by AmyJ
well matched Wesley and Elizabeth were. As soon as Blakeslee saw how
precious and unique Elizabeth was, he would have few options.
When it came to courting, there was no competition. Blakeslee's affable
manners and easy tongue, compared to his own reticence and fumbling
conversation, could easily win over any maiden he chose. His mind kept telling him Wesley would never betray a friend, but his heart still twisted when
Elizabeth teased him as she did.
At that moment, he knew he was a lost man. There was no fighting it, no way overcoming it. Wesley was like a brother, yet he was ready to call the man out for the singular crime of speaking to his betrothed. The realization was
frightening.
What had she done to him? And why was he so powerless to stop it? And what was he to do now? He was madly, passionately, violently in love with a woman who wanted nothing more than friendship from him.
He needed to think. He looked longingly at the door, but then felt Elizabeth prodding him. They were on to the next group of people; there could be no
escape.
The next hour continued much like the last, forcing Darcy to exchange his
latest epiphany for a blur of names, faces, and social pleasantries. For that reason alone, he was never so happy for the dancing to begin.
For the next thirty minutes, he would not have to consider anyone or anything but Elizabeth and the dance steps. He felt a fraction of the tension slip from his shoulders as they led the set to the floor. What he would not do to whisk her away from all this pomp and circumstance. A quiet evening at Arryndale is all he wanted. As the dance began, he easily imagined sitting in the library with Elizabeth; a well stoked fire in the hearth, Elizabeth curled up on the sofa, and he in his customary arm chair. She would be stroking an errant strand of hair, as she often did while reading...
"You are brooding, Mr. Darcy," Elizabeth sang, interrupting his daydream.
"I am not."
"You have not said more than three words in the past twenty minutes. That is brooding."
For a moment he said nothing. He had to be careful. A single slip of the tongue could send her running back to Hertfordshire. "I do not like balls."
"But you dance so delightfully," she teased. "I dare say I have never had such an agreeable partner."
At such a comment, Darcy's lips could not help but twitch, but still he said nothing.
Elizabeth giggled, obviously pleased with herself. "Pray, which of the other ladies present tonight shall you honour with your superior dancing?" At Darcy's stern glare, Elizabeth chimed, "You have not forgotten your promise to dance at every assembly and ball during our engagement?"
"I never should have agreed to such a thing. It would surely be much more rational if conversation instead of dancing were made the order of the day."
"But then it would not be near so much like a ball." She bit her lip as Darcy rolled his eyes. "None the less, you have made a promise, and I intend to hold you to it."
"If I must, I am to dance with your sister, Miss Woodall, and two others," he muttered.
"Miss Woodall?" Elizabeth exclaimed in surprise. "The one with Mr. Bingley?"
"Indeed. Does that trouble you?"
"No... No. I..."
Mistaking her consternation for jealousy, he smiled down at her. "There is nothing to fear, Elizabeth. I have no desire to marry her. She is the sister of my good friend." He held his breath, realizing he may have said too much.
"But is not Miss Bingley as well? Have you also reserved a set with her?
Surely, you have noticed her hovering." She bit back a giggle.
"Yes." Darcy said grimly. "How could I not? I am under no obligation to dance with her, and will not, after her treatment of you and your sister."
"Will Mr. Bingley not be offended? He is Miss Woodall's escort, and he has asked your future sister for a set." She could not help the hint of contempt in her voice.
"Has Mr. Bingley offended you, or are you concerned about his dance with Miss Bennet?"
"I am only concerned for Jane. What can he mean by requesting a set?"
"Elizabeth, we agreed to not interfere," came the warning.
"I do not wish to see Jane unsettled. It is her first London ball. Did you not notice what set she gave him?"
"I am afraid I did not."
"The second after dinner." Darcy's brow crumpled in confusion. "She was making a statement, Fitzwilliam; relegating him amongst the inconsequential dances. She had other sets available; I am quite certain of it."
"Perhaps she no longer feels an attachment to Mr. Bingley."
"But did you not see the way she paled upon seeing him? No, there is still something between them."
"What would you have me do?"
After a moment of thought, and realizing nothing could be done, she blew out a breath. "Nothing. I apologize."
"If he does anything untoward, I shall speak with him. Until then, let us enjoy the remainder of our dance."
"I have found you out at last; you do enjoy dancing!"
Darcy marvelled at how quickly her spirits could rebound. "Only when I am particularly acquainted with my partner." He smiled down at her. The rest of the dance passed in relative silence, but each wore a small smile.
At the completion of their dance, the reality of the ball intruded. Darcy once again fell into his stoic manner as the two were surrounded by guests still curious enough to approach, and those looking to curry either Elizabeth's or Darcy's favour.
To his chagrin, Elizabeth was rarely without a dance partner. Darcy often chose to stand by the wayside and watch, his fists clenching and unclenching, quite unaware he was presenting a portrait of a love struck fool as he offended guests with his inattention.
Finally, some respite from the jealousy that churned in his breast came when Bingley claimed Elizabeth's hand for their dance. He had no worries of an
attachment forming between those two.
