Chapter XV #2
Miss Elizabeth nodded, though appearing distracted.
For several moments, they continued in the dance, Darcy watching her as she pondered something, enjoying the view of her pretty face rendered still more handsome when engaged in deep thought.
At length, she shook it off, and she made no mention of what had captured her attention.
“To own the truth,” said she, “I suspect our invitations might have all but disappeared if not for you and Mr. Harrington.”
Close to them, Harrington danced with Miss Bennet, their conversation appearing as agreeable as Darcy’s.
Harrington laughed at something Miss Bennet said, and the woman gave a secret smile, one Darcy had misinterpreted at another ball for polite interest, or perhaps even indifference.
Now that he knew what to look for, Miss Bennet’s esteem for Harrington, though still in its initial stages of blossoming, was far deeper than Darcy had ever seen in her interest in Bingley.
“Then it is well that we can offer our assistance,” said Darcy, turning his attention back to Miss Elizabeth.
“And excellent assistance it is,” said Miss Elizabeth with a cheeky smile. “Why, I cannot imagine that even our excellent Miss Bingley could provide an invitation to such a lavish entertainment as this!”
“No, she could not,” agreed Darcy. “As evidence, I will point out that she is not even present tonight, though this is the sort of event she would never dream of rejecting.”
Miss Elizabeth regarded him through mischievous eyes. “Am I to suppose that Miss Bingley is not so accepted as she likes to think?”
“Certain factions of society find her ambition distasteful.” Darcy shrugged. “To own the truth, I also find it so, though for different reasons.”
“Because you are part of those ambitions.”
“Let no one say you cannot understand Miss Bingley,” quipped Darcy.
She laughed, that full, rich sound he had begun to encounter in his dreams. “If she were not so easy a character study, I might believe myself quite clever. As it is, reading Miss Bingley is no impressive feat.”
It was several moments and a few passes on the dance floor before either spoke again.
Miss Elizabeth was again pondering something; Darcy was content to watch her and reflect on his gratitude, whatever instinct had led him to see Miss Elizabeth as a worthy woman, not simply a country miss.
Any notion that she was unworthy of him was absurd!
“Tell me, Mr. Darcy,” said she when she drew close, “are you enjoying the season so much that you cannot bear to leave?”
Understanding her meaning, Darcy allowed a slow smile to form. “Me? Do you jest, Miss Elizabeth?”
That unfettered laugh arrived again, sending Darcy’s spirits soaring. “Then you are amenable to a quick retreat?”
“To Hertfordshire?”
“Shall you follow me there?”
“If I ask Bingley, I am certain he would allow me the use of Netherfield.”
“Then perhaps you should speak to your friend. Unless you still crave gossip, mindless small talk, or debutantes estimating the exact extent of your wealth.”
“In a normal year, I would not have spent the entire season in London,” said Darcy. “Usually I go to Kent to visit my aunt around easter for a week or two. Then, I depart for Pemberley by the end of May or early June.”
“Perhaps another week or two then?” asked Elizabeth. “That will put you at about your usual time.”
“I shall speak to Bingley.”
When they moved to the side of the floor after the dance, Darcy’s cousin approached, showing a wide grin.
Fitzwilliam had been out of town the entire season on an assignment in the north of England.
Darcy had no time to think before Fitzwilliam was greeting him with a manly embrace and a slap on the back.
“Cousin! It is good to see you, though I will note I was surprised to see you dancing at a ball.”
It was a well-worn jest, one Fitzwilliam delivered every chance he had. Though Darcy knew his cousin was pleased to see him, he could also detect Fitzwilliam’s curiosity about Miss Elizabeth. His looks were anything but subtle.
“Not at all,” said Darcy, determined not to make it easy for him. “When did you return? I had no word of your coming.”
“That is because I did not send word,” said Fitzwilliam. “I understand you decided against braving Lady Catherine without my presence to support you.”
“As it happened,” replied Darcy, “there were matters afoot that rendered my presence in London desirable.”
“Yes, Darcy,” said Fitzwilliam, his gaze finding Miss Elizabeth, “I can see that. Lady Catherine was not best pleased. I received several letters from her, instructing me to return from the north and escort you to Rosings at once.”
“The post from Kent was rather busy. But curiously, the post from London to Kent was not so robust.”
Fitzwilliam guffawed. “And I will wager you did not read one in ten of her letters.”
Then he turned and gestured to Miss Elizabeth. “Now, I believe it is rude to keep this young lady waiting. Will you do me the honor of introducing us?”
