Sixth Dance #3
Darcy drew himself up, and what he said surprised Elizabeth exceedingly.
“Lady Catherine, these are my friends, and they will not be spoken of as such. Not by you—not by anyone!”
The ‘lady,’ who had not even bothered to be introduced, did not seem to hear.
“You have been mucking about in society for a decade now. It is high time you did your duty. You must do your duty to your ancestors, to your family, to your tenants, to your estate. Come away from this place and do your duty!”
About every third word was punctuated by a sharp rap of her walking stick on the floor, which Elizabeth found either exceedingly annoying or amusing. She would have to think upon it later to see which, but for the moment annoyance was in the lead.
“Lady Catherine, while I will pay you the respect due as a relative, I do not believe this to be the appropriate time or place to have this discussion, and I will not have you speak of my friends in this manner. Do not test me!”
A second reference to his friends in two sentences did not escape Elizabeth, and she smiled at the impression she, her sisters, and her friends had made on the gentleman.
Who would have thought they might be friends after such a wretched beginning?
Perhaps good friends, or even very good friends one day.
The lady still had not deigned to be introduced, but she could be none other than Mr Collins’ noble patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh. She stuck her nose even higher in the air, a feat Elizabeth would have thought nigh on impossible.
“This is as good a time or place as any. None of these people are important; say what you have to say, but I will carry my point.”
Elizabeth noticed Mr Darcy sigh in frustration, likely seeing the utter futility of trying to talk sense into his aunt, who frankly appeared a touch mad.
Darcy looked from her to his new group of friends, surprised to find that he did, in fact, now think of this entire small circle as his friends.
He had exchanged few words with most of them—and many of those not especially gentlemanly—but somehow, they had all entered his heart in these last few hours.
Perhaps it was the way they simply accepted him, his sister, and his cousin without a second thought.
Perhaps it was the way the Bennet sisters and Miss Lucas went out of their way to ease both young ladies’ anxiety with no expectation of gain.
Perhaps it was Miss Elizabeth’s indomitable spirit and his rapidly growing attraction.
Either way, these were people he would not give up.
Darcy growled, “Lady Catherine, if you wish to continue this discussion, we may do so, but I must first consult my most trusted adviser.”
Elizabeth found the turn of conversation most interesting.
She looked around at the man’s friends, trying to ascertain who held the mantle of most trusted adviser.
She dismissed his sister, as she was much too young to possess enough experience of the world to be particularly useful.
Miss de Bourgh appeared entirely too sheltered under her mother’s shadow, so an unlikely candidate.
It really had to come down to Mr Bingley or Colonel Fitzwilliam.
She looked carefully between the two. Mr Bingley was amiable, easy-going, and probably offered Mr Darcy some assistance in society, due to his easy manners (at least when he was not nagging the gentleman to dance).
The colonel, on the other hand, appeared a battle-hardened, active soldier, probably about the same age as Mr Darcy, so they no doubt had grown up together.
With his more extensive knowledge of the world, he might be just the right man.
Elizabeth made a study of them, trying to guess which it would be based on her limited information. It was a tough decision, and she leaned towards Colonel Fitzwilliam, when she was most surprised to hear Mr Darcy’s selection. “Miss Elizabeth, might I have a word?”
The application was so surprising she hardly knew how to react. Could she possibly already be the most trusted adviser, or was she just obstructing his view?
“Of course!”
Elizabeth studied the man, wondering exactly what question, what particular piece of advice he could possibly want from a woman he had met only a few hours previously.
As she studied him, he studied her, and the intensity of their gazes increased to the point where Elizabeth doubted either could have given an adequate description of anybody else in the room.
For the briefest period, his aunt’s walking stick, while still pounding the floor as she continued rambling, did not enter her consciousness.
She cared not for her sisters, her new friends, her parents, the rest of the revellers, or the hapless man who was no doubt getting his thrashing outside.
She could think only of herself and Mr Darcy!
What subject could he possibly want her advice on?
Mr Darcy leaned in very close and spoke quietly but forcefully.
“Miss Elizabeth Bennet, might I have the honour of this dance?”