Chapter Sixteen
Elizabeth was relieved that her uncle excused her from the receiving line at the assembly, for though her ankle was healed and she was wearing her finest evening gown, she required the company of Marianne to bolster her confidence.
“Elinor would likely tell you to allow his behavior to guide your own,” Marianne said as the two women made a circuit of the ballroom. It was still early; the guests were trickling in and the dancing had not yet begun, and so they were afforded a measure of privacy.
“I am sure you are right, but I would not find such advice useful in my situation,” Elizabeth said with a sigh.
“How do I separate his behavior from what he must really be thinking? We have agreed to give every proper appearance of courtship; I am left wondering if I have once again been duped by my own deceit.”
“Surely you are wiser than that, Lizzy. With the letters, you may have been moved by the words of love written on the page, for it was a difficult time in your life and your heart yearned for solace. Do not equate that with the present circumstances, for they are entirely different.”
“I suppose you are right, Marianne. I have grown far too content with my life to be influenced by anything but the deepest of affection.”
“And the man himself is here before you! You have the advantage there, for you are clever enough to understand his looks and his behavior, beyond the performance. And I think you were not performing to anybody when you danced in the gazebo.”
Elizabeth smiled at her stepsister. “That is true. Indeed, when I reflect upon the recollections of our time together, the moments most dear to me did not unfold before an audience.”
“Then you are perfectly capable of discerning what is real and what is not—and therefore Elinor’s advice may yet serve you well. Let his behavior, and what you can glean of his true sentiments, be your guide. Take heart, my friend.”
“You attribute your own wisdom to Elinor, but you are the confidante I have needed at such a moment, Marianne.”
“Then I have not suffered for naught. I wish now that I had spoken my heart sooner to Willoughby, and spared myself many months of pining.”
“Perhaps I shall become a conspirator of Mrs. Jennings’ and dedicate myself to finding you the same happiness, if I am to find mine with Mr. Darcy after all.”
“That is not funny, Lizzy! To my chagrin, she was not at all vexed by the spectacle of myself I made with Sir Sidney at the picnic, yesterday—she and Lady Denham have agreed that I might be the fair maiden who reforms him—have you ever heard anything worse? Only Mrs. Knightley is on my side, and says that if gentlemen are selfish enough to behave so very badly, they ought to take the trouble of reforming themselves, and spare us ladies the bother of it, for we have endured enough.”
Elizabeth chuckled. “I like Mrs. Knightley very well for such a bold opinion.”
“I like her, too, though I was not best pleased to hear that she and Mrs. Jennings and Lady Denham have all contrived a wager on who can make the most matches in Sanditon this summer.”
“You poor creature, however shall you bear the well wishes of your friends?”
“I heard my name,” Mrs. Knightley cried, hastening over to them while balancing three glasses of champagne in her hands. “Here, I brought these for us. Well, Miss Bennet, I commend you on your success in absolutely torturing Miss de Bourgh—and I daresay Mr. Darcy, too.”
“I must remind you, my little scheme with Mr. Darcy may lose its efficacy if Miss de Bough were to hear of it,” Elizabeth said, not yet ready for the pretense to be stripped away. One more night.
“You may be assured of my discretion. I will only say that I know of your plan and am still convinced of the affection between you and your faux beau. Either you are both excellent performers, or I shall soon be wishing you joy.”
Elizabeth sighed. That was certainly the crux of it, and she would soon have her answer. But first, she would have a night filled with every blissful moment of romance she could manage with Mr. Darcy, and whatever happened after, she knew it would be an evening she could look back on fondly.
When the guests of Sandpiper Cottage arrived, Georgiana rushed to join the three ladies in a flutter of golden silk and lace, and they lavished her with heartfelt praise.
Marianne was enchanted by the thin strands of lustrous pearls wound through Georgiana’s voluminous flaxen curls.
Mrs. Knightley, who bid them all address her as Emma, was eloquent in her effusions over the sparkling sheen of Georgiana’s flawlessly tailored gown.
Elizabeth regarded her friend of a mere fortnight as if Georgiana were her own sister, feeling tears prick her eyes at the sight of such joy radiating from the girl’s lovely countenance.
And then she glanced over and saw Mr. Darcy watching from afar, his gaze transfixed and a euphoric smile on his lips as he relished the sight of his sister so cherished. The man truly had the kindest heart.
