Chapter XI
The application so surprised Elizabeth that she could not answer for several moments.
Miss Bingley’s eyes widened as if she could not believe what Mr. Darcy had done, then narrowed in fury.
Unable to think of a suitable response and knowing she could not dance at all that night if she demurred, Elizabeth knew she must accept.
“Mr. Darcy—” stammered Miss Bingley.
“Very well, Mr. Darcy,” said Elizabeth, speaking to forestall whatever the woman might say—nothing good, to be certain. “You may have this dance, though I hope it does not devolve in the way previous occasions have.”
This seemed to shake Miss Bingley from her consternation. In an instant, it was replaced by the expression of haughty disdain that so often colored her features. Elizabeth could see the barb long before Miss Bingley unleashed it.
“This is most curious, Mr. Darcy,” said she.
“How so?” demanded the gentleman. “How can a man asking a woman for a dance at an assembly be anything other than the most normal thing in the world?”
“Because you never dance the first.” Miss Bingley looked at Elizabeth as if raised on some lofty vantage. “You may dance the first if you wish, of course, but to choose to do so with a woman so unsuitable, so obviously below your standards is quite beyond my understanding of you.”
“Miss Bingley,” said Darcy, turning considerable displeasure on her, “I have no notion of the scale by which you judge such matters, but your understanding is flawed. Miss Elizabeth is not below my standards, and this is nothing more than a dance.
“Come, Miss Elizabeth,” said he, extending his hand to her.
Elizabeth accepted and allowed him to guide her to the dance floor. Soon the first strains of the music floated over the room.
For several moments, Mr. Darcy was silent, moving through the steps with the sort of focus he gave everything he did.
A glance toward Miss Bingley revealed that the woman was watching them, her face red with fury.
Not far from them, the Hursts were also engaged in the set, though Elizabeth could see Mrs. Hurst scrutinizing her sister as if she expected Miss Bingley to say something impolitic. It was not an unreasonable assumption.
Mr. Darcy noted nothing of this—the gentleman had fixed his attention on her and the dance.
The longer they danced, the more Elizabeth recalled the circumstances that had led to it, the more annoyed she became with Mr. Darcy’s presumption.
Elizabeth did not appreciate being used as a convenient escape from a woman he did not like, even for just a dance.
“Well, Mr. Darcy,” said Elizabeth, pique bleeding into her voice. “Are we to have some conversation, or do you mean to stay silent as the grave for the entire dance?”
The way Mr. Darcy regarded her, curiosity mixed with apprehension, Elizabeth knew he understood she was annoyed. Whether he understood the reason was less certain.
“As I recall,” replied he, “you talk by rule when dancing.”
“I maintain it is odd to remain silent for a half hour complete. Or is this your usual behavior when attending a ball?”
“As you know, I am not at my best among strangers.”
Elizabeth arched a brow as she took his hand. “Am I now a stranger?”
“No, but I sense that you are not pleased about something.” The gentleman shrugged. “It seemed better to wait for you to explain than to guess the reason.”
“Would it not be better to speak, to deflect, to charm me into a better mood?”
Mr. Darcy offered her a wry smile. “If you will forgive me, Miss Elizabeth, I have never considered you the sort of woman to allow such devices. I rather believe you are a forthright sort of person, one who does not hesitate to state your feelings openly.”
“You are a strange sort of gentleman, Mr. Darcy,” said Elizabeth.
“I have never feigned otherwise,” said he with a shrug. “I do not perform to the masses, nor do I think that is a failing of yours. Now, perhaps you would be so kind as to inform me of my misstep so I may correct it.”
Though she considered tormenting him further, Elizabeth shrugged. “To own the truth, it is curious that you do not understand yourself. After all, did you not just use me as a convenient means to escape Miss Bingley?”
The gentleman’s gaze held a gravity quite beyond what she might have expected. “So that I understand you, let me reiterate—you believe I asked you to dance because I found Miss Bingley’s presence grating and wished to escape?”
“Did you not?” challenged Elizabeth. “Miss Bingley has made much of your reticence and your preference to avoid dancing the first, yet when your patience with her dissolved, you turned to me. What other interpretation is there?”
A sigh was his response, and one that Elizabeth had not expected. As she turned in the dance, she noted that Miss Bingley was still watching them as a hawk might watch a fat hare—unless she missed her guess, the woman would pounce on them the moment the set ended.
