Page 11 of Vain and Useless

Sir William Lucas held a large party one evening, some three weeks after the assembly. There was much talk of the imminent arrival of a regiment of militia, of which they had previous intelligence, but tonight they were introduced to its commander, Colonel Forster, and two officers who had accompanied him to Meryton to inspect the place where they were to be quartered for the winter.

The instrument was opened early, and Miss Lucas pressed Miss Elizabeth to play and sing. Darcy attended the performance with great interest. Her performance was by no means capital, but was pleasing and engaging, and her voice quite fine. She was succeeded by her sister Mary, who played with better technique overshadowed by her stiff, conceited air. At the close of a long concerto, her younger sisters pleaded for some Scotch or Irish airs, and Sir William ordered the carpet rolled back in one corner of the room so that the young people might dance.

Such a haphazard means of getting up a dance—an activity which was not a favourite to begin with—did not at all suit Darcy’s tastes, but mindful of the poor impression he had given his friend’s neighbours not long ago, he replied politely when Sir William Lucas remarked to him that it was a charming amusement for young people and began to natter on about St James’s and the dancing to be had there.

Miss Elizabeth came towards them then, and Sir William expressed surprise that she was not dancing, attempting to induce Darcy to lead her into the ragged line which had formed across the room. Surprisingly, he was not unwilling, and had opened his mouth to request the pleasure when she said, “Indeed, sir, I entreat you not to suppose that I moved this way to beg for a partner. Rather, I have come to task Mr Darcy with a most solemn and important question.”

“Well, well! I do not know that I approve of solemnity at my party, Miss Eliza,” the older man replied jovially. “But you have roused my curiosity, and if your question is not a great secret, I would attend while you ask it.”

Her eyes sparkled as she smiled at her neighbour. “My acquaintance with Mr Darcy is hardly of such depth and duration as to admit secrets, Sir William.” She turned that smile on Darcy, and he felt as though she could ask him for his house in Mayfair and he might sign it over. She then put on an air of gravity, though her eyes still shone with humour. “Sir, I have determined that the illustration of your character depends upon your answer to this question: If you were about to set out on a long journey, and could only take one book, what volume would you select?”

He laughed; he could not do otherwise. “The illustration of my character, is it? Am I such a mystery?”

“In some ways, sir,” she allowed. “As any new acquaintance must be, though I do not believe I do you an injustice by saying that I have already determined that yours is an intricate character. But you have yet to answer.”

Sir William appeared delighted by this banter, his avid gaze darting between them. Darcy made a bit of a show of pondering the question, to entertain them both, and then replied, “I have it! In my library at home there is a volume, acquired by my grandfather, collecting Shakespeare’s comedies. That is what I should take with me on a long journey, if I could have but one volume.”

She regarded him with some astonishment. “The comedies, Mr Darcy? That you would prefer Shakespeare is no surprise at all, but I should have thought you inclined towards the tragedies.”

“I do enjoy them, very much, but you specified a long journey. Travel is often uncomfortable, and even more often dull. To laugh and to be amused is, I think, preferable when one is in an otherwise trying situation. I leave the pondering of the weighty themes of King Lear or Othello to a quiet hour in my own home, when I am comfortable and at my ease. And now you must tell me—what have I revealed of my character, Miss Elizabeth?”

“That you are of a practical turn of mind—you have selected a collection, which will provide you with the contents of several volumes in one, and you have considered what is most suitable to the situation, rather than selecting purely on inclination. Had I simply asked you to name your favourite book, I think your answer would have been different.”

“It would,” he allowed. “And now I must turn your question upon you, that I might illustrate your character.”

She laughed. “You will despise me, sir, for I should choose Evelina. I never tire of it.”

“I cannot despise you, for I have not read it. If you approve of it so greatly, however, I must presume that I have been in error to have passed it by.”

“A most excellent answer!” she exclaimed, laughing. She looked across the room and nodded to someone. “I beg your pardon, Miss Long is waving at me, and I must see what she has to say.”

He and Sir William bowed to her, and she moved off to attend to her friend. Sir William then took his leave, chuckling and muttering to himself about young people discussing books at a party. Darcy was not alone for very long, however, for Miss Bingley soon passed by and, seeing that he was without company, stopped.

“I judge by your smile that you are having a pleasant time, Mr Darcy,” she said.

“I am, yes.”

“Not long ago I should have thought it insupportable to pass an evening in such a manner; indeed, in such society,” she said reflectively. “I came to Hertfordshire prepared to be cordial for Charles’ sake, but without any expectation of pleasure for myself. I have never been so happy to be proved wrong.”

“There is little of fashion or elegance to be found here,” he pointed out without rancour.

“True. However, I will see fashion and elegance enough in the spring. Country society has its charms, and I am enjoying those at present. I find that my tastes are broader than I knew.”

“I confess, I am enjoying my residence here far more than I expected, as well.”

Young Mr Lucas requested her hand for the new dance which was forming just then, and Darcy was left alone with his thoughts once more. He found they returned again and again to a pair of fine eyes, and to the great pleasure to be found in a pretty lady’s artless smile, directed at him alone.

Caroline had not missed the way Mr Darcy’s gaze had sought out Miss Elizabeth Bennet when he spoke of enjoying his stay in Hertfordshire. Nor had she failed to notice their lively, though appropriately brief, conversations on other occasions of late. She felt the sting of rejection; how could she not? She had pursued him for years, and another had attracted his notice without effort. Even though she acknowledged that she had never felt deeply for him, her pride was yet wounded where her heart was untouched.

She acquitted Miss Elizabeth of any intentions of drawing his eye. Her new friend had clearly disliked him in the beginning, and though they had reached some sort of rapprochement—she presumed he had offered an apology for his speech at the assembly—Caroline did not see that she treated him much differently than any other gentleman. She suspected an attraction on his part, but could not say whether it was at all reciprocated.

It was likely immaterial, she concluded. He might like Miss Elizabeth quite well indeed, but would he ever stoop to offer for a lady with neither wealth nor connexions? She considered it improbable. He was too conscious of his lineage and position to reach outside his sphere. It must be immaterial to her, in any case. She had tried for him and failed. His choice of a bride must not concern her, for she would only make herself resentful if she allowed herself to do aught but wish him well.

As she moved through the dance, she saw her brother and Miss Bennet by the punch bowl. They each seemed quite pleased with the other, and there, Caroline thought, was a much more likely pairing. Jane Bennet would make a pleasant sister, and in marrying a gentleman’s daughter, her brother would raise the status of his own children. They were suited to each other in both situation and temperament, and therefore there could only be one immediate objection to the match: that Mrs Bennet and her youngest daughters absolutely could not be presented to society. At some point, Charles might find himself responsible for looking after a widowed Mrs Bennet and any of her daughters who had not wed, but that was a more distant concern.

Well, if her brother did propose to Miss Bennet, Caroline would speak with him about ensuring that her relations did not mortify them; until then, there was little point in worrying over the matter. She returned her partner’s smile and directed her attention to his conversation.

CHAPTER 9