Yes, it's basically the same story although changes are possible. Speak now if there was anything that annoyed you in the first version or forever hold your peace. The idea was to make it more gothic by not having such a linear exposition, though Emily Brontë I am not. Also, I wanted to keep it more like the original book and not have Darcy's point of view for a while. Yes austen16, I'm reusing the titles if they still fit that chapter. Thanks for pointing that out the bracket numbers MrsSP9, I believe those were to refer to the Pinterest storyboard. Pinterest keeps altering stuff and some of my captions (and also a few pictures) have disappeared. So I had started putting them in the GDRR text as a backup. Maybe I should finish the job.
Chapter 3 A slight headache
After visiting the Bennets, Charles would fain have gone home, but his sisters would have no such particularity—they would call on several other prominent local families. During the course of his socialising, Charles was mortified to discover that his conversation with Darcy at the assembly, or more specifically, his recitation of Darcy's comment on Miss Elizabeth, had been overheard. This had come through the agency of Mrs Long, who had laughed that Mrs Bennet's crest had been lowered a trifle by his friend's opinion which, she assured him, was not a bad thing, for the mistress of Longbourn thought that all her daughters without equal in the shire.
Charles had been distraught; told Mrs Long that he thought Mrs Bennet quite justified in her opinion, then blushed that he might have indirectly insulted Mrs Long's nieces. He had stammeringly assured her that every girl whom he had met in Hertfordshire was most pleasing.
The result of it was that Bingley fled home in his carriage from his morning's round of visiting, jolting his sisters about, who complained loudly of his unnecessary haste.
Upon arriving, Bingley immediately invaded Netherfield's study where he found his friend writing a letter. Bingley confessed the faux pas to Darcy in a rush and apologised for his part in it.
It was only then that Bingley's eyes fell upon the other objects upon his friend's desk. These consisted of a pigeon harness and several tiny glass vials containing some dark red liquid.
"Is that more correspondence for your Hungarian friend at the Széchényi Library?" asked Bingley, intrigued. Darcy had already had a dovecote built in the grounds of Netherfield for the pigeons that had accompanied them home from Pest in a wicker basket. "You are, perhaps, comparing regional varieties of wine?"
"It is blood," replied Darcy without looking up, focusing his attention on sanding the letter. "We have a shared interest in vitalism."
Bingley gave a nervous smile. "Is that something to do with frog's legs?" he asked as he watched his friend fold and seal the letter by pressing his signet into the red wax.
"You speak of Galvinism? Yes, it is related," replied Darcy.
Having exhausted his knowledge of the topic, Bingley reminded himself that however odd, it was not his business if his friend wished to prick himself for the sake of scientific enquiry.
"Should I take care of that for you, sir?" asked Finn, stepping from the gloom in the study.
Involuntarily, Bingley started, having mistakenly believed they were alone in the room. Darcy's valet was wearing a apron and carrying a pigeon in gloved hands. Belatedly, Bingley realised Finn must have come in through the side door.
"Thank you, Finn," said Darcy, getting up from the desk and moving to a drinks cabinet. "Would you care to join me in a glass of porter, Bingley? My butler has sent some Mountain Malaga that my father had laid down."
Bingley expressed his enthusiasm. Darcy waved him to a seat by the fire and poured him a glass. Bingley sipped it while he watched Darcy charge a glass from another bottle.
"This is good!" Bingley nodded in appreciation. "You are not having the same?"
"I broached two bottles yesterday and feel obliged to dispose of this inferior one," said Darcy dismissively.
Bingley held the glass up to the candlelight then sniffed the port appreciatively. "I shall jolly well get a hogshead of this myself! But I will have to hide it from Hurst!" he joked, knowing his brother-in-law to frequently overindulge after dinner.
"I do not think it can be easily obtained any more," said Darcy. "Some say it went out of fashion, but I believe there was a problem with the vines."
Darcy crossed his legs and sighed. "I did not mean to cause offence with my ill-considered words."
Ever intuitive, Bingley realised his mercurial friend had returned to the subject of his original incursion. Like a true friend, he proceeded to catalogue the many times he had put his foot in his mouth, in grand comic style.
Darcy sipped his wine, smiled politely, and stared into the flames.
