Chapter Fifteen
The Netherfield Ball Again
The Netherfield ball arrived beneath a cold November sky.
Darcy disliked it less the second time.
Elizabeth enjoyed watching him discover this.
He greeted Sir William without looking toward an escape route.
He asked Mrs. Long about her nephew's horse before she could begin the story herself, which earned him a stunned silence Elizabeth privately considered his greatest social triumph to date.
He danced with Georgiana once, Caroline once, and an elderly widow whose delight was so transparent that Bingley slapped him on the shoulder afterward and demanded to know what he had done with the real Fitzwilliam Darcy.
"Improved him," Elizabeth murmured as Bingley moved away.
Darcy heard. "You take too much credit."
"I have not yet begun to take credit."
Charlotte, who had delayed leaving for London until after the ball, stood beside Elizabeth and followed her gaze. "You are smiling."
Elizabeth immediately looked elsewhere. "I am not."
"You are."
"I am enjoying the music."
Charlotte looked toward the musicians, who were presently correcting a discordant violin string. "Naturally."
Across the room Darcy was speaking to Mary.
Actually speaking.
Not enduring.
Mary looked earnest while Darcy listened with the solemn concentration he usually reserved for estate reports.
"What are they discussing?" Charlotte asked.
Elizabeth smiled. "Probably moral philosophy."
"At a ball?"
"It is Mary."
Darcy said something.
Mary laughed.
Elizabeth's chest tightened.
She had almost never heard young Mary laugh like that.
Darcy looked over and caught Elizabeth watching. His smile was small and private.
Charlotte's head turned slowly toward her friend. "Oh."
Elizabeth sighed. "Do not."
"You love him."
The natural answer nearly escaped.
Yes.
Instead Elizabeth remembered she was twenty and supposedly acquainted with Darcy for scarcely two months. "I like him."
Charlotte stared.
"What?"
"Liar."
Elizabeth laughed.
Across the room Lydia was flirting with Lieutenant Carter, who had become engaged to Miss Barker three weeks earlier. The old instinct to be embarrassed rose immediately. Elizabeth felt it, recognized it, and set it aside.
Lydia was loud. She could be corrected privately. Public humiliation would only sharpen defiance.
Elizabeth crossed the room. "Lydia, may I borrow you?"
"Why?"
"Your hem."
Lydia looked down in alarm. Elizabeth bent as though adjusting it and whispered, "Lieutenant Carter is engaged."
Lydia's eyes widened. "To whom?"
"Miss Barker."
"Oh."
"Perhaps do not sit quite so near."
Lydia flushed. "I wasn't--"
Elizabeth looked at her.
Lydia sighed. "Fine."
No scolding. No laughter.
Lydia moved away. Kitty followed.
Elizabeth returned to the edge of the ballroom. Darcy watched her. He knew exactly what she had done.
Later they danced.
This time the conversation was easy. Too easy. They had to remind themselves not to behave like a married couple.
Darcy guided her through the figure and said quietly, "Bingley intends to remain through Christmas."
"Good."
"He is considering speaking to your father."
Elizabeth nearly missed the turn. "Already?"
Darcy smiled. "You disapprove?"
"No." She looked toward Jane, who was dancing with Bingley and no longer hiding every trace of happiness. "But let him do it."
"I have no intention of interfering."
"No pushing."
"I have pushed nothing."
Elizabeth gave him a look.
Darcy sighed. "I told him only that if he wished my opinion, I thought Miss Bennet cared for him."
"You used her Christian name yesterday."
He stiffened.
Elizabeth grinned. "Careful."
"Your sister will eventually be family."
"Presumptuous."
"Experienced."
They separated in the figure and came together again.
Darcy murmured, "Two."
Elizabeth looked at him. "What?"
"Two rules broken tonight."
"Only two?"
"Three if you continue looking at me like that."
"Like what?"
"My wife."
Her expression softened. "Perhaps stop looking like my husband."
Darcy's hand tightened around hers. "Impossible."
The dance ended.
Neither wanted to release the other.
They did.
Slowly.
Bingley saw.
He turned to Jane. "Your sister is going to marry Darcy."
Jane smiled. "I believe so."
Bingley stared. "You knew?"
"I suspected."
"Since when?"
"The assembly."
Bingley looked offended. "I suspected after the assembly."
Jane laughed.
Bingley forgot his grievance.
Mr. Bennet's suspicion sharpened after a dinner at Netherfield where Darcy and Elizabeth independently reached for a fallen spoon at the same instant, both stopped, and then laughed as though the accident had recalled a private memory.
On the carriage ride home he said, "Lizzy, have you known Mr. Darcy longer than you claim?"
Mrs. Bennet gasped. "What do you mean?"
Elizabeth's pulse jumped. "No, Papa."
"He anticipates you."
Lydia leaned forward eagerly. "I said so!"
Kitty added, "They always know when the other is going to speak."
Mary adjusted her gloves. "People who read similar books may develop similar patterns of thought."
Mr. Bennet looked delighted. "Thank you, Mary. We shall blame literature."
Elizabeth smiled. "A safe culprit."
Mrs. Bennet, entirely missing the danger, said, "If Mr. Darcy admires Lizzy's mind, I see no difficulty. Gentlemen like accomplished wives."
Elizabeth looked out the window.
Mr. Bennet continued studying her.
Later, as she passed the library, he called her in.
"You answered very smoothly."
"To what?"
"Whether you have known him before."
Elizabeth forced herself not to react.
Her father leaned back. "I do not think you lied."
"Good."
"I do think you answered a different question."
Elizabeth stared.
Mr. Bennet smiled faintly. "You are not the only person in this family who notices things."
Her throat tightened.
"Papa--"
He waved a hand. "I am not asking. Whatever peculiar understanding exists between you, I care chiefly whether it makes you happy."
Elizabeth's eyes filled.
Mr. Bennet looked alarmed. "Do stop. Everyone is crying lately."
She laughed.
He relaxed.
For once his curiosity yielded to affection.