Mr. Darcy Came to Dinner (2 page)

The whole party was still standing and talking together very agreeably when the sound of horses drew their notice, and Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley were seen riding down the street. On distinguishing the ladies of the group, the two gentlemen came directly towards them and began the usual civilities. Mr. Bingley was the principal spokesman.

“Miss Bennet!” cried he from horseback. “We were just on our way to Longbourn to inquire after you. Were we not, Darcy?” he said as he reluctantly tore his eyes from the lady.

Mr. Darcy corroborated the truth of Bingley’s account with a bow and had just fixed his eyes on Elizabeth when he was suddenly distracted by the sight of the stranger. Both changed color; one looked white, the other red. Mr. Wickham, after a few moments, touched his hat — a salutation that Mr. Darcy barely deigned to return.

Elizabeth happened to see the reaction of both as they looked at each other and was all astonishment at the effect of the meeting. What could be the meaning of it? It was impossible to imagine; it was impossible not to long to know.

Jane seemed not to notice anything remarkable about the meeting. “We are just collecting a few items for our mother. She is so looking forward to our dinner tonight. May I introduce you to our cousin? This gentleman is Mr. Collins from Hunsford.”

Mr. Darcy tore his furious gaze from a slightly quaking Mr. Wickham. “Hunsford, did you say?” he enquired more pointed than polite.

“Indeed,” injected the clergyman. “I have the very good fortune to have earned the Hunsford living thanks to the condescension of my very great patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh of Rosings Park.” The tall, fat man bowed deeply. A chuckle could be heard from Mr. Wickham.

“I say, Darcy,” said Mr. Bingley, “that is your aunt, is it not?”

Mr. Darcy acknowledged it was so, an intelligence that sent Mr. Collins into raptures.

“Of course! Mr. Darcy — the nephew of the esteemed Lady Catherine de Bourgh!” The gentleman took off his hat, placed his free hand over his heart, and executed a full bow from the waist. “What an honor for me! Forgive me not knowing you on sight. Such a noble visage can only belong to the family Fitzwilliam. You see, Lady Catherine has kindly acquainted me with her splendid heritage. I can assure you, sir, of Lady Catherine’s good health and that of Miss Anne de Bourgh, too. Your intended is surely the finest flower in Kent — nay, all England! It will be a great day in Hunsford when you take her away from us.”

Elizabeth was surprised to hear that Mr. Darcy was an engaged man. No one in Hertfordshire had any notion of it, and for some reason, the information troubled her.

For his part, Mr. Darcy’s crimson countenance did not fade, but his chin rose and his eyes narrowed. “
Who
did you say you were, sir?” he demanded, his voice as cold as a strong winter’s breeze.

The vacuous vicar smiled. “William Collins at your service, your lordship.”

“I have no title. Keep your aggrandizements to yourself.” Mr. Darcy’s teeth hardly moved as he hissed, “By what right do you bandy about my family’s business?”

Mr. Collins did not take offence. “Lady Catherine does confide in me, my good sir. I might be looked upon as her most important counselor.”

“But you are not mine!” Mr. Darcy snapped. “You would do well to remember that and that you are in Hertfordshire, not Kent. Come, Bingley!”

Mr. Bingley had witnessed the entire exchange, as had many in Meryton. He blushed and nodded from his saddle to Jane. “Miss Bennet, ladies, gentlemen — until this evening.” In another minute, Mr. Bingley rode on with his friend.

Mr. Denny and Mr. Wickham walked with the young ladies to the door of Mr. Philips’s house and then made their bows in spite of Miss Lydia’s pressing entreaties that they would come in and even despite Mrs. Philips’s throwing open the parlor window and loudly seconding the invitation.

Mrs. Philips was always glad to see her nieces. The two eldest were particularly welcome, and she was eagerly expressing her pleasure for their company when her civility was claimed towards Mr. Collins by Jane’s introduction of him. She received him with her very best politeness, which he returned with much more, apologizing for his intrusion without any previous acquaintance with her.

