Chapter 1.7
When the music started, both Elizabeth and Darcy took their places with their partners, exchanging glances and smiles—gestures that did not escape either Miss Bingley or Mr Wickham.
“I must say, Mr Darcy, I was quite surprised to see you dancing the first set with Eliza Bennet. I had no idea your admiration for her fine eyes went to such lengths.” He merely looked at his dance partner and made no answer.
“When I heard you saying one night, ‘She, a beauty? I should as soon call her mother a wit,’ I never should have imagined you would suffer such a change of opinion.”
Still, Darcy made no answer. He allowed her to speak as he followed Elizabeth with his eyes. Miss Bingley easily noticed the direction of his gaze and, enlightened by a sudden idea, began a new topic.
“I see many other gentlemen seem to be enchanted by her fine eyes and other charms, particularly the officers, and she seems to enjoy Mr Wickham’s company very well indeed. These country girls so easily fall for a uniform and the dashing man who wears it.”
Darcy tried to compose himself before answering.
“Miss Bingley, I should be very grateful if you would change the topic of conversation. I shall not discuss Miss Elizabeth Bennet with you or any other person. However, I am at your disposal to spend the remaining time in pleasant conversation about any other subject you choose.”
His voice was calm, but a brief glance at his expression convinced Miss Bingley not to continue, and in order to show her disapproval, she said not another word for the entire length of the set.
Though Elizabeth did not find Mr Wickham’s company as pleasing as she had previously, she still could enjoy a dance with him.
He was skilful and easily conducted a diverting conversation.
However, she frequently looked in Mr Darcy’s direction, occasionally meeting his gaze and observing his stoic attention to Miss Bingley’s conversation.
“You seem to be deep in thought, Miss Elizabeth.”
“I beg you will excuse me, Mr Wickham. It was very impolite on my part.”
“I was surprised to see you stand up with Mr Darcy for the first set! If I remember correctly, you told me that Mr Collins had secured it.”
“Indeed he had, Mr Wickham, but my cousin had a sudden indisposition, and Mr Darcy was kind enough to request the set in his stead.”
“Yes…Mr Darcy is all politeness.”
Elizabeth changed the topic and began an easy conversation about the ball and the number of couples. From time to time, she looked into Wickham’s face, only to glimpse an expression that gave her some alarm. She was relieved that the dance was approaching its end.
“To be honest, Miss Elizabeth, I can understand your feelings. Darcy is a very important man and knows how to please a lady once he has decided in her favour.”
“Mr Wickham, I do not have the pleasure of understanding you.”
“I am sure you do. You are an intelligent lady.”
“Thank you for the compliment, but it is undeserved, I assure you.”
“It usually takes him some time to decide as his pride always takes the lead, and as far as I know, he chooses only women of remarkable beauty with the highest position in society.” Taking advantage of a movement in the dance, he leaned towards her, whispering, “Did you hear of Miss Alton?”
“No, Mr Wickham, I did not, and I do not think it is proper to—”
“Miss Alton, the famous actress…you must have heard of her. She has been the most popular of her generation. All the royal courts of Europe were competing to have her as a guest. She is now married and retired, but she and Darcy had a…very interesting relationship some years ago—not to mention that her husband is an earl many years older than herself and a close acquaintance of the late Mr Darcy. Very convenient, is it not?”
The music ended, and Elizabeth endeavoured to control herself in the face of Mr Wickham’s impertinence.
Talking of such things with a lady was unthinkable for a gentleman, but he seemed at ease as he smiled intimately at her.
Her indignation and anger were roused to such an extent that she was tempted to apply her hand sharply to his smirking face.
Charmingly, Mr Wickham took her hand and led her from the floor. “I hope I have not offended you; ’twas only a harmless comment. We are good friends, are we not, Miss Elizabeth?”
She stopped in the middle of the room and turned to him.
“Mr Wickham, I should hardly call an acquaintance of six days a friendship. If I led you to believe I should welcome such a discussion, it is entirely my fault, and I apologise for it. However, no friendship—not even that of a lifetime—will ever persuade me to talk about the private life of either Mr Darcy or any other ladies and gentlemen. And now, if you will excuse me, sir, I need some fresh air and solitude.”
