Chapter XIII
Elizabeth’s first sign was the way Miss Bingley treated Miss Whitcombe. She was not openly unkind—Elizabeth suspected that Miss Bingley never descended to such malicious contempt, not when more subtle means of showing her disapproval were available.
Though Mr. Bingley lit up in recognition, proving he had not known Miss Whitcombe would be there—perhaps hoping she would attend—Miss Bingley ignored her other than a curt nod and a soft greeting.
To Miss Whitcombe, this was not unexpected.
From what she had heard from Mrs. Hurst, Miss Bingley had been excluding her for some time; Miss Whitcombe expected it.
That did not lessen the sting—they had been close companions when younger.
That was something she would not soon forget.
Still, Miss Whitcombe accepted this gracefully, stepping aside when Miss Bingley approached to greet Jane, ceding her place without comment. From Miss Bingley, there was the slightest hint of satisfaction.
“Jane, dearest,” said Miss Bingley, a refrain that had by now become tiresome, “how pleased I am to see you.”
“Caroline,” said Jane, her tone soft even for her. “We were just speaking of the coming evening when you arrived.”
The glance at Miss Whitcombe was subtle, but it was there.
Miss Bingley looked away, and Miss Whitcombe did not react.
The curious part, however, was that Mr. Bingley did not follow his sister.
Instead, he took himself to where Mr. Darcy and Miss Whitcombe were still standing with Elizabeth, and bowed over her hand, a gesture marked by its tenderness.
“Clara,” said he, and Elizabeth fancied she could see his esteem written on his brow, clear in the softness with which he spoke her name. “How do you do this evening?”
“I am well, Mr. Bingley,” said Miss Whitcombe, her voice the same softness.
Elizabeth caught Mr. Darcy’s eye, and he nodded; he had seen the same thing.
This was a couple who, though perhaps they had not said the words, had always made their way back to each other, despite meddling sisters, despite distance, regardless of anything else that came between them.
Elizabeth had no more doubt—Mr. Bingley was not for Jane, had never been for her dearest sister. He was exactly where he needed to be.
That, of course, was not a sentiment shared by everyone present.
“Charles!” said Miss Bingley, a strain in her voice. “You have not greeted Miss Bennet yet.”
Mr. Bingley lingered with Miss Whitcombe for several moments, and that appeared to give her strength.
A few moments later, Mr. Bingley turned away and greeted Jane, though his address was different in a way that could not be mistaken by anyone watching, least of all Miss Bingley.
Miss Whitcombe moved to join the group with Mr. Bingley, and they stood together speaking for a time as the guests continued to stream into the room.
This had the added benefit of leaving Elizabeth with Mr. Darcy.
“Unless I am mistaken,” said Elizabeth, speaking softly to avoid being overheard, “I suspect this evening promises to be most interesting.”
“I have never met Miss Whitcombe before,” replied Mr. Darcy, “and I have never seen them together. When I compare his behavior toward her with what I have seen toward the women to whom Miss Bingley has directed him . . .”
“This is the first time I have seen them together, other than that one occasion in the park,” said Elizabeth when he did not finish his thought. “Anyone who cannot see their mutual affection is blind.”
“Willfully so,” agreed Mr. Darcy.
Another entered the ballroom, adding to the discord when he approached Mr. Bingley’s party.
Though his greetings were all that was civil, Mr. Harrington reserved his warmth for Jane, bowing over her hand with an undeniable show of favor.
Elizabeth turned away, stifling a smile with a hand over her mouth.
“Mr. Harrington has grown bolder,” said she to Mr. Darcy.
“Harrington never lacked boldness,” replied he. “Clarity is what he lacked. Even so, he is careful and will continue to be so until Bingley has irrevocably decided.”
With a glance, Elizabeth could see Mr. Darcy was correct.
Mr. Harrington stood speaking agreeably to all—Mr. Bingley had introduced him to Miss Whitcombe—but he did not single Jane out for anything more, and did not ask her to dance.
Elizabeth suspected he wanted to, but held himself back out of an abundance of caution.
“What form do you suppose that decision will take?” asked Elizabeth.
“That I cannot say,” said Mr. Darcy. “But it appears closer than anyone suspected.”
With that, Elizabeth could not disagree. The ballroom was nearly full of guests, standing in small clusters, the hum of conversation hanging over the room. Mr. and Mrs. Davidson had not yet entered, but Elizabeth suspected they would soon. Miss Bingley had the same notion.
