Chapter 15
FIFTEEN
As Darcy waited by the window above Netherfield’s drive, watching the carriages roll up and all and sundry of Meryton arrive in their country finest, the letter he had received from his cousin earlier that day plagued him.
Darcy,
My admiration for Miss Lewiston has ended. Hers, apparently, never began.
The lady, privy to gossip and rumour, and eager to believe any which would benefit her, gave herself to understand that my elder brother was deathly ill and, apparently seduced by the idea of marrying a future earl, determined to marry me. She is as foolish as she is covetous.
You will not be surprised, for I saw your reluctance to promote my affections towards her.
Did you sense something which called forth your cool manner?
When I saw you had thoughts you did not share, I called you a stubborn fool.
Your heart might be yet untouched, but your instincts and sensibilities are well honed.
Tomorrow I am off to Brighton to train some men. I shall drown my displeasure—that is what it is, more than heart-break—by plunging into the cold water to swim and wading into the many parties and assemblies common to such a place.
Had there been an instance when Darcy had hoped the glass was wrong?
He had not liked Miss Lewiston and thought his cousin more flattered than affected by the attentions the lady paid to him.
He could not but be glad it was resolved—and resolved on its own, without his interference, even if Fitzwilliam had suspected his opinion.
Miss Bingley moved into view, her cool blue eyes meeting his before he could escape and rolling them towards the ballroom’s flower-bedecked doorway.
She leant close, and with no attempt to lower her voice, said, “The Bennets have arrived, all of them, and brought along a cousin who I understand will marry one of them.”
Marry one? Darcy looked towards the front of the room, where Mr and Mrs Bennet, wearing widely differing expressions, led their flock of prettily dressed daughters; the family was followed by a heavy, awkward young man who was likely taller than his manner allowed.
He bowed his head and scampered about the ladies, belying any sort of dignity as he attempted to escort the eldest two into the ball while seeming more apt to trip them.
Miss Bennet appeared less his object of devotion than did Elizabeth, who hid a grimace beneath her radiance.
Darcy’s hand rose, reaching as was his custom for the glass, before cursing quietly at his negligence in bringing it. Moments later, he scowled as the man, wearing an expression of solemn servility, led a visibly pained Elizabeth towards the line of dancers.
Anyone can see he is a fool. He has no notion at all of this dance! He has stepped on her foot!
Clearly it hurt, but while her kindness masked her distress, her light was dimmed.
It was perhaps the longest set Darcy had ever endured, and as he went through the patterns with Miss Bingley, he felt his anger growing.
The clod-pate spun in the wrong direction, knocking another man nearly off his feet; clearly mortified, Elizabeth tugged his arm to prevent another collision, earning her a look of such mawkish condescension it was all Darcy could do not to pull him from the floor.
Finally the ordeal was at an end, although not before his eyes met Elizabeth’s and he saw her unease.
He nodded, wishing to convey his concern, and she returned it with a brief smile before gamely retreating in company with her oafish cousin.
As Miss Bingley tugged on his arm, bleating on about her reluctance to partner with any of the men here who dressed and danced less finely than he, Darcy’s thoughts wandered.
As distressed as she is, Elizabeth Bennet shows grace to all. There is no artifice about her, only warmth and graciousness, even to those who do not merit her kindness.
As he deposited Miss Bingley with her brother and strolled to Mrs Hurst to do his duty for the second set, his eyes again found Elizabeth. How easily I understand her, without need for caution or the quizzing glass.
Over the next hour, he watched as her luminous light returned, sparkling as she laughed and chatted happily with her sisters and friends, only to abandon them time and again to accept the hands of gentlemen eager to dance with her.
Her discernment was all charity; she danced with a boy whose face was covered with spots, and with a thin bespectacled man, with two redcoats, and with a man whose tailoring and dance steps would have made him a welcome addition to any ball in London.
There was no eligible young lady more sought after at the ball than the only lady he wished to dance with, and finally, he approached to ask for her hand—how could they not dance just once, what with this intoxicating feeling he had for her?
Then, pleased as he was to have Elizabeth alone in his company, Darcy found his attempts at conversation to be less easy.
She was tired, of course; she had danced frequently and when not, he had seen her evading her cousin’s company, and likely his request for another set.
Worsening his tied tongue, however, was his preoccupation with their proximity.
He had never before stood so close to her, nor touched her, and his hand felt warmer than usual in hers.
Blasted gloves. Or is it her radiance that stirs such heat?
As he pondered a witty remark to conquer her unusual silence, she finally spoke. “Miss Bingley has done a commendable job as hostess. The music and decorations are splendid.”
“She has a particular talent for such things.”
“You have attended far more balls than I, Mr Darcy, and have a better advantage in judging them.” As he puzzled this comment, her eyebrow rose.
“Balls in Hertfordshire are few, but we have many parties and assemblies. You, as a single man of means, must be a frequent guest at balls and house parties.”
Why was Elizabeth speaking in the voice of Miss Bingley, and that of countless other young ladies he had met?
Unhappy with the direction of her conversation, he merely nodded before replying, “I believe you said your father prefers books to balls, and there are times when I, too, can be charged with that offence, as some might call it.”
Her expression flashed with surprise, and in a manner thankfully unlike Miss Bingley, she quickly protested.
