Page 13 of Mr Darcy’s Quizzing Glass

Darcy stepped closer, looking around to candles lit overhead and a candelabra burning on a table. There was no mirror on the wall to enhance the light by her. There was nothing that was not common to a smallish country house. Even the man to whom she had been speaking was common, a vision in dull brown, from his hair to his boots. But she in her pale green gown—eyes sparkling, cheeks flushed, a lock of hair curling by her ear...she was aglow.

How?

“Mr Darcy,” the chawbacon was saying, “how good it is to have you here at Lucas Lodge. My mother is very pleased that you and Mr Bingley are in attendance.”

Darcy managed a nod before recalling not only the man’s name but how to speak aloud. “Yes, a fine evening, thank you, Mr Lucas.” Swallowing, trying not to squint, he glanced again at Miss Elizabeth, awaiting an introduction.

Mr Lucas seemed to repress a chuckle before saying, “Mr Darcy, have you met Miss Elizabeth Bennet? She is a dear friend of my sister’s and an especially agile dancer.”

A quick glance at Mr Lucas showed him to be smirking. Miss Elizabeth appeared equally amused. Ah, is this because I did not dance?

“A pleasure, Miss Elizabeth.”

“Indeed,” she replied. And with that one word, the first she had spoken to him, the soft golden glow receded, as if tucking itself into her now that she had lured him closer. Was that it? A siren call? Blast, he was a fool; why had he not brought the quizzing glass? Dimly, he heard someone beckon Mr Lucas, leaving him standing alone at room’s edge with Miss Elizabeth.

“Sir, are you well? May I fetch you some punch?”

After a quick shake of his head, Darcy attempted a smile. “No, I thank you. I, um⁠—”

“A headache? Your expression is pained, as it was at the assembly. I hope our country air does not afflict you.”

He was perhaps touched in the head, but it was she who was aglow. Though she did not appear feverish, Darcy was compelled to ask, “Are you well?”

Her forehead creased, clearly confused. “This is the oddest conversation I have ever had, and I have a cousin who never ceases asking ‘why?’ after everything I say. Of course, he is only three years old.” Smiling, and with that slight curve of her lips, she added, “Yes, I am well.”

“I am glad to hear it.” His lips twitched in amusement, but unable to think of more to say that was not too familiar, he turned and stared into the crowd, unconsciously reaching for the pocket where he kept the quizzing glass.

“Is it simply Hertfordshire, or do you dislike engaging with the hoi polloi that gathers for country assemblies and card parties anywhere?” Miss Elizabeth smiled up at him, her eyebrow arched as it had been in that short glimpse he had previously had of her. It was undeniably dazzling. “We are fond of our entertainments, but they are not to everyone’s taste.”

“Bingley is pleased by the neighbourhood, and as I am here at his service, I find it pleasing as well.” Darcy had never spoken so stupidly in his life. His mind was occupied with too many questions as to the lady’s ethereal aspect, his eyes too engaged with looking at her. He had no control over whatever words he was speaking, and her bemused expression showed it. Rather than the sceptical measuring smile she had given him at the assembly, she appeared impatient. With him!

“I am glad to hear it.” She tilted her head, one brow raised in seeming amusement. “I have doubted your pleasure in our company, although you and Sir William appear to have found something in common.”

Darcy nodded, trying to recollect any memorable intelligence from the knight’s effusions.

“He wears a quizzing glass, which I understand is often part of your costume.”

“Ah yes. In town.” Blast, Miss Bingley has not missed sharing a detail.

“Not here?”

“No.”

“I see. If you will excuse me.”

Startled, he watched her make her way towards Miss Bennet, who stood with a small group of young ladies whom he also had undoubtedly flouted at the assembly. Cursing himself for his inability to actually converse with Miss Elizabeth, and to learn something of her that could explain the light that danced around her and the thrumming it inspired within him, Darcy stalked towards the refreshment table, utterly dissatisfied with the evening. When had an eligible young lady ever walked away from him? When had he been left standing alone at any social gathering when it was not his own choice? Never.

A shriek of laughter caught his ear as the youngest Bennet girl ran past, nearly knocking into him in her haste. Darcy stepped back to avoid the young redcoat in pursuit of her. Whatever confusion he may have felt about Miss Elizabeth Bennet, the behaviour of her younger sisters could be easily—and meanly—measured. This one was a sounding brass, her laughter ringing through the room. She was not only too young to be out, but her unruly behaviour was wholly unsuitable in company. One required only eyes and ears to see it. Idly, he wondered what he would see with the quizzing glass. What would it discern underneath such silliness? Would Mrs Bennet emanate the dark hues of cunning vulgarity he knew from London society?

I have no need of it here, he reminded himself. I shall leave this place, my life untouched by anyone I meet, and thus there is no need to look or think more deeply upon them.

Despite walking a few steps away, Mrs Bennet’s loud, carrying voice continued to reach him. “How wonderful it is to see all the girls in such fine spirits this evening!” she was exclaiming to a lady he easily recognised must be her sister. “If only you could witness the admiration Jane has received from the Netherfield party. Nothing is more gratifying to a mother than seeing her most deserving daughter appreciated.”

Her remarks continued for some time. Her audience of fellow matrons listened to her hints of potential suitors for her eldest, the estimable Miss Jane Bennet, and even, on occasion, her youngest, wildest hoydens, with nods, knowing smiles, and impatient sighs. Darcy’s brow furrowed as he listened, appalled by her unabashed efforts to discuss eligible gentlemen as though they were biddable creatures in some market.

Will she mention Bingley’s teeth or my height, or will it grow even worse?

Once again, his eyes sought out Miss Elizabeth, her shining presence easily detected near the card tables with Miss Lucas. For an instant, their eyes met, and he noted the blush that crept across her cheeks as she looked down, clearly within hearing of and deeply mortified by her mother’s indiscreet remarks. Her glow was dimmed but not extinguished; she squared her shoulders, and with an expression reflecting both grace and resignation as she endured her mother’s boisterousness, turned back to her friend. In that moment, Darcy felt an uncommon admiration for her composure, impressed by the quiet dignity with which she bore her mother’s indiscretions.