‘If anyone can change his mind, you can, Lizzy.’
She said nothing. There was no sense in arguing with Jane when she was in such a state of positivity. She lay back against the pillows and allowed her mind to wander, just once, and dream about what it might be like if he had indeed asked her to marry out of love.
Chapter Seventeen
Fitzwilliam Darcy did not sleep easily that night either. He was awake with the dawn, purely because he had not slept a wink all night. Perhaps it was the tiredness that drove him to make a decision that was so uncharacteristic. Or maybe it was the shock of having been turned down when society had spent years assuring him that he was one of the most eligible bachelors in town.
Either way, as soon as he had eaten breakfast, Darcy did something that was quite unlike him. He left the house on foot and walked briskly and directly towards the grand old house on Mount Street that had once belonged to the last Earl of Essex’s mother’s family. Well that was not quite true. He had not so much eaten as moved the food around on his plate, having found it about as appetising as old boots.
He was about halfway to her house when he stopped, almost sending a vegetable cart flying.
A horrible realisation dawned on him.
He had no idea what it was he planned to say to her.
All he knew was he had lain awake half the night unable to get her out of his thoughts.
He sighed and started walking again, kicking his feet in front of him.
He loved her—he was in no doubt about that now. As implausible as it was, he could not argue against the true nature of his feelings.
How would she react to hearing that? He was prepared to spend as long as it took to convince her of his feelings, but he suspected that would not be enough. She was a rational woman. She had responded with distaste when he had proposed marriage just the day before, so how could he expect her to respond favourably to him now? She would wonder what had happened to change his mind and conclude that nothing could have happened in such a short amount of time.
‘She shall think me a liar,’ he muttered, earning a horrified look from a well-dressed gentleman walking in the opposite direction to him. ‘And it is clear to me that she had little time for lies and deception. How can I make her see that I loved her and I simply did not know it?’
He shook his head and turned around, hesitant to give up his mission. After all, what other choice did he have but to go to her home? He needed to convince her and he was sensible enough to acknowledge that their meeting the day before had been a coincidence.
They had no acquaintances in common. He might opt to attend balls he might otherwise have declined invitations to, but he did not think that would be much use either. She was new to town, and if there was any truth in Lord Henry’s story, then her social status had been grievously injured by the malicious young lady who had been unable to contain her jealousy.
‘A ball,’ he whispered. He was now leaning against the smart black railings that surrounded the little private park he had stopped outside. There was one just like it around the corner from his own house—he kept a key for it on a ring just inside the front door in case he should ever have the urge to go there. He had not been there often—he preferred the vast public park to the small confines of the private one, which was often no quieter than Hyde Park itself.
He was quite alone on the street now, though even if he had not been he would have paid little heed to the fact that there were witnesses to the fact that he was speaking aloud to no-one. He was too busy thinking to worry about it.
‘A ball,’ he said again. This time, his voice was infused with optimism, for he knew he had struck on something useful.
He turned and hurried away. He did not go in the direction of his own house; nor did he continue his course towards Miss Elizabeth’s abode. No, he headed straight for Charles Bingley’s rented townhouse, which far enough away to warrant Darcy returning home for his carriage. But there was no time to return home and have the horses prepared.
Darcy had to speak to his friend at once.
* * *
‘Good heavens, Darcy,’ Charles Bingley said, pacing the floor and looking more perplexed than his friend had ever seen him. ‘Have you lost your mind?’
‘Not at all,’ Darcy said frowning. ‘All I did was suggest that you might throw a ball—that is hardly evidence of madness.’
‘Well, that is true, but it is unlike you all the same. I have had to drag you to any balls you have attended in the past. You are the least sociable fellow I know—and I know many.’
Darcy, who up to then had been pacing in a different direction to his friend, threw himself down in the nearest chair with a heavy sigh. Was the cost of this venture that everyone considered him mad?
He would happily accept it, he realised, for the chance to see her again and explain his feelings to her.
‘My dear fellow, it all comes down to that young lady I told you of before. She has fallen foul of the jealous nature of another young lady and her voucher for Almack’s has been revoked. You can imagine how society has reacted, I am sure. I thought it might be pleasant for the family if you were to give a ball and invite them and…’
‘Almack’s,’ Bingley repeated thoughtfully. ‘This is not the first time you have mentioned that place in recent times.’
‘Maybe not, but it is beside the point now. I will of course pay for the refreshments and any other expenses that you incur as a result.’
Bingley looked up at him as if he had just been insulted. ‘Whatever do you mean? I am perfectly capable of funding my own ball.’
‘Well it seems only right since I am the one who has suggested it to you and you are somewhat resistant to the idea.’
‘Resistant?’ Bingley threw his head back and laughed heartily. ‘I am not at all resistant. In fact, I adore the idea! I simply wondered why it was that my dear friend has suddenly developed such a fondness for dancing and socialising; I never claimed I was not interested in throwing a ball.’
