by Meg Osborne
“I am always glad to offer my assistance where it might be needed,” she said, more to be seen to reply than from any real awareness of her words.
“Yes, I must say I find you a very amiable creature - that is, your whole family, all of your sisters...” Colonel Fitzwilliam trailed off, and hurried ahead with the dance, turning away from Mary a second sooner than was required of him. Mary frowned, thinking she detected some agitation colouring his movements.
I must have said something wrong, she thought, running back over her words once more in her mind, and fearing she had made some error and caused offence to a gentleman she had so wished to please.
Why do you care what Colonel Fitzwilliam thinks of you? a stubborn part of her lectured, silently, but she could summon no answer. She only knew that she did care, very much, what Hertfordshire's newest arrival might think of her. She had allowed herself to hope, for half a moment only, that it really was she, and not her sisters, that Colonel Fitzwilliam had wanted to see that evening. His attempts to discuss music, when he seemed to understand barely half of what he said, and his insistence that they dance together, Mary had taken for proof of his affection for her, or at least, some shared understanding. Now she realised her folly. He cared for her only as one of many sisters, neighbours and friends to his cousin. If he had singled her out at all, it was only because he was a gentleman, and did not wish to step between Jane and Mr Bingley, or Elizabeth and Mr Darcy. Mary was quiet and shy, but she was not blind to the way Mr Darcy looked at her sister when he was certain of being unobserved. So often overlooked herself, Mary was well able to witness the actions of others without drawing any notice, and she ventured to suppose Mr Darcy possessed some slight affection for Elizabeth, although she could not be sure her sister returned it at present. Colonel Fitzwilliam was evidently loyal to his cousin and sought to give both Jane and Elizabeth as much distance as was polite, leaving Mary his simplest option for conversation and dancing. She sighed. It was hardly a romance for the ages, and she had been silly to imagine he took anything other than a neighbourly interest in her.
“AND HOW DO YOU ENJOY the country dance, Mr Darcy?” Elizabeth ventured, after she and Mr Darcy had danced in silence for what seemed, to Elizabeth, an interminably long time.
“It is pleasant enough,” he replied, without commitment.
“And the music,” Elizabeth continued. “Miss Bingley chose well in playing such a piece, for it is so much nicer to dance to a piece of music one enjoys.”
“Indeed.”
With a sigh, Elizabeth gave up and turned her attention to her steps. When Mr Darcy had invited her to dance she had accepted with surprise and curiosity, feeling a smug sort of satisfaction that the man who had once declared her not worthy of his time now sought to dance with her. She had not realised that meant they would spend the duration of the dance in silence, for every attempt she made to spark conversation apparently fell on deaf ears. She cast a sly glance towards Mr Darcy and noticed his perpetual frown descending once more over his features. He was an enigma to her, that much was certain. Just when she dared to think she might understand, that they might pass an evening together and succeed in making polite conversation, he fell once more into silence. She turned her gaze towards Jane, her spirits lifting at the way her sister and Mr Bingley moved and smiled as if neither one could imagine a better partner. Thus cheered, she sought out Mary, and instantly her mood dropped. Mary had never been effusive, but she was likewise not well skilled in hiding her true feelings. She was upset, that much was plain from the way her lip drew together and her eyes remained downcast. Fighting a spark of sisterly compassion, she tried to see if Colonel Fitzwilliam was aware of his young partner's feelings or, and Lizzy fervently hoped this was not the case, if he were the cause of them. He seemed almost as downhearted as Mary, his own cheerful smile nowhere to be seen, and his brow wrinkling in consternation, affording him a more than passing resemblance to his cousin.
“Is something the matter, Miss Elizabeth?” that cousin asked, choosing that particular moment to become perceptive.
“The matter?” Elizabeth forced her features into a smile. “Not at all, Mr Darcy. I only feel...”
“Yes?”
“Is it not more typical for a couple to talk, while they are dancing?”
“Is it?”
He seemed honestly befuddled by this suggestion, and his brow furrowed even deeper into a frown.
“I confess, Miss Elizabeth, I do not dance often, and even less often with people I do not know well.”
