The Eldest | F. Darcy

Chapter 1: Silent Stranger

The day passed swiftly, and much to Adele's relief, a note arrived from Mr. Bingley stating that he would not be able to visit, as he had urgent business in London. Mrs. Bennet, however, was deeply distressed, having been exceedingly eager for the occasion.

Mr. Bennet found his eldest daughter in his sanctuary, engrossed in the estate ledgers and deep in discussion with Mr. Sattler. So absorbed was she that she did not notice her father's arrival until the steward rose to depart. Only then did she look up, rewarding Mr. Bennet with the sweetest smile—the one she reserved only for him.

"Should I arrange a special dinner tonight to soothe your mother's distressed nerves?" he asked, eyes twinkling. "And perhaps to celebrate your immense relief?"

"That would put an end to my happiness, for I would have to wear that dreadful corset and some horridly itchy gown. Your wife would settle for nothing less," Adele said with mock gravity. "I sometimes wonder what brute of a man could have devised such a thing—purely to please his own eyes with fine curves."

"And why must the creator be a man?"

"A woman could not be so cruel to her own sex."

"She might have wished to appear more slender and graceful."

"He might have wished to keep women confined and breathless."

"She might have sought to please her man—or to catch one."

"He might have preferred women incapable of freedom and sought to control them."

Mr. Bennet smirked, conceding defeat. His daughter was too quick-witted to be bested in argument. He knew no man worthy of her, nor could he yet bear the thought of giving her away—even if a worthy suitor presented himself.

"Shall we take a walk, sir?" Adele asked, a playful glint in her eye. "Perhaps to the lake and back?"

"Only if you promise to debate Shakespeare's works along the way," he bargained.

Laughing, she happily agreed, and together they strolled toward the lake, discussing literature, philosophy, and even the economies of the world. Yet as they neared the water, Adele fell into silence, her gaze fixed upon the rippling surface.

Mr. Bennet sighed, well aware of the thoughts clouding her mind. "Stop dwelling on the evening ahead," he said gently, "or you will never be happy."

"Happiness is not my pursuit," she murmured, her voice hollow. "I only wish to remain where I am. I have climbed too high already—any further ambition would only risk a greater fall."

He regarded her thoughtfully, unsure of how to lift her spirits. Instead, he turned his gaze to the glittering pond before them.

"Papa," she said after a moment, her tone lighter now, "do you remember? Whenever Mama was cross with me, I used to run away, and no one could find me until I chose to return?"

He nodded with a nostalgic smile.

"I always came here—to this lake," she continued. "I would climb the oldest tree, hide in its shade, and read until I finished an entire book. When I returned, Jane would embrace me, Elizabeth would laugh at how the household had been thrown into a frenzy, and Mama would only mutter, 'Impish, stubborn girl.' You, however, would wink at me, kiss my cheek, and simply say, 'I missed you.'"

A wave of warmth filled Mr. Bennet. Adele had been raised more by him than by her mother, much like Elizabeth. She had once mimicked his every habit, even sitting with his bookkeeper, the late Mr. Holt, to learn estate matters. The stern old man had softened under her charm, treating her as the daughter he never had. Upon his passing, Adele had refused to let another take his place—claiming the responsibility for herself instead.

Elizabeth, though spirited, was idle like himself. She would speak with him for hours, though deep in his heart, he knew Adele was the better companion. Mary had always been reserved, often bullied by the younger Bennet sisters, yet she confided in Adele in the quiet of her room or the library. Since Adele's time in London with the Gardiners, Mary had grown even more aloof, her only comfort found in the pianoforte.

Jane, ever the darling, had been shaped in part by Adele's gentle influence. Natural grace had been refined under her sister's quiet guidance, a mixture of kindness and propriety forming her character.

Mr. Bennet was pulled from his reverie when Adele nudged him playfully, and together they returned home.

The following evening, the Bennet ladies attended the assembly ball.

The hall was crowded—much to Adele's displeasure—and the youngest Bennet sisters were delighted at the opportunity to dance to their hearts' content.

Adele, seeking solitude, sat with Mary in a secluded corner while Elizabeth and Jane conversed with Charlotte. Meanwhile, Lydia flirted shamelessly, with Kitty trailing eagerly behind. Adele blushed at her family's lack of decorum.

"Shall we join Elizabeth and Jane?" Mary asked softly.

Adele obliged her, though she soon regretted it when men began approaching her to claim dances for the evening.

Suddenly, a hush fell over the room.

Adele turned to see Mr. Bingley entering the hall, accompanied by two gentlemen and two ladies.

Whispers spread rapidly—Bingley's companions were identified as his sisters, and the shorter gentleman as Mr. Hurst, husband to the eldest Miss Bingley. Within minutes, the tallest man in the party was revealed to be none other than Mr. Darcy of Pemberley in Derbyshire, a man possessing ten thousand pounds a year.

Adele stiffened at the mention of Derbyshire, a flood of unwelcome memories rushing forth.

Mr. Bingley soon spotted her and crossed the room with a bright smile. Adele returned the gesture, rising to curtsy as he approached.

Yet his eyes did not linger on her—they flitted to Jane, brimming with unmistakable admiration. His step faltered before he recovered himself, while Jane blushed deeply. Adele raised a knowing brow.

Introductions followed swiftly, and Mr. Bingley beamed. "I apologize, Miss Bennet, that I have not yet had the pleasure of meeting your father."

"He sends his regards, sir," Adele replied smoothly.

Bingley then turned to his friend. "Ah! Darcy, allow me to introduce Miss Adele Bennet, the eldest of the Bennet sisters and the only one I had the pleasure of meeting prior to this evening."

Mr. Darcy offered a curt bow. Something about her seemed familiar, but he could not place it.

"Miss Bennet," Bingley asked, "would you do me the honor of dancing the first set with me?"

Adele smiled politely but declined. "I must refuse, sir. I am a dreadful dancer. However, our dear friend Charlotte Lucas would be most delighted—she dances splendidly."

Bingley graciously accepted her suggestion, and Charlotte, blushing furiously, was thrilled by the honor. Jane and Elizabeth, too, were soon called to dance, as was the Hurst couple. Even Miss Bingley, to her dismay, was obliged to accept a partner.

Thus, Adele found herself standing beside Mr. Darcy and Mary. Before long, Mary excused herself, leaving Adele and Darcy in an awkward silence.

She turned to him with an amused smirk. "Forgive my impertinence, Mr. Darcy, but do you not enjoy dancing?"

"I do not dance with those I do not know," he replied stiffly.

"Then, sir, you are fortunate that it was I who asked and not my sister Elizabeth—for she would think you quite odious."

Mr. Darcy's lips twitched, and though he barely smiled, the faintest curve of amusement was unmistakable.

As silence settled between them, Adele took the opportunity to observe him. He was tall—even taller than herself, despite her considerable height. His shoulders were broad, his skin kissed with a golden hue. His clear blue eyes were striking, and his strong, angular features lent him an air of aristocratic pride. The faint stubble along his jawline only enhanced his handsomeness.

Realizing she had been staring, Adele flushed and quickly averted her gaze.

The music ceased, signaling the end of the dance. Before she could speak, Charlotte grasped her arm, whisking her away from Mr. Darcy.