Chapter 21 #2
“My future happiness is still too uncertain for that,” he assured her. Then as they came together again in the set, Darcy’s expression softened and he lowered his voice. “I would wish to remain by your side all night whether you required protection or not.”
Elizabeth's heart skipped a beat. Not because the declaration was dramatic. Quite the reverse. His assertion was simple; almost shy, which made it far more compelling.
“It is unfair to make me blush in the middle of the dance, Mr Darcy.”
He laughed. “I shall strive to time my unfairness more thoughtfully.”
Beyond them, Lady Barry and the others concerned watched with profound gratification. Sir Rupert simmered with rage, and Miss Barry miserably experienced complete social extinction in Ramsgate.
Mr Bingley first noticed Anne de Bourgh because he did not, at first, recognise her.
This was not entirely his fault. Anne had fallen under Lydia Bennet’s recent campaign of fashionable reform and was completely altered in appearance, exposing the angelic beauty always carefully hidden by her mother to others.
Gone were the intolerably outdated garments Lady Catherine favoured…garments that seemed to be designed by someone who disapproved of both youth and bosoms. Gone was the unflattering hairstyle that Anne had been obliged to endure.
Instead, Anne wore one of Priscilla’s ballgowns, altered slightly.
The effect was both astonishing and effective.
The gown was graceful, with a finer silhouette and lighter sleeves that no longer appeared to be devouring the wearer.
Her hair was arranged more softly. The effect suited her, and her green eyes, beautifully.
Liberated from layers of maternal subversion, Anne revealed what was always present. A delicate, serene loveliness. Not unlike Jane Bennet. The resemblance struck Bingley with the force of a blow to the head.
“Good Lord,” he reached out and grasped Darcy’s sleeve. “Who is that?”
Mr Darcy followed his gaze. “Oh no.”
“Heavens.” Bingley was transfixed. “Is that Miss de Bourgh? She looks so different! Why has no one informed me that she is so lovely?”
Darcy sighed in resignation. “You were preoccupied.”
“Apparently in the wrong direction. And I thought you my friend, Darce.”
Before Darcy could object, Bingley was already moving. Anne was seated near her uncle and watching the dance with interest.
Bingley approached with the radiant earnest smile of a man discovering a new purpose.
He bowed. “Miss de Bourgh.”
“Mr Bingley.” Her countenance brightened.
He smiled. “I hope I am not too bold in requesting the honour of this dance? Or perhaps the next?”
Anne blinked in surprise, then hesitated. “Oh.”
“I apologise if I have presumed...” Bingley’s face fell.
“No. It is just that…” She appeared mortified. “I do not dance.”
This was not the reply Mr Bingley expected. “You do not dance?”
“My mother never permitted me to learn.” Anne shook her head.
“Never?” Bingley looked horrified.
Anne’s face reddened. “She was persuaded that my health would not support the exercise.”
Bingley sat down at once beside her, entirely abandoning the possibility of dancing. “This is an absolute crime. I hesitate to criticise your mother but…”
“By all means, criticise my mother all you like.” Anne looked amused. “It is how I get by.”
“May I ask…do you wish to learn?”
“Yes.” Anne did not hesitate. “I think I should like it very much.”
Bingley gazed at her, his brow furrowed in concern. “But are you sure that it will not strain your health?”
“I see no reason why it ought,” said Anne. “I believe that it suited my mother for me to be too weak to learn anything. I fear my education is quite incomplete. My family is going to help me.”
Something about the quiet honesty of her admission struck Bingley to his core.
“Then you absolutely must learn,” he insisted.
Anne giggled. “Must I?”
“Yes!” he exclaimed, taking her hand quite forwardly. “You must learn everything you ever wished to learn. It is settled.”
“It is?”
“May I call upon you at Darcy Cottage?” he begged.
Anne blinked in surprise.
“I shall instruct you myself, if you will allow me the privilege.”
Anne stared. No one had ever offered to teach her anything. “You shall?”
“Most happily.” Mr Bingley turned beet red and coughed. “If that would please you, Miss de Bourgh.”
And thus the matter was decided. The rest of the evening found them seated companionably near the wall, entirely absorbed in one another. Bingley fetched her lemonade...then her shawl…then a cushion… then he reconsidered the cushion and brought a superior one.
Anne accepted all of this attention in wonder.
She thought that men would only be interested in her fortune, her estate.
But Mr Bingley seemed interested in everything about her.
While he wished to aid her in every endeavour she wished to embark upon, he was also considerate enough to be worried for her health and to think of everything that might make her become profoundly ill from her own efforts.
She knew that she was unworldly. She knew that she was too sheltered to recognise a dangerous man if she met one.
But there was something in Mr Bingley’s sincerity that whispered to her that he was safe.
That he was entirely unfeigned, authentic, and kind.
Across the room, Jane watched all this with a mixture of amusement and relief. Elizabeth joined her.
“Who would have believed it?” Elizabeth said.
At that moment, Bingley was offering Anne a second biscuit from the refreshment table, which she accepted with calm gratitude.
“He has found someone who enjoys being cared for.” Jane smiled. “I hope it makes both of them very happy.”