#
On going down to dinner after Lady Lucas's visit, Bingley found himself in the happy position of being able to offer the perfect opportunity for his friend to make amends.
"We have all been invited to a soirée at Lucas Lodge!" grinned Bingley, as Darcy entered the dining room.
Caroline was ecstatic on hearing Darcy cautiously accept. Since their arrival at Netherfield, Mr Darcy's avidity for the solitude of Charles' study had precluded his accompanying them on their morning visits. He generally locked himself in and would not accept so much as a cup of tea except by the agency of his valet, who waited on him hand and foot. But when Charles revealed that Darcy had also expressed a distaste for evening engagements following the assembly, she had been doubly disappointed. Caroline had even contemplated deploying her best silk gowns at family dinners, so that she might beguile Mr Darcy afterwards over cards.
Miss Bingley had initially deemed the soirée likely to be a poor thing, after discovering that Sir William had made his fortune in trade. She had no hopes of the gentility of Lucas Lodge at all—from the outside it appeared a paltry mansion that did not even rival Longbourn in size. The Bingley sisters had not yet seen its interior—only their brother had entered on his initial visit to Hertfordshire. On the two occasions when the sisters visited, they had merely left their cards—Sir William and Lady Lucas were forever gadding about. But upon hearing that Darcy was to accompany them to the soirée, Caroline rejoiced and pulled out all stops* for the humble Lucases. She took extra pains over her toilette, or at least her maid did, after much scolding.
When Mr Darcy handed her into the carriage at Netherfield and out again at Lucas Lodge, Miss Bingley thought his pale skin and patrician nose looked particularly handsome under the waning moon. Caroline was also amazed at the rock solidity of his outstretched arm. She began to plot falling against him if he should hand her out of the carriage at Netherfield on their return home, such was her faith that they would not both end up in the dirt.
On finally entering Sir William's home, Miss Bingley was surprised to find Lucas Lodge very much to her taste. Louisa and Mr Hurst also nodded their condescending approval as their eyes met Caroline's. Certainly the building was not as grand as Netherfield, which was acknowledged by everyone as the first house in the district, but Lucas Lodge contained more than its fair share of girandoles* and Wedgwood busts. Indeed, Miss Bingley had found these items sadly lacking at Netherfield. If Mr Darcy should stay longer with them, Caroline intended to satisfy her notion of good taste by redressing their scarcity.
As Sir William bustled up to welcome the Netherfield party, Caroline's eyes roamed the room, looking for the Bennets. It was her firm intention to ensure her brother was not too particular to Jane Bennet. It had not been sufficient to warn him off in private before their departure. Charles seemed completely oblivious to social niceties. Caroline knew she would have to herd him.
Caroline found Lydia first—for not only was she the tallest Bennet, she was also the loudest. The youngest Miss Bennet was surrounded by a circle of redcoats and looked very much in her element despite her youth, for Lady Lucas had earlier divulged she was but fifteen. Then Miss Bingley spotted Miss Elizabeth Bennet at the far end of the room next to Miss Lucas, talking with self-possession to the colonel of the regiment. It seemed the Bennet ladies were quite at ease in social gatherings, even with people new to their acquaintance. Bingley had by that time located Jane Bennet, who happened to be in the diametrically opposite corner of the room to Elizabeth and Miss Lucas. When Bingley made a beeline for Miss Bennet, Darcy was content to initially accompany him and so Caroline did also. Hurst set forth for the punch bowl and Louisa followed him.
Despite having half the room between himself and Miss Elizabeth, it did not escape Caroline's attention that Mr Darcy's attention was frequently drawn to that corner of the room occupied by Elizabeth and Miss Lucas during the course of the ensuing conversation. As it was inconceivable that he could be drawn to the plain Miss Lucas, Caroline perceived that she has some serious competition in the second eldest Bennet—though what could attract him to her common brown eyes and waif-like form was not immediately apparent. But then she remembered the insult at the assembly and relaxed a little—perhaps he was merely contemplating some form of amends which Caroline could not think necessary.
"Does Miss Elizabeth Bennet really deserve so much of your attention, Mr Darcy?" Caroline asked him sweetly as she handed him some wine from a proffered tray.
"The dress she is wearing reminds me of one of Georgie's," said Darcy dismissively, annoyed to be found out.
