Chapter 2 #4
After the fifth dance, he acted. The only way he could survive this week was to know if she loathed him or not.
He may not deserve her pardon, but he would ask if he could earn it.
He escaped his company as politely as he could and approached her in a rush.
“May I have your hand for the next dance, Miss Bennet?”
She appeared as shocked as she had been when she saw him in the entrance hall.
In that moment of waiting, he was certain she would refuse.
But then Elizabeth nodded, and he led her into the set.
Of course she would be stunned he asked.
Why would a man talk to a woman who rejected him, let alone ask her to dance?
Because she was right about him, and she was influenced by a scheming seducer, and because he regretted treating her and her family poorly.
And he asked her because he was still in love with her.
For a while, he did not know what to say, and he hoped his asking her to dance would be enough to show that he did not hate her.
But after so many misunderstandings, he could assume nothing.
His own judgment could scarcely be trusted.
He would have to make himself sensible. Besides, if he did not speak, she might only goad him into it like she had at the Netherfield ball.
“Is your family in good health? All your sisters are well?”
That was the dullest question he could ask. And had she not been away from her family for months?
“They are, although I have not seen them since March,” she answered. “I hear, however, that Mr Bingley is a frequent visitor to Longbourn.”
She did not say it as a challenge, but he hurried to say how glad he was. “My friend was eager to return to the neighbourhood when I saw him in April. I hope in particular that he resumes his acquaintance with Miss Bennet.”
There, that had to show he regretted his interference and hoped the two young people could be united.
Darcy searched to see any approval in her eyes, but she just looked self-conscious.
The reference to Bingley must bring to mind the last time his name was mentioned between them.
This was going all wrong, and any chance she did not hate him was too much to hope for.
When the dance brought them together again, she said, “I must tell you, I did not know you were invited to Woodcote Park. Your aunt thought she was doing me a favour by sending me along with Lady Metcalfe.”
“A favour?” he repeated. Lady Catherine did like to be of use, and be thanked for it, but Elizabeth did not know Lady Metcalfe or Mrs Tessier.
Elizabeth turned pink. “She hoped I would benefit from a wider acquaintance with the sort of people who attend the races, given how narrow my circle is and how many sisters I have.”
Lady Catherine wanted her to find a husband, and what better opportunity than at a place where thousands of men would spend a week?
There was some irony in their being at the same place, of course, given how lately he wanted to marry Elizabeth and how his aunt wanted him married to Anne—and how Elizabeth wanted to be married to anyone but him.
“In any event,” she said in a flustered tone whilst he mused in silence, “I would not have come if I had known you were invited. I would not wish to distress you.”
“I am not sorry to find you here,” he breathed.
They were now at the bottom, and the air between them felt heavy as she searched his eyes. “I must thank you for asking me to dance,” she finally said. “I know you are not fond of dancing at assemblies.”
There was a hint of archness in her voice that caught his notice.
Did she know he had not wanted to be introduced to her in Meryton?
She had said at Hunsford that from the first moment of their acquaintance that he had been arrogant, selfish, and conceited.
The remembrance of his slight seemed to amuse her, but how could it not also have wounded her?
“I am not fond of dancing with strangers, but I am now taking the trouble to practise. However, you are no longer a stranger.”
She did not look affronted, only a little nervous. “I am glad to put all the awkwardness of this first meeting behind us. If you can smile and dance with me before the others, you can tolerate me for a week in the same house.”
“Tolerate you? Do you think I hate you?” he asked in some surprise. “I can only wonder at your hating me after…”
“Oh. No, no, I…” She took a calming breath and said in a whisper, “I can think of your former regard with gratitude, and forgive the…”
His heart raced. There was nothing “former” about his feelings, but he could not say that. Not when he knew she did not return them. “The offensiveness of its expression?” he finished. “I am exceedingly sorry, Miss Bennet.”
She was too embarrassed to do more than nod, but the dance was now finished and he looked for Lady Metcalfe.
He finally saw her coming from the stairs with Mr Travers.
As he led Elizabeth over to them, he wondered where they had gone.
She was a negligent chaperon, but perhaps she was only indifferent to Elizabeth whilst giving Julia the privacy to flirt at her leisure.
Before they reached Lady Metcalfe, he thanked Elizabeth for the dance and added, “If you will permit me, I will do what I can this week to earn your good opinion.”
He knew enough of her character that if she wanted nothing to do with him, she would say so to his face. However, although Lady Metcalfe and Mr Travers were near, she gave him a soft smile and nodded.
It was not an indifferent smile, but it was not one to encourage his hopes to anything more than her not hating him. It spoke to her generous character. He had not even endeavoured to please her when he asked to marry her, yet she did not hate him.
But could she ever love him?