by Dixon, P. O.
Georgiana walked quickly to the instrument and took a seat. “Will you join me, Elizabeth?”
Elizabeth would do anything to escape Mr. Darcy’s penetrating stare. “It will be my pleasure.” She stood, scurried over, and sat next to her friend.
Georgiana could not help observing that Darcy had his eyes fixed upon her friend. In a voice only Elizabeth could hear, she said, “How goes your list? Would you say you met anyone worthy of consideration at last evening’s ball?”
Elizabeth hushed her friend. “Imagine what your brother would think if he knew my secret.”
The younger woman raised her brow. “Perchance my brother shall find his way on the list.” She knew her brother well enough to know he did not regard women in the manner in which he regarded Elizabeth as a habit.
Before Elizabeth could respond, one way or another, Darcy approached the instrument and recommended a lively duet. Georgiana and Elizabeth readily conceded. Georgiana saw and suspected enough to be intrigued, and her great affection for her friend Elizabeth and her ardent esteem for her brother kindled her desire in seeing the two of them in company more often.
When the clock struck two, the time had come for the Darcys to take their leave. While Georgiana had been rather effusive when speaking of their upcoming outing, Darcy was rather reserved. When at first he had arrived, Elizabeth’s nearness overwhelmed him; he was finding it hard to breathe—hard to concentrate, hard to find the words.
Having sat patiently through the young ladies’ chit-chat on the affairs of the evening before, including all the fashions and the like, Elizabeth’s charm and her witty conversation put him at ease. She had likened some of the young ladies at the ball to Caroline Bingley on more than one occasion. No doubt Caroline used her time with Miss Elizabeth in Hertfordshire to plant seeds of a possible alliance between the two of us. It would have not have been the first time. Miss Elizabeth meant to test me to ascertain the veracity of Caroline’s claims. At least, Miss Elizabeth saw fit not to mention George Wickham’s name again.
The more he thought about it on the carriage ride home, the more he considered that Elizabeth was flirting with him with her witty repartee and her teasing smile. Darcy had never been more bewitched by any woman as he was with her.
Were it not for the inferiority of her connections, I might be in some danger.
Chapter 8 ~ Much Better Dance
Lord Davenport approached him at a table in the smoke-filled game room. “Pray Darcy, who is the fetching young creature who accompanies your sister this evening?”
Fingering the rim of his glass, Darcy said, “Her name is Miss Elizabeth Bennet. She hails from Hertfordshire.”
“Hertfordshire, you say? That is quite an inconvenient distance from Derbyshire. Do you suppose your sister is playing matchmaker again?”
Both Lord Davenport and Darcy knew all too well the folly of Georgiana’s last matchmaking attempt. Upon meeting Lord Davenport’s sister, Lady Mary, Georgiana had thought her brother and the young heiress would be a perfect pair, and thus she did everything to put her in Darcy’s path. Unbeknownst to nearly everyone, Lady Mary’s heart belonged to another—a gentleman of inferior birth who had supposed Darcy was a competitor for his fair lady’s affections. The foolish man had gone as far as to call Darcy out. Only a full accounting of the scheme to the aggrieved gentleman as well as to Darcy, who had no awareness whatsoever of why the fool perceived him a threat, as well as a solemn declaration of contrition from the false accuser, could settle the score.
Darcy tightened his expression. She would not dare. “Hardly.”
“Then you will not mind if I seek the young woman’s hand for a set. I have it on good authority that Lady Richardson plans to throw caution to the wind and delight us all with a scandalous waltz for the sixth.”
Scandalous, indeed! Though popular on the continent, the dance was frowned upon in England. Darcy was not surprised by Davenport’s pronouncement, for this was a Richardson ball. Her ladyship was no stranger to challenging convention.
“Surely you do not suppose you need my permission to dance with a woman whose only connection to me is her acquaintance with my sister.”
“Not ordinarily, but as we both know, things are not always as they seem.” With that, Lord Davenport nodded and went on his way.
Darcy left the game room too. He deemed it necessary to rearrange things a bit. His first order of business was to speak with Lady Richardson. If Miss Elizabeth could be so easily persuaded by the likes of George Wickham, she stands no chance against Lord Davenport.