“Like my father, sir, you tend to reticence in a room of chattering females, and thus a ball, especially amongst many you have never met, is something to be endured. It is for the benefit, after all, of any society to dance and laugh and make merry, but there are other means to enjoy oneself. Books, as you say, are one.”
The noise and movement around them should have made it difficult for him to hear her words, but her voice and thoughts held such clarity, Darcy had no such trouble. Her mind was so clever; how well she understood him!
Smiling, he said, “I enjoy laughter and merriment, but I have found—”
They parted for the next pattern, and the voice of Sir William caught his ear.
“One can expect a joyous announcement to be made soon,” he proclaimed, nodding happily in the direction of Miss Bennet and Bingley, whose besotted smile left no doubt that his open display of admiration for the lady had sealed his fate in the minds of all.
The light seemed to waver; Elizabeth moved round him, dimmer, silent, seemingly—rightly—as embarrassed by the knight’s words as she likely was by her vulgar mother and younger sisters, all too eager to enjoy the punch and laugh with—and at—their neighbours.
Unable to think of anything to say beyond vague comments on the music and on books, they finished the set uncomfortably and retreated to separate corners.
Soon after, the evening which Darcy had imprudently anticipated finally ended; alone amongst the Netherfield party, only Bingley appeared to regret its conclusion and be satisfied, nay overjoyed, with its outcome.
And that is that. He is in love again. He wished my advice on his estate but not on his marital prospects. I warned him to show caution, and it is I who was too circumspect—I should have gone to fetch the quizzing glass and looked at Miss Bennet.
And what, infuriate Bingley if she proved to be as black-hearted and avaricious as Miss Lewiston had been?
No—he could not believe that of Jane Bennet.
Her father was lax as a landowner and parent, and her mother grasping, but the goodness that emanated from Elizabeth must, in a lesser sense, be held also by the sister she clearly adored.
The man who held Elizabeth Bennet’s heart would never need the quizzing glass.
He unbuttoned his waistcoat as he strolled through the corridor to his chambers. Candles were lit and moonlight poured through the glass of the windowpanes, but even so, it was dim compared to the glimmering light surrounding Elizabeth, its glow trailing her to her family’s long-delayed carriage.
What was he to do? He was drawn to her as he had never been to any lady; in truth, he was overwhelmed by her. But how much of it was the inexplicable light emanating from her, bewitching him? The mysterious gleaming that surrounded her, shone through her, but which no one else seemed to see?
She did not seem to see anything similar in him, a thought which, while sensible, unsettled him. No one but he was aware of the properties of the quizzing glass, nor did any whom he had viewed through it know it displayed their character to him. How he wished it—she—was not such a paradox.
As good and as promising a character as she offers, I cannot make a decision until I understand it.
..her. Pausing outside his door, he gripped the brass knob and breathed deeply.
It is better to have certainty, to truly know a person as only the glass can reveal, than to make a grievous mistake like falling in love with the wrong lady.
To London he would go.
Elizabeth lay awake in her bed long after the rest of her family had tumbled into sleep.
She had been quiet in their carriage on its return to Longbourn—leaving Netherfield long after every other reveller had been loaded in their vehicles and driven away.
Mortified at the glances and barely disguised yawns being sent in their direction by the Bingley sisters, she had sat on a long bench, her arm around a softly snoring Kitty, watching Jane and Mr Bingley speak quietly, and wondering at the absence of Mr Darcy, who had disappeared shortly before the ball ended, without a word to her beyond ‘Thank you’, after a dance where it had seemed some connexion, a similarity of mind, had begun to emerge.
Now she lay amidst twisted covers, reliving the events of the ball over and over in her head—every glance, every word exchanged, and those that went unspoken, as Mr Darcy looked at her, truly looked in a way no one ever had.
Smiling, in the most astonishingly open manner.
And then Sir William and Mama and her friends, their naturally gregarious natures heated by drink, began to speak too openly and too loudly of their expectations for Jane and Mr Bingley.
Whatever Mr Darcy had been about to say to her died on his lips as he froze and turned towards those spouting such cajoleries.
Pressing her palms against her eyes, she willed herself to banish the memory of Mr Darcy’s sharp, dark gaze, which—from the moment they first met—had seemed to find her at every opportunity.
He had always behaved very strangely, staring at her and yet jerking his gaze away whenever their eyes chanced to meet.
Much as she found herself curiously provoked by it, he seemed to no longer think her merely tolerable.
Never had he pulled out a quizzing glass to ‘examine’ her faults, as Mr Wickham had warned.
Would he? Why does it matter, she scolded herself, what he thinks of me and my family and of Jane and Mr Bingley?
Elizabeth knew he thought himself too fine, too high-born to consort with people like her friends and neighbours, but he had spoken more easily with her—at times.
Rarely was perhaps a better approximation, as she realised regretfully that most of their acquaintance had been fraught with an odd tension.
Perhaps I assumed more amity and like-mindedness than I should have.
And yet why should I care for his opinion?
She, who had always prided herself on her discernment and good sense, now found it vexing that she was so consumed by thoughts of a man whose regard she had neither sought nor encouraged.
Rolling over, she punched her pillow and buried her face in it. The moon was too bright, and the sun would begin its rise in short order. She must sleep if she was to be in good humour for whatever lay ahead.