Page 34 of Mr Darcy’s Quizzing Glass

“No, he never does,” Bingley replied, idly wondering how it was that Lydia knew the quizzing glass was bejewelled. He listened to Jane and young Lucas for a few moments, then glanced round the room seeking Darcy; he was pleased to find him chatting with Elizabeth—perhaps his friend’s malaise was ending. Elizabeth was his favourite of Jane’s sisters, and it bewildered him that Darcy, as perceptive a man as existed, did not see how delightful she was. But now, perhaps he had.

Even the sight of Lydia and her companion—he could see now that it was Mr Wickham—speaking to Darcy would not put the man off a friendship with Elizabeth. If she was clever enough to keep up with his conversation, Darcy would learn to tolerate her younger sisters.

Of course, it was not that he did not like all his future sisters. Yes, Mary was a bit pedantic; Bingley enjoyed music and could sit still in church, but he had no ear for psalms. Kitty was earnest and surprisingly good on the harp; as for Lydia, she could dance without tiring—unlike most ladies who would sit and recover themselves and fix their gowns and hair. Her behaviour at Netherfield’s ball had been nearly wild; Louisa and Caroline had harped on it all the following day, at least until they called the girl a hoyden and he ordered them to leave for London if they could not bear the connexion he meant to deepen.

And I have!

No, he could have no regrets on angering or disappointing his sisters. He was to marry darling Jane tomorrow! His friends and neighbours all in harmony; happiness everywhere, except, of course, for his sisters, scowling in the direction of—Bingley turned to see the object of their disdain—Lydia.

There she was, laughing in the company of two young officers. Bingley squared his shoulders. He was to be Lydia’s brother, and Jane would wish him to act the elder protective one to her youngest sister, whose antics were clearly worsened by her enjoyment of punch. He started towards her, glaring at the soldier whose eyes were fixed on the girl’s bulging bodice as she showed him something in her hands. Lydia was insensible, her eyes fixed on whatever she held.

Darcy’s quizzing glass! Bingley knew it well—the ruby on the tip of the handle had long been coveted by Caroline.

Lydia lifted it to her eye and turned, looking round the room.

Then she screamed.

TWENTY-FIVE

Had Elizabeth realised Lydia and Mr Wickham were approaching from behind, she would have pulled Mr Darcy over to the punch table. It was not until the lieutenant’s ingratiatingly smooth voice sounded over her shoulder that she understood the awkward situation they were in.

“You look quite the tulip this evening, Darcy. You deigned to think the rabble worthy of the view through your quizzing glass?”

Hiding her disgust under a polite smile, Elizabeth said, “If you refer to my family and neighbours, gathered here in my home to celebrate my sister’s engagement to Mr Bingley, as rabble, then I wonder at your presence amongst us, Mr Wickham.”

“Oh, Miss Elizabeth, I merely jest. My old friend here is not known to mix with locals, and to see him with his father’s treasured quizzing glass outside of London society is quite perplexing.”

Had she not learnt proper manners, Elizabeth might have kicked the man. It was fortunate Mr Darcy, his expression stone-like, knew how to disabuse his nemesis of his unwarranted befuddlement.

“I have brought the glass to Meryton for a purpose, as I am told the finest ribbons in the country can be found at Bracknell’s, which is the favourite milliner of the Bennet ladies.” He glanced at Lydia, who stared at him wide-eyed as she nodded. “Now, tell me, George. Being that Bracknell’s sells bonnets and gloves to ladies, it would not be one of the many establishments where a man might incur debt, would it?”

Mr Wickham’s expression shifted quickly from a pretence of pleasant fulsomeness to one of fury. “You cannot desist from hounding those like myself who deserve so much more.”

Mr Darcy scoffed, replying, “Those who apply themselves to their studies and work hard are the deserving ones.”

“Those not born to it must make our way as we can,” said Mr Wickham, who promptly leant over to Lydia, said something quietly in her ear, turned on his heel, and strolled away. For a moment, confusion clouded the girl’s expression, but soon she wore a more familiar smirk. Elizabeth knew her youngest sister remained unconvinced of the man’s duplicity, and drew her closer to say quietly but urgently, “Lydia, you must stay away from Mr Wickham. While he is all charm and ease in society, truth and honour are less⁠—”

“Stop it, Lizzy, you sound like Mr Collins,” Lydia said, laughing. “Mr Wickham says Mr Darcy lacks charm and honour. Shall I order you to keep out of his company?” She turned from Elizabeth and looked up smugly at the gentleman she stupidly impugned. “What say you, Mr Darcy? Will you do me the honour you did my sister and trust me to peer through your quizzing glass?”

Panic surged through Elizabeth as she realised Lydia must have seen her and Mr Darcy together by the stream. She looked up to find Mr Darcy looking at her, alarm in his countenance, and lifting his hand protectively to the pocket of his waistcoat.

“No,” he began, turning his attention back to Lydia—but he was too late to keep the impetuous girl from reaching for the handle of the quizzing glass, pulling it from his pocket, and dashing away.

Gasping, and without even a glance at Mr Darcy, who she knew must be horrified, Elizabeth gave chase, moving swiftly but sedately through the crowded drawing room, following the trail of Lydia’s foolish laughter. Desperate not to raise attention, she hissed her sister’s name as she moved around her neighbours. Mr Darcy followed; his height would gain him a better view of Lydia’s whereabouts, but she knew—they both knew, unfortunately—whom she wished to impress by her mischief: Mr Wickham.

A moment later, Elizabeth spotted Lydia in the corridor with two young officers. She moved towards her with no little urgency, pleading, “Lyddie, give it to me, please.”

Lydia smirked, stuck out her tongue, and put the quizzing glass to her eye. Elizabeth could see the abrupt change in her sister’s bearing as she stared out at their neighbours. White-faced and breathing heavily, she lowered the glass and rubbed her eyes, before again looking through it—and shrieking.

Those in the corridor quieted; a few heads peeked curiously out of the drawing room. Thank goodness most of their neighbours were familiar with the noise and fury of the youngest Bennets and overlooked Lydia’s hysterics. Elizabeth was aware that Mr Darcy and Mr Bingley were now standing near, and together, they shielded her sister from view. “Off with you now,” Mr Darcy snapped at the two redcoats.

As they scurried away, Elizabeth whispered, “Lydia, give it to me.”

“No,” she said, staring at Elizabeth through the glass. “You are aglow, Lizzy, radiant. Everything looks different, strange, through it. It must be enchanted.”

Mr Bingley chuckled nervously. She could feel Mr Darcy’s anxiety, but he remained silent, his expression careful.

“No, Lydia. You are too full of punch to convince me of that.” Elizabeth reached for the handle, closing her hand around it and gently tugging it from her stunned sister’s grasp.