One Thread Pulled: The Dance With Mr. Darcy (37 page)

“Poor Mr. Collins indeed!” Jane cried. “After Lady Catherine's departure from the sitting room, he made haste to quit the room himself, and broke Mama's blue porcelain vase when he ran into the table!”

“The blue vase? Oh, Jane!” Elizabeth sat down shaking her head. “No wonder Mama took to her room!”

“There is more.” Jane said. “Mr. Collins attempted to pick up the pieces of the vase, but he was shaking and trembling most fiercely, and a particular shard had an edge like a blade. His hand was cut deeply, and his bleeding was profuse.
 
That
 
is when Mama took to her room!”

“What then?” Elizabeth asked with mounting distress.

“I assisted Mama to her room, for we thought that she would swoon! Hill, I think, took up the pieces of broken vase and cleaned the blood from the floor. Mary stayed with Mr. Collins to bind his wound.” Jane replied. “I do not know what has become of Kitty and Lydia; they have made themselves scarce since Lady Catherine took Mr. Bingley and the colonel away.”

“What you have endured Jane!” Elizabeth comforted her sister. “I am sorry I was not here to help you bear it.”

“I shall bear it well, Lizzy, for Mr. Bingley has promised that he will return today.” Jane blushed. “I find I can bear almost anything with such a prospect before me.”

~*~

Mr. Darcy entered Netherfield through the smaller entryway nearest the stables. It was in the stables that he learned that Mr. Bingley, his cousin, and Lady Catherine were all assembled in the house. He did not doubt that they were waiting upon him, and he felt the weight of it.

He took the rear stairway two steps at a time to the upper floors, where he went directly to his bedchamber. It was not that he wished to avoid the encounter so much as to postpone it by a few moments. His pleasant conversation with Elizabeth still stirred in his heart, and he laid the feather he had plucked from her hand on the dressing table, fingering it slightly with a smile as he replayed the scene in his mind.

“Speak to me of follies and
 
foibles,”
she had said to him, and his only thought was that she, Elizabeth Bennet was his greatest weakness, and he was too deeply in love with her to think himself ridiculous for it. Then he laughed aloud from sheer joy, for although she had rebuked him for a breach in propriety in seeking her out alone, she had not run away from him this time, and to his great relief, she had accepted the handkerchief without reproach. Her gentle teasing had delighted him, and the feather was a trophy he would not part from easily. It represented so much to him, for it would remind him of the babe in her arms and the other sweet child who had offered it as a gift for her kindness. To witness Elizabeth tending to the needs her father's tenants put him in mind of his own tenants, who had not been blessed at the hand of a gentle mistress since his mother's passing.

He picked up the feather again, and twirled it between his fingers, his thoughts turning to the promised dance he would claim with her one night hence. When he had originally extracted the promise of a dance from her, he had considered it a victory in their verbal duel. When he had reminded her of it the next day, he had thought it the only pleasure he would take in Charles' ball at Netherfield. Now, he was nearly giddy with anticipation of taking her to the floor. He envisioned her as his graceful partner, their eyes upon each other as their movements matched in time and step with the music. Their hands, he knew, would clasp and release throughout the intricate series, and she would be close enough that her intoxicating fragrance would swirl delicately in the air around him. Darcy's heart beat a little faster; his breath came a little heavier merely imagining the thrill it would be.

He dallied with the thought of daring a second set. He did not care who noticed that he singled her out, for in truth; she was to him, the only woman of any interest who would be in attendance, and when they were not dancing, he hoped to follow Bingley's example and spend as much time as possible in conversation with the woman he hoped to win.

A knock at the door interrupted his reverie, and his valet advised him that his presence was awaited in the drawing room. He allowed the valet to retie his cravat, and went down to join the party assembled in the drawing room.

Upon entrance into that room, he took in the scene before him, assessing the situation with his usual care. His aunt, although a guest, seemed in command of the whole room. She was seated in an armchair, sitting stiffly upright, with Anne and Mrs. Jenkinson seated on a settee beside her. Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst were seated together on a sofa, and Charles was seated alone on another. Colonel Fitzwilliam was standing by the fireplace, one leg crossing the other as he casually leaned against the mantle, holding a drink in his free hand. Mr. Hurst was inebriated and sitting at a table, nursing his cup.

Darcy greeted the party with politeness and seated himself next to Bingley.

“Nephew,” Lady Catherine intoned, “it is a great relief to have finally found you. Much has happened since you left me in London this week past.”

Darcy looked at her placidly. “All is well?”

“Not as well as should be.” Lady Catherine replied coldly. “As you will recall, I had expected to formally announce your engagement to Anne while we were in town.”

“I recall that you had expressed the wish, Aunt.” Darcy answered, “But it is a wish that neither Anne nor I share. I told you this when I last saw you.” Glancing around the room, it was evident that the only person enjoying the conversation was Colonel Fitzwilliam, who raised his glass in a silent toast, although Miss Bingley was excessively attentive. “This matter can be of no concern to others.” Darcy said abruptly, “For what purpose are you in Hertfordshire, Aunt Catherine?”

“What cold greeting is this?” Lady Catherine appeared affronted. “I am here on an urgent matter related to your interests. You are in dire need of counsel, and I, as almost your nearest relation, I am here to provide it.”

“Counsel?” Darcy's face was as stone.

“Why yes. Did Richard not tell you? I spoke with him in London but a few days ago.” She glared at Colonel Fitzwilliam across the room and addressed him briefly. “What game are you playing at? I will not be treated in this manner!”

