Chapter 9 The Netherfield Ball #2
All of Elizabeth’s dances were taken before the music for the first set had begun.
Mr. Bingley’s four friends from London had requested introductions, and each took the opportunity to ask her for a set.
Now she stood quietly at her cousin’s side, waiting for the musicians to finish tuning their instruments.
Collins looked down at her. “Cousin, you are very favored tonight. Should I be jealous?”
Elizabeth turned to face him. Was he teasing again? She studied his face. In the faint shadows, his eyes looked feral. She shivered.
He chuckled. “You need not fear me, Elizabeth. I told you once before, I am no monster.”
He saw no change in her expression and continued, “I regret that I teased you when I first came to Longbourn. I fear that I gave you the wrong impression of me. I am a rector, Elizabeth. I am respectable. I expect no more from my wife than any man expects from the woman he is married to, but I was unwise to tell you what was on my mind before you knew me well enough to understand that I am no monster.”
She stared at him, trying to understand what he meant and whether he spoke the truth. Then the music began, and he led her into the line. After that, they had no opportunity to speak; the music was too loud, there were too many dancers, and the figures were complex.
Elizabeth admitted to herself that her cousin was a fine dancer and a very attractive man.
He was doing his best to please her. Nevertheless, she feared him and what he would do to her once she was married and in his power.
He reminded her of a wolf, wild and uncontrollable. Once again, she shivered.
Her dance with Mr. Goulding was welcome and pleasant. They had grown up together, and she felt safe with him. She asked him to escort her to her father’s side, and that was where she remained until Mr. Darcy approached for his dance.
They waited on the dance floor while the waltz began. She felt a flicker of discomfort. It must have shown on her face, for Mr. Darcy spoke.
“Do you not dance the waltz, Miss Elizabeth?”
“I do know the waltz, sir. I was only taken by surprise, that is all.”
He asked, “Would you prefer not to dance it with me?”
She looked into his dark eyes. They were fringed with dark lashes, and an unruly forelock hung over his left brow.
Tonight, he appeared more the hero of a fairy tale than ever before.
She answered diffidently. “No, sir, I love to dance the waltz, and I have no concerns dancing it with you. But I know that you once considered me barely tolerable, and if you prefer not to dance it with me, I understand. I would not take offense.”
His lips thinned as he clenched his jaw.
“Please forget what I said before. It was untrue. As I told you once, you are among the most handsome women of my acquaintance, and it is my pleasure to dance this waltz with you as my partner.” He sighed.
“Miss Elizabeth, I paid for the waltz because I wished to dance it with you. I hope you will be able to put that insult out of your mind at last. I did not mean it. I knew you were beautiful from the first moment I saw you.”
His response surprised Elizabeth, but before she could respond, the dance began.
He placed a hand on her back, took her other hand in his, and they moved to the music.
Elizabeth watched his face and thought back to the Meryton assembly, when she had first called him Sir Lancelot.
His dark, handsome looks and tall, masculine frame had drawn her then, as she was being drawn to him now.
She stood within his embrace and breathed in his scent of clean linen and shaving soap, and something uniquely his.
The music and the man wove their spell, and she was soon lost to the dance.
He slowly drew her closer and closer until, by the end, she could feel the heat of his form as he held her in his arms. When the music stopped, they stood still, staring at one another.
When she came to her senses, she was glad they had ended near a little grove of potted trees, away from the general view of onlookers.
She pulled away from him, and he dropped his hand from her waist, where it had settled.
She quickly scanned the room. Her father was at the far end, talking with Sir William Lucas, and her mother sat among the other matrons, deep in conversation.
She searched until she found her cousin.
He was escorting Miss King back to her aunt Talbot.
He probably had not seen her dancing scandalously close with Mr. Darcy.
She exhaled in relief, her shoulders relaxing.
Darcy had been watching her. “Miss Elizabeth, are you afraid of your cousin?”
She forced a laugh. “Sir, pay me no mind. It is nothing.”
He looked more closely at her. “Is Mr. Collins threatening to harm you?”
“No, sir, he is not threatening to hurt me, but he is very determined to marry me, whether I like it or not, and I fear he may find a way to force me.”
