Page 3 of Midnight at Pemberley

Elizabeth Bennet placed her Aunt Gardiner’s letter away before staring out the window. “So the infamous Mr. Darcy is in Hertfordshire and staying with our new Mr. Bingley,” she mused. “I wonder if what Aunt says of his character will prove true. I suppose I shall soon discover for myself. It should be interesting to observe whether my aunt’s opinions hold merit.”

The days passed quietly for the most part, but despite Darcy’s desire to appear invisible, Bingley’s obligations required that they make an appearance at some of the local gatherings, the most important of these an assembly where Bingley and his sisters would encounter the society in which they would dwell. Although Darcy despised such gatherings, he accompanied his friend. The public nature of village assemblies meant anyone with a ticket could attend. He was certain every available young woman and girl straight from the schoolroom would await Bingley’s acquaintance. Bingley’s wealth made him a worthy catch, especially for a country miss likely never to experience a Season in London’s Society. As Bingley’s closest acquaintance, Darcy expected a similar perusal, but he planned to put off any such overtures.

When they entered the hall, the dancers made their turns and came face-to-face with Bingley’s party. Instantly, everyone stilled, as if playing a childhood game of tag, and they had all been tagged at once. A stirring of expectations spread across the room, and a number of families nudged their daughters forward, the better to catch Mr. Bingley’s attention.

Sir William Lucas, the only man in the neighborhood of any consequence resembling a title, welcomed them and made appropriate introductions before many in attendance returned to the dance. Darcy held himself stiffly erect as he followed Bingley’s party into the room. Although the hall teemed with noise, Darcy walked in silence. It echoed in the night, and for the first time in many years, he felt the hair on his neck stand on end, as if Destiny walked beside him. Something momentous awaited him. The feeling rocked him to his soul. He looked around, half expecting to observe George Wickham among the revelers, but only the landed gentry and working poor dotted the crowd. A faint trembling shook him, but he forced his steps to a raised dais at one end of the room.

Having exchanged pleasantries with those deemed by Sir William to be worthy of the introduction, Darcy assumed a position along the rear of the dais, keeping his back to the wall so he might guard against any intrusions. Something unusual stung the air—something he could not pinpoint in the dimly lit hall.

Within a few minutes, a sturdy matron stepped forward, dragging a half-dozen young women with her. Darcy heard Sir William introduce his daughter Miss Charlotte Lucas, one of the brood, and then the unbelievably pretentious Mrs. Bennet. Darcy smiled at the thought of the easygoing man he knew as Mr. Bennet being yoked in life to the woman. As quickly as the introductions were uttered, Mrs. Bennet assumed control of the conversation, forcing herself and her five daughters upon Bingley.

“Oh, Mr. Bingley, we are so pleased you have come to Netherfield Park. Are we not, girls?” she gushed. “If it pleases you, permit me to introduce my daughters,” she continued, barely providing Bingley time to nod before she made the presentations. “This is my eldest, Jane. Then Elizabeth, Mary, Catherine, and Lydia.” Each girl made a curtsy as her name was announced.

“I am pleased for the acquaintance, Mrs. Bennet.” It amazed Darcy how much Bingley truly loved all the attention. His friend grinned widely at the young ladies before he made his own introductions. “These are my sisters Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst, with her husband, my brother Hurst.” The women bobbed their curtsies, and then the group directed their attention to him. “And this is my associate, Mr. Darcy of Pemberley in Derbyshire.”

The “mother hen” responded. “Welcome to Hertfordshire, Mr. Darcy,” she cooed. “I do hope you enjoy your stay.”

All eyes fell on him as he offered the group a proper bow. “You are most kind, Ma’am,” he murmured and resumed his place along the wall.

As the conversation shifted once again to Bingley and his sisters, Darcy, from a mix of boredom and curiosity, conducted a closer observation of the Bennet sisters. The two youngest were insignificant schoolgirls, giggling masses of feminine silliness. He thanked Fate that Georgiana had displayed greater maturity than these two. The middle girl held no true beauty. Her strict angular lines took on boyish qualities, and she had done nothing to soften the look. The eldest Miss Bennet was a striking beauty. He could easily envision her taking center stage at any of a dozen grand balls as the most beautiful woman in attendance.

Then his eyes fell on the second daughter. Although not as arrestingly beautiful as the eldest, Miss Elizabeth was a beauty nonetheless—petite, small waist, dark hair with auburn highlights, almond-shaped eyes of a dark green, perhaps hazel, full red lips and a slim, aristocratic nose. She simmered sensuality, and whether he liked it or not, his body reacted to her. Their eyes met, and in amusement, she arched an eyebrow and gifted him with a beguiling smile, almost as if she knew how her feminine charms affected him. Her open teasing awakened a dangerous part of him, and he felt an almost visceral desire to possess her. Purposefully, Darcy pulled himself upright, crossing his arms across his chest, symbolically sealing off the opportunity for communication, and then he pointedly looked away to end her hopes.

Bingley asked Miss Bennet if she might stand up with him for the next set and the group moved away to join the assemblage. Darcy stood alone, never permitting the possibility of claiming a flirtation. Yet as the evening progressed, his eyes returned repeatedly to Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Boldly, her eyes met his in a challenge he was not confident he could meet. A shiver ran down his spine. It felt as if she explored his soul with her gaze. For a brief, fleeting second, Darcy wondered if she felt it, too, and then his pride pushed the thought aside.

