Chapter 4
E lizabeth Bennet spun lightly as her dance with Mr. Lucas came to an end, laughter bubbling up as she curtsied and thanked him. The Meryton Assembly was in full swing, with lively music, familiar faces, and warm conversation filling the hall. As the final notes of the set died away, Elizabeth moved from the dance floor. Snippets of chatter floated around her, carrying the invariable rumors and gossip.
“Did you hear? The Netherfield party will be arriving shortly.”
“Yes! They say Mr. Bingley is quite young and very charming—and rich, too, if the rumors are to be believed.”
“Oh, but his friend… the gentleman who came down with him? Mr. Darcy, I think they called him? A man of wealth beyond imagining, and recently widowed, poor fellow. And he has a young son, quite ill from what I’ve heard.”
Elizabeth’s interest piqued. She had overheard talk of the Netherfield party earlier in the week, but little had been said of Mr. Darcy, aside from his wealth. She imagined he must be a reserved, solemn man, the kind who would rather avoid society altogether. The thought made her feel a bit sorry for him—he must be bearing a tremendous weight, and the constant attention to his status and fortune could not make it any easier.
How difficult it must be to be alone with a young child, and always under society’s scrutiny.
As she sat down, her friend Charlotte Lucas appeared by her side, nudging her playfully. “Lizzy, have you heard the latest? A new family has taken Netherfield, and they’re said to be incredibly wealthy.”
Elizabeth laughed. “You know I have, between your mother and mine.”
“He is supposed to come tonight; at least, that is what he told my father.”
“Oh, is he?” Elizabeth replied with a playful smirk. “I wonder if he’ll find our little town and its people agreeable or decide we are all frightfully provincial.”
Charlotte laughed. “Time will tell. But they’re said to be quite distinguished— look, I believe that’s them arriving now.”
Elizabeth followed Charlotte’s gaze to the entrance. The Bingley party had arrived at last, drawing all eyes as they made their way through the hall. Charles Bingley looked every bit the amiable gentleman, his expression open and friendly as he greeted everyone he met. Beside him stood his sisters: Miss Caroline Bingley, whose extravagant gown and feathered hair contrasted starkly with her brother’s easy charm, and Mrs. Hurst, who seemed indifferent to the crowd altogether. Both wore expressions that spoke of a certain reluctance, or perhaps even disdain, for their surroundings.
And then, just behind them, came Mr. Darcy.
Elizabeth was surprised. Far from the quiet, diminutive man she had pictured, Mr. Darcy was tall, with a proud, solemn expression and a dark gaze that swept across the room without lingering on any one face. His lips were set in a firm line, and there was something about him that seemed, for lack of a better word, cold.
Sir William Lucas approached the newcomers, and Elizabeth watched as Bingley engaged warmly with him, smiling and greeting the crowd. Darcy remained almost motionless, his dark gaze flicking over the assembled guests with a restrained, indifferent air. Elizabeth felt her initial sympathy waver as he barely acknowledged Sir William’s introduction, offering only a curt nod.
She tried to imagine his experience of the evening, enduring the stares and whispers that followed him—no doubt tired of rumors about his wealth and widower status. Still, his demeanor seemed less the sorrow of grief and more a proud detachment, a superiority that bordered on disdain.
Her thoughts were interrupted as Sir William approached her family with Mr. Bingley. She quickly forgot Darcy’s distant manner; Bingley’s eager, warm smile as he was introduced to Jane was unmistakable. Elizabeth watched, delighting in the immediate kindness he showed her sister, his gaze lingering on Jane with genuine admiration.
She felt a surge of hope for Jane. If the man’s fortune is as grand as they say, then this could be quite an evening.
Mrs. Bennet, always one to seize an opportunity, lost no time in hinting that her daughters were accomplished dancers, and to Elizabeth’s delight, Jane was soon led onto the dance floor with Mr. Bingley. His easy conversation and Jane’s shy replies blended into the lively music.
Elizabeth began to turn back to Charlotte, but the sight of Mrs. Bennet making her way toward Mr. Darcy stopped her short. Her mother’s face was alight with purpose, and Elizabeth felt a faint sense of dread. Mrs. Bennet wasted no time in hinting—far too eagerly—that Mr. Darcy might consider a dance with one of her daughters.
Darcy’s response was unmistakably chilly. He inclined his head as he spoke, and though his words were too quiet to carry, the look of dismissal on his face was evident.
Elizabeth’s cheeks flushed, her irritation growing as she observed his condescending demeanor throughout the duration of the set. As soon as it finished and Bingley had escorted Jane to Mrs. Bennet, he made his way to his friend. The look on Darcy’s face soured even further, and Elizabeth strained to catch their words.
