Of all the unpleasant evenings Darcy had ever experienced, and they were many, this one took pride of place somewhere near the top of the list. It had not started with the evening, of course. That was just a continuation of a very unpleasant day.
It actually started with Caroline Bingley. He was still not certain how she had maneuvered him into allowing her and the Hursts to ride with him to Netherfield. Bingley's cheerful acceptance of her plan and unwillingness to understand Darcy's hints that it had not been his idea and was not acceptable were contributing factors. Miss Bingley relied on Darcy's politeness to get her way. Even if he had to be extremely impolite going forward, he wanted to be certain she did not manage to maneuver him into anything else – like matrimony.
Darcy liked to leave early when taking trips. That way, if there was trouble on the journey, he could handle it without being rushed. He had asked Miss Bingley to respect that, but her idea of leaving early seemed to be sometime just before dinner. It took some discourtesy, but he had finally managed to get her moving in time to arrive at Netherfield Park before dark. It was a close thing, however. He truly wished he had decided to ride ahead and leave the carriage to her. Then he would not have had to listen to her whine, complain, discuss the gown she had picked up the day before from the modiste ad nauseam and otherwise gossip with her sister for the entirety of the journey.
No sooner had he exited the carriage, hoping for a stiff drink and a quiet night in his room, than he learned that Bingley had committed their entire party to attend some social gathering that very evening. When he protested, Miss Bingley offered to stay behind with him and her brother seemed likely to agree. That, of course, was also entirely unacceptable, so Darcy felt forced to quickly dress for the occasion before getting back into a carriage with Miss Bingley and her never-ending chatter.
When Darcy arrived at the assembly hall, he was in a foul mood. His ill-temper was not improved in the least by being dragged around the room and introduced left and right to anyone who chanced by. Then Sir William Lucas, fiend from the darkness that he was, tried several times to push Darcy into inviting women to dance despite repeated protests that Darcy had absolutely no interest in dancing. He knew it was rude, but he finally just had to turn and walk away. Courtesy be d**ned!
He had hoped to stay away from any more such suggestions but right in the middle of a set, Bingley had attacked him and persistently tried to cajole him into dancing as well. His friend seemed incapable of understanding the very concept that not everyone enjoyed dancing or spending time in large groups of people. If the noise and atmosphere there were not even worse, Darcy would have followed Hurst off to hide in the card room. Instead, after sending Bingley off, Darcy leaned his head back against the pillar by which he stood, closed his eyes and wished the pounding ache would somehow dissipate.
Suddenly, he felt a light touch on his arm, just before he caught the scent of a floral fragrance and heard the slight whisper of fabric moving. He opened his eyes to see a lovely young woman with thick golden-brown hair, put up in a simple but elegant style, and very expressive hazel eyes which were looking at him him with concern. When she realized she had caught his attention, she held out a small triangular folded paper packet. He stood up straight and looked at her questioningly.
"Headache powder," she said softly in a very kind voice. "Pour it into a little bit of wine and drink it down quickly. It is mostly willow bark, so it will be very bitter. It will not dull the sound of the music and dancers, but it may dull the hammering in your head."
Darcy stared at her, not certain what to think. How had she known? His confusion must have shown on his face.
"I was sitting just behind you during your conversation with Mr. Bingley. While I did not intend to eavesdrop, I could not help hearing. You truly look like your head aches terribly. I carry a couple of these in my reticule for just such a situation. Do not worry. I want nothing from you. I just thought it might help."
Darcy continued to examine her. She looked absolutely sincere when she said she did not want anything from him. That was such a rare occurrence he had no idea what to do with the thought. She simply waited with the paper packet held out to him. Still confused, he reached forward and took it from her.
"Who...who are you?" he asked tentatively. This woman had not been among the myriad of introductions earlier, he was sure of that. He would have remembered those eyes.
The young woman smiled brightly at him. "I am the sister that Mr. Bingley wanted his dance partner to introduce you to. It would not have served his purpose, however, as I am also not inclined to dance tonight. My name is Elizabeth Bennet," she finished with an elegant curtsy.
"Fitzwilliam Darcy," he replied, bowing absently and out of habit more than anything else. He looked at the packet held between his forefinger and thumb. "Mix it into wine, you say?"
"Only as much wine as you can drink in a single gulp. You will want to gulp it down. As I said, it is very bitter."
"But it will help?"
"To some extent. It will help even more if you can get away from some of the noise and heat of these rooms. Do you see that potted plant next to the window in that far alcove?" she asked, gesturing with her head in the direction she wanted him to look.
"Yes, I see it," he said after a moment's examination in that direction. He turned back to look at her. She was much prettier and more interesting than any potted plant.
"There is a chair stationed just behind that plant in a spot where you get a slight cool draft from the window. It is a little quieter than standing here next to the dance floor. If you edge your way into it, no one is likely to spot you for some time. I have taken advantage of that chair more than once myself."
"Thank you, Miss Bennet," He heard more surprise than gratitude in his own voice but it accurately reflected his feelings. He bowed again, to be met with another curtsy before she turned and walked away. Enclosing the packet in his hand, he went off to get a small glass of wine.
