Chapter 8 #2
Mr Ellis touched her arm, a fleeting brush of his fingertips against the sleeve of her glove, and enquired as to her well-being.
His voice, as he spoke her name, held a note of puzzlement as well as concern and prompted Elizabeth to remember herself.
She quickly tore her eyes from Darcy and fixed them on her friend instead.
The host of distasteful expressions that had crossed Darcy’s face mortified her, but Elizabeth’s manners prevented her from repaying his show of disdain with her own incivility.
She acknowledged him more formally with a brief curtsey and swiftly re-joined the dance.
Within seconds she and Mr Ellis were enveloped by the energetic mass of swirling ivory skirts and dark-coloured tailcoats as they moved about the set.
Forcing a smile to her face, Elizabeth reminded herself to breathe.
As soon as the dance ended, she excused herself and made her way with alacrity through the back hall to one of the dressing rooms, where she stepped inside and locked the door. Her breathing was as rapid as her heartbeat.
He had come! But why had he chosen to return on this night of all nights, when she was finally enjoying herself for the first time in many months? Why tonight, when she was finally, finally able to put him from her mind without her traitorous heart wishing for his presence or mourning his absence?
Elizabeth glimpsed her reflection in the looking glass upon the wall and expelled a shaky, rueful laugh at the sight of the elegant young woman who stared back at her.
She could not deny that tonight she was in excellent looks, an observation reinforced again and again by the countless compliments and admiring glances she had received, as well as her full dance card.
Though Elizabeth had been invited to dance on countless other occasions, her popularity on this night was such that she would not have to sit out during any of the sets unless she required rest or refreshment.
It was a delightful novelty for her, and the reality of it had brought a smile to her face.
For the first time in her life, Elizabeth had been given a taste of what it was like to be Jane.
At Mrs Bennet’s insistence, Longbourn’s upstairs maid had gone to great lengths to transform Elizabeth into the graceful beauty reflected in the mirror.
In honour of the occasion, her mother had presented her with a lovely gold and ruby necklace that perfectly matched her new gown.
It was a precious family heirloom passed down through many generations of Bennets.
The expensive piece of jewellery not only completed her rich ensemble but gave Elizabeth the appearance of a well-dowered young lady of some consequence and restored a good deal of the confident sparkle she had lacked for so many months.
But Elizabeth was not fooled. She knew that her mother’s sudden focus on her appearance was only a ruse, done with the hope that her least favourite of her five daughters might soon secure Mr Ellis for a husband, or perhaps some other eligible gentleman.
Despite her mother’s intent, Elizabeth found such attentions oddly edifying.
Though she had no interest in securing Mr Ellis for anything beyond a few dances—and certainly no intent to encourage a romantic attachment—she determined to enjoy the advantages to be reaped from her newly acquired elegance.
She had succeeded in doing so—and with great amusement and satisfaction—until the moment she had come face to face with Darcy.
With some effort, Elizabeth willed her racing heart to calm.
Absolutely nothing had changed. She was still the same person she had always been.
For the moment, she was dressed in jewels and satin, her hair was arranged with more sophistication than she was used to wearing it, and her lips were painted with just a touch of rouge; but she knew that none of her accoutrements altered her circumstances.
She would forever be sister to George Wickham, a man who deserved no distinction or recognition from any of them, least of all Darcy.
If she were to believe Mr Ellis’s intelligence―that Darcy had finally acquiesced to Lady Catherine’s demands to marry Miss de Bourgh―it mattered little in any case.
Elizabeth expelled a short, humourless laugh.
Did it honestly matter who or when Darcy eventually married?
With a scoundrel for a brother, a man of Darcy’s notoriety and consequence in the world could never afford to sink so low as to offer a second time for her.
It was a testament to the strength of his friendship with Mr Bingley that he had come back to Hertfordshire at all.
Struggling to keep her composure, Elizabeth bit her bottom lip and removed her gloves so she could splash some water from a porcelain basin upon her flushed cheeks.
