Chapter Four #2
Mr. Darcy scratched the back of his neck. “Bingley could not even wait until the ball began, I see,” he told Elizabeth with a grin. “Shall we try to make our way over?”
Elizabeth nodded her head enthusiastically. “Please, Mr. Darcy,” she said, her face glowing with happiness. “You are sure to clear a path more quickly than I.”
“Ladies and gentlemen,” her father said, his voice intentionally raised above the excited babble, “I am very pleased to announce that Mr. Charles Bingley has proposed marriage to my eldest daughter, Miss Jane Bennet, and she has accepted him.”
The murmuring nearly exploded into congratulations and well wishes.
Mr. Bennet held up his hands and finished his announcement.
Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy arrived at the side of the happy couple just as her father’s speech was complete.
Elizabeth gasped Jane’s hands and bounced up on her toes.
“Oh, Jane!” she exclaimed. “I am so happy!”
Mr. Darcy was already shaking Mr. Bingley’s hand and clapping him on the back, so Elizabeth waited her turn, taking him by the hands and warmly expressing her delight. He smiled widely at her and accepted her good wishes.
Miss Bingley stood slightly to the side, a pained expression on her face. Once Elizabeth stepped back, she stepped up to her brother and Jane.
“Congratulations,” she said, her voice strained but polite. “Charles, if you meant this to be an engagement ball, you ought to have told me. I would have done things a little differently.”
“Oh,” Jane replied, reaching out to take Miss Bingley’s hand, “please do not worry about that, Miss Bingley. Everything is very elegant. It is beautiful just as it is.”
Miss Bingley offered her brother’s betrothed a wan smile. The musicians indicated they were ready to begin, and suddenly Mr. Fitzwilliam appeared.
“Congratulations, Bingley, Miss Bennet,” he said enthusiastically.
He held his hand out. “Shall we, Miss Bingley?” he asked, rather more formally than was his wont.
Elizabeth remembered that he was the man of highest rank in the room; he would lead the first dance of the ball with the hostess.
She wondered idly whether Miss Bingley might not have preferred a different partner, and the thought made her stomach harden and a flash of heat burn in her chest. The flame grew hotter when Miss Bingley smiled coyly at Mr. Darcy.
“As hostess, I will not dance often tonight, Mr. Darcy,” she told him, “but I shall save a dance for you.”
Brazen woman! Elizabeth thought before she could stop herself.
She schooled her features a moment too late; Miss Bingley raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow at her and gracefully took Mr. Fitzwilliam’s arm.
Elizabeth was darkly pleased to see her led away.
The farther Miss Bingley was from Mr. Darcy, the better.
When he held his arm out to her to lead her to a chair where they might watch the first set, she held it more tightly than normal, and he gave her a curious look.
“Are you well, Miss Elizabeth?” he asked quietly.
She looked over at Miss Bingley before turning her face up to his. “I am perfectly well, Mr. Darcy.”
His gaze dropped to her hand, tucked tightly in the crook of his arm, and then back out to the dance floor. “Whom do you seek?”
“No one, Mr. Darcy,” she replied tartly. “Why do you ask?”
He turned his face in the direction of her glance, and his forehead creased. “Were you searching for Mr. Fitzwilliam?”
Elizabeth pursed her lips and met his inquiry with the truth. “No.” She knew her cheeks were pink; he had found her out again. Insufferable man.
Mr. Darcy’s expression suddenly brightened.
He turned his face to the floor, but she could still see the bright smile that was breaking across it and her tender heart expanded at the sight.
Mr. Darcy helped her to sit. She folded her hands primly in her lap and stared straight ahead.
He lowered himself to the chair beside her and raised his head, also staring straight ahead.
“Were you shooting daggers at Miss Bingley, Miss Elizabeth?”
She released a barely audible huff. She would prefer to cross her arms over her chest, but it would give too much away. “I possess no daggers, Mr. Darcy.”
“Do you wish you were dancing with Mr. Fitzwilliam, Miss Elizabeth?” he asked, his voice low but the tone light. “As hostess, you know, it is Miss Bingley’s place to lead the first dance.”
She frowned. “I do not wish to dance the first at all, Mr. Darcy, as I believe you are aware.”