“Come now, Darcy,” Bingley said with a grin. “It’s a pleasant assembly. Surely you might wish to enjoy yourself and dance with a few of these young ladies?”
Darcy’s expression remained impassive. “Bingley, you know that I am not in the habit of dancing with women of no consequence,” he replied, his tone clipped.
Elizabeth’s pulse quickened as her irritation grew. She turned away when she saw Bingley point in her direction. Darcy’s response was easily heard above the noise. “She is tolerable, I suppose, but not handsome enough to tempt me into remarriage.”
A rush of heat flooded Elizabeth’s face, her breath catching at his unexpected rudeness. She looked away, her stomach twisting at the casual, cutting dismissal of her worth.
Of course, she thought bitterly. Of course he would find the assembly and its guests beneath him. How foolish I was to imagine any other reason for his coldness.
She tried to calm herself, turning away from the crowd before anyone saw her distress. Darcy’s expression and tone were clear—he had no interest in polite sociality, least of all with her, and he had left little to misinterpretation. His words stung sharply, but she reminded herself that this was a man who had lost his wife and was raising a child alone. He had every right to be indifferent, even cruel, to protect himself and his son.
Perhaps his late wife had been a great beauty with a good deal of accomplishment, she mused, feeling her earlier curiosity settle into a vague sadness. Perhaps no one can measure up to her memory. He must have loved her very much.
The man, it seemed, had chosen a life of cold solitude rather than face those memories, and she was just another passerby in a room full of strangers.
“Lizzy, are you all right?” Charlotte’s voice brought her back to the present, and she nodded, managing a small smile.
“Oh, yes. I… I think I’ll just step outside for a moment. A bit of fresh air would be nice.”
Charlotte looked concerned but nodded, and Elizabeth slipped through the crowd, heading for the doors that led outside. Slipping onto the terrace where the chill air stung her cheeks and gave her a brief reprieve from the noise and the hurt. There, beneath the stars, a rebellious tear slipped down her cheek, the hurt mingling with disappointment for the man she’d briefly imagined him to be.
She brushed away her tears, squaring her shoulders. She would not let one man’s opinion—a man who was likely miserable—ruin her evening. Though Darcy’s words echoed in her mind, she pushed them away, reminding herself that his disdain had little to do with her, and everything to do with the grief he must carry.
It took several moments for her to compose herself. She smoothed her gown and patted her errant curls into place. When she returned to the assembly, she would hold her head high, determined not to let anything dampen her spirits. She would dance, laugh, and enjoy herself—she would not let Darcy ruin her evening.
Moving inside with a light step, she joined her family and friends, her spirits lifted once more as she pushed aside her momentary hurt. Darcy might be a man of fortune and status, but his opinion mattered little compared to the genuine warmth and enjoyment she felt among her loved ones.
∞∞∞
As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Darcy groaned internally.
What on earth possessed you to say that, you fool?
He’d intended only to avoid yet another dance by deflecting Bingley’s enthusiasm, but the curt, dismissive words had slipped out, and they had been far louder than he had intended.
Trying to ease his discomfort, he cast a subtle glance in the girl’s direction. Elizabeth Bennet— if Bingley’s memory for names can be trusted— was moving away, her expression guarded. He couldn’t help but wonder if she’d caught his careless remark. The thought gnawed at him. She’d been so animated just moments before, her lively eyes and easy smile brightening the room. She reminded him, oddly enough, of Georgiana—spirited, kind, and quietly resilient. And here he was, perhaps the reason for her leaving the hall with such urgency.
His stomach twisted as he watched her slip out through a side door, her expression unreadable. She must have heard.
A pang of shame coursed through him. Miss Elizabeth Bennet—she’d only stood there politely, no doubt willing to dance if asked, and he’d cast her off as though she were nothing. Now, she was likely outside in tears, her evening ruined by his carelessness.
He drew a deep breath. The crowded room around him was suddenly more stifling. Miss Bingley’s perfume hung thick in the air, and the noise of the crowd beat a cadence in his brain.
What a fool you are, he thought again, suppressing the urge to excuse himself from the assembly entirely.
Had he wounded her so deeply that she was outside now, sobbing in solitude? The thought made his heart sink. He could picture Georgiana’s delicate frame in Elizabeth’s place, eyes cast down in hurt and confusion. The image unsettled him even further.
Beyond his guilt lay another worry, albeit a bit less significant . What if she chose to share his words? If Miss Elizabeth spread the story of his slight to her friends and family, he and Bingley would be pariahs before the week was out. He could already hear the voices of those around him, murmuring about his wealth and widowhood—soon enough, they’d add his rudeness to the litany of gossip. “What an severe brother. What a terrible father.”
