. . . The girls grieved over such a number of ladies, but were comforted the day before the ball by hearing, that instead of twelve he brought only six with him from London–his five sisters and a cousin. And when the party entered the assembly room it consisted of only five altogether–Mr Bingley, his two sisters, the husband of the eldest, and another young man.
Mr Bingley was good-looking and gentlemanlike; he had a pleasant countenance, and easy, unaffected manners. His sisters were fine women, with an air of decided fashion. His brother-in-law, Mr Hurst, merely looked the gentleman; but his friend Mr Darcy soon drew the attention of the room by his fine, tall person, handsome features, noble mien, and the report which was in general circulation within five minutes after his entrance, of his having ten thousand a year. The gentlemen pronounced him to be a fine figure of a man, the ladies declared he was much handsomer than Mr Bingley, and he was looked at with great admiration for about half the evening, till his manners gave a disgust which turned the tide of his popularity; for he was discovered to be proud; to be above his company, and above being pleased; and not all his large estate in Derbyshire could then save him from having a most forbidding, disagreeable countenance, and being unworthy to be compared with his friend.
P&P Chapter 3
By the time the Meryton Assembly started, I was looking forward to it for three very different reasons.
The first was that I loved to dance, and we did not get as many chances as one would like. My sisters and I would be well-satisfied with a weekly assembly, but monthly during certain seasons was the best we could hope for. There was frequently dancing to be had at supper parties, but it was not quite the same as a public assembly, where we got tradesmen, a few farmers, a few travellers, and more objects of study in general. Dinner parties were well enough, but with the same four-and-twenty families meeting week after week and dancing to my sister Mary's admittedly weak piano playing, we were unlikely to experience anything new.
The second was that we would finally meet the new residents of Netherfield. New blood in our little market town was rare, and thus to be savoured with real delicacy.
The last reason, naturally, was that we could finally cease endlessly speculating. The gossip had us expecting anywhere from a single hunchbacked troll to two dozen elegant ladies from London. Nobody actually knew anything, aside from the men who had visited Mr Bingley, but that did not keep the ladies from speculating, and speculate they did—wildly. When the party finally arrived, there were but three men and two ladies. The ladies were over-dressed and overly fastidious in their attitudes, so I could tell at a glance we would probably not be friends—although my sister, Jane, who is far more forgiving, thought they might be. I felt no compulsion to dissuade her from her fantasy, partly because Jane was so good that there were a great number of people who could be friends with her but not fastidious me; and partly because Jane was stubborn as a mule when she thought she was right. I suppose for the sake of completeness, I should also admit the slim possibility that I was wrong.
Of the men, one was obviously old, married, and probably a glutton, based on how fast he waddled to the refreshments table. We disregarded him immediately.
As to the other two: Good Heavens! They were by far the two handsomest men I had ever seen.
The man leading the way was middling blond, had a huge smile on his face, and practically bounced on his feet with barely repressed joy. He was just the sort of man Jane would take a fancy to, and since she is about five times prettier than the rest of us, I had high hopes he was sensible.
The other was the sort of tall-dark-handsome-brooding man I favour for reasons I cannot fathom. Jane is all sunshine and light, and she favours similar gentleman (not that we encountered many in our little backwater). I, on the other hand, was happy and impertinent, bordering on effervescent; but I had a great appreciation for brooding, dangerous-looking men. Ask me to explain it, and I will fail miserably.
The dark and handsome man fascinated me immediately, while the other obviously took every ounce of Jane's attention. That, coupled with the fact that our good friend Charlotte Lucas was giving us the particulars in a whisper, meant that Jane never really looked past Mr Bingley for several minutes.
Charlotte's mother dragged her off for introductions almost immediately. Her father, Sir William Lucas, was a knight, and our local Master of Ceremonies, so he was doing the introductions. Naturally, he would introduce his brood first, as was proper and sensible (however much it set my mother's teeth on edge).
Mr Bingley immediately, and apparently happily, did his duty by asking Charlotte for a dance, and we were off to the races.
As the party came towards us, I saw Jane fidgeting. You may well wonder why I note that particularly, but you would have to know Jane. She never fidgets—never-never-ever. Ordinarily, a rock has nothing on Jane for steadiness.
I thought I should probably break her nervousness with a bit of impertinence before she burst into flames. "Well Jane, at least we will not fight over which man to encourage."
Jane startled, and probably for the first time took a good look at the other man, as the two approached from a dozen yards away.