And then he met her eye and his smile became resplendent. He gave a slight bow and then rested a hand over his heart as he stared at her. Elizabeth felt a rush of heat ripple through her body. And Anne de Bourgh was nowhere in sight.
Mr. Darcy might have come to speak with her, but he was approached by Sir Edward, and Elizabeth could not lament that her uncle thought so well of the man she loved. When she turned her attention back to her companions, Marianne had made an ally of rallying against Emma’s matchmaking wager.
“I cannot think my brother would approve, should you intend to include me in your efforts.”
“You appear to have things well in hand with your Mr. Marsh—you do not need me.”
“Oh, no, Emma! Mr. Marsh is just a friend. He is very interesting, that is all. He is more of a tutor than a suitor.”
Marianne laughed. “How cleverly put—you should tell that one to Mrs. Bevan!”
“I have given her my own little phrase, the faux beau,” Emma said with a sly glance at Elizabeth.
It occurred to Elizabeth that when she had protested her feelings for Mr. Darcy, not one person believed her, yet Georgiana’s dismissal of Mr. Marsh was instantly accepted. Still, her words had indeed rung true, for Georgiana seemed unbothered.
“But I have plans for your cousin,” Emma said. “I took your advice, Georgiana, and asked my husband to write to Colonel Campbell. He is in London, attending to some matters of business on Miss Fairfax’s behalf, and so we received a speedy reply. He is indeed acquainted with your cousin.”
“Perhaps he and his ward might wish to visit Sanditon?” Georgiana grinned at Emma.
“Oh, not you, too!” Marianne groaned. “Well, if it will prevent you from pushing the poor colonel at me, I suppose I shall not complain. But I am no heiress; this alone must keep me safe.”
Behind them, a gentleman cleared his throat.
Mr. Darcy had come to claim his partner for the opening set.
Beside him were Mr. Knightley, Mr. Marsh, and Colonel Fitzwilliam, who grinned at Marianne.
“Come, Miss Dashwood, we are not too tragically impoverished to look very fine dancing together. Better to get it over with, and then you will be quite safe from me.”
As they joined the dance, Mr. Darcy again smiled at Elizabeth. “I intend to astonish you, by being the first between ourselves to make a jest about the astonishingly good omen of being overheard speaking boorishly at an assembly.”
Elizabeth sputtered with laughter. “And I had intended to muse upon just how long your cousin is entitled to make japes amongst his friends about the sting of such a preposterous rejection.”
“I am more inclined to ponder what measure of time may be required before the reversal of such an ill opinion is made known to everybody.”
They spun with the other dancers, and Elizabeth took a moment to indulge in private elation at his flirting. When the movements of the dance brought them together again, she peered up at him with a mischievous grin. “And how long might such a transformation take? We have only a summer.”
“Oh, that is all the time in the world,” Mr. Darcy said breathlessly as they whirled again.
Elizabeth felt as if she were floating as his words washed over her. Perhaps it may be the truth; perhaps she did not have only this one final night of reveling in Mr. Darcy’s affection.
She forced away her doubts and recriminations of the past, and gave herself over to the sheer delight of dancing.
There was enough excitement in the throng of dancers around them, and even in the crowd of onlookers, that it was an effortless joy to become swept up in what was passing.
The music swelled, candlelight bathed the dancers in a warm glow, and everything was bliss.
Elizabeth danced with Mr. Marsh, the colonel, Sir Thomas, and Mr. Knightley. Mr. Darcy remained near her for those four sets, standing up with her friends and dancing as near to her as he could manage.
She did not often look around to ascertain if Miss de Bourgh was observing them, nor did she ever see Mr. Darcy do so.
They watched each other, smiling with their friends and yet feeling, for her part at least, as if they were the only two people in the room.
She was all laughter and elation, for it all felt so wonderfully genuine.
Elizabeth had run out of partners when it occurred to her that she had not seen the Bingleys yet. She began to wander the ballroom in search of them, and embraced her sister when she finally found her.
Jane giggled, staggering a little in surprise. “My goodness, Lizzy! You must be enjoying yourself, you are flushed and utterly lovely, but I can guess what put such a smile on your face. I saw you as Charles and I arrived, all eyes for a certain someone.”
“Oh, Jane,” Elizabeth cried, so rapturous that she was ready to confess the truth of it all to her sister. “I am in love with him and I believe he loves me, too.”