Confound it, he thought bitterly. He half-expected her to storm back into the room and announce his insult to the entire assembly. It would serve him right, after all, to become the subject of public disdain. He braced himself, half-wishing for a chance to apologize—though how, exactly, he would approach her was another matter. The minutes passed and Miss Elizabeth remained absent. His guilt only grew sharper.
His gaze remained fixed on the door she’d gone through, half-contemplating going after her. But then, to his surprise, Miss Elizabeth returned, her head held high, a bright, almost defiant smile on her face as she moved back into the room. Darcy felt a surge of relief mixed with admiration.
She’s stronger than I expected.
Before he could fully consider his next move, Mrs. Hurst drifted over, her gaze sweeping the room with a languid disinterest before settling on Darcy with a faint, practiced sigh.
“I must say, Mr. Darcy,” she began, feigning a pained smile, “it seems our present company lacks the refinement of Town.”
Darcy inclined his head politely, his patience thinning.
Miss Bingley’s perfume curdled the air beside him before she appeared at his elbow. “Indeed, Louisa,” she said scathingly. She cast a sidelong glance at Darcy, her tone one of carefully cultivated disdain. “There’s no one here I’d wish to dance with outside of our own party.”
Darcy suppressed a sigh. He knew where this was going, and he supposed it would be easier to oblige them than to continue lingering near them, feeling their expectant gazes. Summoning what little patience he had left, he extended a hand to Mrs. Hurst. “Shall we?”
Mrs. Hurst’s mouth curved into a triumphant smile. “Certainly, Mr. Darcy,” she replied, dipping her head as she accepted.
As they moved through the steps, Darcy kept the conversation polite and minimal. Mrs. Hurst, thankfully, made no attempts to probe further into his thoughts. Instead, she rambled about fashion and London, seemingly oblivious to the curtness of Darcy’s replies.
Each turn of the dance brought Miss Elizabeth back into his view. Thankfully, she had rejoined her friends and seemed cheerfully engaged despite the recent upset. The realization that he’d caused her even a moment of distress continued to gnaw at him, and he could not shake the desire to somehow make amends.
The dance with Mrs. Hurst concluded, and Darcy gave the obligatory bow before stepping back, nearly stepping into Miss Bingley. If he had been any closer, he might have knocked her to the floor. A fleeting look of disappointment crossed her face before being replaced with a simpering smile. She signed meaningfully. Darcy, resigned, extended his hand once more.
“Miss Bingley,” he said, “may I have the pleasure of this dance?”
“Oh, Mr. Darcy,” she simpered, as if she hadn’t anticipated his request at all. “Of course I’ll dance with you!”
With his conscience still prickling, Darcy managed a curt nod, letting Miss Bingley take his arm. Her perfume overwhelmed him again as they made their way to the floor. As the steps of the dance brought them close, she leaned in, speaking with affected sweetness.
“Oh, Mr. Darcy, I cannot tell you how much I admire your devotion to your family,” she cooed. “To care for both your son and your sister so well… it truly takes a remarkable man.”
Darcy resisted the urge to sigh, knowing all too well where this conversation was headed. “It is simply my duty,” he replied shortly, hoping to dissuade her.
“But one must truly love children to take on such responsibility!” Miss Bingley continued, undeterred. “I absolutely adore children. Why, I feel as though I know dear Matthew myself.”
Darcy’s face hardened as he looked down at her. “His name,” he corrected coolly, “is Andrew.”
“Oh, of course—Andrew,” she amended quickly, a nervous laugh escaping her lips as she stumbled slightly in the dance. “How silly of me.”
The steps of the dance took them apart and further conversation dwindled.
Darcy’s discomfort rose with every step. The collective eyes of the assembly bore into him. Though his polite smile remained fixed, inwardly the agitation festered. Miss Bingley’s attempts to ingratiate herself with him felt more contrived with every word, and he wished fervently for the dance to end.
How can I escape? he thought, his patience thinning.
When the last twirl of the dance ended, Darcy offered her a stiff bow and walked away. Her pretense of modesty was as transparent as her motives.
She returned to her brother’s side, leaving Darcy free at last, if only for a few moments. As the final dance of the evening was announced, he made a decision. Gathering his courage, he crossed the room to where Elizabeth stood, engaged in conversation. His heartbeat quickened as he approached, the sting of his earlier words fresh in his mind. Bowing formally, he extended his hand.