She could not stay within the dressing room for the rest of the evening, nor could she claim a headache and escape to Longbourn.
Her mother would never permit it. There was nothing to do but return to the assembly and hope that Darcy’s presence in Hertfordshire would not succeed in discomposing her for long.
Ten more minutes passed before Elizabeth felt mistress of herself enough to return.
Despite her lingering trepidation, she donned her gloves, straightened her skirts, and opened the door.
She had advanced no more than a few feet when she discerned a familiar figure moving towards her in the dimly lit hall.
Elizabeth hesitated, unsure whether she ought to continue, remain where she was, or retreat as Darcy’s long, deliberate strides closed the distance between them.
Her hands went immediately to her skirts, where she nervously twisted the expensive fabric with her fingers before she caught herself and hurriedly smoothed any offensive creases.
Surely, her mother would be displeased were she to catch Elizabeth fidgeting with her new finery in such an appalling manner.
Finally, he came to stand before her, his mien serious, and Elizabeth’s courage, as it often did in the face of such intimidation, rose.
Knowing there was no way to avoid speaking to him at this point, she curtseyed and forced herself to address him with far more composure than she felt.
“Mr Darcy, you are welcome back to Hertfordshire.”
He executed a perfunctory bow but remained silent. His steady, steely look did nothing to put her at ease. Elizabeth’s discomfort increased.
Why on earth does he not speak? she wondered with mounting agitation as she fought the urge to fidget with her gown.
She glanced towards the door at the far end of the hall that led to the ballroom, then back again, just in time to catch his eyes darting from her heated cheeks to her daring décolleté.
Elizabeth felt her colour heighten, followed closely by a surge of indignance.
The deserted back hall of the public assembly rooms, where anyone could happen upon them and misinterpret their awkward meeting as something far more clandestine in nature, was far from a respectable place to linger.
“Good evening to you,” she said, and stepped forward with the intent to go around him and return to her family.
“Miss Bennet,” he said in a rush. “Please forgive my appalling ineptitude and allow me to say that you have never looked more—”
“Tolerable?” The word had barely left her tongue when Elizabeth regretted it, almost as much as she regretted the awkwardness and estrangement that existed between them.
For one awful, excruciating moment Darcy looked exactly as Elizabeth felt: as though he could hardly believe her gall.
However, instead of anger and indignation, Elizabeth recognised a very different emotion as it crossed his countenance: a look of shame so complete and deeply felt it made her wish she could disappear into thin air.
“Sir,” she stammered, horrified and ashamed of her rudeness. “I have no idea what has come over me. I did not mean to—”
“No,” said Darcy succinctly. “I am sure you did not.”
Unnerved by the severity of his address and at a loss as to what she ought to say to him at this juncture, Elizabeth fell silent.
It was Darcy who spoke. “You are well within your right to chastise me. Not only have I been inexplicably rude to you this evening, but I was woefully out of line last autumn as well. Regrettably, I can offer no justification for my conduct towards you then, other than to say I was in a very disagreeable humour that evening. Georgiana, as you know—” Here he stopped, cleared his throat, and said with great solemnity, “Forgive me. Of course, the events at Ramsgate were no justification for the way I spoke of you.”
“Sir, you need say nothing to me on that score—”
“I must, Miss Bennet. Of course, I must. My behaviour throughout the course of our acquaintance was not what it ought to have been. If I could take it back I would do so in a trice, but I do not, unfortunately, possess that power. Instead, I can only express my deepest regret for having offended you, and my sincere intent to refrain from doing so in the future.”
With an audible swallow he gestured to her gown. “You are incredibly beautiful this evening. I have never seen you look more so. Your gown, your hair…you are utterly enchanting.”
If Elizabeth thought the air between them had been thick with tension before, it was nothing to what she felt after Darcy bestowed such an astonishing and unexpected compliment upon her.
After the deplorable way she had spoken to him, Elizabeth found it impossible to credit that he would wish to gratify her vanity now, especially after all that had taken place during the summer.
Her quiet but startled, “Thank you, sir,” was barely audible.