"How I do look forward to finally meeting your sister!" cooed Caroline. "The dress is a lovely shade is it not? The cut is a little outdated in fashion, and the hem—a good four inches above the floor—shows it. It is just as well Miss Elizabeth has grown up like a beanstalk and not out, otherwise she would be bursting at the seams!—although I believe you gentlemen are not averse to such a spectacle."
Darcy merely smiled enigmatically and walked off. Miss Bingley was gratified her wit had had its effect, for Darcy ceased glancing in Miss Elizabeth's direction.
Thus when Miss Mary Bennet sat down at the piano to play a reel so that Miss Lucas and the younger Bennets might dance with some of the officers, Darcy was completely taken by surprise when Sir William importuned him to join the dancers and selected Miss Elizabeth, who was just walking by, as his potential partner.
Elizabeth blushed deeply. She was sure Sir William must have heard the tale of Mr Darcy's insult—Mrs Long had ensured everyone in the town had been privy to it. No doubt this was Sir William's clumsy way of making reparation.
"I am sure Mr Darcy does not dance reels, Sir William," said Elizabeth, anxious to avoid a second public setdown.
Mr Darcy would not look at her face. His eyes were lowered. Elizabeth clutched reflexively at the ruby cross at her neck, suspended from a delicate chain. She saw his jaw tighten.
"I would not be cross... I mean averse, if you are willing," Darcy replied haltingly, looking up at the last instant.
Elizabeth did not know whether to laugh or to cry. She had been sure he was about to say something cutting; had steeled herself for another insult. Instead she had been wrong-footed by his haughty lack of composure, which had been surprisingly endearing. But she was certain he was only making a token effort at being polite and would despise her for putting him to the trouble of actually dancing.
"Thank you," she replied. "I would prefer not to dance tonight. I have a slight headache."
Elizabeth saw the muscle in Mr Darcy's jaw relax. He bowed stiffly. She moved off towards the punchbowl, convinced her surmise had been correct.
Sir William caught up with her. "Miss Elizabeth, could I get you a powder for your headache? I know Lady Lucas has some."
Elizabeth smiled to herself at Sir William's mode of referring to his wife. How odd to have altered her appellation after almost thirty years of marriage to a plain 'Meg'!
"Thank you, Sir William. It has not reached a stage that demands remedy yet, but I will not hesitate to importune Charlotte should it worsen."
Sir William went off, happy in his social graces and solicitude.
Meanwhile, Darcy had frozen on the spot, contemplating the tiny smile that had formed on Miss Elizabeth's lips after his clumsy reply. He jumped when a hand curled round his arm.
"What a lucky escape!" whispered Miss Bingley, close to his ear. "A reel is the most undignified of dances!"
"I cannot be sorry to have evaded another dance," sighed Darcy. "But I fear your brother will think that I should have pressed her in the circumstances. I suppose I could have instead offered her a glass of punch."
"She has got it herself," observed Miss Bingley. "So you need not feel remiss! You may hug yourself!"
Darcy spent the rest of the evening moving from group to group and nodding occasionally at things he agreed with. Yet, his efforts to mingle did not extend to speech.
Elizabeth also circulated, joining her elder sister's group on several occasions, which was only natural. But she was a little perturbed when she noticed Mr Darcy retire each time. She could not think it a coincidence when it happened for a third time before his departure.
On eventually wending his way home with the Bingleys, Darcy managed to right Miss Bingley with his gloved fingertips when she stumbled while getting out of the carriage, preventing her from falling into him, and bid them all a hasty goodnight.
Reaching his bedchamber, Darcy allowed his valet to quickly change his boots and coat and then promptly climbed out his bedchamber window.
Footnotes
pulled out all stops—use all the resources or force at one's disposal. This term comes from organ-playing, where the mechanical stops in the pipes limit the harmonic frequencies produced. Pulling out all stops means thereby creating the loudest possible sound using all frequencies. It has been used figuratively in writing since about 1860.
girandoles—girandole (from Italian girandola, to turn) is an ornamental branched candlestick or light fixture consisting of several lights, paired with crystal drops to reflect the light, often resembling a small chandelier. Girandoles came into use about the second half of the 17th century, and were commonly made and used in pairs.