The Bennets Take on the Ton (The Sweet Regency Romance Series Book 13), page 1
The Bennets Take on the Ton
Perpetua Langley
Copyright © 2018 Perpetua Langley All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
The Bennets Take on the Ton
Chapter One
Mrs. Bennet charged down Bond Street, her short legs pumping at an alarming speed. Carriages hurtled by and sprayed dust on the hem of her dress as she weaved around various persons who were perverse enough to stand in her way. She and her two daughters had purchased gloves, ordered slippers, chosen ribbons and given directions for the decoration of bonnets—the lady was determined that nothing should be left undone.
Her husband had come into a tidy sum upon the death of a distant relative and Mrs. Bennet had expended vast amounts of talking to convince him to part with a portion of it to outfit his two eldest daughters. Whether Mr. Bennet had been convinced by the facts contained in his wife’s arguments, or whether he could not bear another minute of talking, did not concern her in the slightest. Mrs. Bennet was in a near constant state of nervous exhaustion over considering that her two eldest should already be married and yet remained, inexplicably, unmarried. If new bonnets and ribbons would not go some distance to securing the notice of a few suitable gentlemen, she did not know what would.
“Mama,” Elizabeth said, catching her arm, “you leave Jane and I quite behind.”
“These crowds are insufferable,” Mrs. Bennet said, huffing and out of breath. “I do not see how your aunt and uncle can bear this town.”
“But you did so long to come,” Jane gently reminded her mother.
“She pined and yearned to come,” Lizzy said playfully. “And now she has arrived, and she does not like it.”
“I should like it very well indeed if there were not so many people hanging about the place,” Mrs. Bennet said. “I do not see why every person in England should be here.”
Just then a man jumped down from his horse. He threw his reins and a coin to a boy and strode past Mrs. Bennet, brushing her on the shoulder. She raised her parasol and gave him a sharp whack on the back with it. “Watch where you are, sir,” she said.
The man shuddered under the force of the blow and spun around. He was dressed simply in a dark coat, but his linen was immaculate and carefully tied into an intricate knot. The whole effect of it was one of effortlessness, though Elizabeth guessed this was a man who dressed himself thoughtfully and did not stint on fine material and expert tailoring.
This was a very rich man that her mother had just assaulted.
Elizabeth glanced at the man’s face and took in a sharp breath. She recognized him in a moment. The prominent cheekbones, mass of brown curls, high forehead and, most of all, the mouth that looked perennially amused. She dropped to a deep curtsy and stayed down.
Jane was not far behind.
The man stared at Mrs. Bennet with a cool eye.
“Well, sir?” Mrs. Bennet said, waving her parasol in a threatening fashion, “do not just stand there as if you have lost your wits!”
Though Lizzy had not risen, she desperately tugged on her mother’s skirts. “Mama,” she whispered.
“Fear not, Lizzy,” Mrs. Bennet said in her most haughty tone. “I can manage this jackanapes.”
A second man, tall and dark-haired, came upon the scene and leapt down from his horse. “Your Royal Highness,” he said, “do you encounter trouble?”
“His royal highness,” Mrs. Bennet said derisively. “I’ve never heard of anything so…as if he…well, really…” Mrs. Bennet trailed off, it finally penetrating her mind that the gentleman she had struck with her parasol was no ordinary gentleman.
The Prince of Wales continued to stare at Mrs. Bennet. “Not too much trouble, Darcy,” he said. “I have only been beaten with a parasol and been declared a jackanapes, after all.”
Lizzy peeked up from her curtsy, wondering if they would shortly find themselves on their way to Newgate for harming a royal personage. The man called Mr. Darcy was handsome, she could not help but note it, but he appeared exceedingly angry. She supposed she could not fault him for it, considering the circumstances.
Mrs. Bennet curtsied low. Rising, she discreetly slid her parasol behind her back, as if removing it from view might erase the gentleman’s memory of its recent activities. She said, “Your Royal Highness, may I just say that the papers do not do you justice! But then, they never do, do they? I have not had the experience of finding myself sketched for the masses, but if I had I am sure they would not capture the likeness. Then of course, there is the little matter of my eyesight not being what it once was. And I will also note that should you wish to challenge my husband to a duel over this little mishap, his name is Smith. The York Smith’s, you understand. Living very far from here. And he is very old and frail. For all I know of it, he might have died and I’ll get a letter about it on the morrow. I only hope I shall be able to read it with my failing eyesight. ‘Tis a wonder that I get about at all.”
Elizabeth and Jane had cautiously risen during this remarkable speech.
The Prince had remained staring. “Your husband is that frail, is he?”
Mrs. Bennet nodded vigorously. “A broom stick has more weight to it than my poor husband. You would be embarrassed to challenge him, he is that pathetic.”
“I see. Though I’ll hazard a guess that particular circumstance does not bother you in the slightest,” the Prince said, “as you can barely make him out through your failing eyes.”
“Very true,” Mrs. Bennet replied. “He is but a shadowy figure.”
