Chapter 4 #3
Jane’s brow creased. “Was it so bad?”
Elizabeth smothered a smile, but her eyes sparked. “He declined to dance. Not for lack of partners, but from a profound lack of interest in any woman who prefers the fields.”
Jane, ever hopeful, said, “Maybe he spoke in jest.”
“His glass did not laugh.” Elizabeth’s voice carried none of the injury, but all the irony. “Nor did the wall, but it did not matter. I provided him with all the evidence he needed to pass sentence.”
Jane finished the biscuit in two bites, as if chewing through the conversation itself. “It is unkind,” she said.
Elizabeth agreed, but with a smile. “It is. Which is not the same as saying I did not deserve it.”
They laughed together, soft enough that Mrs. Long, who stood inches away, turned and attempted to join in, but failed to catch the joke’s direction.
Mary appeared at Elizabeth’s other side, a glass of watered wine in her hand and a serious expression in place. “He is not a handsome man,” she said, “even if everyone pretends otherwise.”
Elizabeth considered this. “I cannot say. I have never seen a man look so polished and so miserable.”
Mary set down her glass. “One offensive remark does not tell you a man’s whole character.”
Elizabeth turned, surprised to find Mary taking a side. “I did not ask you to defend him. Let him insult me if it amuses him.”
Mary met her gaze. “You know he insulted you, but that does not mean you know what sort of man he is.”
Elizabeth arched an eyebrow. “I leave that task to you, then. You may deliver the sermon at your leisure.”
Mary nodded, as if satisfied, but did not resume her wine. She stood silent, close enough to listen but not to intrude, her eyes on the floor.
Across the room, the music paused and the crowd thinned for a moment, giving Bingley space to approach Jane again.
Even with the interruption, it was obvious to anyone watching that his attention was for Jane alone, and hers, for once, did not waver or look to her sisters for escape.
They spoke, the words lost to the general din, but the effect lingered in Jane’s face, which held a color Elizabeth had not seen all winter.
Caroline, observing this from the side of the room, did not attempt to hide her frustration. She spoke to Louisa in a voice just loud enough to be overheard by those who cared. “They are more attractive than I thought. Mrs. Long has no talent for description.”
Louisa agreed. “The Miss Bennets are pretty, especially Jane.”
Caroline replied, “It is a pity they have not the polish of Town. One cannot expect it here, but it still offends.”
Hurst, having danced once with Louisa, was in the card room. He did not reappear for the remainder of the evening.
Elizabeth and Jane wandered to a less crowded corner, Mary in tow.
The room’s candles sputtered down to nubs, and the musicians packed away their battered sheet music.
Lydia and Kitty appeared, their cheeks pink, regaling each other with the absurdity of the officer’s stories and the inelegance of local partners.
Mrs. Bennet, secure in her sense that the evening had gone well for her daughters, hovered near the doors, waiting for their carriage.
Elizabeth watched the Netherfield party as they prepared to depart.
Caroline gathered her skirts and moved away, not waiting for her brother.
Louisa followed, a step behind but in perfect time.
Bingley, his coat a bit rumpled, looked back at Jane once more before leaving.
Darcy walked with the same pace he brought to every other aspect of his night, his face unreadable.
Caroline caught one last look at Elizabeth as she crossed the threshold. She saw the same directness, the same ease, as earlier in the evening, and marked it. She made a silent note, as if preparing to retrieve it later, and disappeared into the night.
The assembly wound down, the crowd shuffled out, and for a brief second the hall was quiet except for the sound of shoes scraping against the floorboards and Mrs. Bennet’s voice carrying through the doors, full of triumph and plans for the next occasion.
Elizabeth stepped outside with Jane and Mary while Mrs. Bennet and the younger girls followed, the cool air startling after the press of the room. They waited beneath the portico as the carriage arrived, the assembly-room windows glowing behind them while the laughter within faded.
Elizabeth said, “I believe I survived Mr. Darcy’s judgment. The verdict was unfavorable, but the process had its amusements.”
Jane squeezed her arm. “You acquitted yourself well.”
Mary, a half-step behind, said, “You should not be so quick to judge him. Sometimes one’s prejudices make the world sharper than it is.”
Elizabeth laughed. “If so, I have inherited the trait.”
The night was still. From inside the assembly room, a final burst of laughter escaped, then died away.
Elizabeth thought of the wall, the glass, the voice that passed sentence. She decided she would not mind the insult, but she would not forget it, either.