Elizabeth found her friend lingering in a corner, ostensibly admiring a large floral arrangement. “Georgiana, why are you standing here looking as though you wish to be anywhere else?”
“Elizabeth, I am endeavouring to escape Lord Riley’s attentions. I have but one spot open on my dance card, and he is the last person with whom I wish to stand opposite this evening.”
“I dare say the gentleman is agreeable.”
“He is too agreeable. Add to that, he is in desperate want of a wife. I have no intention of affording him the opportunity to single me out as the object for his affections—ever! Even though this is my second season, I mean to enjoy it to its fullest with no thoughts of love and matrimony. In fact, I am not truly persuaded I shall ever marry.”
“You are blessed to enjoy such a luxury.”
“I suppose you are correct.”
“I realise you are young still, but have you ever met anyone who captured your fancy?”
“There was one time, one particular gentleman. It turned out he did not share my affections equally. I truly supposed I was in love. Finding myself suffering such unsettling emotions that come about with believing one’s self in love is not an experience I am eager to repeat.” Sighing, her voice grew into a whisper. “I must confess I sometimes do not trust myself to know whether gentlemen fancy me or my fortune and connections.”
Elizabeth had heard it said that the first heartbreak is the most heartfelt. What has been the means of Georgiana’s injury? Elizabeth would not press. “I am sorry.”
“You need not be. No irreparable harm resulted from my foolishness. Though I shall not look for love, as long as it is not Lord Riley, who is to say love shall not find me.”
As Elizabeth had never given her heart to anyone, she was hard pressed for the right words to say to her friend. Her situation was nowhere near as advantageous as Georgiana’s, and yet she had not married merely out of necessity, even though it might have been the most prudent course of action for a young woman whose prospects were as lacking as hers. Of course, it would not always be that way. Papa has made that abundantly clear.
When Mr. Darcy claimed Elizabeth’s hand for a waltz, one question was uppermost in her befuddled mind: why was he torturing himself this way? Did he not proclaim that he had little interest in dancing? What is more, why is he torturing me? Not only was he torturing her, but her body was torturing her as well.
He had not spoken a single word to her all evening other than to express his pleasure in seeing her again and to request her hand for the set. Now her body ached to hear his voice. When he placed one hand on her waist and took her hand into his other, she lost her breath. She placed her hand on his shoulder and went weak in the knees as a bolt of heat radiated through her. His firm yet gentle grip on her waist whilst bracing her left her both disquieted as well as intrigued.
Just to keep her torturous sensibilities at bay, she did not look into his deep-blue eyes. What was it about this man, which caused her every ill thought attributable to him to flee whenever they were within five inches of each other? Close enough that she might reach up and touch his face or even his soft hair should see wish it. Elizabeth prudently shook off her foolish musings. Mr. Darcy had but one purpose in attending her so diligently—to find fault in her and cause a chasm between his sister and her.
The dance began and within seconds, they were waltzing around the room. What natural grace he posse
ssed—a truth which pleased her exceedingly. His dexterity should not have come as a surprise at all—not when she considered his manner of comportment and ever-present air of dignity. Surely everything this man does, he does with grace. They spent the first half moving through the dance in silence. Elizabeth feared he intended to pass the entire dance in his usual taciturn manner. She loved to dance, and she especially loved the waltz. Never before did she have an opportunity to partner with a gentleman, for she and her eldest sister, Jane, had taken it upon themselves to master the infamous dance together. She meant to enjoy it, even if she did not enjoy her companion.
“I love this dance.”
“Indeed.”
She hazarded a look into his eyes. Must he always stare? As close as they were, he looked at her with far more intimacy than she was comfortable. Does he mean to intimidate me?
“For one who does not profess liking to dance, I must say you dance exceedingly well, Mr. Darcy.”
He frowned at her, yet remained silent as they made their way down the room.
After a pause that seemed an eternity, Elizabeth endeavoured once again to entice him to speak. “You might at least pretend to enjoy this dance, Mr. Darcy. I did not ask you to dance after all. You asked me. By your scowling mien, one might suppose you consider it a burden.”
