Chapter 13
Lord and Lady Matlock greeted Elizabeth coolly, before she was introduced to the Earl’s heir, Henry Fitzwilliam, Viscount Landver. He seemed to hold the same prejudices as his parents. After one shallow bow he barely uttered a word to her.
Captain Fitzwilliam greeted her spiritedly, “My sister is fretting over her toilette. She shall arrive down as soon as she is ready.” He leaned closer to whisper, “As soon as the receiving line is concluded.”
Lady Catherine wasted no time issuing commands, “It is time to greet our guests. I shall have no dawdling, this is Anne’s special night.” The principals of the evening formed the receiving line, leaving the rest of the party to make their way to the ballroom.
As Elizabeth followed Mr Darcy and Lady Anne, she could not help but marvel at the opulence and beauty of the Matlock mansion.
Every wall, surface and corner seemed to contain glorious works of art and gold-gilded vases.
She barely noticed the gentleman’s presence at her side, until the clearing of his throat distracted her.
She shot a quick glance in his direction, embarrassed should he have caught her gawking.
“Miss Bennet.” Darcy’s voice cracked and he cleared his throat. “Miss Bennet.”
“Yes, Mr Darcy?” Upon her first sight of him that evening she had nearly tripped on the stairs. He never looked less than well put together, but that night he took her breath away. She had even begun to hope he might ask for her first set.
He smiled tightly and coughed, “Miss Bennet, I–”
“Miss Bennet,” Lady Anne called for her. Elizabeth gave Darcy an apologetic smile, “Pray excuse me.”
Darcy cursed his constrained tongue. He had the perfect moment to request to stand up with her for the first dance. Now he watched as his mother began introducing her to every eligible young man who entered the ball room.
Elizabeth’s first dance was reserved by Mr Timothy Wainwright, a young man from the south of England. Her fears of spending the evening as a wallflower were completely driven away. Yet, deep in her heart, she had secretly yearned for another to make that specific request.
With the arrival of Abigail Mansfield, Mr Mansfield, and Mr Vernon, two more of her sets were reserved. Lady Rosamund finally joined them and enthusiastic compliments were exchanged before the ball commenced.
Lord and Lady Matlock, Lady Catherine, and Miss Anne de Bourgh entered together. Following brief words honouring his niece, Lord Matlock escorted Anne to the dance floor, with other dancing couples lined up behind them. Lady Matlock called the dance to the orchestra, and the ball began.
Darcy was miserable watching Elizabeth glide around the dance floor on other men’s arms. He had missed his opportunity to request a dance from her before the ball, now he could not reach her in between dances to reserve a dance for himself.
Disgruntled, he fell back into his usual practice; his back to a pillar, a plant to one side, and a scowl on his face. This is how James Barlow, and Viscount Landver found him, staring intently at Elizabeth on the dance floor.
“Darcy, who is the enchanting beauty Lady Anne was introducing around?”
Landver sniffed, “You mean the one he cannot remove his eyes from?”
Barlow snickered, “Could our Darcy have finally succumbed to lady love?”
“Nay, not cross-patch Darcy,” chortled his cousin. “His frown is epic lore in the ballrooms.”
“Come now, Landver, everyone must fall at some point or another. Tell us, Darcy, who is she? Where is she from? We have never seen you pay attention to any woman before. She must be something special to garner your time and attention.” Barlow aimed an eyebrow waggle at the viscount.
The dance had ended and their gibes had distracted him into losing sight of Elizabeth. He desperately wanted the buffoons to quit tittering at him, so he lashed out in frustration. “She is nobody; no one of consequence and not handsome enough to warrant my attention.”
Unfortunately, his words had a far reaching effect. Elizabeth had been approaching him on the other side of the plant in the hopes Darcy might request her next dance. Instead, she spun around and moved blindly away. Darcy’s words hurt more than all the previous insults he had uttered.
With the gentlemen’s laughter echoing in her ears, she searched for Anne, pushing down the hurt. His words sliced into the wound her mother had cultivated every time she called her nothing and not good enough. She would not let his word undo her here. There would be time enough for tears later.
Elizabeth finally spied her friend waving from a chair by the wall. At her approach, Anne smiled ruefully, “I needed to rest my feet and catch my breath. If you do not have a partner for the next set, pray keep me company.”
“I will gladly join you, Anne.” Elizabeth sat beside her friend and sighed as she smoothed her skirt.
