Chapter Seven #2
The last person on Elizabeth’s mind was Mr. Collins, but he was one of the first she encountered in the ballroom. She had expected to see him at some point, however. He lived to make Lady Catherine happy, and, right now, Elizabeth’s very being made her very unhappy.
No doubt Lady Catherine ranted to her parson about the impropriety of Elizabeth’s match with Mr. Darcy.
Elizabeth could almost (but not quite) feel sorry for the clergyman.
She guessed Lady Catherine had all but ordered her parson to renew his addresses to Elizabeth.
If she married Mr. Collins, Lady Catherine likely surmised that Mr. Darcy would be available for Anne de Bourgh.
Elizabeth did not bother avoiding Mr. Collins. She preferred to dispense with that conversation and proceed with her evening.
Without even making a pretext of asking Elizabeth to dance, Mr. Collins merely pulled her away from Jane for a private conversation.
“Cousin, I must tell you that a report of a most alarming nature has reached my ears. Lady Catherine said you are engaged to her nephew, Mr. Darcy. But I thought she must be mistaken.”
“Why would that be a mistake?”
Mr. Collins blinked rapidly. “Why, how would you ever encounter such an august gentleman to make his acquaintance?”
Elizabeth smiled. “You are acquainted with his aunt.”
“Yes. But—” Mr. Collins spluttered.
“As it happens, Mr. Darcy and I have both been in attendance at any number of balls and soirées.”
“But you should not speak to him! It is most irregular. That is not the purpose of such gatherings.”
“The purpose of balls is not for people to become acquainted?” Elizabeth asked. “Pray tell me, what are they for?”
“They are not for you to— I mean, you should not—”
Elizabeth waited for Mr. Collins to exhaust his supply of nonsense. “If that is all….” She started to turn away from him.
“No! No, it is not all. I am most— Most grieved. Yes, grieved at the news about Mr. Darcy. I believed you and I had come to an understanding.”
“Mr. Collins, apparently, we came to a misunderstanding. I never consented to marry you.”
“But you cannot simply cast me off. I am bereft! I am heartbroken!” He clutched his hands dramatically to his chest.
Elizabeth pinched the bridge of her nose. “As much as it pains me to hear that, I hope your disappointment will be of short duration.”
As she edged away from him, he clutched her arm. “No! Do not leave me in such agony! Say you will relieve my suffering and be my wife.”
His impassioned pleas were beginning to draw attention from people nearby.
Elizabeth would have more sympathy for the man if any part of his emotional outburst could possibly be sincere.
But his every word sounded like it originated from a manual on how to court a woman. A bad manual on how to court women.
She disengaged his hand from her arm. “Mr. Collins, please calm yourself. Perhaps a cup of wine might soothe your spirits.”
“But—”
Her eyes darted around the room. “Oh, dear. It would be unfortunate if Mr. Darcy should arrive while you are beseeching his fiancée. He might not take kindly to such behavior.”
Apparently, Mr. Collins had not considered that possibility.
He was completely immobile for a few seconds.
Then he retreated from her at a speed that suggested she had a contagious illness.
“No, no indeed! I mean no offense to him. Or to you! No offense at all. We were merely having a friendly conversation—as cousins. Yes, cousins. You need not mention it to Mr. Darcy!”
Before Elizabeth could utter another word, Mr. Collins scurried into the crowd.
***
Darcy arrived late to the ball, already hot and vexed. He abhorred tardiness.
He usually dreaded balls. They were crowded with people who were exchanging meaningless pleasantries. Why bother? He would rather exert himself for more consequential subjects. Tragically, the ton did not share his views and insisted on prattling at him.
However, he dreaded this ball less than most, and the reason was not difficult to guess. He was actually eager to dance with Elizabeth, and he would play a valuable role in protecting her from Harwood.
Really, it was a shame she did not come from a better lineage.
Darcy could not help worrying that—as the host of the ball—Harwood might be inclined to take liberties with Elizabeth. Darcy quickened his step as he entered the ballroom.
Still, he must be cautious not to occupy too much of Elizabeth’s company lest they draw the ton’s attention. But he could observe her from a distance and forestall Harwood’s advances.