“How do you mean?”
She shrugged. “This is hardly an appropriate conversation, sir, and the setting is public. Someone might overhear us.”
He was insistent. “What do you mean by force? Do you believe he may attempt to compromise you?”
She met his intense gaze and felt herself drawn by his presence.
“You are afraid of him. What do you fear?”
“It may be that I make too much of his remarks. But he has been teasing me since the first day of our acquaintance, telling me that I will be his wife and what fun we are to have. His insinuations are more what one would expect him to make to a mistress or lightskirt than to a young, gently-bred woman. He takes pleasure in making me angry, then looks at me as if I were the fox in a hunt. I truly do not know how to explain why I fear him, but he makes me shiver.” She looked away.
“You are very much afraid of him,” Darcy said quietly. “You are on the verge of tears. What else has he said to you?”
She shook her head.
“Miss Elizabeth, I insist. What has he told you that is so upsetting you are about to weep at a ball?”
“Mr. Darcy, I do not know how to explain why his words and looks have so disturbed me. But he does understand. Only a short while ago, he apologized, saying he regretted teasing me and speaking his mind so freely. He admitted it was unwise to be so open with me before I knew him well enough to understand that he is no monster.”
Her hand hovered over her mouth as she turned away to face the little grove of potted trees.
Darcy cursed under his breath. “The devil. Did you tell your father? Do you think him a monster, Elizabeth? Is that why you fear him?”
“There is nothing to tell except that I am afraid of what he would do to me if I were married and under his power.” She inhaled, a short, sharp breath. “I do not trust him, and I fear him.”
Darcy said, “I must return you to your father. Your next partner will be looking for you. But, Miss Elizabeth, remain at your father’s side. Do not walk off alone. I, too, have seen how that man looks at you, and I believe he will stop at nothing to have you for his wife.”
He escorted her back to her father’s side and then went to find Miss Bingley, his next dance partner.
To her surprise, Elizabeth did enjoy the ball.
All her partners were fine dancers, and many were childhood friends.
The gentlemen from London were amiable and respectable men, and she enjoyed her dances with them.
Now she sat waiting for Mr. Collins to bring her plate.
She watched him as he moved through the line.
He was elegantly dressed, and his fair hair shone golden in the candlelight.
His tall, muscular form and charming address were everything a woman could wish for, and she was sorry that she could not like him.
She observed Miss King and Miss Watson trailing behind him, serving themselves, and guessed they were trying to be near him.
Their efforts to secure his attention amused her, and she smiled.
He looked up, caught her gaze, and smiled back.
Their eyes met for an instant before he turned away to finish serving their plates.
When he returned and took the seat next to hers, he placed her plate in front of her and spoke seriously. “Cousin, what can I do to make you think better of me?”
She sat silently, considering his question. At last, she answered. “I do not know.”
He handed her a fork. “Taste the crab cakes. Miss King says they are delicious.”
Elizabeth cut into the little crab cake.
It was indeed very good, and she ate in silence until her plate was empty.
Only then did she realize she was hungry.
Thinking back over the day, she remembered she had not eaten at all, having been too unsettled by the prospect of being in his company all evening.
He bent his head close to hers. “Elizabeth, why have you taken a dislike to me?”
She raised her eyes to meet his. “I do not dislike you, cousin.” She paused, then spoke the truth. “I am afraid of you.”
His brow furrowed. “I thought that might be the problem. I have frightened you. Although you are twenty, you have been so sheltered that you are more like a child than a woman. I have managed this affair very poorly, cousin. I hardly know how to act around a young, untouched girl.”
Elizabeth’s eyes fell to her lap. He had spoken the truth.
She feared his masculine propensities. He was little better than a stranger, and the knowledge that he had thought of intimacy with her, remembering, too, the way he had looked at her, as though undressing her, had filled her with repulsion.
He was watching the play of emotions as they flitted on her face.
“You are repelled by the idea of having intimate relations with a stranger,” he said.
The truth, spoken out loud and from his lips, caused the blood to drain from her face. She felt faint.
“Bloody hell,” he muttered. “I have done it again. Here, drink this before you faint away.”