“You can hardly claim us to be strangers, Mr Darcy!” Elizabeth protested.
“True. What are we then? Acquaintances?”
“We cannot be friends, that much is certain.”
Elizabeth said this with a droll tone, in hopes he might take it for humour, for she had felt her own staunch feelings against Mr Darcy softening dramatically in the past few days, in witnessing his close friendship with Charles Bingley and latterly in seeing his interactions with his cousin. She was willing to overlook his comments about her at the Meryton assembly, for certainly, she did not mind him thinking her dull. They could be friends and not remark upon one another’s appearance, surely?
“Certain? And why is that?” Mr Darcy asked, but the dance forced them apart for a moment before Elizabeth could reply, a circumstance for which she was happy because it afforded her a moment or two to construct a suitable response.
“I had it on good authority that Mr Darcy cares for but a few people, and cannot imagine him eager to add to that number a group of silly young ladies from the countryside.”
This had come out rather more pointed than Elizabeth had intended, and Darcy visibly flinched at her tone and her words. He pursed his lips, as if considering the familiarity of her phrase, and at last recalled its original source as being a conversation they had once shared. He cleared his throat before speaking again.
“You use my own words against me, Miss Elizabeth.”
“They are the only to which you pay any heed, surely?”
He said nothing, but bowed his head, slightly, acknowledging her point.
They continued to dance in silence, and Elizabeth took the opportunity to seek out Mary once more and was slightly gratified to see the ghost of a smile pass over her younger sister’s features. The dance drew to a close, and as Elizabeth turned to curtsey to her partner, she saw only the top of his head, for he bowed, muttered a hasty adieu, and stalked away from her.
Apparently, I have struck a nerve! Elizabeth thought, but she did not feel any sense of rejoicing at such point-scoring. Instead, she felt a wave of guilt. What right had she to brandish a man’s past wrongdoings before his face? Surely she would not want her own words, spoken too hastily or in a desire to amuse without due consideration for their implication, thrown back at her?
Determining that she would not let the matter rest, but seek to make good on it, she hurried in the direction Mr Darcy had walked, but had not managed more than two steps before a bulky figure stopped her progress.
“Ah, Miss Elizabeth!” Mr Collins smiled broadly at her. “Cousin Elizabeth. I was very much hoping you would do me the honour - the great honour - of dancing this next piece with me. I feel we have not had as much time to converse lately as I might have wished, and dearly hope to rekindle our - ah - early connection.”
His eyes twinkled with hidden meaning, and Elizabeth’s stomach turned, wishing he would succeed in keeping his meaning rather better hidden. It had been apparent, on Mr Collins’ arrival at Longbourn, that he was seeking a wife, and thought a houseful of five daughters a likely place to start. He had even remarked as much over dinner one evening, as if there was nothing disagreeable in declaring himself quite the most eligible bachelor any one of the Bennet sisters could hope to wed. Mrs Bennet had apparently set him straight and declared Jane out of consideration, for, despite her insistence to her husband that Jane and Mr Bingley were merely friends, it was plain to all that this was not a state
they would remain in for long, particularly if Mrs Bennet had her way. Mr Collins had quickly and completely shifted his allegiances to Elizabeth, although she had done her best to avoid him, it seemed this was not a sustainable manner in which to live and it would be better to have the dread conversation out of the way.
Not tonight, though! Elizabeth pleaded, darting an anxious glance around at her friends. Not here!
“Of course, Mr Collins,” Elizabeth said, with a forced smile. “I would be happy to dance with you.” Her tone made it clear that this would be all Elizabeth wished to do that evening.
Her misery was completed when she saw Mary slip quietly away to the piano, and would not be pressed to dance again. Caroline Bingley was delighted by this turn of events, although Mr Darcy’s propitious disappearance left her to dance with Colonel Fitzwilliam, which state, Elizabeth thought, neither partner relished.
