The Hunt

The Hunt

Sir William Lucas looked slightly startled.

Whether his startlement came from being addressed by the rather haughty gentleman from Derbyshire or the fact that he was half-disguised, was difficult to discern, but he gave the man his full available attention, such as it was.

“Your servant, sir.”

Over the course of the previous hour, Darcy had come to the uncomfortable realization that he, along with Bingley’s sisters and Hurst, were supposed to be at Netherfield to support his friend—but they were actually sabotaging him. The sisters were probably irredeemable because they were doing so deliberately, but Darcy and Hurst were guilty due to nothing short of misplaced pride and indolence respectively.

The kindness of a stranger held a mirror up to him, and he did not much care for the reflection.

“I appreciate your efforts, good sir. I belatedly realize that I have been acting quite the clodpole for the past few hours. I suppose I could blame it on a megrim, but I dislike whining so try not to indulge myself. I acquired a remedy, so I would like to become acquainted with this society. Might you introduce me to some ladies I have yet to meet, and perhaps I might even dance with a few of them.

“Mayhap, if you have no objection, we might start with those asked to dance less often so they might not have had their share of the floor—especially those that had no chance to be introduced to our party earlier.”

Darcy could not say whether he was being gallant or strategic but did not want to overthink it. His angel had come to him during a dance, and he was dead-certain he had not heard her voice earlier. That meant she was most likely not from the leading families Sir William had dragged him to. The chances of one of the leading ladies missing both an introduction to an eligible gentleman and a dance in the middle of the evening seemed slim. Logic therefore dictated she was likely one of the quiet ones in the back who seldom danced. Well, he would dance with them until he found her.

Sir William generally occupied himself solely in being civil to all the world , so he set out with alacrity to make the Derbyshire gentleman as acquainted as he possibly could. Thus was he quickly introduced to the Penns, Harringtons, Longs, Gouldings, and another half-dozen families.

Sir William, not being suicidal, naturally reintroduced the man to his own progeny as well, though little good it was likely to do. Of course, introducing him to the younger Bennets was neither required nor desired, though he did manage most of the elders.

Of course, practicality would rear its ugly head. Darcy’s hearing was very good, but he had not heard all that much of the young lady. If he wanted to identify her by voice, he had to hear it. He did not require much more than the first year or two of his Oxford education, to work out that if he wanted to hear ladies speak, he had to hold up his share of the conversation.

Thus, he found himself discussing the things that came to mind for a desperate man who was not particularly good at the sport of conversing with people he did not know well. He took it as a challenge, with the mere idea of failure a shade on his pride.

In that manner he became aware of Miss Pen Harrington’s problems with her pony (which he had a potential remedy for), Miss Amy Long’s uncle who would come to visit in a fortnight, Miss Jennifer Goulding’s desire to know more about Derbyshire and the Peaks District, a thorough description of all the nearby towns, the weather, the quality of the music, the best walks in the area, Miss Rebecca Rowe’s enthusiasm for Lord Byron, Miss Angela Fishbourn’s upcoming visit to her aunt in London, the fact that Miss Mabel Harrison’s father ran Derbyshire Gritstone sheep, Mr John Lucas’s new puppy, Mr Elkhorn’s opinion of the available sport, and another dozen topics.

While Darcy was generally considered an awkward and unsocial man at best, particularly among those he had never met; he gradually came to the sinking realization that, with a specific task in front of him, it was not all that difficult to get the job done. All he had ever needed was motivation and practice. He simply treated the exercise like rhetorical preparation for a debate.

Speaking to ladies at an assembly was not all that different from his debating society at university. While it was true that many of the ladies could not match the cleverest fellows at Oxford, most of them were at least as conversable as the mediocre students, particularly since many a peer’s son had no more sense than the average donkey.

He also belatedly realized that spending time with ladies with little chance of attracting his attention allowed him to refrain from watching his back quite so carefully as he did in London. There was very little chance a woman who was not often asked to dance at a country assembly would expect to capture a member of the first circles. Since they all knew how the world worked, they also realized that to even attempt it would just expose them to ridicule. They took his overtures as politeness, and Darcy gradually became less nervous. As his apprehension decreased, so did his conversational partners’.

At the end of the evening, Bingley having danced every set was not the least bit surprising. The fact that Darcy managed more than half was unprecedented, as was the fact that he actually enjoyed himself.

One prominent source of enjoyment for the evening, was watching Miss Bingley be annoyed by his activities, which was its own pleasure not to be disdained (in moderation, of course).

There was only one blight on the evening for Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley .

He knew everything there was to know about Bingley’s angel but absolutely nothing about his own.