Mr. Darcy leaned just an inch towards her without moving his head. “Miss Elizabeth,” he whispered so close to her that it sent a little shiver down her spine. “Are you jealous?”
“Jealousy is a base emotion,” she replied succinctly. “Of course I am not jealous.” She tipped her head to one side. “Are not the musicians wonderful?”
Darcy’s heart leapt in his chest. She is jealous.
He was uncharacteristically joyful at the thought, but then, he was always happy in Elizabeth’s company.
The only question was whether she could be happy in his; it had been a little less than a fortnight they had been courting.
But we have been in company nearly every day for many hours at a time.
He was grateful yet again that they were in the country and the Bennets were in favor of the match.
A courtship in London would have been far more restrictive.
He glanced at Elizabeth, whose cheeks were flushed pink.
She already knows my intentions, he told himself.
Thanks to Georgie, she already thought well of me, and I have made my intentions clear.
A proposal will not come as a surprise to her.
“Indeed,” he replied politely, as though he did not wish to kiss her senseless.
“The musicians are excellent.” Pay attention to her, Darcy, he warned himself.
If she appears at all skittish, you must not push it.
But she did not seem skittish. She seemed possessive.
Perhaps I should just test… He patted her hand.
“I suppose I ought to dance with Miss Bingley this evening. She is my hostess, after all.”
Miss Elizabeth frowned, and his smile reappeared.
After a few minutes, Kitty and Mary came to sit with them, and all private conversation was at an end.
Darcy spoke with them both, but had he been asked, he could not have repeated the topic.
He was anticipating a dance as he never had before, and when at last the couples began to form a serpentine line, he held out his hand to Miss Elizabeth, reveling in the warmth he felt even through their gloves as she slid her hand into his.
Darcy could feel Mr. Bennet watching them even as his youngest daughter continued to chatter excitedly next to him and his other daughters were led to the floor.
He imagined the older man’s dark eyes twinkling merrily; he had not made any attempt to disguise how diverting they were for him.
Darcy simply could not bring himself to care.
Let the man have his fun, so long as he was willing to give official permission to a second engagement tonight.
He escorted Miss Elizabeth to her place and then stepped to his.
He met her gaze as they stood across from one another, and this time, when he found himself staring at her, Miss Elizabeth was staring right back.
Mr. Darcy was staring at her. That stare, the one that conveyed a burning disapproval, the one he had first fixed upon her at Netherfield, the one she had captured in her drawing, the one she drew still.
He did not seem to disapprove of her now.
He had been embarrassed by the drawing. He had said it was not disapprobation.
But then… Elizabeth met his gaze and felt as though she was trapped in it, pulled in by it. Drowning in it.
You have been such a fool, she scoffed, as the realization broke over her, leaving her breathless.
That is not disapproval. It is love. Not polite love.
What did he call it? Ardent love… Her mind was awash with light and color, but everything else around her melted away.
She lacked the words to describe it, the images to draw it. It was to be felt, not described.
There was only him.
Darcy could not pull his eyes from Elizabeth. She was striking. The candlelight reflected from her overskirt created both a warm glow that seemed to emanate from her skin and sparks that flickered like tiny stars in her dark hair. She was ethereal. He tried to show her his heart in his gaze.
The music began, and she stepped towards him, then, as she retreated, he followed suit.
Then they stepped together, just inches apart, and he took her hand.
A powerful shock traveled up his arm. They moved in a tight circle, then changed hands and circled the opposite way, their eyes never wavering, their steps never faltering.
Even when they were forced apart by the dance, the longing remained, each return a homecoming.
She was seeing him as he had hoped she might.
She was seeing the depth of his love for her, and she was returning it in full measure.
Some things were simply beyond words. He could not articulate it, but he could feel it.
The ballroom fell away, the music faded to a low murmur. He fought to catch his breath, but it was not the exertion of the dance that was stealing it away.
There was only her.
They stood together perhaps a moment too long at the end of the dance, eyes still locked together in complete and perfect understanding. Then Elizabeth blinked and the rest of the world rushed back in a cacophonous rush. Mr. Darcy offered his arm.
“Might we step out to the balcony, Miss Elizabeth?” he asked her. “It is rather warm in here.” She felt the warmth only between them but nodded.
I would go anywhere with you, she thought, and knew.