“Come, Darcy,” Bingley called as he approached, “I must have you dance. I hate to see you standing about by yourself in this stupid manner. You had much better dance.”

For a moment the image of standing up with Miss Elizabeth Bennet rushed forward, but Darcy forced it away. “I certainly shall not,” he declared. “You know how I detest dancing, unless I am particularly acquainted with my partner. At such an assembly as this, it would be insupportable.Your sisters are engaged, and there is not another woman in the room whom it would not be a punishment for me to stand up with.”

“I would not be so fastidious as you are,” cried Bingley, “for a kingdom! Upon my honor, I never met with so many pleasant girls in my life as I have this evening; and there are several of them uncommonly pretty.”

Darcy would not betray his interest in Miss Elizabeth, nor would he succumb to the temptation to touch her. “You are dancing with the only handsome girl in the room.” Ironically, as he said the words, Darcy’s gut clenched in denial.

Bingley sighed audibly. “Oh! She is the most beautiful creature I ever beheld! But there is one of her sisters sitting down just behind you, who is very pretty, and I dare say very agreeable. Do let me ask my partner to introduce you.”

Before he could think clearly, Darcy inquired, “Which do you mean?” Following Bingley’s gesture, he turned to look upon Miss Elizabeth. His heart jumped, but he withdrew his eyes and coldly stated, “She is tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me, and I am in no humor to give consequence to young ladies who are slighted by other men.” Although he did not look at Elizabeth, he knew his words literally struck her. It was as if he experienced her pain. “You had better return to your partner and enjoy her smiles, for you are wasting your time with me.”

He determinedly walked off, leaving Bingley to follow his advice. Darcy knew he left Miss Elizabeth with no real cordial sentiments towards him, but he could not permit any awareness between them to blossom.

However, later in the evening, he indulged in a perverted torture when he danced with Mrs. Hurst, setting her in the same quadrille as Miss Elizabeth and her partner. He circled Louisa and came face-to-face with the lady. At first, she refused to look at him, but within the dance she placed her hand in his. A jolt of intimacy shot up his arm, and intuitively he tightened his hold, requiring her to meet his eyes. As they stepped around each other, their gazes remained locked. Each time they came together, they dueled for supremacy. Without realizing she did so, Miss Elizabeth bit her bottom lip, and Darcy watched the moisture form on the inner lobe, wondering what it would be to taste her. They spoke no words, but he knew her desire soared as tautly as his.

As he passed her for the last time, he imagined roughly grabbing her and pulling her into his embrace. She would fit nicely under his chin, and her lithe curves would be hard to ignore. He watched her head turn and how her neck elongated with the movement. Darcy smiled with the thought.

As the music ended, her voice brought him back to reality. “I assume, Mr. Darcy, that you find our simple assemblage amusing.”

Darcy looked down to find a veil drawn over her expression. “A man may take pleasure in many things, Miss Elizabeth.” He did not expect the fathomless darkness of her eyes, and subconsciously his fists tightened by his sides. She appeared prepared to respond, but a touch of her partner’s hand had her turning away. The dance had ended on a sour note.

When Bingley’s party returned to Netherfield, Darcy dreamed of Miss Elizabeth Bennet, and they were not the terrifying dreams he often experienced. Customarily, his dreams held images of blood dripping from open wounds and his inner animal ripping control from him. The horror of it all would shake his composure for days afterwards. But after his brief acquaintance with Miss Elizabeth, his dreams were everything but abhorrent. In them, he pushed a strand of hair away from Elizabeth’s face, and his lips brushed hers. She stared deeply into his eyes, and Darcy wanted the security he found there. Then he kissed her passionately, his tongue invading her mouth. The scene went no further, but a half-awake Darcy replayed it many times until it was right. He felt the kiss—knew her heat.

“Mmm, that is nice.” Surprisingly, he felt alive, more alive than he had known in his lifetime. He felt strong when he imagined holding Elizabeth Bennet in his arms. It was an exquisite torment, something he could desire, but something he could never achieve.

Elizabeth observed him all evening, the consummate master of Pemberley, just as her Aunt Gardiner had described him. Mr. Darcy thought his actions were above reproof. The word of how he snubbed her spread through the neighborhood, and her pride clouded any feelings of attraction Elizabeth held for him. But, like it or not, she possessed a desire to know more of him.

At home, much to Elizabeth’s embarrassment, her mother lamented her daughter’s treatment. “But I can assure you, Lizzy does not lose much by not suiting his fancy, for he is a most disagreeable, horrid man, not at all worth pleasing. So high and so conceited. He walked here and there, fancying himself so very great!”

Her father commented, “Bingley is open and easy, and he swears by Darcy’s strength of regard and the man’s judgment. In meeting both, I would say Darcy is the superior. Bingley is by no means deficient, but Darcy is clever. He is also at the same time haughty, reserved, and fastidious, and his manners, although well bred, are not inviting. In that respect Mr. Bingley has greatly the advantage.”

Elizabeth murmured, “I could easily forgive Mr. Darcy’s pride if he had not mortified mine.”