“Oh dear…Mary Bennet.” Darcy heard a whisper come from behind him, which was then answered by a soft groan. “Screw up your courage now, lads” came an admonition from a lieutenant down the table to his fellows nearby. “Survive this and the Frenchies’ battle cries won’t bother you a bit.”

Darcy shot an alarmed glance at Elizabeth lest she have heard the ill-mannered comments that floated on the tide of general expectations. Her eyes were closed in what looked like pain. Her lips moved, but no sound issued forth. Polite applause recalled his attention to the performance at hand, and he turned, preparing himself for whatever might come.

The longer Miss Mary Bennet sang, the more grave his manner grew. In contrast to her elder sister, this Bennet female had a voice remarkable only for a weakness that she attempted to mask with affected movements suited more to the stage than to a private supper. Neither her inability to sustain the melody nor the ridicule her performance excited deterred her, for she needed but a modicum of applause at her finish to encourage the selection of another song.

Such eagerness to make a spectacle of a lack of talent and modesty was no less distasteful to Darcy than it was incomprehensible. Had no one thought to restrain such immodest tendencies in the girl? Her mother he discounted immediately, but what of her father? Mr. Bennet was reputed to be a peculiar sort of man, who but for the silent salute at Squire Justin’s, had remained largely unknown to him. He obviously exerts little influence upon his wife. Darcy grimaced to himself. Does that disregard extend to his daughters as well? He discreetly searched the room and discovered the gentleman in question making his way to the front. A very masculine sense of relief at the sight of a father taking command of his family gave him pause, and Darcy allowed himself a glimpse at Elizabeth, hoping to discern a lessening of her anxiety.

“That will do extremely well, child,” he heard Mr. Bennet admonish his daughter. “You have delighted us long enough. Let the other young ladies have time to exhibit.” Stunned by the baldness of Mr. Bennet’s words, Darcy could not believe what his ears told him. But the truth of it was testified by the fresh wash of pink that rushed over Elizabeth’s face. He quickly trained his eyes on the floor. Such withering remarks to address to one’s own flesh! And in public, no less! Darcy’s embarrassment at merely playing witness to such an exchange was nearly as acute as his opprobrium at its display.

“If I were so fortunate as to be able to sing, I should have great pleasure, I am sure, in obliging the company with an air.” The vaguely familiar voice stirred Darcy out of his reverie. He looked up to behold his aunt’s fawning vicar. “I do not mean, however, to assert that we can be justified in devoting too much of our time to music, for there are certainly other things to be attended to…”

Are we now to have a sermon in the midst of a ball! The disbelief under which Darcy labored verged upon the fantastic. He received the clergyman’s glances toward him with a growing dread.

“…as comfortable as possible. And I do not think it of light importance that a clergyman should have attentive and conciliatory manners towards everyone, especially towards those to whom he owes his preferment.”

Do not do it, man! Do not address to me…

“I cannot acquit him of that duty,” Mr. Collins continued, and then, with an ingratiating smile, he turned to Darcy. “Nor could I think well of the man who should omit an occasion of testifying his respect towards anybody connected with the family.” To Darcy’s horror, the room lapsed into complete silence as the vicar bowed deeply to him. Fortunately, the man looked for no response but took his seat. After a few moments the room concluded that there would be no acknowledgment of the strange clergyman’s speech and turned to other entertainment.

Darcy allowed himself to breathe again and motioned to a servant to refill his wineglass. Grasping it in fingers cold with outrage, he rose and walked swiftly into the meager shadow of the hearth’s great mantel. He took a generous sip from his glass and then turned to observe Bingley’s guests. His original assessment had been all too correct! Fuming, he took another gulp. Country society and its idea of manners fell appallingly wide of the mark. Ever since his entrance into its provincial precincts, he had been insulted, presumed upon, or toadied to by its chief inhabitants. The rules of good society were unknown, young women were allowed to run wild, and at any moment one could be subjected to stupendous indecorum, even at a ball!

Darcy’s narrowed gaze traveled over the crowd until he found Bingley in a far corner, his head bent close in private conversation with Miss Bennet while the ball swung crazily out of control. No! Darcy shook his head. For Charles’s own sake, it must be stopped! Despite her mother’s assertions, Miss Bennet had no claims beyond being the daughter of a gentleman, no connections that would benefit his friend, and little dowry to add to his income or property to increase his estate. Rather, she would bring to him an impossibly vulgar mother-in-law, four — no, three — unremarkable sisters he would be expected to foist upon Society, a caustic recluse for a father-in-law, and untold numbers of relations in the professional class. It was a script that presaged disaster. Darcy knew the extent of his influence with his friend, and this might well test its limits, but he must, he must, disengage him from this ruinous course.

He downed the last of his wine and, with gathered purpose, placed the glass on the nearest table, prepared to set the wheels in motion when sounds of rustling paper interrupted his thoughts and sent them rushing back to the hopes with which he had begun the evening. What had he wanted to come from this night? Merely Elizabeth Bennet’s good opinion? Darcy stepped back into the shadows. She was still at her chair, listening respectfully to a lady whose talents hers far eclipsed. Her color was still somewhat high, but it became her. The singing ceased, and the supper room began to empty in favor of more dancing. Elizabeth arose with the others and made her way to her friend Miss Lucas.

Her respect. He had wanted her respect, her friendship — an oasis of wit and grace in a desert of provincial dullness. He wanted the aliveness he felt in her presence, which flowed through him like fine wine. He wanted those marvelous eyes turned upon him with something deeper than amusement or rivalry. Elizabeth and Miss Lucas drifted out of the room; Darcy’s eyes followed them, a pang forming deep within his chest. The letter in his breast pocket crinkled again as he unwittingly brushed the spot. There would be no winning of Miss Elizabeth Bennet’s good opinion now. What he meant to do, what he must do, for Charles’s sake, would secure her animosity irrevocably.



“Caroline, I beg you not to require my opinion or assistance on anything further tonight.” Bingley addressed his sister after the door closed on the departing Bennet family. “The entire evening was splendid, my dear.” He paused in his compliment as the hall clock struck the half hour. “Is it really two-thirty? Good heavens! Darcy, if we are to be off tomorrow, I must find my bed immediately.” Bingley stopped at the foot of the staircase, unsuccessfully suppressed a yawn, then beamed disarmingly at his sister. “Truly, Caroline, you are to be congratulated. They will be talking of this night for weeks to come. Well done, and good night to you all!” he called to the nearby servants, who yet worked to restore the now empty public rooms to order. “Darcy” — he nodded to his friend — “you will have to help yourself to the brandy tonight. I shan’t be able.”

“To bed, Charles. Should I require it, I know where it is. Tell your man to have you ready by noon or I’ll come for you myself,” Darcy threatened lightly.

“On that dire note, I bid you all a good night” — Bingley shuddered — “except for Darcy, who I hope tosses and turns the night through.”

Darcy grimaced in response to his jest and wondered how accurately Bingley’s wish for him would be fulfilled. That sleep would elude him tonight he did not doubt. The task ahead lay uneasily upon his mind.

“Louisa, you and Mr. Hurst must not wait for me. I have a small duty left to me still this evening.” Miss Bingley smiled wearily to her sister. Darcy saw that Mrs. Hurst appeared too fatigued to question the propriety of her sister staying downstairs with only himself for company, and for once, he was glad of it. His design for separating Bingley from Miss Bennet required a confederate, and in Miss Bingley he knew he would find a most willing one.