Darcy smiled. ‘I am glad. I thought you might accuse me of going to great lengths for a perfect stranger.’
Bingley waved his hand and it was obvious from the glazed look in his eyes that he was only half paying attention now that he had given considerable amounts of his concentration over to planning the event in his mind. ‘A ball is a wonderful thing. No excuse is needed to throw one, my dear fellow.’
Chapter Eighteen
Darcy arrived unfashionably early. He had offered the ballroom at his house but Bingley had refused outright. And what an effort he had made. The ballroom at Bingley’s rented house was small, but he had ordered in so many flowers and candles that it was not at all obvious because one’s eyes were distracted away from the size of the room by the absolute finery of the decorations.
When they were finished admiring the room, they left and went to the library to await word that the servants had finished the preparations. A week had passed since Darcy’s last visit to his friend, and he had spent most of that time walking in the park and hoping he might meet her again.
He had not.
Part of him worried that the Bennets had returned to Hertfordshire but he reasoned that Bingley would have told him if they had declined the invitation to the ball. For a moment he was struck with fear.
‘Did you remember to invite the Bennets?’
Bingley smiled. ‘Of course I did, Darcy. You only reminded me four times. Do you think I am that forgetful?’
He cleared his throat. ‘No… well, you must admit you are a little…’
‘Yes, I suppose I am,’ Bingley said gaily. ‘Well it is not the worst thing to be accused of. In any case, yes I invited them and they accepted. As did most of my other guests. I shall have rather a full house this evening. I am sure Caroline shall relish the prospect of hosting. Darcy, what a splendid idea—I do not know why I have not thrown a ball before.’
Silence fell over them then, for Darcy’s mind was working hard to get his th
oughts in order so that he might share his feelings with Miss Elizabeth more successfully this time.
* * *
‘Miss Elizabeth.’
She looked up and he could see the confusion in her eyes as she registered his presence. ‘Mr. Darcy. I did not expect…’
‘I am a friend of Mr. Bingley’s. Perhaps you did not know.’
‘I did not.’
Silence fell between them. She had not been two minutes in the place before he found himself driven to speak to her. Now he regretted his ill-timed approach. The musicians had started playing, but it was a lilting tune that even Darcy could tell was no use for dancing.
‘Miss Elizabeth, I…’ he began to say, at the exact moment she began to address him.
She laughed and glanced down at her hands. ‘You first.’
He shook his head. ‘I cannot even recall what it was I wished to ask you. I imagine what you were about to say is far more interesting.’
‘You flatter me.’
‘I do not,’ he said earnestly. ‘You do not know me very well, but it must have struck you by now that I am not the sort of man who engages in idle flattery.’
She laughed again and he could not help but reflect that she was the very picture of loveliness. There was no false modesty about her; no airs and graces. She was simply herself, whether positive or negative, and he could not stand the thought that she believed him a passionless fellow whose only reason for wanting to marry her was to make his own life slightly less bothersome.
He had lied to himself about his true feelings for her and in the process, he had made her believe he was cold and passionless.
The worst thing was he could not simply explain the truth to her. Not here in a crowded ballroom with curious ears all around. Even if he could convince her to listen to him, he ran the risk of confusing the matter even more.
‘You certainly do not strike me as a flatterer, Mr. Darcy; that is one thing I can say for you.’
‘Nor you, Miss Elizabeth, and I must commend you for it.’
She raised an eyebrow and he waited in pleasant suspense to hear the inevitable witticism, but he never had the chance.
‘Mr. Darcy, there you are! And Eliza, how good of you to come!’ Miss Bingley swept over to them and positioned herself so that she blocked Miss Elizabeth’s lovely face from his view.
He smiled ruefully and made his way back to the other side of the room. At least that solved the problem of approaching her before the dancing had started, though it pained him to be parted from her once more.
Chapter Nineteen
Lizzy looked furtively around the room in search of him. The dancing was about to begin and their host, Charles Bingley, had already secured Jane’s hand for the first two dances.
They had all been surprised to receive their invitation to Bingley’s ball and she had been forced to admit she was wrong in her assessment of that man’s sister. Of course, she had not expected to meet Darcy there. How could she—she knew nothing about their host for the evening, least of all who he counted as his friends and acquaintances.
She sighed with frustration. Darcy was nowhere to be seen. She told herself to stop thinking about him. It annoyed her—she was usually more than capable of controlling her feelings and getting on with things, but now it seemed Darcy was all she could think about. He did not just dominate her dreams but her waking thoughts too and she had reached the very limit of her patience with herself. After all, he was not in the slightest bit interested in her as a person. Jane’s scheme to somehow change that was, in Lizzy’s view, optimistic and far-fetched.
Of course, that had not stopped her heart swelling with hope when she first saw him there in Mr. Bingley’s home. She had seen the look in his eyes and at first she had allowed herself to believe that he was pleased to see her. Of course, he had not gone on to ask her to dance, so she knew it was her own foolish imagination at work rather than any affection on Darcy’s part.