“I shall not sport with your intelligence by denying Miss Bingley’s behavior provoked me,” said Mr. Darcy. “However, I shall say that is not the entirety of my reason for dancing with you.”
“Oh?” asked Elizabeth dubiously.
“No, it was not,” replied Mr. Darcy. “The notion has been on my mind for some days—when Bingley asked your sister for her first sets, I almost followed his example.”
“Then why did you not?” asked Elizabeth, her annoyance giving way to curiosity.
“Because I am a reticent fellow,” replied Mr. Darcy. “And because it is difficult to set aside the practice of several years.”
Mr. Darcy offered a warm smile, and Elizabeth was not at all unaffected by it. “In a way, I have Miss Bingley to thank, though she would not appreciate the sentiment. Had she not behaved the way she did, I might not have had the pleasure of dancing the first with you.”
“For what purpose, Mr. Darcy?”
“The usual purpose, Miss Elizabeth.”
The gentleman was entirely serious; of that Elizabeth was certain.
That did not prevent her from wondering at the change in him.
She had not been unaware of his growing interest, of course, but it was still difficult to reconcile the difference between the man dancing with her and the one who had stood across from her at Mr. Bingley’s ball.
The notion of his interest, though novel, was not repulsive, though she did not yet know what to think.
“Then let us set that to the side for the moment,” replied Elizabeth. “I judge it premature for any such discussion.”
“Agreed,” replied the gentleman, “though I would not have you misunderstand my interest.”
Elizabeth nodded, but she pushed the subject away in favor of another. “I cannot but suppose that your application will provoke Miss Bingley’s undying enmity for me.”
“If it did not already exist, it might concern me.”
Curious, Elizabeth said: “What do you mean? Miss Bingley and I have never shared warm relations, but I do not think it was as bad as it will be now.”
“Perhaps you are correct,” said the gentleman.
He paused while the steps took them away from each other, but when they came together again, he continued. “Miss Bingley has considered you a rival from almost the beginning of our acquaintance.”
“That is most curious, Mr. Darcy,” said Elizabeth, feeling the mirth directed toward a woman deserving of it well up in her breast. “I had not known that Miss Bingley was so insecure—to own the truth, I thought her confident in her ultimate success.”
“You are not incorrect,” agreed Mr. Darcy. “Let us say that she learned my opinion of you was far warmer than she thought, and she spent the rest of our stay at Netherfield trying to induce me to recant.”
Though afire with curiosity, Elizabeth pushed it aside—she expected that at some time or another she could induce him to be explicit.
“This is all so sudden, Mr. Darcy. When you came to Meryton last year, you were not in the best humor. That you had any interest in me was a possibility I had not considered.”
“That is because of the reticence of which I have spoken,” replied Mr. Darcy.
The man’s expression altered, shocking Elizabeth when she saw his tender regard.
“There are some mitigating reasons for my behavior, Miss Elizabeth, though I shall not claim innocence. Let me state here and now that I feel more for you than I ever have for any other woman. I am not yet ready to promise anything, but if you are willing, I wish to know you better with a potential match in mind.”
“I do not know what to say, Mr. Darcy,” said Elizabeth.
“Say that you are willing to proceed with that understanding, Miss Elizabeth. That is all I can ask.”
“Then there is nothing else to say,” said Elizabeth.
“Thank you.”
It was a heartfelt gesture, and Elizabeth felt it keenly. Though she did not think it was yet prudent to confess it, a part of her could not help the curiosity she now felt, the part of her intrigued with the notion of knowing him better.
MISS ELIZABETH WAS his heart’s desire—Darcy was not far from that conclusion.
Having never been in love he could not say for certain the exact nature of his regard for her, but he was becoming more convinced by the moment that she was what he needed to make his life complete.
That, of course, was why the end of the dance and Miss Bingley’s intrusion on his reflections was so unwelcome.
Though he could not suppose that avoiding her would be a simple matter, even Darcy could not but salute her for the speed at which she accosted him again.
Miss Elizabeth, perhaps by design or mere chance, evaded the woman altogether, as a man of the neighborhood asked her for her next sets, removing her from the radius of Miss Bingley’s spleen.
That Darcy had no similar escape was a matter he deplored, even while he looked for an escape.
“How excellent a gentleman you are!” exclaimed Miss Bingley the moment Darcy left the dance floor.