The mixture did not immediately dissolve in the wine, another reason to put it in a partially full glass, he supposed. By gently swirling the glass, he was able to get the powder mixed until it seemed suspended throughout the wine. Following her instructions, he drank it all in a quick gulp.
Miss Bennet had not exaggerated. It was extremely bitter and almost caused him to gag. He had the servant add a little more wine to the glass and drank that down to take away some of the taste.
Darcy handed off the empty glass and then slowly began to work his way around to the chair behind the potted plant. When he got there, he was glad to see the chair was empty. After a last brief glance around to assure himself no one had noticed, he sat down. As promised, the plant seemed to protect him from some of the noise and the spot felt a little darker than the area around the dance floor. The little hint of a cool breeze wafting from behind the curtains of the nearby window felt most refreshing. He closed his eyes. Slowly, the ache in his head eased and Darcy's breathing seemed to ease as well. He took slower, fuller breaths and felt relaxed for the first time that day.
From his little oasis of calm, Darcy heard the music of the fifth set finish out and, eventually, the sixth set began. He was still not in a place he wanted to be for that evening but thanks to the kindness of Miss Elizabeth Bennet, he was not as miserable as he had been before.
The sound of Bingley's name mentioned in conversation roused him from his thoughts. His eyes popped open and through the leaves of the plant, he recognized one of the more persistent women into whose vicinity he had been dragged that evening. Something about her voice and attitude had reminded him strongly of Caroline Bingley. He knew by instinct this woman was to be avoided. Now, she and another woman had stationed themselves almost directly in front of his location and he had no way to escape unseen.
The conversation between the women continued. "...and he danced the last with Jane. Sir William introduced them, and nearly everyone else in the room, long before he came around to me. Elizabeth put Sir William up to it, I am certain. That girl does vex me so. If I could only be rid of those two, I am sure life would be much easier."
Darcy suddenly remembered the unpleasant woman had been introduced as Mrs. Bennet. Was this spiteful creature Miss Elizabeth's mother?
"Of course, it would, sister," the other woman said soothingly. "but look, Mr. Bingley is dancing with Mary now."
"Oh, Mary!" Mrs. Bennet said in frustration. "She is an obedient girl but she has never learned to present herself well. She is simply too quiet and modest. Jane's influence, I suppose, curse the girl."
"What about Mr. Darcy? He would be an excellent catch."
"Mr. Darcy? You saw yourself how he slighted my Lydia. He would not even bow to her and then, he simply turned and walked off without a word while I was suggesting he ask her for a dance."
"Ah, yes, that was most unpleasant of him. Perhaps Lydia can entice him or Mr. Bingley the next time they are in company. Although, there are four sets left..." she trailed off suggestively.
"That is true, sister. And Lydia is dancing near Mr. Bingley and Mary now. Come, there is just time to catch her in the interval and suggest she do her best to draw Mr. Bingley's attention, assuming he has not been put to sleep by a dance with Mary. I swear, that girl is just like her late father."
The two women bustled off. Darcy felt he could breathe easily again. What a relief it was to see them go.
Being the subject of plots formulated by match-hungry mothers was nothing new to Darcy, of course. However, he found the details of the overheard conversation confusing as well as disturbing. On the positive side, that last bit of nervous suspicion towards Miss Elizabeth Bennet dropped away as he acknowledged she had most likely been trapped into hearing his conversation with Bingley in much the same way he had just been trapped.
The confusing part was why Mrs. Bennet had been so annoyed over Miss Jane Bennet catching Bingley's eye. If Mrs. Bennet was her mother, she should have been delighted. Perhaps she was an aunt? He thought back to the introductions. Even though he had not paid much attention at the time, he did not remember Sir William making any comments to draw a connection between the lovely young woman they had met earlier and the rather unpleasant woman who had just left.
"This is Mrs. Bennet and her three daughters, Mary, Catherine and Lydia," he remembered Sir William saying a little contemptuously. That would have been the moment to add a comment like, "you have already met her daughter (or niece?) Jane and secured a set with her," or something of that sort to Bingley. For such a voluble man as Sir William, the omission was a telling one. There was clearly no love lost between him and Mrs. Bennet, although it was equally clear he had a high opinion of Miss Jane Bennet.
Of course, if Miss Jane Bennet and Miss Elizabeth Bennet were Mrs. Bennet's nieces, her attitude could be more easily understood. She might not get along with Mr. Bennet's side of the family. The woman she referred to as her sister did not seem very impressed with the young women either. There was also that strange reference to Miss Mary Bennet's late father. Darcy was sure Sir William had said something about Mr. Bennet having remained home due to illness. It was all a tangle.
As the music signaled the interval, Darcy emerged from his leafy screen. He wanted to quietly warn his friend of Mrs. Bennet's intentions. He could just see her approaching a girl who must have been the youngest of the three daughters. Darcy was astounded that she truly expected any self-respecting man to be tempted by the idea of a dance, let alone a match with the brash, loud, uncouth giggling child. True, she seemed to have developed a more womanly figure than both her older sisters combined, and she did her best to flaunt the fact with flirtatious displays that would do a Covent Garden whore proud, but everything else about her manner was more likely to turn a man's stomach than tempt him. He suspected it would take a very strict school, and probably a good long time, to pound enough decorum into her that she would be acceptable in even a fishmonger's home. She would ruin herself and her family long before any man of means would consider wedding her unless he was blind drunk and standing on the muzzle end of a loaded gun.
