Chapter 27
By the time he made it to the ball, Darcy had a terrible headache.
It had been building since the previous day.
It was not a coincidence that it had begun when he had last spoken to Lady Catherine.
The only positive aspect of it was that it had given him an excuse to refuse her demand that he go to Grosvenor Square to see her again that morning.
After the recent conversation with his cousins, he often found himself wondering if he had made the right decision not to admit he was in love with Elizabeth and intended to propose to her as soon as she signalled she was prepared to accept him.
He had informed his aunts and uncle—and even once Anne—that he would not discuss his plans regarding marriage with them.
Surely they must realise he was saying that he was not interested in marrying his cousin!
If they do not, it is because they refuse to!
As soon as he arrived at the ballroom, Lady Catherine, Anne at her side, approached him. His aunt took one of his arms, ordering her daughter to take the other.
“At last!” Lady Catherine said. “We expected you a quarter of an hour ago, if not earlier. You ought to have brought us yourself rather than insist on meeting us here. Does not Anne look well tonight? The gown is new, of course, and the colour suits her perfectly. I knew it would as soon as I saw the fabric.”
Darcy smiled kindly at his cousin and murmured an insincere compliment.
In his opinion, the colour was too pale for her complexion, and she looked sallow.
It was no fault of hers that she suffered from poor health, and as he never had before, he pitied her.
For the first time, he wished Lady Catherine would be more accepting of her daughter.
Anne would never be as active or bold as her, never be a celebrated lady of the ton, might not even be strong enough to be a mother or mistress of a large estate.
Why not let her live her life quietly in Kent, doing whatever made her happy?
“Come,” Lady Catherine said. “There are many people we must greet. They should see the two of you together. We might hint that we shall soon have news to share—”
“No,” Darcy interjected sternly. “There will be no talk of the marriage you want me to make. I believe I have already made my position clear, but we shall have a serious discussion about the matter tomorrow.”
“As you like, Nephew.”
There was something in her voice that left him wary, but he would have to trust she would respect his wishes.
This was not the time or place to debate the matter, especially not with his head giving him such pain.
If it had not been for the prospect of seeing Elizabeth, he would have stayed at home.
Over the next while, as they walked about the room exchanging a few words with other guests here and there, Lady Catherine commented on the people she saw, primarily to indicate what she saw as their failures.
She also informed them—not for the first time, and fortunately not in the ladies’ hearing—what she disliked about Rebecca Darcy and Marian Strachan, especially as prospective nieces-in-law.
“Neither Bramwell nor Fitzwilliam have proposed yet. I intend to ensure they do not. My brother has not acted as he should and demanded they give up their absurd notions. Is he not their father?”
Knowing her as he did, Darcy understood she believed that his cousins would obey the earl if he told them they could not marry where they liked.
No doubt Anne had been raised to do exactly what her mother ordered, and while he knew Bramwell and Fitzwilliam respected their parents, they would argue against any decision that would affect their happiness or well-being. As will I, he silently vowed.
Fitzwilliam joined them soon after. He attempted to engage Lady Catherine in a conversation better suited to a ballroom—meaning one that did not involve insulting other people—and had some brief success.
Darcy allowed his attention to wander as he looked for Elizabeth and attempted to convince the throbbing vessels in his head to calm.
“I have been meaning to speak to you about that girl Mrs Ryde has taken in. What was her name?” Lady Catherine said.
Alerted to the possibility of vexation if not outright anger, Darcy listened as Fitzwilliam—clearly sensing the same danger he did—cautiously said, “Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”
His aunt waved his words away as though the information she had requested was, in fact, unnecessary. “I have learnt more about her, and I do not approve of her befriending Georgiana. The girl’s relations are in trade! What are you thinking, Darcy?”
That it is none of your concern whom my sister befriends! “Miss Bennet’s father is a gentleman, and she is everything a young lady should be. Caring, intelligent, amiable, respectful.” Only one of those might apply to Lady Catherine.
“Darcy and I both like and approve of Miss Bennet,” Fitzwilliam said, but their aunt overlooked him and spoke only to Darcy.
“A country gentleman of no account,” she countered, leaving him to wonder where she had obtained her information.
“Mrs Ryde has always had odd notions—it comes from being Irish, I suppose—but Halsley should have more sense than to allow his sister-in-law to have her under his roof for so long. And she actually took the girl to Ireland! If she had hired her as a companion of sorts, I might understand it, but from what I have discovered, the silly woman considers the girl almost a niece. It will do Georgiana no good to pass her time with such people. The fact that Rebecca Darcy considers her a friend only shows why she is not good enough to be the future Countess of Romsley.”
“I will hear no more against either my cousin or Miss Bennet,” Darcy said through clenched teeth. He kept his voice low as the room was increasingly crowded.
“Nor will I,” the colonel said, his tone at least as firm.