The Prince suddenly broke into laughter. “You hear that, Darcy? I’m to look for a Smith in York to demand my satisfaction. I am to hope the poor old fellow is not already dead. And this fine lady only wishes to be able to read the letter informing her of it!”
Though the Prince seemed to find this idea highly amusing, his friend, Mr. Darcy, clearly did not.
“Come now,” the Prince said to Mrs. Bennet, “there is no frail old Smith wandering around York, I am sure of it. Though it is exceedingly valiant of you to attempt to hide your real husband’s whereabouts and I believe your eyesight to be perfectly splendid, rest assured I shall challenge nobody. Duels generally take place at dawn, a time of day I am not acquainted with. There’s no help for it, my good woman, I must know your real name. I cannot very well amuse my friends with the tale of this misadventure without knowing who you are.”
Mrs. Bennet seemed to consider her options, now that the frail old husband living in York and her near blindness were out. She shrugged and said, “Mrs. Bennet, Your Royal Highness. These are my daughters, Miss Jane Bennet and Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”
The Prince nodded. Mr. Darcy bowed, though Elizabeth was fairly certain he had no interest in honoring the Bennets after what he had just witnessed.
“We are a respected family emanating from the environs of Hertfordshire, Your Very Royal Highness,” Mrs. Bennet continued. “Our estate is Longbourn, near Meryton—you may have heard of it. I have five daughters, all very fine. Except for Mary. They must all be married and it is a heavy burden to think of. You cannot imagine how it weighs upon me. The estate is entailed, you see. Though I wonder if you might do something about those awful laws that stop us from breaking it.”
Mr. Darcy folded his arms and said, “Perhaps the Prince of Wales need not be burdened with your personal affairs.”
Elizabeth blushed and was certain Jane did as well. Mrs. Bennet bristled. “Are you a duke, sir? Or even a marquess or an earl?”
Mr. Darcy answered silently, by way of a scowl.
“I thought not,” Mrs. Bennet said. “One can always recognize the superior manners of titled individuals, as the Prince has demonstrated for you. He is all affability.”
The Prince roared with laughter. “Hear that, Darcy? Your manners are not up to snuff because you are not a duke! Too amusing, really too amusing.”
Mr. Darcy had reddened and Elizabeth had the distinct impression that this was not a man who tolerated being the subject of a joke. Some men were able to withstand a teasing, while others felt it a deadly strike to their pride.
“Darcy,” the Prince continued, “I must have Mrs. Bennet and her charming daughters attend my dinner on the morrow. I simply must. My guests will be ever so entertained to meet with the lady who has starred in this extraordinary encounter.”
“The dinner?” Mr. Darcy said, as if the Prince had just announc
Elizabeth’s embarrassment was beginning to fade as her temper began to rise. Her family might not be as grand as the royal family, nor even as grand as this Mr. Darcy’s family, but they were a gentleman’s family. They should be afforded respect everywhere. If only her mother would not paint them in such a light as she had!
“You are a terrible snob,” the Prince said to Darcy. “My guests will think of it in the light I tell them to think of it. Else, they shall not be invited again. I must have Mrs. Bennet at my table. Entertainments are so hard to find these days and I find myself bored.”
Mr. Darcy nodded, albeit reluctantly.
“We shall be delighted to attend your soirée,” Mrs. Bennet said. “Though, your royalest highness, I should not like to leave my brother and his wife, Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner, behind on such a matter. They are elegant people, you understand. Very elegant.”
“Get the address, Darcy,” the Prince said, barely able to contain his laughter. “I shall send a carriage for the illustrious Mrs. Bennet, her charming daughters and her elegant relatives.”
With that, the Prince tipped his hat to Mrs. Bennet and strode down the street, laughing all the way.
Tight-lipped, Mr. Darcy said, “Your address, ma’am?”
Mrs. Bennet, disapproving of Mr. Darcy’s restrained manner, said stiffly, “Gracechurch Street, sir. The brick house with the blue door, hard by the Swan with Two Necks.”
“Next to an inn,” Darcy repeated, his tone conveying his distaste for any persons living in the vicinity of an inn.
“A very respectable inn,” Elizabeth said. It irked her that she was clearly meant to feel ashamed of her aunt and uncle’s address. She had not, until now, had much experience with the highest strata of society. Of course she had known some titled people, but they were only Sir William, Lady Lucas and dear old Lady Melby. Sir William and Lady Lucas were good friends and, in any case, had not been born to it. Lady Melby was a charming eccentric whose primary interests were the cultivation of indoor plants and conversing with a shockingly rude parrot. Elizabeth had never met with anybody who wished her to feel small and insignificant.
“The carriage shall arrive promptly at seven,” Darcy said. He bowed and walked his and the Prince’s horses down the road.
“What an insufferable creature,” Mrs. Bennet said. “I gave him that hint, you know my generous nature about such things, but it rolled right off him. A bit of a dolt, really. One wonders that our Prince would associate himself with such a person. Well! Thank the heavens the Prince recognized our own good breeding. Now, our list of errands has just grown exponentially.”