Mrs. Philips was quite awed by such an excess of good breeding, but her contemplation of one stranger was soon put to an end by exclamations and inquiries about another, of whom, however, she could only tell her nieces what they already knew. Mr. Denny had brought Mr. Wickham from London, and he was to have a lieutenant’s commission in the ——shire. She had been watching him the last hour, she said, as he walked up and down the street.

Lydia and Kitty thought that an excellent occupation and were soon at their chosen station, but unluckily for them, no one passed the window now except a few of the officers, who, in comparison with Mr. Wickham, were proclaimed “stupid, disagreeable fellows.”

This judgment did not sway the girls once they learned of a party to be hosted the next day by Mr. and Mrs. Philips for those officers or from demanding that their aunt invite her nieces too. This was agreed to, and Mrs. Philips added that they would have a nice comfortable noisy game of lottery tickets and a little bit of hot supper afterwards. The prospect of such delights was very cheering, and they parted in mutual good spirits.

As they walked home, Elizabeth related to Jane what she had seen pass between the two gentlemen. Elizabeth could not make any sense of the altercation, and though Jane would have defended either or both had they appeared to be wrong, she could no more explain such behavior than her sister.

Interspersed in Elizabeth’s new sentiments about the gentleman was an unsettling feeling of disappointment. She knew no earthly reason why she should have such a feeling, but she could not rid herself of it. She made a silent vow to learn more on the morrow about the mysterious Mr. Darcy from the agreeable Mr. Wickham.

* * *

Fitzwilliam Darcy was not having a good day, and he left Netherfield early for the dinner appointment at Longbourn in a dark mood. He knew his demeanor was too cross for company, and the intensive simpering offered by Miss Bingley only made things worse. He needed to follow his usual practice of riding his troubles away on the back of a favored horse. Unfortunately, all his mounts were in London or Pemberley, and Bingley had neglected to bring more than one. Darcy had to make do with a rented beast from Meryton.

Since coming to Hertfordshire as guest and advisor to his great friend, Mr. Bingley, Darcy found he had to deal with a pair of consternations — one expected and one not. Mr. Bingley’s sister, Caroline, had long labored to attach herself to the master of Pemberley. Darcy could be a one-legged midget with a humpback, and still Miss Bingley would shower the man with compliments and flirtations. She had her cap set on Pemberley and what the estate would bring to her — full acceptance by the First Circles — but Darcy was clever and had successfully kept her at arms’ length for some years. This visit would be no different.

What
was
different was Elizabeth Bennet. Darcy could not for the life of him determine what the girl was about. Since setting eyes on her at a crowded and rowdy assembly — just the sort of gathering that always set his teeth on edge — he could not get the impertinent girl out of his head. Miss Elizabeth seemed lovelier each time they met, and it almost ignited a suspicion that the lady was primping herself for his benefit, but that conjecture was dismissed by any knowledge of her character.

Did she not walk three miles in mud just to visit an ill sister? Was not her complexion the healthy glow earned by long walks in the countryside, not the smooth ivory favored by young ladies of fashion? Did she not read the works of Aristotle and poetry by Wordsworth, rather than the dreadful novels found in the sitting rooms in Town? Did Miss Elizabeth not tease and challenge him at every turn, rather than sit and simper and make tiresome conversation in the manner of Miss Bingley?

Darcy had tried to keep his distance. It would not do to raise expectations. As lovely and interesting as Miss Elizabeth was, she was not of his circle. He was expected to do right by his Darcy and Fitzwilliam heritage and bring honor and money into the family by his marriage. It was what he was raised to do. Surely he could find an agreeable companion of his future life amongst the denizens of the
ton
as his father had before him. Somewhere in England was a woman of beauty, breeding, benevolence, and fortune who could carry on an intelligent conversation. It was a mighty challenge, but Darcy was not discouraged.
Fortune Favors the Bold
was the family motto.

His dilemma was that this standard was met in almost every particular by Miss Elizabeth. If only she were the secret child of a viscount!