She departed from him at a rapid pace and went onto the balcony, but Mr Wickham quickly followed. “Sir, I thought I made it clear to you—”
“Miss Elizabeth, just one moment, please. I honestly do not want you to be upset with me. I just wanted you to know the truth. And speaking of the truth…I do hope you know that Mr Darcy will marry no one but his cousin Miss de Bourgh. It is a match arranged when they were infants.”
The shock Elizabeth felt stopped her breathing.
She stared at him, her eyes wide, unable to move.
Taking advantage of her stillness, he took both of her hands in his and put long and repeated kisses on the backs of her gloved hands.
She recovered and removed her hands quickly, censuring him in a steely voice. “Mr Wickham, you forget yourself!”
She returned to the ballroom, leaving Mr Wickham alone on the balcony. She immediately saw Mr Darcy coming directly towards her, his expression anxious and his eyes asking a silent question.
He obviously intended to address her, but she could not bear to speak with him at that moment; in great haste, she turned and left the room.
Once she was out of sight, she began to run, not stopping until she reached the library.
She closed the door behind her and sat down heavily on the sofa.
She was afraid she would start to cry, and she could not let that happen.
She would give neither Mr Darcy nor Mr Wickham that satisfaction.
Steps could be heard in the hall, and even before the door opened, she knew who it was.
“Miss Elizabeth…are you unwell?”
Darcy moved closer as the room was lit only by the moonlight through the curtains, and he could barely see her. His worried gaze fell upon her sitting on the sofa, her eyes downcast and her hands trembling.
“Good God, what is the matter? Miss Bennet, what has happened? What did Wickham do to you?”
“Mr Darcy, I have had more than enough of both you and Mr Wickham. If you would be so kind, I should like to be alone for a while. Your company is neither needed nor desired, sir, but thank you for your concern.”
Darcy was shocked by her harsh words. He first took offense and was about to leave her but immediately changed his mind.
He had been worriedly watching her exchange with Wickham on the dance floor, but he had not seriously determined that something was amiss until Elizabeth’s escape to the balcony.
He had decided to go to her immediately, but Sir William Lucas had detained him for some minutes.
Upon seeing Elizabeth’s hasty exit from the balcony—followed by Wickham’s smug departure—he could wait no longer.
He left Sir William in the middle of a florid sentence and followed her, sure that Wickham had hurt her in some way.
Now he was here with her, and she was close to tears and undoubtedly upset with him. What could that devil have told her?
He moved closer and knelt near the sofa.
“Miss Elizabeth, I shall leave you alone if that is your desire, and if I have done anything to offend you, I shall accept my penance, but please, tell me whether Mr Wickham did or said anything to you. Do not allow him to distress you; I beg you, Elizabeth.”
She finally lifted her eyes and met his. She was not crying, but her pain was evident. In an icy tone, she censured him. “Mr Darcy, I should be most grateful if you would not use familiarities in your address to me.”
He stared at her, realising what he had said, and then quickly rose to his feet.
“I am sorry, Miss Elizabeth; I should not have addressed you in such a way, and I beg your forgiveness. My only excuse is my concern for you.”
“You must not concern yourself about me, Mr Darcy. I am not your sister. There is no need for you to protect me.” She knew her words would pain him, but she wanted him to suffer.
She turned to him and continued, “And if you were the respectable gentleman you pretend to be, you would not act in such a manner towards me, knowing full well that you are soon to marry Miss de Bourgh. But perhaps you consider all of us of so little consequence that we do not deserve to be treated with respect by such an important person as yourself.”
Her eyes were filled with rage, and she held his incredulous gaze for a few moments, hoping that she could transmit to him all of her outrage.
Darcy, however, merely breathed deeply, closed his eyes, and then opened them with relief, his countenance suddenly more serene.
So that is why she is so angry; Thank God she is not hurt!
He could see her suffering, but he could not help but smile at her, increasing her anger as she turned her back to him.
“I see Mr Wickham continues to favour you with stories about me. However, I had the pleasure of hearing you say only yesterday that you would follow my advice about searching for proofs and evidence of anything he might say.” She glanced towards him briefly and then averted her eyes.