Darcy
***
Mr. Darcy considered the invitation to take dinner with the Bennets at Longbourn. He recalled Mr. Bennet saying that he had five –five!– daughters, but he trusted the man not to let slip the fact that he owned an estate. If everyone thought he was simply Bingley’s man of business, he would be fairly safe from husband-hunting mamas and daughters. He had very much enjoyed his time with Mr. Bennet and, truth to tell, he felt rather isolated at Netherfield.
All in all, there was no reason to not accept the invitation.
***
At Longbourn, Mr. Bennet performed the introductions and Mr. Darcy bowed gravely. As he had been taught since birth, he instantly memorised the names and faces. Mrs. Bennet, still quite attractive – doubtless a beauty in her prime, though her accent betrayed the fact that she had been born into a lower class than her husband. She had married well. Miss Bennet – golden hair, wide sea-blue eyes, perfect complexion – she would have turned heads in any London ballroom. Imagine finding such abeauty in this out of the way little town! Miss Mary Bennet – dark hair pulled back tightly, brown eyes, sallow complexion. Miss Catherine Bennet – blonde, brown-eyed, pretty enough, though not at all on the same level as her eldest sister. Miss Lydia Bennet – blonde, blue-eyed, too buxom for her own good. Mr. Darcy noted that she tossed her hair and giggled when her name was mentioned.
It was so interesting to see how one set of parents could produce such a variety of children, he thought, thinking of his cousins Daniel and Richard Fitzwilliam. One, two, three, four – “I think you said you had five daughters, Mr. Bennet? Or has my memory failed me?”
It was Miss Lydia who answered. “Lizzy is in London. It is so unfair!”
“Hush, child,” Mrs. Bennet said, but her heart was not in the reprimand.
“Well, itis, Mama! When doIget to go to the Gardiners? Why is it always Jane or Lizzy?”
The whine in her voice set Mr. Darcy’s teeth on edge. Why was the child even allowed in company, he wondered.
Mrs. Bennet turned to Mr. Darcy, her expression apologetic. “Lydia has never been invited to stay with my brother and his wife in London; it really is rather unfair.”
Mr. Darcy could think of no polite response to this, so he said nothing.
Miss Bennet said, hastily, “Mr. Darcy, there is to be an assembly on the fifteenth of October; I am certain my father could procure a ticket for you, were you so inclined.”
Mr. Darcy turned to her, grateful that she had offered an escape from any further discussion of Miss Lydia going to London.Looking at Miss Bennet’s perfect countenance was no hardship; he admired her, as would any man, but she could not possibly be the future Mrs. Darcy. No dowry, no connections, entirely ineligible. “I thank you, Miss Bennet, but I am not much of a dancer.”
This was not entirely true; Mr. Darcy could acquit himself quite nicely on a dance floor, but he preferred to remain as invisible as possible, particularly when interacting with this husband-hunting family.
“That is disappointing,” Mrs. Bennet put in. “For there are always far too many ladies and not nearly enough gentlemen.”
“You will be pleased with Mr. Bingley, then,” Mr. Darcy assured her. “He is a prodigious dancer and would never miss such an opportunity.”
“When might we expect to meet him?” Miss Bennet asked, her voice soft and polite.
“He is laid up with a broken leg, and I am given to understand that it will be some weeks before his doctor allows him to travel.”
“He is unmarried, I understand?” Mrs. Bennet’s voice was sharp.
“He is; doubtless one of his sisters will serve as his hostess.”
“And you, Mr. Darcy?” Mrs. Bennet continued.
Mr. Darcy flushed. Was she truly that bold? “Me, Mrs. Bennet? I do not understand.” He hoped she would withdraw the question.
But she was intent on an answer. “Are you unmarried?”
Mr. Darcy was forced to admit that he was indeed unmarried, and he saw Mrs. Bennet throw a triumphant look at her husband.
***
At dinner, he found himself seated between Mrs. Bennet and Miss Mary. He understood at once; Miss Bennet, Miss Catherine and Miss Lydia were, in Mrs. Bennet’s estimation, far too lovely to be wasted on a man of business, so Miss Mary had been selected as a potential wife for him. But Miss Mary did not appear cooperative, as she spoke little beyond thanking him when he helped her fill her plate and poured wine for her. Toward the end of the meal, she said something, but her voice was so soft that he did not catch her words.
“I beg your pardon, Miss Mary?”
She raised her voice just enough to allow him to hear her. “I apologise for my sister, Lydia; she is my mother’s favourite child and so is never corrected.”
