The Zephyr

Chapter 37

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

A BOON

A t long last, Mr Darcy held out his hand to me.

Netherfield Park’s ballroom had been lit with so many candles that the crystals in the chandeliers glittered above our heads and sent a shower of lights down to the floor.

Striving to lessen the vulnerability of my wonder at such a beautiful setting, and wishing to conceal the awe I felt to be led out by such a dazzling partner, I said, “You may have noticed, sir, that I have combed my hair.”

“Have you? Ah yes. If I squint, I can detect a touch of order in your curls. But where is your turban?”

“There should only ever be one turban with feathers in any ballroom, Mr Darcy.”

“Yet I believe I can see half a dozen without turning around.”

“My point precisely. I wish to stand out.”

We were separated by the dance for an agonising moment. When we came back together, he spoke in a warm murmur close to my ear.

“Prepare yourself to stand out a great deal, my Zephyr.”

“I believe I am under a great deal of scrutiny already,” I whispered.

It was true. Mr Bingley had opened the ball with Jane, danced next with his sister, and then Miss Darcy. My own partner had taken his sister out for the first dance, then Jane, and then Miss Bingley. This had all been predictable. But based upon his history alone, I do not believe anyone in the room expected Mr Darcy to step onto the floor again after having done his minimal duty to the principal ladies present.

That he danced with me, and did so with no trace of the stoicism with which he had led out Miss Bingley, had generated a certain rising interest. When the gentleman then smiled, talked freely, and once even laughed with me, more than a few matrons lining the sides of the room sat up.

Caroline Bingley, who danced with Mr Hurst, did not seem capable of looking anywhere other than at my partner and me, and her expression of cold dislike only added to the spectacle.

Mr Darcy smiled conspiratorially at me, and when we were as far from the other dancers as the steps took us, he said, “Remind me again to thrash whoever decided on a prolonged, secret engagement. Let us put an end to this charade.”

Fearing we would be overheard and thinking to lessen my consciousness of the fact that my cheeks betrayed my pleasure at his suggestion, I searched for something to say, some topic of conversation other than the one foremost in both our minds.

“I believe you have already made steps in that direction. What was that unfair tactic you so recently employed against my mother, Mr Darcy?”

“A box of sweets is unfair?”

“She fell directly into your pocket!”

“You should not accuse me of what you do so easily. Upon the instant of meeting, my sister fell into the palm of your hand. If we are to debate unfair tactics, that blinding smile of yours must surely come up for review.”

“If that is true, then I will smile at you,” I said, making good on my threat as the musicians played the concluding notes of the dance.

He squinted a little as though against a glaring sun. “You have blinded me—again.”

We thereafter strove to behave ourselves more reasonably, that is to say, with far less familiarity and a great deal of dignified politeness. This was, after all was said and done, a ball to celebrate Jane’s engagement to Mr Bingley, not an occasion to generate talk—again.

Our good intentions notwithstanding, Mr Darcy politely engaged the Gardiners during supper, invited Kitty and me to sit beside his sister to nibble at our plates and entertain her, and later, he even sought out my father who was standing as far from the musicians as he could reasonably do while still in the room. They spoke—of what I could not guess—but the conversation lasted five minutes. Considering they had not been on more than nodding terms with one another, their conference must have been striking to those who had not partaken too heavily of Mr Bingley’s celebratory punch to notice.

By the time the musicians struck up the first refrain of the last dance of the ball, Mr Darcy had again sought me out, and I felt moved to look him full in the face .

“You know well enough I cannot dance with you again. As it is, if our intention was to wait so as not to eclipse my sister’s triumph, we may have erred tonight.”

“I am aware, Swiftling. May I confess? Having stepped out of my dignity to engage your notice, I find stuffing myself back into that coffin of reserve unbearable.”

“Might you soon begin to chatter like a monkey?”

“Lord, I sincerely hope not. Please tell me I do not have to go that far to win you.”

“Very well. But might you grant me a boon in return? I find Miss Bingley’s distress quite disheartening.”

“Oh? Am I to marry her instead?”

“No, but might you root around in the ranks of your acquaintance and find her a suitable consolation?”

We had been standing a little away from where my mother sat with Lady Lucas. Mr Darcy turned his back against the room so as to speak more freely and replied to me in a low voice.

“I do not know whether to feel flattered or oppressed. You think a great deal of my powers, Elizabeth. Have we not already agreed we cannot be held accountable for what others think of our affair?”

“But you are not the villain in the matter. Do you not see how I have been cast in her mind as a Delilah? That it is unpleasant for me is one thing. But her feelings—well, in truth, I feel great sympathy for her. She is nearly on the shelf, and you were her last, best hope!”

“Her pain is of her own making.”

“True, but—are we fighting, Mr Darcy?”

He regarded me with a hint of chagrin. “We are, and I love you no less than when we are not. But might we continue our disagreement tomorrow? We are in danger of continuing to talk long after the music has stopped and the room is cleared.”

Thus, we wrung the last drop out of Mr Bingley’s ball and left no one under the illusion that we were but indifferent acquaintance.

That night, as I blew out my candle, I said, “Can you forgive me, Jane?”

“Forgive you!”

“I flirted relentlessly with Mr Darcy at your ball and made more of a spectacle of myself than I ought. You, my beautiful, should have had all the light shone upon you.”

“Did you? Oh Lizzy, I have never been so happy in my life!” she said with a euphoric sigh.

This was a consolation. However, prudence intermingled with contrition drove me to pay an early morning visit to my mother, for I dreaded another open conversation on the subject of my familiarity with Mr Darcy over breakfast.

“Good morning, Mama,” I said, sitting behind her on the bed as I always did when she was seated in front of her mirror. This way I could see her face as she spoke.

“Well, there you are,” she said as she smoothed lotion over her cheeks. “Have you licked the last of the cream from your whiskers?”

“Mama, I?—”

“You are one fortunate puss, I should say. Tell me, Lizzy, how have you attached such a man? Two daughters married! I shall have two daughters so fortuitously wed as to erase my every anxiety for the remaining three!” She snapped her fingers in great delight and turned to face me with a conspiratorial smirk. “Has Mr Darcy declared himself?”