Chapter Eleven #2
“Yes,” Mr. Bennet replied evenly. “My family has owned the land for almost eight hundred years.” A fleeting shadow crossed his face before it was replaced with a genial smile. “Mr. Bingley, my family has been eagerly awaiting the opportunity to be introduced. Might I escort you to them?”
Bingley agreed at once, and after securing Miss Lucas for the first set, followed Mr. Bennet across the room. Darcy chose to accompany them rather than remain behind with the others. Though he shared their desire to be elsewhere, he maintained his stiff mask of indifference as they advanced.
They approached a matron with three daughters in attendance.
Good God—three young ladies in the household?
Darcy’s mind wandered briefly to the inevitable expense and concern such a family must present.
Introductions were made, and Darcy noted, with some surprise, Bingley’s immediate interest in the eldest—Miss Bennet, Jane, if he recalled correctly.
“Miss Bennet,” Bingley said warmly, “I would be pleased if you would dance the second set with me. And Miss Elizabeth, the third, if you will.” Miss Mary Bennet accepted the fourth. An awkward silence followed.
Darcy realized then that they expected him to make an offer. He had no intention of doing so. He affected complete inattention, fixing his gaze upon the far end of the hall as though something of great importance had caught his eye.
The first notes of the music sounded, and Bingley excused himself, promising to return for the later sets.
Darcy followed him to the side of the room, positioning himself against the wall.
Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst were soon claimed by local gentlemen—a small mercy, for Darcy refused to encourage Caroline’s hopes by offering her his hand.
As he surveyed the room, his gaze fell upon one of the Bennet sisters—Miss Elizabeth.
She danced with an ease and assurance that caught his notice despite himself.
Her movements were lively yet controlled, more graceful and refined than those of many around her.
There was an intelligence in her expression, an animation that suggested thought rather than artifice.
Likely another young woman exerting herself to impress wealthy newcomers, he told himself sternly. He scowled, hoping his forbidding air would deter any attempt at conversation.
Midway through the evening, Miss Elizabeth took a seat uncomfortably near his position. Darcy sensed her presence at once and assumed her intent: she wished to draw his notice, perhaps to induce him to dance. Resolutely, he turned away—only to nearly collide with Bingley.
“Darcy! Have you been holding up the wall for the entire evening?”
“I have danced with your sisters,” Darcy replied coolly. “My obligations are complete.” Do not, Bingley. You promised.
“So they are,” Bingley conceded, though his smile lingered. “And you cannot be induced to dance even one more set?”
“I made my position clear before we left Netherfield.”
“You are missing out on a lovely evening. I have never seen such pretty girls. Some of them are very pretty, indeed.” He nodded toward the nearby chairs positioned on the edge of the dance floor.
“There is Miss Elizabeth. I danced the third with her, if you recall. She is very talented—and an engaging conversationalist.”
“Bingley,” Darcy said sharply, lowering his voice, “you could not induce me to dance with her if she were the last woman in the world.” He winced inwardly at the harshness of his words. “Go back to your partner and enjoy her smiles.”
“Really, Darcy, you are a bore!” Bingley laughed. “And lower your voice, lest the whole gathering hear your nonsense.”
“Let them,” Darcy retorted. “Then they shall have no illusions as to my position, and none will prevail upon me for notice or acknowledgement.”
“I would not be so fastidious and stubborn as you for a kingdom,” Bingley said, shaking his head. “Very well, I shall leave you to brood in silence.”
Bingley turned away, leaving Darcy blessedly alone—at least for a moment.
“Be careful with your words, Mr. Darcy.”
Darcy turned to find Mr. Bennet regarding him with a sharp, disapproving expression. “Your behavior borders on incivility,” Mr. Bennet continued. “Were I a younger man, I should demand satisfaction.”
“Your defense of your daughter does you credit,” Darcy replied stiffly, “though you might teach her proper conduct. She sat there plainly to draw my attention.”
“Had you been resident in the neighborhood long enough,” Mr. Bennet said coolly, “you would know better than to level such accusations. I do hope you are prepared for the consequences of your actions.” He dipped his head and turned away, offering his hand to Miss Elizabeth, who accepted it without the slightest embarrassment.
Together they moved onto the floor for the next set.
Miss Elizabeth appeared entirely unfazed—indeed, almost amused—by Darcy’s disdain. The realization unsettled him more than he cared to admit.
Almost against his will, Darcy continued to observe her for the remainder of the evening: the quickness of her smile, the ease with which she spoke, the sparkle in her eyes when engaged.
Her arts and allurements will not work, he vowed as he boarded the carriage for Netherfield.
No Darcy had ever been captured by a pair of fine eyes and a handsome figure.
No—he was destined for something greater.
Or so he told himself, as the image of Miss Elizabeth Bennet lingered far longer in his mind than he wished.