Darcy shuddered at the thought and went to find Bingley. His friend was easygoing, to the point of being highly annoying sometimes, but if properly warned and with the right incentive, he could pull out an attitude that put his sister's to shame. He might need it with Mrs. Bennet.
Bingley was at the refreshment table with Miss Mary Bennet, sipping at a glass of punch. As her mother said, the young woman appeared modest and demure, in every way the opposite of her youngest sister and very much like his impression of Miss Jane Bennet, without the stunning beauty of the slightly older woman. If she took after her father, he had obviously been a man who behaved as a gentleman. Darcy offered her a bow that was properly respectful.
"Miss Bennet, may I draw Mr. Bingley's attention away from you for a few moments?" he asked politely.
"Of course, Mr. Darcy," she said pleasantly.
She offered Bingley a shy smile that appeared completely genuine and not at all the sort of thing her mother apparently had in mind. With another nod for Miss Mary, Darcy pulled Bingley far enough to the side that they could talk very quietly without being overheard by anyone nearby.
"She is a pleasant girl, at least to spend the length of a dance set with," Bingley said without lowering his tones. "of course, she has nowhere near the beauty and poise of her older sisters, but she is very pleasant all the same."
All thoughts of warnings fled from Darcy's mind. "Miss Jane Bennet and Miss Elizabeth Bennet are her sisters?" Darcy whispered in surprise.
"Stepsisters," Bingley confirmed with a grin at Darcy's reaction. "Although, legally they would be considered her half-sisters. Mr. Bennet married her widowed mother about a month before Miss Mary was born. He had hopes for a male heir to satisfy the entail on his estate since her mother already had one son. His first wife had produced only daughters. Despite several attempts, the current Mrs. Bennet never provided her husband with a living son either."
Several bits of the puzzle were suddenly falling into place for Darcy but with the notes to signal the second dance of the set sounding, he suddenly remembered his mission. He whispered urgently, "Mrs. Bennet plans to have her youngest daughter throw herself at you in hopes of tricking you into a dance or possibly more."
Unaccountably, Bingley greeted his warning with a smirk. "While I thank you for your care of me, Darcy, I was already aware of the plot. Miss Mary warned me of the likelihood the minute her mother pulled Miss Lydia aside. I plan to play a little game with them, but I will be most careful not to get singed. Now, I must return to my partner as you told me during the last set." He slipped away, still wearing that maddening smirk.
Darcy stood where he was for a moment. Then, he realized he made too much of a target on his own. He decided to return to the chair behind the potted plant to think over the new information he had gained. Carefully, he worked his way back around the room, only to find the seat already occupied by a sobbing young woman clutching a thoroughly soaked handkerchief uselessly to her eyes. He knew he had been introduced to her earlier but did not remember her name. She suddenly dropped the handkerchief as she realized she had been observed. The look of fearful surprise she gave him through her tears reminded him of the great comfort he had derived from Miss Elizabeth's earlier kindness. He realized it was time to pass that kindness on.
He offered the young woman a very polite bow. Then, he silently handed her his own pristine handkerchief with what he hoped was a sympathetic look, the kind he might give his sister if she were justifiably upset about something. Without a word, he turned and left her to her solitude. As a complete stranger, he doubted he could provide any greater comfort and knew he would want to be left alone if he was off crying in a corner.
As he went, he spotted Miss Elizabeth Bennet watching him from nearby. When she saw he had noticed her, she gestured with her head towards the potted plant before offering a brilliant smile and a curtsy. She knew what he had done and her approval was clear. She also seemed to be thanking him. Before he could react, she had slipped away into the crowd again. What an unusual and lovely woman!
With his quiet hiding place in use, Darcy went back to his normal pattern of slowly moving from place to place around the outskirts of the crowd. The headache may have eased, but he still had no wish to participate in the chatter or dancing. As he walked, he watched for Miss Elizabeth. From time to time he caught glimpses of her but she appeared to be avoiding him, Bingley and anyone who might possibly ask her to dance or converse. He did see her stop once to speak with a woman he remembered as being the eldest daughter of Sir William Lucas. By the time Darcy made his way over to Miss Lucas, Miss Elizabeth was gone, so he continued to move on.
Despite the way it had begun, Darcy considered that the latter half of the evening had gone as well as it possibly could while being trapped in a noisy hall with a crowd of people he did not know. It had certainly dropped to a much lower position on his list of worst-ever evenings. If only he would not have to return to Netherfield trapped in a carriage with Miss Bingley and her inevitable barrage of complaints about the event and the company it might even have dropped lower on the list.
Briefly, Darcy wondered how scandalous it would be to ride on the back with the footmen. Only the thought that his friend's sister would then spend days complaining about his discourtesy prevented him from following through with that idea, tempting as it was to consider.
