by Jann Rowland
Though a little cast down, Elizabeth determined that to accept it with philosophy would be for the best. While Jane and Mr. Bingley partnered for the first dance as she might have expected, they left Elizabeth at the side of the floor watching the dancers with naught but Miss Bingley for company.
Now there was a woman who seemed to see the situation with little other than affront, the way she glared at all and sundry as if her position by the side of the floor was their fault. Thus, the woman was no company at all, leaving Elizabeth to her thoughts. Elizabeth did not think she would be without partners the entire evening, but if she was, she decided she would enjoy what she could, regardless.
Mr. Darcy was also not dancing, she noted, not that Elizabeth was surprised, given the gentleman’s words to his sister. The gentleman appeared something like a caged lion, for he stalked the side of the floor, his eyes intent upon what was proceeding before him. A time or two he glanced at her, and Elizabeth thought he might stand beside her and speak after a time, but whether Miss Bingley’s proximity or some other reason prevented him, he did not approach.
The second dance of the evening, Elizabeth’s fears were allayed by the approach of Colonel Fitzwilliam. The jovial gentleman stepped toward Elizabeth after he danced the first set with his youngest sister—the elder having danced with a man Elizabeth understood to be a close friend—and bowed in an exaggerated fashion while grinning at her.
“This is most surprising, Miss Bennet, but it seems those I count my friends and associates must be blind.”
“Oh?” asked Elizabeth, though catching the thrust of his comment. “Why do you abuse them so, Colonel Fitzwilliam?”
“Why, for their failure to solicit a lady of such obvious beauty as yourself for a dance!” exclaimed he. “It is shocking, do you not agree?”
Elizabeth laughed. “I am afraid I can understand little of the working of such great minds, sir. The fact is that I know none of them, so I cannot presume to guess what motivates their actions.”
“It is because there is not a whit of intelligence among them,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam, his voice just above a whisper. “Well, I shall not make the same mistake. Might I ask for your second sets this evening?”
“Of course, sir,” said Elizabeth, delighted that she would not be required to sit out a second time. “They are yours.”
“If I were you, I should take care with my cousin,” said Mr. Darcy. The gentleman had been standing nearby, ostensibly talking with Miss Bingley, though Elizabeth had thought he was much more engaged in ignoring her. Miss Bingley did not appear pleased with his distraction, but Elizabeth did not concern herself for her opinion.
“Why do you speak of him in such a fashion?” asked Elizabeth, diverted to see the staid Mr. Darcy jesting with them.
“Because I know Fitzwilliam to be of a frivolous, unserious demeanor, detrimental to rational conversation,” replied Mr. Darcy.
“Oh?” asked Elizabeth, raising an eyebrow at the colonel, who was grinning at his cousin. “Is that so, Colonel Fitzwilliam? Have I allowed myself to fall in with a man of baser character?”
“Perhaps you have, Miss Bennet,” agreed the colonel with aplomb. “But at least I do not remain silent, unwilling to speak my opinion unless I say something which will amaze the room.”
Elizabeth laughed, noting that Mr. Darcy chuckled along with her. “It seems to me, Colonel Fitzwilliam, that you do not give an accurate account of your cousin, perhaps for some mischievous purpose of your own?”
“Why do you say that?” asked Colonel Fitzwilliam, diverted by her comment.
“Because,” replied Elizabeth, “it has always seemed to me that Mr. Darcy cares little for the opinions of others. I cannot imagine Mr. Darcy caring two figs what others thought of his comments!”
They all laughed at her sally, Mr. Darcy saying: “I believe she has you there, Fitzwilliam.”
“That is an amusing account of my cousin, Miss Bennet,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam. “I had thought your acquaintance with him was of short duration, yet you have taken his measure with exactness.”
“I am sure I do not know of what you speak,” interrupted Miss Bingley, throwing a disdainful glare at Elizabeth. “Miss Bennet does not know Mr. Darcy well at all if she does not understand that anything he says must be of supreme importance.”
