P&P: The Untold Stories-Darcy & Elizabeth Dining in Company

Had she merely dined with him, she might only have discovered whether he had a good appetite; but you must remember that four evenings have been also spent together—and four evenings may do a great deal.

Pride & Prejudice, chapter 6

October 1811

Darcy stood alone near the grand fireplace, his eyes discreetly scanning the crowded drawing room. He could not quite recall the name of their hosts that evening—was it Simmons? Simpsons? Smithsons? Did it truly signify?—but did know very well that it was the fourth such evening he had been forced to endure. As it had been with the first three, the room was full of lively conversation and inelegant personages. Such undistinguished lives but they do enjoy themselves. 

And none of them more than Miss Elizabeth Bennet. She stood across the room in a group of admirers, her laughter ringing out like the chime of a silver bell, and her expressive eyes sparkling with intelligence.

At the assembly, that accursed evening in Meryton, Darcy had not even thought her pretty, although Bingley had. Even Hurst had opined that he thought she had a fine figure. So the second time he was in company with the Bennets—the first of the many dinner parties the neighbourhood inflicted upon them—he had searched her for her flaws, that his original opinion might be justified and he would be proved correct. And flaws she did, indeed, possess. There was more than one failure of perfect symmetry in her form, she was short, and both her eyes and her mouth both seemed to be somewhat too large for her face. Alas, when he related these observations to Bingley, far from being persuaded, Bingley had only smirked at him. “You trying to persuade me or yourself, old man?” was Bingley’s rather impudent remark on the subject.

At the second dinner party, he made the mortifying discovery that Elizabeth Bennet’s dark eyes were in fact rather beautiful. Her face was rendered uncommonly intelligent by the expression within them and the manner in which they sparkled when she laughed was truly something to behold. They sparkled that way after you insulted her, he informed himself grimly. She was laughing at you.

The third party ended with some unhappily extemporaneous dancing by some of the younger people in the crowd. Darcy would never have dreamt of succumbing to such undignified proceedings—with the plainer Bennet sister supplying what passed as music in these parts—yet found himself compelled to observe. Much as he disliked admitting it to himself, Miss Elizabeth was like a diamond among the lumps of coal, moving with elegance and grace through the patterns. Her figure was light and undeniably pleasing as she skipped and turned and at once a most unwelcome vision assaulted him: Miss Elizabeth in his arms at Almack’s, or some other, more elevated gathering.

He had initially planned to leave Netherfield after the second party. He knew not why he was even here, if the truth was known. He had only planned to remain for a fortnight and yet something detained him. It was certainly not from any desire to consort with Elizabeth Bennet, nor to indulge in the pleasure of watching her dance. It was because the elder Mr Goulding is reportedly a man of uncommon refinement, he reminded himself.

Then, why have you not so much as spoken to the man beyond a simple polite greeting?

The dance ended and Elizabeth Bennet, with her partner, brushed past him. It seemed that inasmuch as he observed her, he had become almost invisible to her. Suddenly perversely determined to intrude upon her notice, he followed her, nearly colliding with her when she did an about-face without warning.

“I beg your pardon,” he said, taking a quick step backwards and giving her a slight bow.

“My apologies” she said with a smile that lasted the briefest moment. Then she stepped around him and continued walking, leaving the faintest trace of orange blossom behind her.

Her manners were not those of the fashionable world. A London woman would have taken advantage of being in such close proximity to him, would have dropped something or used the near-collision as an excuse to fall into his arms. Elizabeth, on the other hand, acted as if he was a bothersome footman who was in the wrong place. Darcy frowned at that thought and resolved that he would think no more about the second eldest Bennet sister.

The fourth party, however, truly proved his danger. The home of Mr and Mrs Robinson was scarcely half the size of Netherfield; but, Mr Robinson was a gentleman and his farms appeared well tended and reasonably prosperous. His wife, it seemed, excelled at two things: setting a fine table and arranging her guests to their liking. Rather, it was to Darcy’s liking for at last he found himself seated next to Elizabeth Bennet. On his other side was Mrs Hurst but as Miss Bingley was nowhere near, he knew she would have little to say.

I must take great care, he warned himself, not to do or say anything which might give rise to false expectations in the lady. “Miss Elizabeth,” he said gravely as he helped her take her seat. “It seems we are to dine together.”

“So we are,” she agreed, “in the company of thirty others as well.” With that she turned to the man on her left, an aged gentleman who sat slumped in his chair and could only hear about a third of anything being said to him. Darcy sat in silent amazement, mostly staring at the back of Elizabeth’s head as she bent close to the old man, hearing some story about crop failures in ’78.

The old man, it seemed, was Mrs Robinson’s father and elderly as he was, he could not last the entire dinner. After the cheese course, he seemed to be slumping further in his chair and at length, someone’s man came and got him and escorted him from the table, assuring Mrs Robinson that he would see him safely to his bed. Darcy cared little about that save for the fact it meant Elizabeth now had an empty chair on her opposite side. Now she will have to speak to me!

“Are you enjoying your dinner, sir?” She asked. Almost lazily, she took up her wine glass, and took a delicate sip. When she set the glass down again, one ruby-red drop remained on her lips until her tongue emerged, quickly, to lick it off. The wave of longing that swept through him at that slight, innocent action nearly rendered him speechless. Good lord, man, do not embarrass yourself over a sip of wine!

“I…I, yes, it is an excellent meal. Your neighbours have entertained us well these past days.”

Very gravely she said, “I am glad to hear it has not been a punishment to attend so many parties.”

Punishment? Strange choice of words. “Not at all I assure you.” He thought for a moment, then asked, “Do you find it a punishment to attend so many parties?”

She shook her head and then, with a sweet smile, added, “But there are many things I do not think are punishments that others might. Opinions do sometimes differ on these things.”

The second course was upon them then and Darcy was called upon to serve her from the dishes of duckling with French beans, and asparagus. “I do not wish for much,” she said.

“Do you dislike duckling?” He asked as she took a small portion of each.

“No, I do like it but my appetite has been satisfied from the first course.”

“But you scarcely ate!” He said it without thinking. It would not do for her to imagine he had sat there tallying every bite she took. “That is to say, the course was, um, it was lighter. Fish, you know, it is never really fully satisfying.”

She laughed. “I believe you must be accustomed to a man’s appetites, sir.”

Deuce! A slight laugh and a remark about appetite and he felt it again, that stirring within him. It was humiliating, to say the least. He prided himself on his gentlemanly regulation of such…urges. Why was it that this lady—a lady for whom he could have no honourable attachment, one he had not even initially thought pretty—was stirring up these sensations?

He looked away from her and swallowed hard, then reached for his own wine. A few moments later, well in command of himself—or so he hoped—he turned to look at her again. She had just taken up a spear of asparagus and placed the tip in her lips, biting down gently. How he felt, how he reacted to such a gesture, was mortification anew.

He knew not where it came from this strange lust—yes, call it what it was—for a lady so beneath him but he would not allow it to conquer him. He could have no honourable intentions towards this girl and so he would not dishonour her, not even in his mind. If he had to leave this place to do it, so be it, but he had never been a man ruled by what resided within his trousers and he would not permit Elizabeth Bennet to make him one.

Catch up with all the Untold Stories HERE