The Netherfield Ball, as seen by Lt. Denny
November 26, 1811
LIEUTENANT DENNY, IMMACULATE IN HIS NUMBER ONE UNIFORM, paid his respects to his hosts, Mr. and Miss Bingley, before following Captain Carter into the main room of Netherfield. At his shoulder were his comrades, Pratt and Chamberlayne. His friends were looking for diversion, something that Denny sought as well, but he had a task to perform.
“Ah,” said Pratt, “Carter is making for the card room.”
“All the better to avoid Miss Watson,” drawled Chamberlayne. “You know she has set her cap for him.”
“At her age? I do not believe it.”
“Stranger things have happened. I say, who is that? The young lady with the freckles?”
“Her?” Pratt looked over. “That is Miss Mary King. The word is that she has expectations of an ill grandfather and ten thousand pounds.”
“Ten thousand? That might make up for her atrocious fashion sense,” Chamberlayne sniffed.
For not the first time, Denny wondered about Chamberlayne.
At that moment, the Bennet family arrived and Denny smiled. Miss Lydia was particularly fetching tonight, and Wickham was not there to get into his way. As his two companions made their way to the punch table, Denny slowly approached the Bennet ladies, wishing to accomplish his mission as soon as possible.
“Ah, Mr. Denny!” cried Miss Lydia. “Is he not handsome, Kitty? So fine in his uniform and sword! I believe I shall swoon!”
“I shall swoon as well,” parroted Miss Kitty.
“Girls, that is enough,” Miss Elizabeth said quietly. “Good evening, Mr. Denny. I hope I find you well.” As she spoke, her eyes were scanning the room, obviously looking for someone.
As was Miss Lydia. “But where is Mr. Wickham?”
“I bear unfortunate news,” said Denny. “My friend is not in attendance. Wickham was obliged to go to Town on business yesterday and will not return until tomorrow. He sends his regrets.”
Lydia and Kitty were vociferous in their displeasure at this pronouncement, and Miss Elizabeth was clearly disappointed, particularly when Denny, with a significant smile, added in a low voice meant only for Miss Elizabeth’s ears, “I do not imagine his business would have called him away just now if he had not wished to avoid a certain gentleman here.” He gestured with his head at Mr. Darcy, who was standing in a corner across the room.
Wickham had told Denny of the shameful treatment he had received from his godfather’s son, and a shocked Denny felt sympathy for his friend. The rich had their own rules, he had reflected, and a poor man could do nothing but make his own way in the world. Opportunity was scarce in the militia, which was why Denny was determined to join the Regulars and rise in his chosen profession.
Lydia, who had heard nothing of Denny’s last comment, stamped her little foot. “Well, pooh! If Mr. Wickham thinks that business is more important that dancing with ladies, then I say he is a dull fellow! As for me, I shall dance the night away!”
Denny extended his arm. “If you are not otherwise obligated, may I request the first set? And Miss Kitty, the second?”
Lydia took his right arm and flashed her eyes coquettishly. “Why, Mr. Denny, that would be very agreeable.”
Kitty took his left. “I should dance first! (*cough*) I am almost two years older!”
Denny knew he had to defuse this potentially explosive situation. “Ah, but Pratt would never forgive me, Miss Kitty, as he has spoken of claiming your first.”
“Oh!” Kitty was exceptionally pleased.
Denny turned to make his excuses to Miss Elizabeth, only to see she was in conversation with Sir William Lucas’s plain daughter. He walked away towards his comrades as Miss Lydia asked whether the rumors were true that Colonel Forster would marry soon.
~*~*~*
The ball was like any other ball as far as Denny was concerned. After the first sets with Miss Lydia and Miss Kitty, he danced with several of the other ladies of the district. Denny was amused that Captain Carter stood up with Miss King. Not that there was anything wrong with Mary King—if one’s tastes ran towards the uninformed and insipid. But a potential ten thousand pounds was an attractive inducement for attention in some men. Men not like Archibald Denny. He liked lively people.
