by Meg Osborne
His eyes twinkled. Yes, Jane and Mr Bingley would certainly suit. As for that Mr Darcy...! He folded his arms across his ample middle and smiled. He would certainly never win any of his daughters with that perpetual scowl. But, he mused. It might be interesting to watch him try...
One Dance at the Assembly
She is tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me, and I am in no humour at present to give consequence to young ladies who are slighted by other men...
The words had not stopped here, but Elizabeth Bennet had stopped listening. In fact, she had been so shocked to hear herself so roundly snubbed that she had recoiled in horror, then embarrassment, and at last, amusement. The adage is true, that one who eavesdrops rarely hears what they wish! she thought, with grim self-censure. She lifted her chin, affecting not to care what Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy thought of her, were he to deign to glance in her direction again. When a full minute had passed, she risked a glance in his direction once more, but his stern gaze was fixed firmly ahead, staring into nothing, and she took a fancy that he was lost in his own thoughts and scarcely aware of anybody else.
Arrogant, unkind man! she seethed, silently. How dare he dismiss her so cruelly? She knew she did not possess Jane’s beauty, or Lydia’s vivacity - how often she had thanked God she did not, for her youngest sister could be an embarrassment - but to be so thoroughly dismissed, and by a stranger! Mr Darcy’s assessment stung, true or not, for Elizabeth did not like to be thought ill of, particularly by those who had no reason to do so.
“Lizzy, dear!” Charlotte Lucas appeared and sat beside her, with a friendly, slightly sad smile. “What on earth are you doing confined to the wallflower bench? I cannot imagine you without a partner.”
“And yet here I am,” Elizabeth said, drily. “Apparently not handsome enough to tempt a single man to invite me to dance.”
Charlotte frowned, surprised to hear such words uttered with such venom by her usually cheerful friend.
“I’m sorry, Charlotte,” Elizabeth said, with a self-deprecating laugh. “I have just had my pride rather stepped upon, and it has left me bad-tempered with my friend who certainly does not deserve to bear the brunt of my ill-feeling!” She looped her arm through Charlotte’s and leaned into her, grateful at that moment to have her comfortable, steadying presence beside her.
“Whatever is the matter?” Charlotte asked, with concern. “Ought I to fetch Jane?”
“No, indeed!” Elizabeth said. “Look, there she is dancing with Mr Bingley again. What a charming pair they make. No, I would not separate them for the world.”
“Very well, then you will have to make do with me. I can be a very good listener, or so I am told.” Charlotte folded her hands neatly in her lap and turned to Elizabeth. “You may tell me what is troubling you: I am prepared.”
Lizzy felt a laugh bubbling up inside her, and wished to thank her friend for already successfully lifting her spirits. She would not own that Mr Darcy’s harsh assessment had hurt her, for it was a little shaming to acknowledge how much she wished, just once, to be thought pretty. Her mother had never made any attempt to spare her feelings when exalting Jane as the “one beauty” in the family.
“I overheard a certain gentleman discussing the ladies present here this evening.”
“Oh?” Charlotte’s eyebrows lifted. “Am I to infer he was not entirely complimentary?”
“Not entirely, no,” Elizabeth said. She glanced back towards Mr Darcy’s spot by the wall, but he had moved. Evidently, he has tired of the view from such a vantage point and is off to find someone less offensive to his sensibilities, she thought, with a wry grin.
“Well? Do not keep me in suspense, Lizzy! Which poor lady was on the receiving end of this gentleman’s ire? And do we agree with him?” Charlotte’s eyes widened, almost imperceptibly, and Elizabeth knew she was thinking of more than one lady present that evening who were not particular friends of either of theirs, and in fact, were often the target of Elizabeth’s own cruel assessment. This gave her pause for half a moment, before she shook off the notion. Her comments were designed to be humorous, not humiliating. And I certainly never enable them to be overheard, she thought, deciding in her favour. Mr Darcy and I are nothing alike, in that regard, for I do not dream of judging as harshly as he does, and I certainly do not seek to elevate my own position in doing so.