The way Colonel Fitzwilliam looked at her, Elizabeth thought the gentleman diverted by her attempt to curry favor. Mr. Darcy only looked pained.
“I would abjure you, Miss Bingley,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam, “to avoid saying anything likely to swell my cousin’s head. He is already too proud for his own good.”
Then, as the music started at that moment, the colonel extended his arm, which Elizabeth accepted, and led her to the dance floor. When the assembled began to dance, Elizabeth turned her attention on the colonel, fixing him with skepticism.
“This picture you paint of your cousin contradicts what I know of him. Were you speaking of the same man I know?”
Colonel Fitzwilliam laughed softly and shook his head. “No, Miss Bennet, you have caught me out. I am as close to Darcy as any man alive, and while he often gives the appearance of great pride, he is as good a man as I have ever met. Darcy is only reserved.”
“I have known many diffident characters who are as estimable as anyone of a more open nature.”
“And Darcy is the best of them all,” said Fitzwilliam. “But you must allow me some advantage over my cousin, for he is deucedly difficult to tease.”
They continued to dance, and Elizabeth found herself as entertained as she had ever been on a dance floor, for the colonel was gregarious and amusing, always quick with an anecdote, or an observation of some member of the company Elizabeth did not know. In part, it was also instructional, for through his auspices she learned something of who she should avoid, and who would be a worthy acquaintance.
When her dance with Colonel Fitzwilliam ended, the next was her anticipated dance with Mr. Darcy. Elizabeth had wondered how the gentleman would behave before his family. In the end she was surprised by him, though after the fact she wondered if she should have been.
“The first thing I must say to you, Miss Bennet,” said he almost as soon as they were together, “is that you should trust nothing my cousin said about me.”
So surprised was Elizabeth that for a moment she stared at him. Then his grin informed her of his jest, and she could not hold back the laughter.
“You accuse the colonel of falsehood? That is a serious charge, sir. I wonder what he would say about it.”
“Fitzwilliam would speak with some silliness, no doubt, for he cannot maintain any seriousness for any length of time.”
“Indeed?” asked Elizabeth. “Then what do you suspect him of having said to me of which you will object?”
“Most likely something accusing me of unsociable behavior,” replied Mr. Darcy. “He is always abusing me for it.”
“Then you may rest easy,” replied Elizabeth, “for he was complimentary, saying only that you are reserved.”
“Which is the truth.”
Elizabeth nodded. “That much was evident within moments of making your acquaintance.”
Mr. Darcy smiled and changed the subject. The gentleman’s conversation, while it was by no means as playful as that employed by the colonel, was as intelligent, and Elizabeth found herself as well pleased by her time with him as she was in the colonel’s company. There was something in Mr. Darcy’s manner, something she could not quite put her finger on, but which spoke to civility, respect, friendliness, honesty, and admiration all at once.
That last word: “Admiration.” It was, perhaps, a little premature for Elizabeth to be thinking of such a word within the context of herself and Mr. Darcy, but the longer they continued together, the more it felt right to her. Did Mr. Darcy admire her? The gentleman was so difficult to read that Elizabeth could not state with any surety that his feelings for her were anything other than simple friendship. The wish
to discover the truth of it, however, was strong in Elizabeth. As strong as any feeling she had ever experienced.
“It seems to me, Miss Bennet,” said Mr. Darcy, “that you have something weighty on your mind.”
Elizabeth started in surprise at the sound of his voice. Mr. Darcy seemed to realize this, for he regarded her, something of question staining his features, though seasoned with a heavy dose of mirth.
“I apologize, Mr. Darcy,” said Elizabeth, finding it difficult to regain her senses. “You are correct; I allowed my mind to wander.”
“Agreeable thoughts, I hope?”
Though it was naught but a pleasant question, Elizabeth felt the heat rise in her cheeks. Gathering herself and trusting that the gentleman would not see it as anything less ordinary than the exertion of the moment, Elizabeth fixed him with a smile, even as the steps took him away from her. For a moment, she held another man’s hand, though she could not have paid him any heed had her life depended on it, her eyes remaining fixed on Mr. Darcy. The gentleman’s eyes, Elizabeth noted, did not leave her countenance either.