I startled when, instead of the chuckle I expected, she gasped in shock for no reason at all. She turned pale and was tongue tied by the time the party approached and Sir William began the introductions.
I could clearly see that Mr Bingley was at least half-smitten with her, and as expected, he immediately requested her next available set. I found the whole thing terribly confusing, as she accepted as nervously as a debutant at her first assembly.
My mother is quite as predictable as the tides. "And you, Mr Darcy? Do you like to dance?"
"I rarely dance, madam," he said with such a sultry voice (can I use that word for a man?) that I entirely disregarded the fact that he had essentially just rejected me. I could do without his disapproving countenance, but his voice and looks made my knees weak and… well… let us just leave it at that. The effect was profound and disturbing, and I was not entirely certain I could have danced had he asked.
"Let this be the exception," my mother said, never one to give up at the first obstacle.
The man bowed and just walked away.
My mother was fit to be tied, and I was about half-indignant myself, but I did have to admit that not many men knew how to shut Mrs Bennet up. He at least knew a losing battle when he saw one and retired from the field to fight another day.
"Well, I never!" Mama said indignantly. "I have never met a more disagreeable man in my life…"
I was not quite so certain. He was disagreeable all right, but so was my father so Mama may have been doing it a bit brown. I ruefully thought that a man as handsome as that with a voice like that would have to be very careful who he danced with. I was not especially upset with him for wanting to see the lay of the land before committing to the floor. Somebody in the party had to have some sense, and he appeared to be elected.
I am not certain what else Mama might have said because Jane pinched my arm hard enough to raise a welt.
"Lizzy, I need to visit the retiring room before the dance!"
I was uncertain what the urgency was or why she needed my help but did not question. Gown problems were not uncommon nor was an urgent need to gossip about the handsome Mr Bingley out of our mother's hearing, so I was sanguine about exchanging my mother's words for my sister's. There was even some chance we might discuss the handsomer man if we got around to it.
We both curtsied to Mama, who was still in full flow and hardly noticed our exit. I well imagined I would return in a quarter hour, and she would still be repining the one that got away.
We barely made the corridor when Jane dragged me into a large cloakroom, looked around to insure we were alone, and closed the door.
"It is him!" she practically shouted in my ear.
"Who is whom?" I asked in some exasperation, unable to make any sense out of either her declaration or her nervousness.
"Mr Darcy is the disagreeable brother!"
I stared, hardly able to believe it, so she continued, "It is him… the man who threatened to call the magistrate for the crime of saving his sister's reputation and possibly her life."
She was truly startled, so I set about trying to calm her. I did not know precisely how to go about it because Jane had never needed to be calmed in her life.
"Do you think he recognised you?"
That was sufficient to make her stop and think, and at long last, she muttered, "I doubt it. I was wearing my travel bonnet, and I am not certain even you would recognise me in it."
"You make a good point. In your traveling clothes, the lunkhead would have a brief glance at your face, but he could not even be certain what colour your hair is, let alone anything else. There's a better than even chance he will never recognize you."
She gave a rare frown. "Nevertheless, I have no idea if he would thank or censure me. I cannot say whether he was more angry, startled, or frightened at the coaching station, but whatever he felt, it was volcanic in intensity. Judging by his expression, his temper does not seem to have improved in the intervening months. His sister is obviously about as sensible as Lydia, so who knows what story she concocted to calm him down. For all I know, the silly girl blamed the whole thing on me, and I do not find the idea of acting the scapegoat for a rich brat appealing."
I gave a grim chuckle. "Perhaps his introduction is what passes for politeness in the first circles."
"If that be the case, I want no part of it."
I had to admit she had a point. We had never met anyone of the first circles, aside from her brief introduction to Mr Tall-Dark-Handsome-and-Disagreeable. We would probably have better luck speculating on the actions of a Frenchman.
"What should we do? You know for a fact you were in the right with his sister. He owes you!"
"Are you certain you want to depend on his good will?" she asked in resignation, which was a fair point. Much as we loved our stories of dashing heroines, in the bulk of situations the smart money was on Goliath.
"What should we do?"
She thought about it for some time, so I felt the need to prod her.
"You only have a few minutes until your dance with Mr Handsome-and-amiable. The way I see it, we need to either brazen it out and see what the man is made of, or urgently visit the Gardiners."
"Running from the man seems childish," she said, and I nodded in agreement.
"I did nothing wrong!" she added vehemently.
"We are not entirely without protection."