Instead, the object of his admiration was the second of five daughters born to a modest, country gentleman and the ill-tempered, silly daughter of a tradesman. Miss Elizabeth’s condition in life was bad enough, but the behavior of her siblings, parents, and relations was intolerable. They were either bookish snobs who apparently lacked the wit to comprehend what they were reading, vainglorious gossips who forever disparaged their neighbors without tending to their own faults, or empty-headed fools. How did two superior ladies — Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth — emerge from this unfortunate situation?

Perhaps they were foundlings from a dead baron? If only Darcy and Bingley could be so lucky!

Bingley’s recent preference was another problem. If Miss Elizabeth was unsuitable for him, Miss Bennet was almost as unpalatable for his friend. Bingley was trying to establish himself as a gentleman. For all of Jane Bennet’s loveliness, she could do nothing for Bingley in that matter.

True, Bingley’s quest for acceptance by the
ton
was half-hearted at best. Darcy knew his friend would be happy living as an obscure, country squire but only if he was happy in his marriage. Bingley was a generous, cheerful, and trusting man, just the sort to attach himself to a pretty face that hid a cold heart. If Miss Bennet was genuine in her admiration of Bingley, Darcy would raise no complaint, save to make sure Bingley knew what he was about. He had seen his friend in love before. Miss Bennet was an enigma, however. She accepted Bingley’s attentions with pleasure, but Darcy could see no special regard in her interactions with him. Would Darcy have to save his friend
again
?

Tonight Darcy was to suffer the company of Miss Elizabeth and her family. To bear the pain of intercourse with the foolish Bennets while trying to withstand the allure of Miss Elizabeth’s charms and attempting to digest what was sure to be an unappetizing meal was certain to be shear torture. Mr. Collins’s attendance would surely only add to his misery. Darcy expected his rebuke was sufficient and that the fool would not again mention Lady Catherine’s fantasy of an engagement, but Darcy was certain that there was no end to the parson’s insipid conversation; Darcy’s aunt would have no other type of man as her vicar. Furthermore, there would be no escape once the Netherfield party returned home. Miss Bingley was certain to rail incessantly about the unsuitability of the Bennets.

If things were not bad enough, Wickham was in town!
What is that reprobate doing here?
Was Wickham following him? Oh, Darcy knew he should have listened to his cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam and let Georgiana’s other guardian deal with his sister’s erstwhile suitor. If he had, Wickham would have been fortunate to survive, but he would have to deal with being so disfigured that cows would scream at his approach.

A headache was to be his reward that night; he was sure of it. He would tell his valet, Bartholomew, to prepare some white willow bark for a nightcap.

His musings were broken by the realization that it was growing dark. Blast! He had ridden too long. He needed to hurry to Longbourn, or he would be behind his time. He was justifiably proud of his attention to promptness; it would not do to be late.

Darcy looked about, got his bearings, and spurred the hired horse towards Longbourn.

* * *

Elizabeth walked out of the garden of her home, her cat, Cassandra, in her arms, and wondered whether wishing her mother ill was a sign that she was a bad daughter.

Normally, Mrs. Bennet would be nervous about a dinner party. For all of her defects, the mistress of Longbourn was celebrated as a gracious hostess. It was a reputation difficult to achieve and one she was jealous to maintain, particularly as Mr. Bingley was to come to dine. Therefore, Mrs. Bennet’s efforts and exclamations of calamity were redoubled, for Mr. Collins was to be impressed, as well. According to Elizabeth’s mother, this dinner might mean the difference between having two daughters comfortably married and starving in the hedgerows.

Elizabeth sought quiet and received permission from a relieved Mrs. Bennet to step outside. Her mother would not have been as happy to know her daughter had retrieved her pet. The ginger-colored cat was tolerated because the girls loved her, and Mr. Bennet loved peace — peace that would be broken by the wails of the girls should the furry beast be sent away. Cassandra was an agreeable creature, at least for the girls, Mr. Bennet knew, and Elizabeth was his favorite daughter. So Mrs. Bennet’s protests fell on unhearing ears, and Cassandra was firmly established at Longbourn.