When they came together again, Elizabeth found she had recovered the wits necessary to reply. “Pleasant thoughts, indeed, Mr. Darcy,” said she. “This evening has made me happy, for who would not delight in the company of excellent friends, amid the best of entertainment?”
Mr. Darcy made a face, which provoked Elizabeth to delighted laughter. “What, can even an evening such as this not induce you to contentment, Mr. Darcy?”
“As you know, I am not the most sociable of men, Miss Bennet,” said Mr. Darcy. “I do not know most of those here well and cannot call many friends.
“However . . .” continued he, a measure of introspection coming over him.
Silence fell over the gentleman, and he did not speak for a moment, his focus completely inward; Elizabeth imagined she had looked similar to the gentleman only moments before, when he had interrupted her reverie. It was fortunate the man was an excellent dancer, for to Elizabeth’s eyes he paid no heed to the steps, though he navigated them with an ease which spoke to intimate familiarity. Elizabeth moved away from him again on the hand of another gentleman, but once again, her eyes remained on him.
Then, in the middle of a complicated bit of footwork, the gentleman’s eyes found her again. And he smiled.
“I believe I can say without any hint of hesitation, Miss Bennet,” said the gentleman when they came together again, “that I am enjoying this evening better than I can remember at a ball in some time. As you have stated, the company of good friends is welcome. There are several here who I call staunch friends, and their company is all I could ever require.”
There was something hidden in Mr. Darcy’s statement, stirring a flame to life in Elizabeth’s breast, filling her soul with contentment and desire. But the desire for what, she could not understand. Yet it filled her with a longing to know, to understand what he was doing to her. And Elizabeth meant to find out, regardless of how long it took her to do so.
After those moments, conversation flowed with effortless ease between them, but at the same time they said little. When they did speak, there were no barriers. However, both were content to be in each other’s company, to feel the other, rather than clutter the space between them with useless commentary.
When the dance ended, Mr. Darcy took Elizabeth’s hand in his grip and led her to her sister, who stood with Mr. Bingley by the side of the floor watching them. Elizabeth did not fail to see Miss Bingley standing not far away, watching her with anger and loathing, though she had no time for such extraneous thoughts. When they had reached her relations, Mr. Darcy stood with them for some moments before he bowed, excused himself, and strode away. Elizabeth’s eyes did not leave the gentleman’s form until she lost sight of him in the crowd.
“Well, Lizzy, it seems you have made quite an impression upon Mr. Darcy,” said Jane, turning a pointed look on her.
“I have never seen Darcy act this way,” mused Charles, his gaze speculative.
“Oh, do not be ridiculous,” snapped Miss Bingley. “Mr. Darcy would no more find Miss Eliza alluring than he would marry his dog.”
The woman then stalked away, muttering to herself, leaving three bemused behind her. Mr. Bingley murmured a little at the difficulty of having Miss Bingley as a sister, but Jane had no attention to spare for her.
“Lizzy, is there something you have not been telling me?”
“No, Jane,” replied Elizabeth. “As Mr. Bingley can testify, Mr. Darcy is an excellent man, but at present there is nothing more than friendship between us.”
It seemed like Jane might press the matter further, but at that moment a gentleman approached and, after asking for an introduction—to which Mr. Bingley obliged—requested her hand for a dance. Jane’s eyes promised further questions later, as Elizabeth walked to the dance floor with her new partner.
Thus began the second phase of Elizabeth’s evening, for, with Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam’s civility in asking her to dance, she became a more popular partner. The gentlemen with whom she danced were pleasant, some jolly, some quiet, and a few were rather forward, one gentleman more than any other, by the name of Marshall, who claimed an acquaintance with both Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley. Elizabeth parried them all with whatever aplomb she could, contenting herself with banter, not expecting anything more, and wishing for less from some of them.
