Chapter 9 #2
With Miss Elizabeth’s attention on Bingley, Darcy took advantage of the opportunity to surreptitiously study her.
He began by examining her hands, delicate and pale as one rested lightly in her lap, the other curled elegantly around her fork.
She had graceful arms, her elbows dimpling sweetly.
Her neck was equally graceful though he saw little of it through the mass of dark curls gently bouncing onto it.
He had concerned himself rather little with the styles in which ladies wore their hair but thought he much preferred the manner in which Miss Elizabeth wore hers to any he had seen before.
It was the particular combination whereby both restraint and profusion were—
“I believe we have caught Mr Darcy wool-gathering.” Miss Bingley’s voice pierced his musings, and he came to attention at once. He could see by her countenance that she had noted his study of Miss Elizabeth and was displeased by it.
“Darcy is not always such a dull fellow,” Bingley laughingly told Miss Elizabeth. “He is lively enough in other places, I assure you.”
In a jaded, mean tone, Miss Bingley added, “Generally among those he considers his equals in consequence.”
Darcy was mortified and opened his mouth to disavow her implication.
Miss Elizabeth turned and looked at him full on, stopping his words and making his pulse race. She raised one perfectly formed eyebrow, and he saw a teasing light come into her eyes. “Is that so, Mr Darcy? Are we to be denied the full measure of your wit because our consequence lacks dignity?”
“Absolutely not,” he protested immediately. “I am not so vile as to refuse to converse with those of a different station or circle in society.” He cast a severe, censuring frown at Caroline Bingley, who did not appear to notice him.
“Yet you have been silent. Surely, a man of your sense and education would have much to contribute to the conversation if he so chose.”
Darcy was speechless, truly unable to compose a response. He could not admit the truth of his thoughts, which had been focused on his admiration of her. Yet he did not wish her to think him as unbearably haughty and arrogant as she likely would if the conversation stood as it was.
The pause drew long, and Bingley, never one to enjoy silence, decided to speak.
“Perhaps it is not disparity in consequence that renders him uneasy but, rather, the society of ladies that induces him to quiet. Darcy is such an eligible marriage prospect that he seeks to avoid notice. I think he fears that, if he should speak too long or in a manner too familiar, a matchmaking mama will take hold of him and force him down the aisle.” Bingley laughed at his own wit.
“He is so accustomed to avoiding conversation with ladies that, when it is forced upon him in a dinner arrangement, he is discomfited, having had little practice in the drawing room.”
Miss Elizabeth joined Bingley in his laughter, peeping up at Darcy when she finished. “Is that true? Has my presence rendered you silent?”
Yes, indeed. “Of course not.”
“May I assure you that I harbour no matrimonial design on you whatsoever? You may exercise your wit on us with impunity; you are in no danger from me.”
This did raise his interest, and he decided to tease her as she had him. “You are an unusual female, indeed, not to seek a husband.”
“I did not say I do not seek a husband; I said I do not seek you for a husband.” She smiled charmingly as she said it, and he was enraptured.
“However, why should that render me so unusual? Did Mr Bingley not just intimate that you do not seek a wife—nay, that you avoid situations in which you might find yourself attached?”
“It is not unusual for a gentleman to delay taking a wife,” Darcy opined. “In my experience, however, a lady who does not seek a husband is uncommon.”
Miss Elizabeth’s eyebrows rose. “Permit me to understand you. In this room are”—she quickly counted—“eight young ladies of a marriageable age who are still maidens. You believe all those ladies wish to marry you? You are very certain of your desirability, sir.”
Darcy’s mouth opened as he sought the appropriate rejoinder. As he could not contrive a politic means of saying what he thought, he was fortunate that Bingley rescued him by entering the conversation again.
“Darcy is a very good prospect. Few gentlemen have so much to offer a lady: wealth, consequence, and a family name that is nearly as old as England itself.”
“Ah.” Miss Elizabeth nodded, her eyes sparkling with a good humour that rendered her words inoffensive.
“So, you think us all so mercenary that we would settle with you for your fortune, never minding the fact that you have remained mute in our presence for the entirety of our acquaintance? What if a lady was the sort to prefer conversation and laughter to jewels and gowns?”