“It was me,” she said, lifting her chin in an affectation of calm amusement.
“You?” Charlotte was surprised. “Why, what fault could anybody have found with you?”
“You flatter me, Charlotte, for which I thank you, but you are my friend and thus predisposed to think well of me. The gentleman to whom I refer certainly did not do me anything like as much credit.” She cleared her throat and assumed a manner of regal superiority. “It seems, in this gentleman’s estimation at least, I may be tolerable but am decidedly not handsome as evidenced by the way I have been slighted all the evening by other gentlemen. Thus, you understand, quite unworthy of any notice whatsoever!”
She laughed, to demonstrate how little these words hurt her, and after half a moment’s pause, Charlotte joined in.
“Well, if that is true of you I dread to think what the gentleman in question might think of me!” Charlotte sighed. “For I am slighted by other men at least twice as often as you. Oh dear, whatever will become of us, Lizzy?”
“We shall have a jolly time regardless. Now, come, Charlotte, and let us speak of other things. We have already devoted far too much time to the odious Mr Darcy!”
THE ODIOUS MR DARCY?
Darcy wrinkled his nose. Was it to him these two young ladies referred? He almost stepped out of the shadows to confront them, but to do so would be to admit he had been listening, which was the height of bad manners. No worse than discussing a gentleman in his absence! he blustered, before another thought assailed him. This, in turn, was no worse than the comments of his that the ladies had discussed - comments he himself had made about this particular lady in her absence.
He turned the words over in his head. They had not sounded so unkind when he uttered them, but to hear them repeated before his ears by the very woman they concerned, he felt a wave of shame rise over him. How would he feel to hear a lady of his acquaintance dismissed as “tolerable”? To hear someone refer to Georgiana in such a manner?
His conscience rebuked him, and he briefly considered marching straight up to the woman he had wronged and apologising. Fortunately, in the very next instant he thought better of the impulse, for he would never in a hundred years approach a pair of women so bent on the dislike of him.
“Mr Darcy!” Caroline Bingley’s sly voice appeared over one shoulder, and he turned to greet her with a perfunctory smile. Now there would be no remedying the situation, for if his assessments were unkind, Caroline’s were downright vicious. “And what interests you so intently in this particular corner?” She glanced towards Elizabeth Bennet and her friend, before letting out a wry laugh. “Are you becoming acquainted with the gossip of the evening?”
“Hardly,” he said, with a derisive snort. “I care little for gossip.”
“You admire someone, then,” Caroline pressed. “And you lurk here to observe her without being seen yourself. Pray, which lady has so captured your attention?”
“None, Miss Bingley. I merely wished to avoid further unnecessary conversation.”
This last had been laden with meaning, but one thing he had learnt about Caroline Bingley, to his detriment, was that the lady did not understand, or chose not to understand, the use of tact and subtlety.
“How fortunate for you, then, that I have come to join you. How do you enjoy the evening?”
“It cannot be over too soon for my tastes,” Darcy said, hoping to swiftly bring the conversation to a close, that Caroline would not be encouraged to linger with him for the next quarter hour, offering her own spiteful commentary upon the evening.
“Surely it would go quicker for you if you were to dance, Mr Darcy.
Some exercise, a little harmless conversation -”
“Did I not just assert that I am no fan of pointless conversation?”
“Indeed,” Caroline laughed, but it was an awkward, stilted, sound, and Darcy felt sure he had hurt her feelings by his short dismissal. His conscience flared once more but with altogether less ferocity than it had in defence of Elizabeth Bennet. For where the latter was a veritable stranger to him, having done nothing to deserve his unkindness, Caroline Bingley, at least, warranted some verbal dressing down. She had haunted his side half the evening, giving every impression of a closeness and understanding between them that did not, to Darcy’s mind, exist, nor ever had. Nor ever would! Despite her less than subtle attempts to win his affection, Darcy was certain it would never be done. Caroline was elegant enough, but her spiteful observations betrayed a dull mind and a distinct lack of understanding and wit. How could he ever be tempted by such a lady? If she was owed any affection it was only what was properly due to her as Charles’ sister. That is: no more or less than the respect he offered to Mrs Hurst, who was at that moment hanging most inelegantly off the arm of her husband.
