed Miss Lucas and then the colonel, some humorous nonsense about protecting the citizens of Meryton from the French. The colonel laughed, and Darcy was left to himself.