There were interesting moments during the ball. Denny was surprised at first that Miss Elizabeth danced with Mr. Darcy, knowing that Miss Elizabeth was distressed over the man’s treatment of Wickham. Amazement turned to amusement when he noticed two things. First, Miss Elizabeth was clearly scolding Mr. Darcy during the set. Second, Mr. Darcy seemed to be unaware of it, and Denny thought he caught flashes of admiration in the rich man’s eye.
The proud and unpleasant Mr. Darcy is attracted to a lady who hates him! he thought. I know a man of his stature would never offer for her, but I wonder what would happen if he did? Would Miss Elizabeth flatly refuse him, puncturing his pride, or would she do the prudent thing and accept him and make the rest of his life miserable?
Denny was enjoying Miss Lydia’s company at dinner when Miss Mary Bennet began her concert at the pianoforte. Her playing was truly appalling, but he was embarrassed at the way Lydia and Kitty openly laughed at her. It was not his place to correct her, but he suspected that for all her loveliness and high spirits, Miss Lydia needed a firm hand to guide her to better behavior. He had not the right to do that, but he could stop those who were abetting her conduct.
“Pratt,” he hissed, “pray stop providing punch to Miss Lydia and Miss Kitty. Can you not see they have had enough?”
“And very good punch it is” laughed Chamberlayne, “especially with all the whisky someone added to it!” He winked at Pratt.
“What?” Denny was outraged. Officers were meant to act as gentlemen, and this was not the action of a gentleman! “Pratt, this is insupportable!”
“Aw, shut your gob, Denny,” drawled Pratt, half-way into his cups. “Just having a bit of fun. Besides, I don’t have to listen to you. You’re not my commanding officer.”
“True, but I am your brother officer, and I tell you this is wrong.”
Pratt, bleary-eyed, leaned over and belched. “You ain’t in the Regulars yet, Denny, so hold your bloody tongue. Or are you going to be a damnable scrub and report me to Carter?”
Denny pulled his lips tight. There was a code in the ranks—stand by your comrades—and Denny was not going to break it. At least, not over this. But it went against the grain. “I think it best that the ladies receive no more punch. Can I depend on you?”
Pratt raised his hand in defeat. “As you wish. Besides, it leaves more for me and Chamberlayne.”
Chamberlayne laughed again. “I thank you for my share, Pratt!”
“Denny?” asked an inebriated Lydia. “Are you arguing with Pratt?”
“Not at all, Miss Lydia. May I get you some punch?” He glanced at his chuckling comrades. “There is a different batch that I highly recommend.”
Lydia grinned. “Lord, you are so sweet! Is not Denny sweet, Kitty?”
“Yes.” Kitty blinked happily.
Denny moved over to a different punch table, one that was halfway across the room, bemoaning the fact that it would still take almost nine months before his uncle’s shipment arrived from India and provide the last of the promised funds he needed to purchase his commission in the Regulars. Ah, to leave this collection of militia misfits behind! September of ‘12 could not come fast enough!
(Based upon Archibald Denny, from my novel, The Three Colonels: Jane Austen’s Fighting Men.)
2 comments
I have to agree with Lydia: Denny is sweet! I rather like him! (Not sure that I like him for the same reasons as Lydia, though!) I began this piece thinking it was too bad Lydia didn’t end up with Denny, but by the end, I’m rather glad he’ll make his escape! (Not that Lydia deserves Wickham; no one, especially not a fifteen-year-old without much thought, deserves him!) Thanks, Jack. I enjoyed this perspective on the ball. (Oh, and Denny was quite insightful about Mr. Darcy!)
Really enjoyed this…
…but hadn’t Carter been killed and buried before the Netherfield ball? First and last words of each sentence of Caroline’s letter gives a hint of what is going down. I think it is Bingley, judging by his mood when Elizabeth rocks up at Netherfield, that is the one who kills him as it is very similar to Darcy’s mood at Pemberley later in the book, but I think it is Edward Gardiner’s son, John, who did for the colonel, and Jane always had a thing for a spadassin… which is a word I had to look up.