Darcy wrenched his gaze back to Elizabeth Bennet and was surprised to see her sitting alone. Her friend had retreated some yards away and was in close discussion with another young lady he took to be her sister. Here was his chance, at last, to make amends for the damage his words had caused, and he would take it, regardless of the interest he knew it would spark in Caroline Bingley.
“I believe you are right, Miss Bingley. I ought to try dancing once more before the evening is over.” He took a step towards Miss Bennet. “Please, excuse me.”
ELIZABETH LET OUT A long, slow, sigh and regarded the crowd. She had not anticipated spending almost half the evening warming the bench, and despite her insistence to Charlotte that it was not a state of affairs she minded, she did lament the lost opportunities to dance. Her feet tapped out the rhythm of the music, and she sighed again. This particular dance was a favourite of hers, a lively, spirited piece that always provoked smiles and laughter in its participants. And she was relegated to sit, alone, and watch.
Well, I needn’t seem as if I minded! she thought, resolving to straighten her back, and soften her features into the ghost of a smile, so that anybody who happened to notice her would take her to be quite content in watching the dancing, if she were not fortunate enough to be invited to take part.
A shadow fell over her, and she glanced up, to see the very gentleman she had privately vowed to avoid if ever their paths were set to cross again. Mr Darcy! she nodded, briefly in acknowledgement of his presence, then darted her glance away, certain that it was coincidence only that brought them to such close quarters.
Half a moment passed, but the shadow and its owner did not move.
“Good evening, Miss Bennet,” he began, his eyes darting to the wall, then the floor, then straight ahead. He appeared intent on looking everywhere except directly at her, which action gave the impression of nervousness, but Elizabeth dismissed the idea with a wry smile. Mr Darcy, king over all of Meryton, nervous? Unthinkable.
“Good evening, Mr Darcy,” she replied, politely.
They lapsed into silence, and Elizabeth waited patiently for him to continue, or to excuse himself. When he did neither, she pointedly turned her attention back to the dancers, who began to take their places, and the musicians, who were embarking on their next piece with haste.
“The - uh - the music is very fine this evening. Quite fine.”
“I did not take you for an aficionado, Mr Darcy.”
“I can appreciate the talent of the performers.”
“Indeed.”
Silence reigned once more, and Elizabeth wondered why he seemed so intent on addressing her when he was clearly uncomfortable in holding a conversation. She decided that the only way to end the problem would be to take her leave, and stood.
“Mr Darcy -”
“Miss Bennet, I wonder if you would do me the honour of dancing with me.”
This was so unexpected that Elizabeth almost laughed, and had she been faced with anything other than the stormy countenance of Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy, she might have allowed herself to. Instead, she swallowed the response, and her answer came out strangled and tight with the attempt to stay calm and measured.
“Dancing?”
“Yes, dancing,” Mr Darcy continued. “I believe that is what one does at an assembly.”
Elizabeth arched an eyebrow. This, from any other, might be taken for a humorous comment. Yet it came from Mr Darcy’s lips. Surely she was mistaken.
“I notice you have not often been found dancing this evening.”
“Nor, indeed, have you.”
This was so close to another insult that Elizabeth had to bite her lip to keep from fashioning her own cutting retort.
“Yet I am inviting you to dance with me now, Miss Bennet, and would be greatly honoured if you would accept.”
Elizabeth hesitated. Could she really bring herself to dance with such a man? The first notes of the dance started, and the music decided for her. She did dearly love to dance, and if she had to sit out another favourite on account of her principles she would come to regret it. Dancing was dancing, even if it meant being Mr Darcy’s partner for a short time.