Darcy fixed Miss Elizabeth with an expression of exaggerated patience, which he then ruined by winking at her. “Well, Miss Elizabeth? Will you accept the burden of Fitzwilliam’s acquaintance? He is most persistent—you may never escape him.”
“If you say one word about reprobates, Darcy . . .”
Miss Elizabeth was laughing at their antics. “Though I may regret it, I shall take the risk.”
“Very well,” said Darcy. “Fitzwilliam, may I present Miss Elizabeth Bennet, a young lady who hails from a neighboring estate to Bingley’s leased property. Miss Elizabeth, please allow me to introduce my cousin, Colonel Anthony Fitzwilliam. Fitzwilliam is my uncle, the Earl of Matlock’s second son.”
“Hertfordshire,” said Fitzwilliam, understanding at once. “Tell me, Miss Elizabeth—do you understand the sort of man with whom you are consorting?”
“Oh, I think I have the measure of him,” replied she.
“That is most curious.” Fitzwilliam turned to Darcy and clapped him on the back again. “Darcy, I shall do you the singular favor of not stealing Miss Elizabeth from you.”
“Please accept my gratitude, Cousin,” said Darcy, dry as dust.
“In return, I wish to ask two questions. First, might I have your next sets, Miss Elizabeth? Second, do you have any sisters?”
Miss Bennet could not hold in her mirth. “Yes, Colonel Fitzwilliam, you may have my next sets. And I have four sisters, the eldest of whom is standing right over there.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam followed her pointed finger to where Miss Bennet stood with Harrington in an attitude of close conversation.
“Well, well,” said Fitzwilliam, rubbing his hands together. “She is as pretty as you are, Miss Elizabeth. I would not dream of interfering with Darcy’s courtship, but I am afraid Harrington has no such family protection.”
“You may attempt it if you like,” said Darcy, quiet satisfaction welling within him. “Miss Bennet is not one to be impressed by your glib tongue, and she finds Harrington very agreeable.”
Miss Elizabeth covered her mouth with her hand, but Fitzwilliam took no notice. “That is disappointing, Darcy, but perhaps my Father’s title will impress her. Failing that, the dashing figure I present in my regimentals will do the trick.”
Darcy exchanged a glance with Miss Elizabeth and burst into laughter.
“If you wish for empty-headed ladies who love nothing more than a man in a red coat,” said Miss Elizabeth, “I shall introduce you to my youngest sisters. Before I do so, I shall warn you—you may never be free of them if you allow it.”
“Oh, so they are that sort, are they?” drawled Fitzwilliam.
“You have no idea, Cousin,” said Darcy.
The music started for the sets, and Fitzwilliam turned to Miss Elizabeth, offering his hand. “Come, Miss Elizabeth. You shall tell me all about your enchanting sisters while we dance. If you intrigue me enough, I may keep my promise not to steal you from Darcy.”
Miss Elizabeth caught Darcy’s eye as she allowed his cousin to lead her away, her expression mischief personified.
Darcy stood by the dance floor, noting that Miss Bennet also had a partner, and Harrington had found another woman to dance with, though he was keeping a close eye on Miss Bennet.
As for Miss Elizabeth, she appeared pleased with Fitzwilliam’s company, though her eyes found Darcy often.
It was with complacency that Darcy watched the proceedings; despite Fitzwilliam’s jests, Darcy knew there was no better man in the world than his cousin.
Caroline Bingley recognized the exact moment when all her plans failed.
Though it was a bitter pill to swallow, she had no choice but to acknowledge even that was false—one unguarded exclamation in a social situation did not cause their collapse.
The shaky foundation had predated it by much longer than she wished to acknowledge.
“You wish to return to Netherfield?” asked Charles, his expression dumbfounded.
“If you will allow me the use of it,” said Mr. Darcy, remaining measured as he usually was, though he recognized the attention of the room on them.
“That is curious, Darcy, for I had not thought you pleased at all with Hertfordshire.”
“The reality is a little different, Bingley,” replied Mr. Darcy. “I was not familiar enough with Hertfordshire to be comfortable when we were there before. There is, however, a matter of business I must see to, and I can only do it there.”
Had Mr. Darcy’s eyes not found Miss Elizabeth’s form across the room, had Charles not followed his gaze, Caroline knew her brother would have remained ignorant of the true reason for his wish to return.
But Charles caught sight of Eliza Bennet speaking to Clara, noted her soft smile at Mr. Darcy, and comprehension bloomed in his eyes.
“Business in Hertfordshire, eh?” asked Charles, his tone now sly. “If you wish it, the estate is yours. I shall not extend the lease, so you should go about your wooing without delay.”