“Forgive me, Miss Elizabeth, but I supposed you were taunting me just then in complimenting my ballroom prowess.”
“Are you not to be laughed at, Mr. Darcy?”
“I find it hard to forgive the folly of others, especially when it is exercised at my expense.”
“Then you will have no quarrel with me, sir, for I meant it as a compliment.”
With that, Elizabeth noticed what looked to be a hint of a smile grace his lips.
“I must confess that I am amazed at your prowess as well. Where did you learn to waltz?”
Elizabeth looked at him squarely. “Do you suppose the inhabitants of Meryton have yet to master the finer arts of town, Mr. Darcy?”
“Actually, I do—then of course, you cannot always have been of Meryton.”
Not about to confess that Jane had been her sole dance partner, she said, “I am sorry to disappoint you, sir, but I did indeed learn to waltz in Meryton. Now, hate me if you dare.”
His hand on her waist tightened ever so softly—tenderly akin to a gentle caress. “I could never hate you, Miss Elizabeth.”
Elizabeth swallowed. Gone was the sternness in his voice—replaced by the melody she had come to appreciate during unguarded moments. She knew not what to say, so she said nothing. Silence ensued, and she began to feel as though it had filled the room to the point that it was only the two of them. A bewildering mixture of emotions engulfed her senses when the music ended, and he escorted her back to sit with his aunt. A strange sense of loss flooded her being as she watched him disappear into the crowd. It was the last she saw of him that evening.
From an advantageous view that he had claimed for himself on the balcony overlooking the ballroom floor, Darcy watched as one gentleman after another approached Elizabeth to claim her hand. What on earth had he been thinking in dancing a waltz with her? True, he had thwarted Lord Davenport’s intentions, but not without some cost to his own sensibilities.
Holding her in his arms, touching her, practically caressing her, had unleashed a yearning the likes of which he never dreamed was possible. Reason had won out over desire as he repressed the urge to take her hand in his and lead her from the ballroom for a midnight stroll in the Richardson’s garden. It would not do.
Did she have any idea the devastating effect of her teasing smile on his gentlemanly sensibilities? Thank heavens his annual trip to Kent was nigh. As long as she was around, he would know no peace. I might spend the rest of the Season in Kent. Surely by the time I come back, she will have returned to Hertfordshire.
Yes, time and distance away from her is just the thing I need.
Darcy’s solitude was abruptly interrupted when a piercing voice accosted him. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end. He would have recognised her fragrance from a mile off.
“Mr. Darcy, there you are. I have been looking everywhere for you this evening.”
The intimacy hinted by her voice gave him a shudder. “You have found me.”
“Of course, I did see you earlier. You were dancing with Miss Eliza Bennet. What a burden it must have been for you to share a waltz with a country nobody. I suppose Miss Darcy cajoled you into requesting Eliza Bennet’s hand for a set. I do recall her boasting of her acquaintance with your dear, dear sister. I supposed she was enjoying a bit of latitude with the truth.”
Having lost sight of Elizabeth amidst a sea of fine gowns, he turned and faced his companion. “I had not expected to see you here, Miss Bingley. I supposed you were in Hertfordshire.”
“And forego the entirety of the Season? Heaven forbid that I shall ever consider such a dreadful prospect. I have left Charles to his own devices in the country and returned to town with my sister.” She crossed her arms. “Mind you, Mr. Darcy, I have yet to forgive you for abandoning me to the wilds of Hertfordshire amongst those savages. Why on earth have you not responded to my repeated pleas to return and help my brother see reason as regards those conniving Bennets?”
“Your brother is a grown man. I expressed my objections to his alliance. He is determined to decide his own course in life.”
“You know how it has always been a favourite wish that our families should be united.” She batted her long lashes and eased closer. “I am not merely speaking of my brother and your sister.”
“Please, remember yourself.”
Why am I wasting my time with her? Far too many minutes had passed since he last laid eyes on the true object of his desire. It took him a moment to spot her amongst the throng of people below. Once he fixed his eyes upon her, Caroline’s incessant drone melded into the sound of the orchestra tuning up for the next set. A hard tug at his sleeve drew his attention.