The ride home from the assembly was far quieter than the drive there, though not for want of feeling.
Elizabeth sat back against the cushions of the Bennet carriage, the rhythmic sway of the wheels over familiar roads gradually loosening the tight coil of energy that had settled in her chest over the course of the evening.
The night air crept in through a cracked window, cool and restorative, and she drew a steadying breath.
Mr. Bennet, seated opposite her, regarded her over the rims of his spectacles with a look of mild concern disguised as amusement.
“Well, Lizzy,” he said at last, “you appear to have survived your introduction to Hertfordshire’s newest curiosity. Are you quite well?”
Elizabeth smiled faintly and shrugged. “Perfectly, sir. I am not in the least injured.”
“Indeed?” His brows lifted. “That is a relief. I was half afraid you might require smelling salts or a challenge to pistols.”
She laughed, the sound easing something in her. “Hardly. It is not as though he insulted my looks.”
“No,” Mr. Bennet agreed thoughtfully, tapping one finger against his knee. “Only your good sense.”
Elizabeth’s smile widened into something genuinely amused. “When you put it that way, I suppose I should be grateful. I would hate to attract the regard of someone who values neither.”
“Well said,” her uncle replied dryly. “A man who declares a young woman beneath his notice in a public assembly is doing her a kindness, whether he intends it or not. You may rest easy knowing you have no danger of captivating him.”
“Oh, I never suspected I had,” Elizabeth said lightly. “And I assure you, Uncle, I do not wish to captivate someone who thinks civility an unreasonable demand.”
Mr. Bennet chuckled. “Then we are agreed. He is no loss.”
Next to her uncle, Mrs. Bennet shifted forward, curiosity written plainly on her face. “What are you two going on about? I could hear laughing, and yet no one has thought to include me.” Her teasing brought a smile to Elizabeth’s lips.
“Only Mr. Darcy,” Mr. Bennet replied easily. “He made himself disagreeable, and Lizzy bore it with admirable composure.”
Mrs. Bennet sniffed. “I should hope so. A man who refuses to dance and then insults half the room cannot possibly be worth anyone’s notice.”
She paused, considering. “Though,” she added reluctantly, “it is a shame. With ten thousand a year and such a fine figure, he would have made an excellent match for one of you girls. But no fortune can compensate for such an unpleasant disposition.”
Elizabeth hid a smile. That her aunt could dismiss so eligible a man so readily showed good sense.
Jane leaned forward slightly. “Perhaps,” she said gently, “he improves upon acquaintance. Some people are reserved at first.”
Mr. Bennet turned his head toward her. “My dear Jane, I admire your optimism, but in my experience, first impressions of that sort tend to deepen rather than soften.”
Jane smiled, unoffended. “I suppose we shall see.”
“If we must,” Elizabeth murmured, and Jane laughed softly at her tone.
The carriage rolled on through the quiet lanes, lanterns bobbing faintly in the distance as other conveyances made their way home. Elizabeth felt the familiar comfort of return settle over her—the sense of being known, of belonging to this place in a way she never quite managed in London.
When Longbourn finally came into view, warmly lit against the dark, Elizabeth felt her spirits lift further. The door had scarcely been opened before voices reached them.
“Well?” Lydia cried, darting forward as soon as the carriage stopped. “What was it like? Was it dreadful? Were there handsome men?”
“And was the dancing good?” Kitty chimed in, close on her heels.
Elizabeth laughed as she stepped down with the help of Jones. “You will survive the suspense, I promise. But I can tell you this—Jane looked exquisite in her new gown, and Mary was very much admired. Both were quite fashionable.”
Jane flushed at the praise, while Mary straightened, pleased. “The green silk was a success, then?”
“An undeniable one,” Elizabeth assured her. “You were perfectly turned out.”
Mrs. Bennet beamed. “I knew those gowns would make an impression.”
“They did,” Elizabeth said sincerely.
Lydia looked faintly disappointed. “And the gentlemen?”
“There were some,” Elizabeth replied diplomatically. “Enough to make the evening lively.”
“Well, you must tell us everything tomorrow,” Kitty insisted.
“We shall,” Elizabeth promised, stifling a yawn.
Soon enough, the household settled; candles were carried upstairs, and Elizabeth found herself once more in her room. As Baker unpinned her hair and loosened her stays, the events of the evening replayed themselves—not with irritation, as she might have expected, but with a surprising lightness.
Mr. Darcy’s words no longer stung. If anything, they had clarified matters neatly. She had been insulted, yes—but also spared.
Elizabeth dismissed her maid and crossed to the window, gazing out at the tranquil grounds. Tomorrow would bring picnics and plans, friends, and familiar comforts. Tonight had been merely the beginning of something new.
She smiled to herself, extinguished the candle, and went to bed content—very certain that whatever else might come of Mr. Darcy’s arrival in Hertfordshire, it would not be boredom.