Chapter Ten
Darcy scowled as he retreated through the crowd of dancers and into the corridor, rejoicing only to find himself at last alone, and in quiet, with just the faintest traces of the piano. He was annoyed, but not by Elizabeth Bennet. His annoyance rested solely on his own shoulders. She had thrown his own words back at him, and he could offer no defence. It was an opinion he had formed quickly, as he so often did. Usually, such instincts were rewarded as being accurate. How long, after all, had he held out for Wickham's good, insisting in the face of all the evidence his tenants' reports, that his friend was merely maligned and misunderstood? It had taken Wickham's running away with Georgiana for Darcy to realise his folly, and he had sworn then to always and only trust his first instinct. He had known Wickham's true character as a child and softened to him only at his father's insistence. This was the last gift he could offer the late Mr Darcy, to defend and support his father's godson, and to treat the man as a friend, himself. How had that trust been repaid?
So, yes, Darcy made decisions in an instant. He had grown cautious and was reluctant to trust without some evidence that that trust would be deserved. How much he repented now of his first assessment of Elizabeth Bennet! He might have deemed her unworthy of his attention at Meryton but that was his own prejudice against any woman likely to be showing an interest in him solely on account of his wealth. Was that not the last insult George Wickham had hurled at him? To suggest that Darcy’s character, his perpetual bad temper was hardly an enticing prospect for any woman. How fortunate, William, that you have wealth on your side. Women will flock to you for your pocketbook, and learn to tolerate your mood. He had thought so of Elizabeth, and in his least generous moments, he still thought so of Jane. It was only when he took the time to notice Charles and Jane Bennet together that he realised there must be some true affection there, and if it was a little stronger on his friend’s side than hers, she was sweet tempered enough to grow in affection as their relationship developed. He had ceased to be concerned for Charles' future and determined no longer to stand in the way of their forming any kind of connection. His cousin's comments lodged in his mind. We all wish to fall in love sometime...there is one easy solution to Aunt Catherine’s schemes: marry someone else. Darcy grimaced. What advice would his expert cousin offer, he wondered, if the woman one could, at last, see oneself marrying was unable to forgive an earlier judgment made in haste, and repented of at leisure?
“Here you are!”
A door behind him swung open, and Charles Bingley appeared in the corridor, concern dimming his usually bright smile. “I feared you were taken ill, with the pace at which you fled the dancing. What on earth has happened?”
“Nothing,” Darcy said, with more force than he intended. “Are you not still dancing with Miss Bennet?”
“She wishes to rest, and all the other ladies are occupied at present. My sister and your cousin make a rather uncomfortable pair, but they are not so painful to watch as Miss Elizabeth and Mr Collins!” His eyes widened in amusement. “Poor girl. You must come back and rescue her in time for the next.”
“I do not believe Miss Elizabeth will care to dance with me again,” Darcy said. Tonight, or any night.
“Then you might dance with Caroline and free Colonel Fitzwilliam to do the rescuing.” Bingley shrugged, contented with either solution.
Darcy swallowed a groan, not wishing to betray his true feelings for Charles’ sister to his face. His reaction must have been evident just the same, for Charles grinned.
“What it is to be so in demand!” He punched Darcy lightly on the arm. “It strikes me the ladies of Hertfordshire must make the most of you while you are here.”
“While I am here?” Darcy queried. “Do you intend on evicting me?”
“Not I!” Charles was adamant. “You know I would have you stay as long as you wish. But Caroline seems to think you likely to leave when Colonel Fitzwilliam does, and join him in Kent.”
Darcy scowled.
“Is everyone intent on planning my time for me and making my decisions as if I am incapable of choosing my own way?”
“Gracious! And who would dream of such a thing?” Charles laughed, clearly a little surprised by the ferocity of Darcy's expression. “If there's one thing I know you, sir, is your ability to know your own mind and follow it absolutely, with no regard for any other's opinion.”
“Am I so bull-headed?”
Charles laughed, stopping short when he realised the question was a genuine one.
“Independent,” he clarified. “Which is, of itself, no bad thing.”
“I am well able to admit when I am wrong,” Darcy insisted.