She was about to look around the room for him again when she stopped herself. It took all of her will-power, but she managed it.
Enough, she thought. He has made his feelings clear and you must pay heed to them. Besides, perhaps there is another young gentleman here who might see fit to love you.
She had already looked around the crowd. None of the other young men captivated her attention in quite the same way as Fitzwilliam Darcy.
Perhaps, she thought, it is the challenge of the thing; the fact that he has confirmed to me himself that he does not love me.
She resolved that this must be the cause of her folly. Nevertheless, it did not stop her thinking of him.
A young man Miss Bingley had introduced to them when they arrived approached and asked her to dance. She hesitated a moment before coming to her senses and agreeing. Having spent almost a month frozen out of London society, she had vowed to enjoy each dance and not worry about young men being interested only in her money. After all, a dance was not an agreement to marry; not by any means.
* * *
Hours had passed and Lizzy’s legs were shaking and unsteady. As each dance had ended, she had been approached by a new partner who had insisted on whirling her around the floor as if his life depended on it. It had been an enjoyable diversion. Her spirits were high, mainly due to the sight of Jane’s happy face as she danced with Mr. Bingley. Lizzy ached to speak to her sister, but Bingley continued to detain her—and this despite the fact that it was his ball and several of the young ladies no doubt wished to dance with him too! She smiled as she imagined how thrilled Jane must be.
‘You are a keen dancer.’
Lizzy gasped and spun around. Mr. Darcy stood behind her, mere inches away. At any other time it would have been scandalous, but the room was full and hot, and there was hardly space to stand. All the same, she took a step back as she was loath to cause a scandal and ruin her sister’s prospects. Miss Bingley had been cold, despite extending her invitation to them, and Lizzy worried that any misstep might be used to dampen Mr. Bingley’s obvious affection for Jane.
‘Yes, well, one must dance at a ball.’ She reached up and touched her hair, dismayed to find it was coming loose at the back. She longed to excuse herself and find a quiet place to fix it, but she feared some other young man might ask for her hand and prevent her from dancing with Darcy.
She looked up into his dark blue eyes.
That was, if Darcy even wished to dance with her. He had not mentioned it all evening.
‘Indeed.’
‘Do you enjoy it? Dancing, I mean.’ She had seen him take to the floor a couple of times with Miss Bingley, and had been alarmed by the cold stab of jealousy she had felt on seeing the two of them together.
‘If I am honest?’ he said, taking a step closer to her again. She stepped back self-consciously, almost knocking a glass from the hand of the young man behind her. ‘I do not much enjoy it, no. Though it all depends I suppose.’
She smiled. ‘That is rather a vague answer.’
He appeared startled. He shook his head as if deciding upon something and then cleared his throat. ‘Miss Elizabeth, would you care to dance?’
Her heart began to thump so hard she felt it might escape her chest. She laughed nervously. ‘Of course. Unless you are simply asking me in order to avoid the other young ladies present.’
He baulked. ‘No. Of course not.’
She shook her head, wishing she had not said anything. ‘Well then yes, I would like to dance.’
They moved through the crowd to the dancefloor and took their places. It was a fast set, where they changed partners many times. Elizabeth found herself wishing it was a more sedate tune; one that afforded them time to talk at their leisure.
They reunited with each other and a moment later, the music stopped and everyone began to applaud. Darcy appeared bewildered.
‘That passed altogether too quickly.’
She smiled up at him, waiting.
He watched her.
The crowd surged this
way and that, and Lizzy stared at him bewildered. He reached his hand out to her and she took it.
‘Join me again?’
Chapter Twenty
Darcy closed his eyes and tried to relish the fleeting contact between them. This was a fast tune just as the last one had been. What rotten luck! He had watched her dance with every young man in the place. Each time the music had ended he had tried to get to her first, but each time his attempts had been thwarted.
It was immensely frustrating—he had been the one to suggest this ball because he desperately wished to see her again and now he had been kept from her for most of the evening and…
He took a breath in an effort to calm himself. He was dancing with her now and that was all that mattered. The other dancers; the room—everything else paled into insignificance now that they had taken to the floor together. She moved with lightness and grace. Her good humour carried into the dancing just as it did to everything else. She was so alive he could not help but feel a surge of energy despite his nervousness.
He was nervous because he wondered how he might broach the subject he had failed at so grievously at the last time they spoke. How could he convince her that his feelings for her were far more complicated than he had foolishly let on?
‘You appear very deep in thought,’ she laughed, startling him from his pondering. Her hair had fallen loose from the energy of her movements and he could not think of a time he had seen her—or any young lady—look so thoroughly lovely.
‘No, no I am not,’ he said, once again lamenting the way in which his words sounded so dull and inadequate in her presence. He cleared his throat.
They separated then and he willed the moments to pass until they came together again.
The Last to Know Page 7