Darcy watched his friend dance with his betrothed, curious about the changes he saw in him. Bingley's usual jovial spirit seemed clouded, and presently, looked as though he needed a stiff drink. Seeing Elizabeth's brow arched, he sighed; she was most likely debating with Bingley, the likes of which he had not seen since he was at school.
After the dance, Darcy, Bingley and Elizabeth spoke for a few brief minutes, before Bingley expressed the desire for some wine and took his leave.
"You were meddling," Darcy accused.
Elizabeth smiled innocently, but the tilt of her chin told Darcy she was
anything but that. "I only asked his opinion on who had the greater share of enjoyment at balls, men or women."
Darcy nodded, knowingly. He had no doubt the conversation was filled with
double entendres and innuendos. Only Elizabeth could turn an innocent
sounding topic into a dressing down. If he did not love her so, he would have a good mind to...
The two were interrupted by Elizabeth's next partner claiming his dance, and the green monster returned.
Finally, the dinner bell rang and the guests proceeded to the dining room.
Darcy eased, noticing he and Elizabeth had been seated with the Matlocks and the Granvilles. Conversation was lively, and for a while, it was easy to believe that this was nothing more than a family dinner.
Those illusions, however, were shattered when Mr. Granville stood. "It is with great pleasure, that I welcome you all tonight and thank you for joining us. I am especially honoured to be hosting this special event. There were many of us who did not think it would happen, but my cousin, Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, has finally chosen a bride. Without further ado, I ask you all to join me in raising a glass to the future happiness of the couple. To Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy of
Pemberley, Derbyshire, and Miss Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourn,
Hertfordshire, may you blessed with many children and many years of joy."
As Mr. Granville began the
toast, Darcy squirmed. He hated being the centre of attention. However, the moment he looked to see how Elizabeth was faring, the rest of the room melted away. Her entire being had taken on a rosy hue, but her eyes were dancing and her lips were curved in a bashful, amused smile. Had
they been alone, he would have had no choice but to kiss her. Right then, he formed a new resolve; he would find a way to make Elizabeth love him.
The moment was broken by a roar of cheers and clanking of glasses.
The rest of the evening progressed well. After dinner, conversation and dancing resumed in the ballroom. Darcy danced his one with Miss Woodall, while
Elizabeth partook of a number of dances, each with a different partner.
The only disruption to the evening's gaiety was when Bingley led Miss Bennet out on the floor. As they watched the couple join the set, Darcy felt Elizabeth tense. Nearby, Colonel Fitzwilliam and Lord Blakeslee were eyeing the couple as well. Seeing their interest in the couple, Darcy could not help feel relieved knowing Miss Bennet would be returning to her home soon. His courtship was
complicated enough, without having to mediate between his cousin and his
friend over his future sister. After he was married, they could do as they pleased.
"It will be well," Darcy whispered to Elizabeth. "Bingley knows better than to cause a scene." Elizabeth nodded absently.
He began to share in Elizabeth's consternation, however, as the dance
progressed. Apparently, Bingley was to prove him wrong. Whatever was being
said between the two was not good, if Miss Bennet's pale face was any
indication.
He looked down at his betrothed and cringed. Her jaw was clenched and her
breath was slow and hot. Perhaps he should have listened to her and prevented the dance from occurring. He sent up a silent prayer that all would be well, but his hopes were dashed when he saw Miss Bennet fleeing the room. Elizabeth
was close on her heels.
He looked between the Miss Bennets and Bingley, torn over which direction to go. He had decided to deal with Bingley later, when he noticed Lord Blakeslee was attempting follow the Miss Bennets, but had been halted by Colonel
Fitzwilliam. He stopped as well. His cousin was correct. The sisters would
want a moment alone.
With his decision made for him, he went in search of Bingley and caught up
with him walking towards the exit. "Bingley!" he called out. "What the devil happened?"
"I am sorry, Darcy." Bingley said, in a tone that was more resigned than apologetic. "I am not myself tonight. Miss Bennet and I exchanged a few unpleasant words. I am very sorry. Will you give my apologies to Miss
Elizabeth?"
Darcy had a mind strike the man for upsetting the evening, but that would only cause a greater commotion. "Bingley, Miss Bennet looked to be in tears!"
"I am sorry," he mumbled.
Seeing his friend looking so defeated tempered Darcy's anger. "Is there anything I can do, Bingley? You seem to be out of sorts lately." His tone was a mixture of annoyance, confusion, and genuine concern.
"I am fine," Bingley bristled. "It is nothing with which to concern yourself. I can manage well enough alone. Excuse me."
Darcy watched in wonder as his friend left. With each step, the haughty
rigidness of Bingley's shoulders drooped deeper into a defeated slump. No
matter what Bingley said, he was not managing well alone. If only Bingley
would confide in him, then he could fix it. He suspected it had something to do with Miss Bennet, but could not fathom what. Bingley was the one who chose
not to return to Netherfield; surely he could not expect a warm reception from the lady after that. Maybe it was something else, business related perhaps; though why Bingley would not come to him for help made little sense. They
frequently discussed matters of business. He would invite Bingley to lunch and ferret it out. Then, he would not exert himself to remain calm.