Anne looked at her new friend. “Elizabeth, are you well? If I may say so, you look a little pale.”
“Perhaps I am also tired from all the dancing.” She turned the topic of conversation, “Are you enjoying yourself, Anne?”
“I am. I know my aunt promised no more than fifty couples, but…” Anne paused as she scanned the room, “it surely feels like there are more. Do you not think? I wish I had better stamina and need not rest in between the dances.”
Elizabeth patted her hand. “You will be better tomorrow for not having exhausted yourself tonight. Truly, Anne, you have gained much strength in the short time you have been in Town. Has anyone interesting caught your eye?”
“Oh yes, a couple of the gentlemen who were introduced to me seemed promising. Although I am not sure Mother–”
“Miss Bennet.”
Both lady’s heads lifted simultaneously. Darcy stood to the side, shifting from foot to foot.
“Miss Bennet, may I have this dance, if you are not engaged.”
“Well… I…” She looked at Anne, who flapped her hands at them.
“Her dance is free, Cousin. Go on, Lizzy,” Anne giggled, “Or you shall have to sit out the remainder of the evening.”
Elizabeth rose, her face expressionless. Wounded she might be, but she would comport herself in a ladylike manner. She placed a hand on Darcy’s arm, and they joined the dance already underway.
Darcy was so overjoyed to finally stand up with her, he was too preoccupied to notice her silence.
After a few turns in the forms, it struck him that she was not as sparkling as he had seen earlier. He examined her face, searching for some clue to explain the change, but found only polite serenity.
Deciding to draw her out, he made some slight observation about the dance, receiving only a minimal response.
“It is your turn to say something now, Miss Bennet. I mentioned the dance; you might remark on the size of the room or number of couples.”
Elizabeth replied quietly, “Whatever you wish me to say shall be said.”
“That will do for now I suppose. Although it will look very odd if we remain silent for the whole of the dance.” He kept his eyes on her, wishing she would look at him
“Somehow, I doubt that, Mr Darcy. After all, are you not known for your dour, brooding countenance at balls?”
His brow furrowed in consternation. They had barely been in company this evening, surely there was no opportunity for him to issue another insult.
Elizabeth, not wishing to draw negative attention, brought up a book they had discussed previously, to pass the time until the end of their dance. When she had been returned to Anne’s side, Darcy offered to bring them both a refreshing drink.
As soon as he left Anne grabbed Elizabeth’s arm. “Elizabeth, you are not yourself. Is something wrong?”
“Why would you say so?”
Anne squeezed the arm she was still holding. “I watched your dance. Neither of you appeared to be enjoying it.”
Elizabeth could not stop the angry tears from brimming in her eyes. She swiped angrily at them when they began to trail down her cheeks.
“I know he is your cousin, Anne, but he is the most disagreeable man I have ever met.” This burst out of her like a river having broken through a dam.
Anne’s chin dropped. “I do not understand.”
“And to think I had begun to think well of him…” She continued muttering.
“No, I was correct in my first impression. He is condescending, arrogant, selfish, and the most ungentlemanly individual I have ever met. I am sorry I ever laid eyes on him.” Her voice cracked, the words spoken harshly, torn out of her from disappointed hopes and wounded sensibilities.
His hands holding two glasses of punch, Darcy had returned in time to hear Elizabeth’s last outburst. Her vehemence shocked him. To hear her denigrate him so, and to his relation, no less. The haughty mask to which Society had long become accustomed snapped into place.
Offering the punch to Anne and Miss Bennet, he bowed and walked away without a word.
He gave a couple of coins to the nearest footmen to find Mr George Darcy with the message his son was feeling unwell and had left to walk home.
His shoes tapped on the pavement like an accompanying staccato to Miss Bennet’s words. I am sorry I ever laid eyes on him…
Darcy was never so happy to reach his private rooms. He loosened his cravat on his way to the small drinks table in his sitting room.
The first one he poured was thrown back in one gulp, another was immediately poured.
He muttered about ridiculous shrews and their changeable characters pacing the confines of his rooms.
Rogers entered, having received word his master had returned early. “I brought up warm water for washing. What else may I do for you, sir?”
“Nothing. No, wait, help me out of these clothes. Then you may retire. Have the decanter refilled before you go.”
When his cravat, coat, and waistcoat were removed he flung himself into a chair. His valet quietly assisted in the removal of his dancing shoes and stockings. After refreshing the decanter, he bowed and bid ‘Good night, sir’, silently exiting through the dressing room.