“Of course, Richard told me he saw you.” Darcy replied. “But why have you come
here
? I am in need of no counsel I assure you. You must have been misinformed.”

“Are you not contemplating engagement to another?” Lady Catherine raised an eyebrow threateningly. “I had heard reports in London that you are often seen in company with that lady there.” She nodded toward Caroline Bingley.

Darcy stood and approached his aunt. “This is the urgent counsel? To press me on the nature of my acquaintance with Miss Bingley? Aunt Catherine, you have gone to great trouble for nothing.”

Lady Catherine looked at Caroline, whose cheeks had turned bright red. “She does not think it is nothing.”

“You have my assurance that your concerns regarding Miss Bingley are unfounded. Is there something else I may assist you with? What do you require?” Darcy asked with a hint of impatience, for he was ready to dispatch his aunt's party back to London.

“It is unfortunate that you were not so cooperative when last I saw you, but I am known throughout Kent for making the most of an unfortunate situation. One must do so to be content. It would pay you to heed my advice in this.” Lady Catherine blinked her eyes several times, and continued in an imperious tone. “I am fatigued. Please show me to my bedchamber now if you please, to rest before dinner. Anne will do the same.”

“What?” asked Mr. Darcy incredulously.

Lady Catherine haughtily replied. “Do not be daft nephew. Your host, Mr. Bingley, has graciously extended an invitation to remain at Netherfield, both as recuperation from our journey, and to enjoy the music and society of the ball to be held on the morrow. You shall dance the first with Anne, of course, before she has tired.”

“It is true. They are to stay.” Caroline nodded to Darcy as she dispatched a footman to summon the housekeeper, and then addressed the three ladies from Kent. “Your trunks have been delivered to your rooms, Lady Catherine. Mrs. Nicholls will escort you. We dine at six.”

“Very fashionable,” Lady Catherine muttered as she rose to follow the housekeeper.

Little was said until the newly arrived guests had left the room. Once their footsteps had faded in the distance, a commotion ensued.

“How did this happen?” Darcy turned to Bingley. “This should not be!”

“I do not recall.” Bingley replied apologetically. “It all happened so fast. One moment we were making introductions and the very next, she was invited to stay for the ball.”

“How did she know there was to be a ball?” Darcy's usual success at suppressing his emotions was in peril.

“The ball is not a secret, Mr. Darcy.” Caroline admonished. “Our preparations are too obvious to be mistaken. Having ladies of such distinction at the ball will lend an air of elegance, especially alongside Colonel Fitzwilliam and you, Mr. Darcy. Do you not think so, Louisa?”

“Why yes, although it cannot be compared to an affair in London.” Louisa smiled in agreement, and her husband roused for a moment, raised his glass and muttered “elegance” before he laid his head back on the table.

Darcy looked at Caroline as though she had gone mad. “Do you know what you have done?”

“Of course I do, Mr. Darcy. I have made your relations welcome in this house. Would you have it otherwise?” Caroline challenged.

“Of course not.” Darcy replied with a frown that implied he would.

“Your aunt arrived with her mind set against me, Mr. Darcy.” Caroline continued, “I will do all within my power to change her opinion, and make myself acceptable to her.”

Darcy moved to the window, staring out of it, unspeaking for a long time. The others talked among themselves, but eventually, Darcy felt the presence of his cousin at his side.

“We had promised to return to Longbourn this evening, for tea after dinner.” Colonel Fitzwilliam opened the conversation, his voice too low to be overheard. “I fear that our plans for tonight have been foiled. Lady Catherine will expect us to remain and entertain her.”

Darcy nodded. “You do realize that Miss Bingley knew what she was about, I am sure. She is not oblivious to my interest in Elizabeth Bennet, and she will find a way to turn our aunt's suspicions away from herself and toward Miss Bennet. It was observable in her countenance.”

“Caroline Bingley could be a good sort of woman, if someone would but tame her.” Fitzwilliam chuckled. “If her fortune were fifty thousand instead of twenty, I would call myself Petruchio and tame her myself. It would be amusing to try, although there is something off about her that makes me think such an attempt would not be without its peril.”

Darcy laughed softly. “One day, Fitz, you will strike an idea that has merit. Apparently, today is not that day.”

“How is this for an idea? I will ride to Longbourn to personally express our regrets, and be back in time for dinner.” Fitzwilliam suggested.

“Good idea, wrong rider!” Darcy replied somewhat forlornly. “We must send Bingley. Mrs. Bennet will forgive him, and the explanation coming from him will be more acceptable since he is formally courting Miss Bennet.”

The colonel nodded and within minutes, Mr. Bingley was on his way to Longbourn. It was with a longing, heavy heart that Darcy watched him go.

His only consolation was that tomorrow was the ball. Darcy determined to take his aunt's advice. It was an unfortunate situation that his aunt was to be at the ball, but he would find a way to make the most of it.

Chapter Thirty-Three

The Netherfield Ball Part One

D
awn was a gray, dismal affair the morning of the ball. Dark clouds hung low, obscuring the sun, and the air was heavy, despite occasional gusts of wind that signaled the approach of a storm. Elizabeth rose with the faded light, despite her promise to rest. A distant thunderclap had delivered her from slumber, the sound calling to her as if by name. The panes of her windows rattled against the wind, and she wrapped a blanket tightly around her shoulders when she stood to look out upon the bleak beginning of the day.