Page 19 of Mr Darcy’s Quizzing Glass

He is the Great and Powerful Mr Darcy, after all. Or...

Mr Wickham gave her a piercing look. “Truly, have you not seen it? Everyone in town knows he relies on it to judge others, though he finds most uniformly inferior or lacking. Perhaps he feels no need for it here, amongst the fine people of Meryton. Or...” He tapped his chin and gave her a solemn look. “Of course, it is a valuable piece, so perhaps Darcy felt it unsafe in a rented country estate.”

Tempted as Elizabeth was to defend Mr Bingley and those locals who worked at Netherfield, she refrained. “He does not rely on it to aid his eyesight?”

Her question was met by a chuckle. “Eyesight, no. His eyes are perfect—he is a Darcy. He relies on it for... insight, perhaps. When last I saw him in town, he had it at his eye, sneering at me and my chums whose births he clearly considers beneath his. The quizzing glass is merely another means to impress his rich friends and ensure people such as the two of us, of gentle birth and good manners, know we are beneath him.”

“So you would call it an affectation?”

“Dandy Darcy,” he chuckled. “It is an expensive bit of costume, ornate with its rubies and onyx.”

She nearly gasped aloud. Unlike Sir William, who enjoyed wearing the medal that came with his knighthood, and Mr Townes, known for his brightly coloured waistcoats, nothing in Mr Darcy’s manner or appearance seemed calculated to draw attention to himself. He was anything but a dandy, and beyond a pair of fawn trousers he had worn one afternoon, she had seen him dressed in little but dark fabrics—very fine but rather plain.

“Do I shock you, Miss Elizabeth? The quizzing glass is quite an elaborate piece. Darcy’s father carried it occasionally as well, but likely not for the same purposes.” Mr Wickham’s voice, low and sympathetic, purred next to her. “Darcy is one of society’s most sought-after bachelors. I am acquainted with more than one well-bred lady who enjoyed his notice until he raised the glass to his eye and found something to displease him. Was it a spot, a crooked tooth? Some flaw no one else would discern nor give credence to when judging her worth?” He shook his head sadly. “Oh yes, I can see it now, staring through that wretched yet beautiful glass, delivering his edict and ruining anyone who displeased him.”

Elizabeth’s mind was spinning. “Do you imply Mr Darcy uses the quizzing glass itself as a tool of cruelty?”

Mr Wickham’s voice grew more ingratiating as the heavy scent of his cologne swept over her. “Sir William has called you ‘the jewel of the county’, but please beware, Miss Elizabeth. When the glass is at Darcy’s eye, even you will feel his disdain.”

Her stomach roiled. Appalling as Mr Darcy’s conduct appeared in the tale, Mr Wickham’s telling of it was far more shocking. He has known me a minute, and here in a crowded gathering, takes joy in blackening the characters of Mr Darcy and his father.

“That is dreadful behaviour, indeed. But I promise you, sir, I have seen no sign of a quizzing glass or spectacles or any such affectation on Mr Darcy.” Even my feeble attempt to enquire about the strength of his eyesight distressed him, she thought, recalling how quickly he had fled her company in the library only days earlier. Perhaps he has been teased too often about his dependence on such an ornate family heirloom. Certainly, both Miss Bingley and Mr Wickham take an uncommon interest in it.

Mr Wickham looked as if he would press Elizabeth’s hand but instead relied on his words to reassure her. “If I may be indelicate, Meryton is more rustic than Darcy is accustomed to, and he likely feels himself so far above the company found in your country neighbourhood that he has not bothered to use it.” Smiling, he added, “With ladies so tempting as you, Miss Elizabeth, and your sisters, why would he ever have need of it?”

Elizabeth was grateful when Mr Wickham was called away to join a card game; if he had not left, she would have abandoned his company.

Turning away to hide her expression from the room, she grimaced, thinking of Lydia and Kitty, who had behaved so poorly in Mr Darcy’s company. Our neighbours think nothing of their behaviour, accustomed as they are to it. But Mr Darcy is not so inured, nor would he or anyone from higher circles need spectacles or a quizzing glass to see their horrible manners. She had seen the disgust in his expression when Lydia flounced about. Tempting? Vulgar and ill-behaved is more like it.

Sighing as she heard herself beckoned by her mother, Elizabeth rose. I shall see how Mr Darcy looks at me at the ball.

FIFTEEN

As Darcy waited by the window above Netherfield’s drive, watching the carriages roll up and all and sundry of Meryton arrive in their country finest, the letter he had received from his cousin earlier that day plagued him.

Darcy,

My admiration for Miss Lewiston has ended. Hers, apparently, never began.

The lady, privy to gossip and rumour, and eager to believe any which would benefit her, gave herself to understand that my elder brother was deathly ill and, apparently seduced by the idea of marrying a future earl, determined to marry me. She is as foolish as she is covetous.

You will not be surprised, for I saw your reluctance to promote my affections towards her. Did you sense something which called forth your cool manner? When I saw you had thoughts you did not share, I called you a stubborn fool. Your heart might be yet untouched, but your instincts and sensibilities are well honed.

Tomorrow I am off to Brighton to train some men. I shall drown my displeasure—that is what it is, more than heart-break—by plunging into the cold water to swim and wading into the many parties and assemblies common to such a place.

Had there been an instance when Darcy had hoped the glass was wrong? He had not liked Miss Lewiston and thought his cousin more flattered than affected by the attentions the lady paid to him. He could not but be glad it was resolved—and resolved on its own, without his interference, even if Fitzwilliam had suspected his opinion.

Miss Bingley moved into view, her cool blue eyes meeting his before he could escape and rolling them towards the ballroom’s flower-bedecked doorway. She leant close, and with no attempt to lower her voice, said, “The Bennets have arrived, all of them, and brought along a cousin who I understand will marry one of them.”

Marry one? Darcy looked towards the front of the room, where Mr and Mrs Bennet, wearing widely differing expressions, led their flock of prettily dressed daughters; the family was followed by a heavy, awkward young man who was likely taller than his manner allowed. He bowed his head and scampered about the ladies, belying any sort of dignity as he attempted to escort the eldest two into the ball while seeming more apt to trip them. Miss Bennet appeared less his object of devotion than did Elizabeth, who hid a grimace beneath her radiance.

Darcy’s hand rose, reaching as was his custom for the glass, before cursing quietly at his negligence in bringing it. Moments later, he scowled as the man, wearing an expression of solemn servility, led a visibly pained Elizabeth towards the line of dancers.

Anyone can see he is a fool. He has no notion at all of this dance! He has stepped on her foot!

Clearly it hurt, but while her kindness masked her distress, her light was dimmed. It was perhaps the longest set Darcy had ever endured, and as he went through the patterns with Miss Bingley, he felt his anger growing. The clod-pate spun in the wrong direction, knocking another man nearly off his feet; clearly mortified, Elizabeth tugged his arm to prevent another collision, earning her a look of such mawkish condescension it was all Darcy could do not to pull him from the floor.

Finally the ordeal was at an end, although not before his eyes met Elizabeth’s and he saw her unease. He nodded, wishing to convey his concern, and she returned it with a brief smile before gamely retreating in company with her oafish cousin. As Miss Bingley tugged on his arm, bleating on about her reluctance to partner with any of the men here who dressed and danced less finely than he, Darcy’s thoughts wandered.