"Only mostly," she said, referring to our father's legendary indolence.
I had to imagine he would stick up for us, but ladies' reputations were peculiar, and while our mother was entirely predictable, our father was not. For all we knew, Papa might just decide the man had somehow compromised Jane and she should marry him, or he might confront the man on his behaviour and cause some other type of problem. Most likely, he would just make a joke of it and do nothing except tease Jane. We just could not know, although the odds strongly favoured the do-nothing-except-tease theory.
"Let us return to the dance and see if he recognises you. If not, it should be easy enough to avoid him most of the time. Charlotte says he will only be here a couple of months. In the meantime, we can see how he behaves and decide whether he is trustworthy or not. Mama thinks he is most disagreeable because he did not prostrate himself at my feet, but I suspect he is just being sensible. I would not dance at Mama's command either."
"That seems reasonable," Jane said, apparently satisfied to have Mr Bingley's attention momentarily, and equally content to have a plan.
"Let us see how he behaves when he is not surprised by finding his sister among the hordes of a coaching station or being accosted by a matchmaking mama five minutes after entering a strange room. It is difficult to imagine an easier social situation than a public assembly, so we shall know his character by his manners across the evening. I will have it well sketched before four dances have completed."
I was not certain you could measure a man's worth by his manners but had to admit it was all we were likely to get anytime soon, and it was truer than not.
The rest of the evening did not confirm our worst fears, but neither did it make us desirous of becoming better acquainted with Mr-High-and-Mighty. That surprisingly left me feeling disappointed. He seemed like he could be an interesting character study, and I thought I could listen to his voice for hours if he was in a good mood, but I doubted I would get the chance.
Mr Bingley had soon made himself acquainted with all the principal people in the room; he was lively and unreserved, danced every dance, was angry that the ball closed so early, and talked of giving one himself at Netherfield. Such amiable qualities must speak for themselves.
He even danced twice with Jane and once with me, which showed him to be sensible as well as handsome—especially since he spent the bulk of our dance speaking of Jane (with my none-too-subtle encouragement). You do not learn much with one evening, but my mother did seem to be right for once. He had all the appearance of being smitten.
We held our exuberance in check. He would not be the first man to fall in love with her looks for a fortnight before becoming aware of our situation, and unfortunately, he was not likely to be the last. Flirting and matrimony were two very different things, and there's many a slip 'twixt the cup and the lip.
What a contrast between him and his friend! Mr Darcy danced only once with Mrs Hurst and once with Miss Bingley, declined being introduced to any other lady, and spent the rest of the evening in walking about the room, speaking occasionally to one of his own party. His character was decided. He was the proudest, most disagreeable man in the world, and everybody hoped that he would never come there again.
To add insult to injury, Mr Bingley tried his best, in a jovial and teasing manner that I quite enjoyed, to get the man to dance with someone-anyone-anyone-at-all.
As fate would have it, someone turned out to be me. The gentleman said about Jane (quite jovially in my opinion), "Oh! She is the most beautiful creature I ever beheld! But there is one of her sisters sitting down just behind you, who is very pretty, and I dare say very agreeable. Do let me ask my partner to introduce you."
The man briefly looked at me coldly and turned back to his friend.
"She is tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me; I am in no humour at present to give consequence to young ladies who are slighted by other men. You had better return to your partner and enjoy her smiles, for you are wasting your time with me."
With that, my mind firmly cemented three opinions.
The first was that Mr Bingley was the most amiable of gentleman, and quite perfect for Jane (aside from his poor taste in friends and sisters).
The second was that I might well have to agree with my mother for the first time in my life. Mr Darcy was the most ill-tempered man in the world, and his prior reaction to Jane was probably typical. He was, unfortunately, still the handsomest and best sounding man I ever met, but that was worth about as much as Lydia's being the tallest.
The third was that Jane was probably safe because the lunkhead was half-blind, three-quarters-stupid, and probably two-thirds deaf, since he either assumed I had not heard him or did not care.
I was half-tempted to sink his local reputation even farther by telling my mother or Lady Lucas about the slight, but I held my tongue. Jane might make something with Mr Bingley and there was no real reason to tempt fate. Axing the reputation of his good friend seemed a poor way to recommend our family, and we had enough impediments without me adding fuel to the fire. I was embarrassed enough as it was. With the greatest confidence in the plan, I simply decided to ignore him until the end of time.
Since he planned to ignore all and sundry, chiefly myself; I judged my chances of never speaking to the dolt quite auspicious.