It was with some amusement that Mr. Darcy asked Miss Bingley to dance at length, though it was much later than the woman wished. It was also diverting to see them speak in stilted tones on the occasions Elizabeth was close enough to hear. On one occasion in particular, when their paths crossed in the set, Elizabeth glanced at Miss Bingley and rolled her eyes where Mr. Darcy could see, and the man coughed to hide a chuckle. Miss Bingley could not have seen it even if she had paid any attention to Elizabeth, for she thought Miss Bingley was much more interested in preening, congratulating herself for provoking Mr. Darcy to ask her for one awkward dance.
And so, the night progressed. The revelers were positively indefatigable, the exertions of some reminding Elizabeth of Lydia and her bragging after an assembly in which she had danced every dance. For herself, Elizabeth did not possess an endless well of energy, and after a time, she decided to sit, to relax for a moment before the next dance. It was fortunate no one had solicited her for that set, for she did not think she had the strength to do it justice.
While she was sitting quietly in the shadows, she heard the sound of voices tittering nearby. The noise in the room was such that it was difficult to hear oneself think, let alone hear another’s conversation, but what drew Elizabeth’s attention was the sound of Miss Bingley’s voice, though her words were unintelligible.
Glancing about, Elizabeth caught sight of her new relation, standing nearby, her posture defensive, while before her stood two women. They were dressed in costly materials, their elaborate dresses outshining even Miss Bingley’s ostentatious display. And on their countenances were the ugliest of expressions, which they had fixed on the unfortunate form of Miss Bingley.
“Well, if it is not the tradesman’s daughter,” sneered one of them, her contemptuous gaze raking Miss Bingley from head to toe.
“The jumped-up social climber,” spat the second.
Elizabeth rose from her chair, cautious to avoid drawing their attention, though she was uncertain about what she should do. These women had some mischief in mind, though perhaps with only words rather than actions. Thoughts of intervening spilled through Elizabeth’s mind, but she could not determine what she should do.
Chapter XVIII
Elizabeth had always observed that consequences often redounded back on a person in proportion to the way they lived their own life. Mr. Bingley, for example, was a cheerful, honorable gentleman, and in Elizabeth’s opinion, he had been rewarded for those traits by attracting the measure of good a man could achieve by living an upright, moral life. One of those benefits was, in Elizabeth’s opinion,
Jane’s love, of whom Elizabeth had always had the highest opinion, regardless of what some others might think of her.
Among those others were, of course, Miss Bingley and those of her ilk. Miss Bingley, in Elizabeth’s opinion, was a nasty woman, one self-centered, thinking only of herself. That evening at Lady Susan’s ball, Elizabeth witnessed as the woman received a full dose of the contempt she had meted out to others, most especially to Elizabeth and her family.
“I see you have not learned to leave those of Mr. Darcy’s level of society to those for whom he is more suited,” said the first woman as Elizabeth looked on.
“She will never learn, Rebecka,” said the second. “Those of her ilk care for nothing but themselves and for that which they cannot have by the simple reason that they are unsuited for it.”
“By her very birth,” said Rebecka. “I suppose there is no reason to bother with such as her.”
“If she wishes to waste her time, that is her business.”
“If only she would not pollute our companies with her presence.”
The first laughed, and the two harpies sauntered away, leaving Miss Bingley fuming at their backs. Elizabeth thought to do the same herself when she saw Miss Bingley hang her head, her hands clenched in fists of impotent rage. And Elizabeth felt sorry for the woman, though she believed that Miss Bingley was deserving of every bit of contempt she received. Thinking on the subject for a moment, Elizabeth stepped forward on impulse, though knowing she would need to take care in how she approached Miss Bingley so she would not provoke her to anger.
“I suppose those were two of London’s so-called elite?”
Startled by the sound of a voice nearby, Miss Bingley’s head rose in a sudden movement and she directed a pair of narrowed eyes at Elizabeth. “I do not know to what you refer, Eliza, for they are high-born ladies.”
“Perhaps they are,” replied Elizabeth. “But they do not act like they are.” Elizabeth paused and reconsidered, adding: “Or perhaps they do, though their behavior is all that is objectionable.”