Lady Catherine was about to say more, when Darcy spotted some of the very people they had just been speaking of.
Elizabeth, Mrs Ryde, and Lord Halsley were almost upon them, and he experienced a sudden fear that she had heard how meanly his aunt viewed her.
Lady Catherine had embarrassed him—and herself—more than enough the other times Elizabeth had been in her company, but if she knew how his aunt had disdained her, he would be mortified.
The pain in his head grew worse, and he found he could not even look at Elizabeth properly, afraid he would see disgust in her eyes.
Not even sure what he had said to the trio—not that his aunt had given anyone else the opportunity to speak—their two parties were soon parted, Lady Catherine pulling him away.
It was just as well, he reflected. The dancing would soon begin, and he would then have Elizabeth to himself.
As much as possible, given the size of the ball, that was.
He would apologise and explain that he was not as well as he would like, they would dance, and he would tell her that he viewed her as more than a friend and hoped she felt likewise about him.
Once that was accomplished, he expected his headache would lessen; if it did not, he would excuse himself and return home, promising to see her tomorrow.
Over the next few minutes, he felt more rather than less ill.
He became lightheaded and his vision bleary, which confirmed his suspicions that he had a megrim rather than a common headache.
He seldom had them, and regretted he had not noticed the symptoms earlier; if he had, he would not have attended the ball, even though it would have meant not seeing Elizabeth tonight.
I might have sent a note to Mrs Ryde to explain my absence, asking her to explain it to Elizabeth.
She would have understood. Given Bramwell and Fitzwilliam—and apparently Miss Strachan, which meant he must add Rebecca to his list—had discerned his affection for Elizabeth, Mrs Ryde might also suspect.
The confusion that accompanied his malady and a growing desire to be somewhere quiet and less warm were the only explanation he had for how he found himself standing in the lines of dancers across from Anne as the set began.
Darcy barely spoke to his cousin as they moved through the pattern.
To say he was annoyed would be an understatement; he was near to livid at his aunt and at himself.
Mostly the latter, if he were honest, because he expected no better from Lady Catherine and knew he should not have allowed himself to be placed in such a horrid position.
His strong emotions were not helping to ease the severe ache of the megrim, and he spent the first little while of the dance trying to regain his composure so that he might think more clearly.
Anne was an easy partner in that regard, because she seldom spoke.
Elizabeth must be… Well, he was not sure he comprehended what she must be feeling or thinking.
He had asked her for the opening set, after all.
And he had such plans associated with it—not the least of which was actually enjoying it.
Of particular importance, however, was demonstrating that she was the lady he favoured.
As soon as the music stops, I shall go to her.
He would explain how it had happened, not excusing himself because he was ill, but acknowledging that it had contributed to the situation.
I should have separated myself from my aunt and cousin sooner!
I might have, if I had not been concerned about…
What? Someone would notice and comment that I was rude to them?
In being considerate of Lady Catherine and Anne, he had been inconsiderate of Elizabeth.
Perhaps he had also been inconsiderate of his relations.
He had hinted that he did not want to marry Anne, even called it a marriage that she—meaning his aunt—wanted, implying he did not, but why had he stubbornly refused to outright admit that his interests were fixed on another lady?
Bramwell and Fitzwilliam had told him he should, and he had wondered if his decision to wait until he had spoken to Elizabeth was best. Currently, he desperately wished he had made a different choice.
But it was too late to go back and change his actions.
I shall explain it to her. She is a reasonable woman and will understand.
Tomorrow, I shall have a frank conversation with all my family, including the Darcys, so that those closest to me know my mind fully.
He hoped this unfortunate occurrence would not set back the progress of his relationship with Elizabeth too much, but he knew he must be prepared for her anger.
Later in the set, Darcy decided he should speak to his cousin.
It was awkward to stand up together for half an hour in silence, and since she was at the ball, she ought to amuse herself.
“I have many acquaintances here tonight,” he said.
“If you would like, I shall ensure you meet other gentlemen so that you have partners apart from Bramwell and Fitzwilliam, who will surely ask you to dance, if they have not already.”
Anne shook her head. “I cannot possibly dance again tonight.” After a brief pause, she added, “Mama will want you to ask me for a second set, but I beg you not to. I hope to find a quiet corner in which to sit and observe.”
Darcy inclined his head in acceptance. A moment later, he said, “When do you anticipate returning to Kent?”
Her demeanour listless, his cousin shrugged—which Lady Catherine would likely scold her for, if she had seen it—and said, “When Mama is satisfied she has achieved what she wanted from this trip.”
“You know what that is,” he said, irked that she made it sound as though she did not. When she nodded, he continued. “What she wants and what I do are not aligned in this instance. Have you ever asked yourself what you want, how you picture your future?”
Anne regarded him steadily for as long as the pattern permitted, but she did not respond. Since she seemed disinclined to speak further, he, too, kept silent.