“I do not doubt you capable of anything,” Charles agreed. “But I have not often seen it. Fitzwilliam Darcy makes a decision and rarely changes it. His opinions are formed quickly and hold fast. It’s why I value your friendship, for I can hardly keep my own mind fixed for more than a day at a time.” He glanced around the hallway. “Come, Darcy, let’s rejoin the party. You surely cannot intend hiding out here all evening. We’ll have them wrap up the dancing in favour of cards and conversation if you prefer it. We must have enough for a few hands of whist, and I’m sure young Miss Mary will happily play something pretty for us to listen to, that is altogether too slow for dancing anyway.”
“I do not know that I am in any mood for conversation,” Darcy muttered.
“You speak as if that is not usual!” Charles said, darting back to the door before Darcy could register the comment and formulate a response. With a sigh of resignation, he dropped his head and followed his friend back into the hall. Slinking back into the shadows, he was grateful for a moment to observe the dancing without himself being observed. Charles was right: Richard and Caroline did not make a happy pair. She danced with precision, but no grace, and Richard was so busy casting glances towards the piano that he almost missed his steps on more than one occasion, drawing a wrathful glare from his partner. With effort, Darcy lifted his glance to Elizabeth, who was dancing with far more spring in her step than Caroline exhibited, and a patient expression on her face lifted only with the slight air of desperation that flitted across her eyes. Mr Collins appeared to be talking quickly, gripping her hand so tightly that she must be bound to hear him before moving away. Darcy felt a flicker of concern in his chest, and was about to intervene, when Elizabeth wrenched her arm away, hissed something indiscernible to her cousin, and fled the room.
MARY’S PIECE CRASHED to a halt in a chaos of discordant notes.
“Elizabeth?” Mrs Bennet’s shrill voice interrupted the sudden silence. “Mr Collins, dear me! What on earth has happened?”
Mr Collins’ face was tomato red, and he stammered something almost incoherent. Mary pushed her seat back from the piano, and took a step forward, exchanging a glance with Jane, who also rose, excused herself, and hurried after Elizabeth.
“Well!” Caroline Bingley began, casting a glance around the room with malicious interest. “Poor, dear Eliza! I do hope she has not been taken ill...”
“No, no!” Mrs Bennet said, rushing into the fray
with a desperate smile on her face. “I am sure it is nothing to concern you, Miss Bingley. Do, do go back to your dancing. Mary! Play something.”
Mary shook her head.
“I don’t think -”
“Perhaps you ought to check on her, my dear,” Mr Bennet said, with a calming hand on his wife's arm. “I do not imagine any of us are in the mood for more dancing until we have ascertained ourselves of Elizabeth's well-being.” He glanced at Mr Bingley. “Perhaps we might have some coffee....?”
“Coffee!” Mr Bingley nodded, enthusiastically. “Yes, yes. Excellent. Coffee! Let us all take some refreshments.”
Mary watched as Lydia and Kitty circled closer to Mr Collins, curious to see if they could discover the reason for Elizabeth’s sudden flight. Mary wanted to join them, but hung back, not sure whether she ought to check for herself whether Elizabeth was quite well, or whether her presence would even be welcome. Wringing her hands in indecision, she was quite startled to hear a concerned gentlemanly voice near her ear.
“I am sorry to hear your playing interrupted, Miss Mary. I hope your sister is quite well, perhaps merely a little overcome with the heat.”
Mary glanced up, smiling gratefully at Colonel Fitzwilliam, who appeared entirely serene in the midst of the chaos. His explanation gave her a lifeline and relief flooded her limbs. The heat! Yes, of course. That must be all that was the matter. Elizabeth had danced longer than she had and with far more energy. No wonder she might be in need of some rest and fresh air.
“I trust you are not similarly overcome?” Colonel Fitzwilliam asked, with concern. “Perhaps we ought to step a little closer to the window.”
Gratefully, Mary allowed him to lead her away from the noise of her sisters quizzing Mr Collins. Their cousin’s voice had lifted an octave in his insistence that he had said nothing amiss, and Miss Elizabeth was surely merely a little overexcited. This had been sufficient for Lydia and Kitty who were busily discussing how delicate Elizabeth’s sensibilities must be if this were true. As they passed Mr Darcy, Mary noticed the scowl he usually wore had receded a fraction, and something that might have been concern rested on his stern features.