“It is natural and just,” Darcy replied with confidence, “that when a lady’s future, as well as that of her children, depends on the worth of the man she marries, she will marry a man with as great a fortune and as much consequence as she is able.”
At once, the teasing light left her eyes, and it was replaced by a glimmer of sadness though her tone remained confident and light.
“That is a dim view of the world. Like most arguments based on prejudice, it is weakened by the fact that an entire population is painted with a brush stained by the characteristics of only a few.” She took a sip of her wine, and he saw her hand tremble slightly.
“As you are under such suppositions, I cannot deny the sense in remaining silent. Who would wish to draw the attention of such creatures as you imagine surround you, who seek to entrap you for your fortune and consequence?”
At once, Darcy felt he had offended her though he knew not how.
He intended to tease and banter as Bingley did, yet he had caused sadness to come into her eyes.
“I would, indeed, be far more inclined towards liveliness if I knew more ladies who valued affection above fortune; however, it is a difficult thing to discern given the strictures of our society as well as my own admittedly great limitations.”
She offered him a brief, small smile that did nothing to conceal the hurt in her eyes.
Although he had no notion of why she looked so, Darcy felt a great surge of protective impulse well up within him.
He frantically thought of what more might be said or in what manner the conversation might be redirected towards that which was light and amiable.
Before he could say anything, however, Mr Goulding, who was sitting to Miss Elizabeth’s left, drew her attention, and the opportunity was lost.
Hateful man. Who is he to imagine that each of us is so desirous of his hand in marriage? And to look down on us all—we who have been so welcoming, so obliging to him and his friend! A more despicable, rude gentleman I could not find.
Elizabeth was first discomfited and then vexed by the extent to which Mr Darcy stared at her throughout the remainder of the meal.
He attempted to disguise his looks, but on occasion—when he surely believed she did not see him—he would stare at her quite intently.
She could not think why unless he had heard the rumours about her and sought to confirm her identity.
Perhaps he was cataloguing her faults, storing up little witticisms with which to entertain his friends at her expense.
The thought angered her, and she decided to reprove him for it.
She made a show of being interested in the conversation away from him for some time. Then, when she knew his attentions were on her in full, she turned to him with no warning and spoke without preamble. “What is it, Mr Darcy?”
He blinked several times as though coming out of a trance, but his voice was as haughty and composed as ever. “I beg your pardon?”
“Your gaze is so severe, I must wonder what about me displeases you. Perhaps there is food on my face? Pray, tell me where the offending morsel lies that I might remove it directly.” She gave him a falsely sweet smile.
“I did not intend to stare at you; it must have been mere absence of thought.”
She did not believe him for a moment. “Well, I am relieved. I had supposed you to be cataloguing my faults, and I thought you must have found a surfeit of them, indeed, to be at it for such an extended period of time.”
Now, he chuckled. “No, there is nothing marring your countenance, I assure you. I have far more profitable claims on my time than to spend it seeking imperfections in such beauty as yours.”
Elizabeth’s eyes flew wide in surprise at his comment. He had evidently shocked himself too as he flushed, appearing briefly discomposed. He recovered quickly, however, and took a large gulp of his wine.
Elizabeth was baffled by Mr Darcy’s compliment and was relieved when Lady Lucas rose soon thereafter, taking the ladies with her to the drawing room. She nodded to Mr Darcy as she left, glad to escape his confusing manners: so severe and arrogant one moment and so unexpectedly disarming the next.
Darcy watched Miss Elizabeth quit the room with relief, accepted a glass of port from Sir William, and quietly chastised himself for showing his preference so overtly. For whatever offence he might have served in the past, he could not risk having a flirtation now.
You must not raise her hopes. She is not for you. He resolved that he would neither speak to her nor look at her for the rest of the evening.
It was a difficult task. When he entered the drawing room, he heard Miss Lucas request that Miss Elizabeth play and sing, which she did.
She was proficient at both activities, conveying not only technical perfection but also depth of emotion.
He found himself pleasurably enthralled by her song, but he was then deeply mortified to realise he was watching the rise and fall of her bosom as she sang.