“The dancing will start soon,” said she. “Perhaps it is best for the gentlemen to secure their partners.”
Then she turned to Mr. Harrington. “Please let me recommend Miss Whitcombe as an excellent young lady to partner for a dance. Charles will, of course, wish to dance the first with Miss Bennet.”
Silence settled over the small group. Elizabeth inspected Mr. Bingley, wondering what he would do with his sister’s blatant statement. Mr. Bingley surprised her, for he considered the situation and chose the response that would give away nothing, yet not allow her the victory.
“If you will pardon me, Caroline, I shall take Darcy’s likeness and refrain from dancing the first.”
Mr. Bingley directed a boyish grin at Mr. Darcy. “Perhaps a little of your caution has rubbed off on me, old boy. Have you not advised me to practice circumspection?”
“And you have proven a most obtuse pupil, my friend,” replied Mr. Darcy in like kind. “It is pleasing that you have accepted my advice at last.”
“I shall also follow Bingley’s example,” said Mr. Harrington. Then he laughed and added: “If I may be so bold, I hope that our conversation partners will receive no solicitations for the first set, for it would be a punishment to watch them stand up with other men.”
“You have the right of it, my friend!” jested Mr. Bingley.
Miss Bingley watched this all, but she gave no impression of displeasure or even that her plans were going awry. Yet Elizabeth knew she had not surrendered. Not wanting to think about it, she turned to her companion.
“Do you not dance the first, Mr. Darcy?”
The gentleman shook his head and said: “Never.”
Elizabeth watched him, curious about his meaning. “Is there some secret rule governing first dances that no one has thought to tell me?”
“Not at all. I have found that if I dance the first with any young lady, they gain certain . . . expectations that I have no intention of fulfilling. It is easier to avoid it altogether.”
“Oh?” asked she, feeling a little daring. “Did you not make it clear that you have every intention of fulfilling certain expectations? I will note that I have never even hinted at it once.”
The smile with which he regarded her almost stopped Elizabeth’s heart. “You are completely correct, Miss Elizabeth—I do not know why I did not think of it myself. Will you dance the first with me?”
“Of course I shall, Mr. Darcy,” said Elizabeth.
The look of pleasure transformed Mr. Darcy’s face, leaving Elizabeth bemused.
She had always known he was handsome, but when he set aside all inhibitions, there was something unguarded and appealing about him.
When the music began soon after, Mr. Darcy took her hand and led her to the dance floor.
On the way, he stopped next to Bingley and clapped him on the back.
“I think, Bingley, that I will follow your example this time while you follow mine.”
Mr. Bingley understood at once, if his grin did him any justice. “She appears well worth the inducement, my friend.”
“Yes, she is,” replied Mr. Darcy.
As they took their place among the dancers, Elizabeth caught one last glance of the group and Miss Bingley’s shocked features.
“Given your comment earlier,” said Elizabeth, “might I assume that Miss Bingley has never danced the first with you?”
The gentleman nodded as they began the first pass. “No, she has not—I would not request it of her even if I was inclined to dance the first.”
“Poor Miss Bingley,” said Elizabeth.
“Do not despair, Miss Elizabeth,” replied Mr. Darcy as he drew close again. “By the time we have completed a set, she will have convinced herself that I requested your first sets for some other reason than admiration.”
“Then why did you request them?” asked Elizabeth.
“That will become clear in time.”
With a nod, knowing that he was serious, Elizabeth concentrated on the steps and put Miss Bingley from her mind.
Unlike the last occasion at Netherfield Park, they did not speak of objectionable subjects.
Their conversation was natural, easy, and interesting, and it was not long before Elizabeth understood the danger he represented.
When he put his mind to it, Mr. Darcy could be a perilous man, indeed.
Darcy enjoyed his dance with Miss Elizabeth.
The musicians played, the strains floating, carrying Miss Elizabeth around him as if she were an angel whose feet never touched the floor.
Had he concentrated on watching her instead of deflecting her criticisms about George Wickham, he might have found himself snared long before!
As it was, Darcy had no cause to repine—they had found each other in the way that suited them both.
When the dance sets ended, Darcy guided Miss Elizabeth to the side of the floor near her sister.
That was when Darcy’s prediction came true.
The woman had been speaking to her brother, trying to induce him to request Miss Bennet’s next set, Darcy supposed, when she paused for a moment, her gaze finding Darcy.