He frowned and looked down at his companion. “Are you still here?”
“Have you not heard a word I have said, Mr. Darcy?” She peered over the balcony, desiring to discover whatever it was below that had the credit of inspiring such consideration. By the dour turn of her countenance, she espied the young woman who held his attention hostage. She gasped. Miss Bingley immediately fixed her eyes on his face. “Pray you have not fallen victim to Charles’s malady where those Bennets are concerned?”
Darcy said nothing.
“How long has Miss Eliza been such a favourite?” Her voiced now laced with bitterness, she bemoaned, “And pray, when shall I wish you joy?”
“That is exactly the question I expected you to ask. One minute you were insinuating that you and I should be married, and now you are suggesting I am to marry Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Which is it?”
She stood there agape. “Why—” Miss Bingley’s colouring took on the shade of her fetching, low-cut, amber gown and requisite feathered headrest. “Why—”
“What say you that I leave you to ponder the matter? Good evening, Miss Bingley.”
Chapter 9 ~ What News from Longbourn
Elizabeth removed Jane’s letter from her pocket and once again perused those parts that delighted her the most.
Dearest Lizzy,
I have some very happy news, and as I can have no reserves from you, where giving you pleasure is concerned, I am writing to you much sooner than you may have been expecting. Mr. Bingley and I are engaged to be married!
Whilst I must confess to being the happiest creature in the world, I sometimes feel it is by far too much. I do not deserve it. Oh! Why is not everybody as happy? As you are my dearest sister, I wanted you to be the first to know. Mr. Bingley and I shall share our happy news with my mother and father later this evening.
Oh, Lizzy! How shall I bear so much happiness? I can well imagine Mamma going on and on regarding all the particulars of calico, muslin, and cambric. How I wish you were here to sha
re my joy; however, I shall be patient, for Mr. Bingley and I have decided the wedding is to be in three months. Dare I hope by then you may well have good news of your own?
If I have a single regret, it is that my future sisters are not here to share in our joy. You will know by now they have returned to town to take part in the London Season. Mr. Bingley assured me he would write to them telling them of our news. As attentive as they have always been, I am persuaded they will be just as delighted as everyone at Longbourn.
Elizabeth doubted such was the case, but it mattered not. Surely as the wife of Mr. Bingley, my sister must have no cause to repine.
She clutched the missive to her heart. Her greatest wish for Jane had come to fruition. Now, Elizabeth had only to satisfy her own heart’s desire for a love match. With all her time in town, she had met with very little success. None of the gentleman had found a place on her list. How could they? Rather than spending her time advantageously and becoming better acquainted with the gentlemen whom her uncle invited to dinner or even those gentlemen who routinely danced with her when she had attended the balls with Georgiana, Elizabeth spent all her time endeavouring to make out Mr. Darcy’s character. Prudence and good sensibility rendered him as the one gentleman whose name would never grace her list. Even if he were the most amiable man in the world, which he was not—even if he were liked by her family and friends, which he certainly was not, he was spoken for, according to Mr. Wickham.
My upcoming trip to Kent is just the diversion I need. Mr. Wickham had told her about Mr. Darcy’s aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, as well as his presumed intended, Miss Anne de Bourgh. Perhaps, she would have another opportunity to complete the puzzle that was Mr. Darcy, only she would be doing it far away with no danger of his hypnotic blue eyes and wonderfully melodious voice to distract her.
Having left Hertfordshire with the Gardiners before Charlotte’s marriage to her cousin, Elizabeth was happy for the chance to mend the awkwardness between them, for she and Charlotte had always been the most intimate of friends. Their parting words had been Charlotte’s ardent affirmation of wanting to hear from Elizabeth very often. Charlotte asked for another favour as well. Thinking it would be some time before she would leave Kent, she wanted her friend to come and see her in her new home. Elizabeth could not refuse. They had agreed upon March, and though Elizabeth foresaw little pleasure in the visit, fearing it was merely a gesture of friendship for the sake of what had always been rather than what was, a promise was a promise. Now, the time had come. If things work out according to plan, soon I shall have the privilege of meeting Mr. Darcy’s presumed betrothed for myself.