By Nancy Young
The day Mr. Darcy attended the quarterly meeting of the Jane Austen Society, no one expected anything out of the ordinary. Members gathered in the library’s conference room much as usual, filling out nametags and picking over the assortment of brochures. But all the chatter stopped the moment Darcy’s imposing presence filled the doorway to 202A.
He penned his name, Darcy, in elegant script and took his time affixing the tag to the lapel of his morning coat. Nodding to the regional coordinator, he kept his direct gaze focused forward as he slowly made his way to the back row and sat, leaving a space between himself and Regina Simpkins, who at the last meeting had led a spirited discussion on tea. She hastily moved her purse from the empty plastic chair between them and gave him a tremulous smile, which he ignored.
The members turned in their seats to gaze at him, but their attention to Darcy evaporated when a new figure appeared at the door. This one, too, cut an impressive figure: a tall, commanding gentleman clad in a blue coat with gold epaulettes on the shoulders and a bicorn hat tucked under one arm. “I beg your pardon,” he said to the room in general. “The parking is quite atrocious.”
Darcy rose and bowed slightly as the captain approached. “Wentworth.”
The gentleman smiled and bowed in return. “Darcy. A pleasure to see you again. What of the others?”
“Knightley’s been held up. Planting season.” Darcy grinned. “Said he’s sorry to miss it. And you know how Colonel Brandon hates this sort of thing.”
Bertram and Tilney, as clergymen, also could not attend, as this was a Sunday meeting. Ferrars might have claimed that reason, as well, though they knew the truth—the very idea of appearing at such a function caused his person to break out in hives.
Mouths agape, the members of the Jane Austen Society rudely eavesdropped on the gentlemen’s exchange. Finally, the regional coordinator clapped her hands to bring the meeting to order. “Attention. May I have your attention, please?” Heads jerked forward and buzzing ceased.
The meeting began, as it usually did, with attendees introducing themselves and sometimes stating their favorite Austen novel. Mr. Darcy remained impassive as two blushing members mentioned Pride and Prejudice, but he raised an imperious eyebrow at the daring young woman who proclaimed her love for Northanger Abbey.
When his turn came, Darcy rose and bowed slightly to the group. “Good afternoon. I am Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley and am delighted to make your acquaintance.” His patrician face failed to convey any delight whatsoever. “I rarely read romances,” he added before sitting down again.
Wentworth followed suit with his accustomed equanimity. Then the program commenced. “Today’s talk will be led by our former treasurer, a Janeite of long standing,” the regional coordinator declared with decided flair. “The title of her presentation is ‘Heroes in Austen: A Ranking.’ I give you Elfrida Willoughby.” A fidgety woman whose reddish perm sat like a cap above her angular features rose with a decided air of authority.
A polite spatter of applause greeted Elfrida as she sidled to the podium. In the back row, Darcy and Wentworth leaned back in their chairs, arms crossed over their chests.
“Who among us hasn’t imagined herself in one of Miss Austen’s novels?” Elfrida began. “We’ve been amused with Lizzie Bennet, depressed with Anne Elliot, and chastened with Emma.”
Wentworth and Darcy exchanged glances as she went on to tout the virtues and gloss over the shortcomings of the heroes—in alphabetical order, so as not to slight any. Bertram, Brandon, Darcy, Ferrars, Knightley, and Tilney were thus anatomized. Mr. Ferrars, though likable, she easily discarded, since he was “not handsome.” A new member brought up what she called the “hotness factor” and the problem of Knightley’s and Brandon’s advanced ages.
“I hardly think thirty-seven is advanced,” Elfrida said, but she was overruled.
Eventually, they removed Bertram, too, from consideration, since his preference for Miss Crawford showed a disturbing lack of judgment. Then the floor opened to final questions.
One hand shot up immediately. “We’ve skirted around what must be a primary consideration,” said the young lady who’d championed Northanger Abbey. A frowsy member tittered, clasping her hand over her mouth. “No, not that, ladies. Wealth. Austen heroines generally marry up. I should think that the higher the income, the higher the ranking a hero merits.”
“That consideration does change things,” Elfrida said with some hesitation. “But doesn’t it seem rather mercenary to reduce the choice to what they’re worth?” She glanced over members’ heads toward the back of the room.
The Northanger fan continued without pause. “One must be practical. Colonel Brandon should be dropped, not only because he’s old, but because he has only two thousand a year. Mr. Darcy has five times that. Mr. Knightley’s a wealthy landowner. Mr. Tilney gained a considerable sum from his mother’s marriage settlements. But Captain Wentworth—I’m sorry to say—has only the income from his part of the prize money.” She didn’t look sorry.
Darcy smirked and sat up higher in his plastic chair. Wentworth frowned and looked down at his hat.
Regina Simpkins gasped. “What of his honor? His bravery? He earned that prize money!”
“Mr. Darcy,” Elfrida ventured, “would you care to comment?”
Darcy cleared his throat. “Under the circumstances, madam, I hesitate to offer an opinion. All I can say is that, in matters of integrity, a hero must be exemplary. I’ll leave it to others to judge how so.”
And judge they did, taking an anonymous vote. Darcy claimed the title of Best Austen Hero with twelve votes. Despite his inferior fortune, Wentworth and his virtues received enough votes to allow him to hold his head up.
“Where’s the next one, then?” Wentworth asked Darcy as they rose to take their leave. The heroes understood their limitations, since they could venture out only when an avid reader opened an Austen novel. Everyone knows characters live on within the page.
“A book club Thursday evening,” Darcy replied. “You might have better luck there. I hear they’re partial to sea stories.” He held the door.
“I believe there’s a decent pub around the corner,” Wentworth said. “We still have time. Let me buy you a drink.”
About the Author
Nancy Young met Jane Austen when she was eight and remains a devoted Janeite. Before becoming a full-time author, Nancy taught college writing and literature. Her romantic suspense series is set in Raleigh, and her upcoming Regency series explores the lives of minor characters in Sense and Sensibility.
“Pride and Fawning” was originally published in moonShine review.