When the ladies returned, Darcy quickly made his way to his betrothed's side.
"I am sorry, Elizabeth. Will your sister be well?"
Elizabeth nodded. "Perhaps it was for best. Matters between Mr. Bingley and Jane seem to have been settled." Her tone was void of her usual humour.
"I am afraid I can not so easily forgive him for disrupting your evening."
Elizabeth smiled obligingly. "Please, Fitzwilliam. We should return to the guests."
As much as Darcy would have preferred to leave, or more precisely remain in private discourse with his betrothed, he could not but agree. An early departure would have caused more speculation and gossip. And, there was a final dance to be had. If Elizabeth was well, he had no intention of ending the evening on such a sour note.
After the final dance, the guests departed slowly. As the guests of honour, Darcy and Elizabeth were obliged to remain until the very end. It was therefore very late when Darcy's carriage pulled up in front of the Gardiner home.
After seeing his betrothed to the door, he placed a long kiss her hand. "Good night, Elizabeth. I ..." He resisted the urge to brush a finger along her cheek. "I shall see you the day after tomorrow." He turned and left, before he said anything more, barely hearing her sweet, "Good night, Fitzwilliam."
The following morning, Elizabeth woke earlier than the rest of the house, but later than her wont. With the late night, it was not surprising. In anticipation of the late morning, breakfast had been delayed, and was still some time away.
With some rare quiet time on her hands, she availed herself to the comforts of her uncle's library. It was not as large as the one at Longbourn, and paltry compared to the one at Arryndale, but it was a comfortable refuge.
Despite the open book that lay in her lap, her mind was full of the ball. All the planning by Lady Matlock and Mrs. Granville had paid off in great dividends; the evening had gone well, and not only by her assessment. The warm adieux
she received from both Lady Matlock and Mrs. Granville told her she had
made it through her debut without committing a major faux pas and disgracing the Darcy, Matlock or Granville name.
She leaned her head against the sofa and replayed the night in her head. When they had first entered the ballroom, she had been almost too nervous to walk.
Never had she witnessed such grandeur, nor been in the presence of so many
esteemed people. She had always known Darcy moved amongst the first circle, but she had not appreciated what that meant until last night. Earls, countesses, marquises and wealthy merchants were all eager make her acquaintance or
boast a connection.
Thank goodness Darcy had been there! His quiet manner, but strong presence, had put her at ease.
Once in the thick of things, she had relaxed. It was true, there were plenty of whispers - and she had over overheard a fair number of them - both bad and
good. Indeed, how could she have missed them when at every turn there was a gathering of women speaking behind their fans? The disappointed matrons
were not as awful in their judgements as she had anticipated, and the others had been downright humorous. They believed Darcy to be completely besotted!
Recalling the way he had hovered around her - as if he was afraid she might disappear - coupled with his usual reticence, it was not difficult to understand how others might misconstrue it for love.
She, however, knew distraction did not keep him nearby. Fitzwilliam Darcy
was a protective man, and knowing her apprehension over the evening, he had taken it upon himself to see nothing went awry. It was duty, not love, which had him at the edge of the floor after every dance to receive her; and
obligation, not bewitchment, that kept him by her side, warding off unwanted advances with his stern glare. Anyone who knew him would know he would
have done the same for his sister.
She found herself both amused and relieved at having such a constant
companion.
Thoughts of constancy brought Bingley back to the forefront of her mind. As far as she was concerned, both he and his sister could go to the devil. How dare he ruin Jane's evening! Was it not bad enough he broke her heart? He did not need to flaunt it in front of her! At least she was able to have her say during their dance.
Their set had begun with several moments of awkward silence, neither quite
sure what to say to the other. Unwilling to pass up this opportunity, Elizabeth finally spoke. "It is good to see you again, Mr. Bingley We have not had a chance to speak since last November."
Bingley attempted a smile, but Elizabeth thought he looked ill.
Realizing he was not going to say anything, Elizabeth continued. "I do hope your business that kept you from Netherfield has been completed to your
satisfaction."
Bingley stared at her for a moment, nearly missing his next steps, which only confirmed Elizabeth's belief that there indeed was no business at all.
Immediately, the anger she felt last December returned in full force.
"I do hope you are enjoying the evening, Mr. Bingley."
Bingley spoke his first words since the dance began. "I am. Mrs. Granville has done superbly."
"Do you think men enjoy balls more than women?" She smiled innocently.
"Knowing, Mr. Darcy's opinion on the subject, I thought I would ask someone more popular amongst the ladies."
Bingley flushed in consternation. "I think both find it equally enjoyable."
"I have always believed a man must enjoy them more. A man may come and go as he pleases, and dance with whomever he desires. A woman, however, could
never be so bold and must sit idly by, waiting and hoping. Surely the ability to manipulate the situation to one's liking must add to its merriment."
"But a woman may decline the request," Bingley offered, uneasily.
"Yes, but only with the penalty of refusing all others for the evening. If the night is young, the punishment is rather severe." She shook her head. "No, the greater portion of pleasure must go to he who can follow his whims."
Bingley's silence, and inability to look at her, told Elizabeth he had understood her perfectly.