Elizabeth had been so absorbed in her irritation with Mr. Darcy, that it just now penetrated her thinking that they would go to Carlton House. Mrs. Bennet would go to Carlton House.
She glanced at Jane and could see that her sister was beginning to make the same calculations. In Meryton, where their mother was well known, she was tolerated with good humor. Mrs. Bennet had done and said no end of appalling things to her neighbors. But here, in London, with strangers? That was another matter. And not just any strangers, the Prince of Wales and his guests. What would be the chance that they could survive an entire evening without Mrs. Bennet saying something shocking? Or wildly insulting?
Elizabeth admitted to herself that the chance was not very good.
“Do not dawdle, Lizzy!” Mrs. Bennet scolded. “We are off to the dressmaker. We shall need something new for the Prince’s elegant dinner.”
“But mama,” Elizabeth said. “Surely our father did not give you so much that we can afford new dresses?”
“And, in any case,” Jane said, “the dinner is on the morrow and a dress could not be made so quickly.”
“Leave all that to me,” Mrs. Bennet said with confidence. “Goodness, you two are so often in the habit of giving up before you have even begun.”
Madame Rousseau was of the same opinion as Jane Bennet. New dresses could not be done so quickly.
“Now my good woman,” Mrs. Bennet said, “do not take me for a fool. I know perfectly well that you have got dresses nearly done in here somewhere.”
“Indeed, madame,” the lady said, “but they were commissioned by other customers.”
“Bah,” Mrs. Bennet said, waving away this very salient fact, “my daughters are both very regularly sized sort of people, except that Lizzy is somewhat short. Simply take the dresses you have and finish them off for my girls. Then, start over for your other customers, whoever they may be.”
“My customers are very fine people and I would not play such trickery upon them,” Madame Rousseau said with a sniff.
“Very well,” Mrs. Bennet said. She sat herself down in the nearest chair.
Madame Rousseau stared at her. “Madame? You require to rest before you depart?” she asked.
“Oh, I am not going anywhere, Madame Rousseau. I shall stay right here until we understand each other.”
Three hours later, Madame Rousseau was defeated. It appeared that the only method of removing Mrs. Bennet from her shop, and stopping her from complaining to everybody who walked into the shop, was to deliver dresses that were meant for somebody else.
Darcy paced his library, frowning at Bingley’s highly amused expression. “I tell you,” he said, “the Prince must take greater care with his reputation. He must be more discerning in considering who he ought to be seen with. This Mrs. Bennet that he finds so amusing will only shock and dismay his friends.”
“Does anybody really find themselves shocked at Carlton House anymore?” Bingley said.
“That’s the point,” Darcy said. “The house has garnered a certain reputation that it has no business having. Now, he has found another one of his eccentric pets. It will be Madame Lightfoot all over again.”
Madame Lightfoot, in Darcy’s opinion, had been a disgrace to the reputation of the house. The Prince had come upon her in some cheap theater in the midst of a debauched evening. He had been so delighted by the lady’s absurdity that he had given her the run of Carlton House. She was forty, if she was a day, and yet presented herself as a girl. And not an innocent girl at that—rouged cheeks, dyed hair, barely decent costuming and an alarming fondness for gin. And then her dancing! The lady fashioned herself as a ballerina and would go stumbling through the drawing room late on many an evening. The Prince was amused beyond measure. Darcy was only mortified and had finally prevailed upon the lady to decamp by paying her handsomely. The creature now owned a small estate in the north.
“Could this Mrs. Bennet really be as ridiculous as Madame Lightfoot?” Bingley asked. “Because I do not see how anybody could.”
Darcy knew that his friend hoped he would say yes. Bingley did not take the Prince’s odd habits as seriously as Darcy did. “Perhaps not,” he said. “But she is that sort of woman who will say and do the most ludicrous things. She hit him with a parasol! And the things she said! It was all very untoward.”
“No matter, Darcy,” Bingley said. “We shall depend upon you to protect us from this harridan. Certainly, we can hold up against one lady?”
“Indeed, it is not only one lady,” Darcy said. “She brings two daughters and two relatives of some sort. I cannot fault the daughters, they appeared as mortified as I was by their mother’s behavior and so must possess some amount of finer feeling. I will say the dark-haired of the two was particularly pretty in a lively sort of way. But as for the relatives, I only shudder to think.”
“A virtual horde shall descend upon us!” Bingley said with delight. Seeing that his friend was not inclined to joke, he said, “Never mind, perhaps we have more difficult problems to unravel? I have had news from one of my spies—the Frenchman remains a threat.”
“And the Prince does not heed the threat at all,” Darcy said. “He does not think the man would dare it.”
“That is because the reward does not appear as large as the risk. But Prinny forgets, not every man weighs actions with the cold eye of a money counter, and this one certainly does not. This adventurer considers himself personally affronted and, therefore, would dare much. It appears that his relatives in Paris believe him to be in Belgium, but in fact he booked passage here. There can only be one reason for the deception.”
