Chapter 2 #2
“Miss Elizabeth Bennet,” he said, bowing, “might I have the honour of this dance?”
Elizabeth paused. It was not a long pause, but it was long enough for her to realise she was weighing more than the invitation.
There seemed a great many things to consider, her own pride not least among them.
Most important of all were surely Mr Wickham’s accusations, which had seemed so certain and so damning when he made them, and yet which did not entirely fit with what she had seen of Mr Darcy’s character.
And, petty as it was in comparison, Elizabeth could not deny that she was weighing her irritation at Mr Darcy’s past haughtiness against her curiosity about his present manner.
Curiosity won, as it often did.
“Yes,” she said, and placed her hand in his.
As they moved into the set, Elizabeth felt a strange certainty come over her.
Something was wrong, though she could not have said what.
Mr Darcy’s attention was not directed entirely to her.
He was polite, attentive in the correct ways, and his hand guided her with steady assurance.
Yet his gaze moved beyond her shoulder more than once, his expression thoughtful and guarded, as if he were listening for something beneath the music.
Elizabeth followed his glance and caught sight of two ladies whispering together, their eyes flicking toward them with unmistakable interest. Another gentleman, not far away, looked at Mr Darcy with a faint smile that seemed to imply some private joke.
Elizabeth felt her earlier unease sharpen.
Just as at the Netherfield Park ball, Mr Darcy danced exceedingly well.
His movements were precise yet unforced, as though he had never once had to think about where his feet ought to go.
Elizabeth found the steps easier with him than with the gentlemen her uncle had introduced.
There was a steadiness to his hold that made her feel perfectly secure, despite all her misgivings about the man.
It was inconveniently pleasant.
She wondered what he was thinking. Mr Darcy was not easy to read, and she suspected he preferred it that way.
Yet tonight, he appeared more unsettled than she had ever seen him.
Not flustered, certainly. He would never allow that.
But his attention was divided, his composure held too deliberately, as though he feared it might slip.
“You seem troubled,” Elizabeth said at last, lowering her voice so that only he could hear. “Have you observed that people are behaving rather oddly this evening?”
Mr Darcy’s eyes met hers then, and for a moment she felt as though she had stepped unexpectedly into deeper water. His expression was difficult to read. There was something in it that suggested caution, and something else, too, that she could not name.
“I have noticed,” he replied quietly. “Your observation confirms my worst fears.”
Elizabeth frowned. “Your worst fears?”
He did not answer at once. The music carried them through the figure, and they turned, moved apart, and returned again, all with the careful ease demanded by the dance. When he spoke, he kept his voice low and controlled.
“There is something I must discuss with you,” he said. “Somewhere more private. May I call upon you?”
The request was so unexpected that Elizabeth nearly laughed. She caught herself just in time, though her astonishment must have shown.
“You wish to call on me?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said simply.
Elizabeth could not imagine why. She could not imagine Mr Darcy voluntarily stepping into the Gardiners’ plain, unfashionable neighbourhood when he had an elegant townhouse of his own and acquaintance among the best families in London. Yet he spoke as though it were a matter already decided.
Perhaps it was merely a formality. Perhaps he would never appear at all. He would not be the first gentleman to speak lightly of calling as a mere pleasantry, with little intention of keeping the appointment.
Still, there was something about Mr Darcy’s manner that made Elizabeth hesitate to dismiss him so easily. She might think him proud. She might think him unjust. But she had never thought him careless.
“Very well, then,” Elizabeth said at last, belatedly adding, “I am staying with my uncle, Mr Gardiner. His home is on Gracechurch Street, the fourth from the corner of Leadenhall.”
Mr Darcy’s expression did not change, though Elizabeth watched for it. He did not flinch or look away. If he thought the address beneath him, he gave no sign.
To her astonishment, he thanked her gravely.
“I shall call upon you soon,” he said.
They completed the dance with simple politeness, taking refuge in formality.
Mr Darcy did not attempt to draw her into more conversation, and Elizabeth found she did not quite know how to begin.
The oddity of the moment hung between them, made stranger by the awareness of eyes upon them whenever they moved.
When the set ended, Mr Darcy bowed once more and withdrew.
Elizabeth watched him go, her thoughts in complete disarray.
She was accustomed to forming opinions quickly, and Mr Darcy had never inspired much warmth in her.
Yet she could not deny the impression he had made upon her this evening.
His request was too deliberate, his manner too serious, to be dismissed as a whim.
She returned to Jane’s side, still unsettled.
“How unexpected,” Jane said softly, a faint hint of curiosity in her voice.
Elizabeth managed a smile. “Yes. Unexpected is the word.”
“Did he say anything of consequence?”
“He said that he wishes to call upon me,” Elizabeth replied. She blinked and shook her head, hearing how absurd the words sounded.
Jane blinked. “To call upon you?”
Elizabeth nodded, feeling the absurdity deepen rather than lessen. “He asked for our address and thanked me as though such a request were perfectly natural. Which it is not.”
Mrs Gardiner’s gaze sharpened at once. “He asked to call on you?”
“Yes,” Elizabeth said. “And he spoke as though he meant it.”
Mr Gardiner looked thoughtful rather than alarmed. “I should not have thought Mr Darcy a gentleman to make such a request lightly. His reputation in society is formidable — and, I should have thought, very much above our own circles.”
Elizabeth knew that. That was precisely why she felt so unsettled.
“And yet I cannot imagine what business he can possibly have with me,” Elizabeth said, keeping her tone as calm as she could. “Unless he intends to inform me that my character and manners, which I am sure he found lacking enough in Hertfordshire, are entirely unsuitable for London.”
Mrs Gardiner studied her for a moment, as if weighing whether to speak. “You said earlier that you felt you were being watched.”
“I did,” Elizabeth admitted. “And now I feel it more than ever.”
Jane’s brows drew together in concern. “Perhaps it is nothing.”
Elizabeth wanted to agree. It would have been a great relief to believe it was all mere fancy, a strange mood brought on by too much noise, too much warmth, too much irritation. Yet she could not ignore the feeling that something was unfolding beyond her understanding.
Mr Darcy’s distraction. The looks. The whispers. His insistence that he must speak to her privately. Whatever it all meant, she suspected it would not be easily ignored.
And despite herself, Elizabeth found she was curious to learn the truth of it.