“Very well,” she said, accepting his offer and following him over to the grouped dancers. They took their place next to Jane and Mr Bingley, and Elizabeth met her sister’s rapturous smile with her own, withering one. She did not miss the surprised greeting that Mr Bingley shot his friend, and felt, upon glancing at Mr Darcy once more, that he was dancing now on sufferance rather than out of any particular love of it, and wondered what had compelled him to ask her, when he had made no secret of his lack of interest in her earlier.
DARCY IGNORED THE BRIGHT smile Charles Bingley sent his way, and instead fixed his attention on the music and the dancing. He was good at dancing, and did not doubt his ability, but that did not mean it was an occupation he generally chose to take part in. Mostly, he did not like the forced proximity to one’s partner, nor the imperative that one must find something to talk of. If he could dance at a distance and in silence, he would, he did not doubt, find the whole experience rather more enjoyable.
“How long do you intend to stay at Netherfield, Mr Darcy?” Elizabeth Bennet was the first to break the silence, after they had been dancing already for some minutes.
“Until Christmas,” he answered, gruffly.
They danced a few more steps without comment, and he heard a muffled sigh from Elizabeth’s corner, indicating her displeasure. At first, his instinct was irritation. What right had she to be so ungrateful? Had he not asked her to dance, and saved her from the indignity of sitting alone? It had been against his first and best judgement to dance at all, particularly with her, and now that they were dancing she did not seem at all to be enjoying it. He frowned, and reminded himself that she was likely predisposed not to think well of him. If her impression of him had been formed based on how she had heard him speaking of her, no wonder she would be less than generous with his silence.
“Miss Bennet,” he began, searching for a word or two he might offer. “Are you musical?”
“Musical?” Elizabeth laughed, and Darcy flinched, certain she was mocking him. When he caught sight of her face, though, her features were lightened in a smile, and he acknowledged her laughter was directed inwardly, towards herself, and he felt his perpetual frown relax, just a fraction.
“No, Mr Darcy,” Elizabeth continued. “I am, unfortunately, not in the least bit musical. That is, I enjoy music, when it is played well. Alas, I lack the talent, and the discipline required to play well myself.” She nodded towards the far corner of the hall, where the musicians were grouped, and Darcy noticed one young lady in particular who belonged to the Bennet brood, hovering hopefully around the piano. “My sister, Mary, is the musical one.”
“My sister, too, is musical,” Darcy found himself admitting
.
“Sister! Why, I did not know you had a sister, Mr Darcy.”
This admission had provoked an interest in Elizabeth that gratified Darcy, and he found himself warming to the topic of Georgiana, who he could easily speak of with pride and affection to any interested party.
“Georgiana is ten years my younger, and I confess far more gregarious. She is very like my mother, whilst I am rather more like my father.”
Elizabeth laughed, again, but Darcy could see that this was an encouraging response, a mark of Elizabeth’s enjoying their conversation, not a criticism or dismissal of him.
“I, too am like my father.” Her eyes sparkled with amusement and she dropped her voice as they passed, so that he and only he might discern her next comment. “A matter which some people might consider fortunate.”
Darcy grinned, in spite of himself. If his assessment of Elizabeth Bennet had been critical, his opinion of Mrs Bennet, formed just as quickly, was truly scathing. The lady was brash and loud, and filled with her own self-importance and the importance of her family. He did not take kindly to her, and had, he was forced to admit, judged her daughters as taking after her. He was pleased to realise his mistake. How he could have thought quiet Jane, and witty Elizabeth anything like their Mama was proof that he too often rushed to judgment where he ought to delay and seek information before reaching a truer conclusion.
Soon, too soon, the dance drew to a close, and he bowed to Elizabeth, surprised and pleased to admit that he had enjoyed the dance far more than he anticipated. It was even on the tip of his tongue to invite her to dance once more, but Charles stepped forward and offered his own invitation.