He surveyed the ballroom, immediately noting that Bingley spoke with Miss Jane Bennet by the punch table. Lady Sterling sat among other matrons in a far corner. But where was Elizabeth?
Could she possibly be dancing? She knew so few people in London. But he finally noticed her lined up for at the top of the set opposite….Viscount Harwood. And she smiled at him.
Darcy’s heart clenched.
He wanted to march onto the dance floor and pull her away from the man. Or perhaps punch Harwood. Or both. At the very least, he wanted to stand between them so Harwood could not devour Elizabeth with his eyes.
The rational part of his mind reminded Darcy that Elizabeth could not refuse to dance with Harwood unless she planned to sit out all the dances for the evening.
But why was she smiling at him? Flirting with Harwood might cause him to disbelieve her engagement to Darcy.
Harwood might hope she would transfer her affection to him.
Had Elizabeth changed her mind? Had she decided she wanted a title after all? Darcy did not really know her; their acquaintance was brief. Perhaps she was not as steadfast as she pretended to be.
It was only a dance, of course. Darcy had no real claim to her. But certainly, he could expect her to hold up her part of the imaginary engagement. He was not jealous; that would be foolish. He was vexed. Yes, vexed. She placed their entire scheme at risk.
Lady Catherine was not yet in attendance, but what would she think if she observed Elizabeth being charmed by another man? And the blackguard might take liberties. Darcy simply felt…protective of Elizabeth.
Elizabeth and Harwood held hands and skipped down the line of dancers.
Why did Harwood have to be the one with designs on Elizabeth?
No doubt Harwood had been an innocent and loving child in his early life, but by the time Darcy had encountered him at Cambridge, he was so oily he practically slithered rather than walked.
Darcy hands were clenched into fists; he deliberately relaxed them. It was ridiculous to be agitated about a woman who was not really his.
Deliberately, he turned his back on the dance floor and stalked to the punch table.
However, he had no desire to drink punch.
It was a festive beverage, and he was not in a festive mood.
So, he glowered at the punch bowl. When another person arrived, actually intending to fill a cup with punch, he strode away.
His gaze naturally drifted to Elizabeth, slightly flushed with the exertion of dancing.
But really, is it my fault I keep staring at her?
Her dancing is so lively; her figure, light and pleasing.
She is…enticing. Her smile could light the entire ballroom like the sun.
Every man in the room should be staring at her.
Did Harwood understand how fortunate he was to receive a smile from such a woman?
The set seemed to last two months. When it came to an end, Darcy prepared to intercept Elizabeth the instant she separated from Harwood.
He would remind her of their agreement. If she had chosen Harwood after all, they would need to part ways.
Darcy took a deep breath. I will be calm and rational. She is nothing to me after all.
She joined Harwood as he walked from the dance floor.
Should I approach her now? Wait? Request a dance?
But now they had joined Miss Bennet and Bingley.
Harwood bowed to Miss Bennet, and she took his arm with a smile.
Had they arranged to dance the next set?
Odd. Darcy did not recall the viscount showing any interest in the elder sister.
As Harwood escorted Miss Bennet to the dance floor, Elizabeth walked discreetly along the ballroom’s perimeter. Darcy would not have noticed her if he had not been particularly seeking her. What was she about?
Elizabeth slipped unobtrusively through a side door.
Where did it lead? Darcy crossed the room and followed her.
Had she planned an assignation with Harwood?
Was she on her way to his bedchamber? Something in Darcy’s chest burned, and his jaw hurt from grinding his teeth.
He should ignore her; she was not his concern.
But not knowing her intention gnawed away at him.
He silently opened the side door. The hall was dimly lit, obviously leading to private rooms not intended for guests. Holding a lamp taken from a table, Elizabeth opened the first door, peered inside the room, and then closed it again.
What is she seeking?
She opened the next door, nodded in satisfaction, and disappeared into the room.
Darcy waited a breath to be sure that she would not appear again, and then he hastened down the hall. He managed to open the door without the latch clicking. Elizabeth’s back was toward him, giving him time to examine the room by the glow of her lamp.
One glance told Darcy it was Harwood’s study. Damnation! She had planned an assignation with the viscount! Despite her agreement with Darcy, she would offer herself to Harwood. Darcy should leave and let her reap what she sowed, but he was too angry.
Darcy growled as he stalked into the room.