As he approached, he saw her eyebrows lift slightly. He felt a pang of embarrassment, knowing he deserved her derision, but he couldn’t leave the night unfinished without an attempt at reparation.
“Miss Elizabeth,” he began, then started again, his tone softened. “Would it… perhaps be tolerable for you to join me for the final dance?” He smiled his most charming smile. “If you can withstand my poor manners, that is.”
Elizabeth’s expression was unreadable, but he detected a flicker of amusement in her eyes. There was a pause as she studied him, her hesitation drawing out every ounce of his regret.
∞∞∞
Elizabeth’s eyes widened as Mr. Darcy approached, bowing with impeccable formality. For a moment, she was stunned into silence. His tall, imposing figure was difficult to ignore, but it was the earnest look in his eyes that surprised her most.
Was he really asking her to dance? And yet… she realized with a jolt that he was. Of all the women in the room, he had come to her, in a tone much softer than when he had denigrated her looks.
Elizabeth felt her pulse quicken as she processed what he was saying. His words weren’t quite an apology, but there was unmistakable remorse. She hadn’t expected him to even remember the slight, let alone acknowledge it in a way that was almost… humble. Perhaps Mr. Darcy was not as unfeeling as she had first thought.
Could he truly feel sorry? For all he knows, I didn’t even hear him.
Her initial impression of him had been so set, so solidly dismissive that she hadn’t considered he might try to make amends. Yet here he was, his expression serious, his posture slightly tense, as though he, too, were unsure of her response. With that, she realized something that surprised her even more— He’s nervous. Mr. Darcy, the proud, aloof figure who had spent the evening looking down upon them all, was showing a glimpse of something almost vulnerable.
She felt herself softening toward him, the instinct to forgive him rising naturally, but just as quickly, another thought stopped her. She could feel her mother’s gaze on her from across the room, burning with anticipation. If she accepted, her mother would interpret the dance as a sign of interest—a sign that could fuel endless speculation and mortifying assumptions. The last thing she wanted was to give Mrs. Bennet reason to believe that Mr. Darcy was pursuing her, or she him.
As she wrestled with her decision, her gaze fell on her sister Mary, seated nearby with her book held protectively in front of her. Her face was pinched with quiet disappointment as she watched the couples on the dance floor, and Elizabeth’s heart squeezed at the sight. Though Mary tried to appear content, clutching her book as if it were a shield, Elizabeth could see the faint glimmer of tears in her eyes. She had not been asked to dance even once, and her attempt to appear unaffected made Elizabeth’s heart ache for her.
Elizabeth’s chest tightened, her admiration for Mary’s quiet courage mingling with a pang of guilt. She couldn’t bear the thought of enjoying this dance while Mary watched, pretending not to mind that no one had asked her.
Turning back to Darcy, she offered him a small, gracious smile. “Thank you, Mr. Darcy, but I must confess, I am rather worn out.” She tried to keep her voice light. Her heart felt the disappointment of the words, but she knew it was the right choice.
His eyes widened, and she laughed slightly to herself. I wonder if anyone has ever turned him down before .
“However,” she continued, glancing meaningfully toward Mary, “my sister Mary is still quite fresh, as she has not yet stood up to dance this evening.” She met his gaze with a significant look, hoping he would understand her intent. “If you would be so kind, I’m sure she would be honored.”
She held her breath, silently pleading that he might understand the unspoken request, that his earlier apology was not a mere formality but a sign of true decency. If he is truly kind , she thought, he will know what this means.
Darcy’s eyes followed her gaze toward Mary, lingering on her sister’s downcast expression and her attempt to hide her disappointment behind her book. Elizabeth could almost see the moment of recognition in his eyes, his proud expression softening with understanding. He turned back to her and nodded; his face somber yet composed.
“Of course, Miss Elizabeth,” he replied quietly. “Thank you for the introduction.”
Warm relief washed over her as she watched him extend a hand to Mary, who looked up with surprise, her book slipping slightly in her hands. Elizabeth pressed her fingers to her lips, a quiet sense of satisfaction filling her as Darcy bowed before her sister. For a fleeting moment, Mary’s eyes lit with astonished delight, and Elizabeth could hardly contain her joy at seeing her sister’s quiet longing fulfilled.
Perhaps, she thought, Mr. Darcy has more heart than I had given him credit for.
Though his initial insult had hurt, his willingness to turn it into an act of kindness spoke volumes, revealing a depth she had not expected. As she watched him lead Mary to the floor, Elizabeth allowed herself a small, hopeful smile.
Perhaps he is kinder than he seems, and perhaps more so than even he knows.
And, just for tonight, that was all the apology she needed.