Chapter 5 #2
“It was no argument. That,” Elizabeth said crisply, “was a shock.”
Kitty leaned in as if this were delicious. “A shock?”
“The merest sting. From the carpet or the air. Something in the room.” Elizabeth sipped her punch, grateful for the cool. “Mr Darcy must drag his feet. Or his valet failed to air his coats properly. Static clings to neglect, you know.”
Jane pressed her lips together, fighting a smile.
Charlotte appeared at Elizabeth’s elbow, folding herself neatly into the circle. “Is that the latest theory? A poorly-aired coat?”
“It is the only rational one. And what do you mean, ‘latest theory?’ Half the room cannot already be talking of it.”
Charlotte’s eyes glimmered. “I assure you, they are. Mama says you took against him for something, and you say it was some sort of shock. I think it far more romantic than that—a spark.”
“Romantic?” Elizabeth nearly laughed. “Being jumped like a cat startled from a nap? I assure you, Charlotte, nothing in it resembled romance.”
“Still,” Charlotte said, “it is unusual.”
“So is Mr Darcy,” Kitty chimed in. “He stared at you a great deal.”
“He did not.”
As if summoned by the remark, she caught sight of him across the room.
Mr Darcy stood a little apart from Mr Bingley, half in shadow, as if studying a sconce with the grave attention of a man judging a work of Greek statuary.
He looked every inch a gentleman who wished to be left alone, and Elizabeth was more than inclined to oblige him.
“Lizzy,” Mama urged, fluttering her fan, “pray tell me you admired him. I must know—”
“Mama, I have nothing to tell.”
“But you did speak to him!”
“We exchanged the customary phrases.”
“And then you startled so!” Kitty said.
“Because of a shock,” Elizabeth repeated. “If a gentleman’s garments are so poorly brushed that he carries half the carpet with him, the blame cannot lie with me.”
Charlotte hid a laugh behind her cup. “Poorly brushed garments. That is your final answer?”
“It is the only answer that preserves my dignity. The alternative is that Mr Darcy’s manners are so ill-assembled that even a touch from him sets one on edge. And that, I believe, is entirely possible.”
Elizabeth glanced again toward the far side of the room—and froze.
Mr Darcy had turned his head. He was not studying the sconce.
He was looking directly at her.
And she remembered, all too late, that she had spoken the last sentence aloud.
His posture altered—not a step, barely a breath, but something in the angle of his shoulders changed. A brief tightening, as though a string had drawn him upright. Then he moved away from the column and into the deeper crowd, disappearing behind a line of dancers.
The heat scalded her cheeks again, and not from any spark.
“Oh, Lizzy,” Charlotte murmured, “he heard you.”
“I know,” Elizabeth muttered. “And now I shall certainly never meet that great dog of his.”
Lydia burst through the front hall first, laughing as she shook the night air from her sleeves. “I danced every set, every single one. Wally Purvis said he had never seen such spirit!”
Kitty followed at her heels, nearly colliding with Jane as she called, “And Jane danced twice with Mr Bingley! Twice! Mama was fit to swoon over it!”
Mama was, indeed, swooning. She swept in behind them, breathless and triumphant, her ribbons askew from the crush of the carriage. “Jane, my darling girl, you were perfection. Your papa must hear of it immediately—Mr Bennet! We have had the most delightful evening—”
Jane tried to smooth her gown, still glowing from the dancing. Elizabeth stepped aside to untangle her cloak from Kitty’s elbow, but the hallway was too crowded, too noisy, everyone talking at once.
Papa looked up from his chair as his family descended upon him. “Well,” he said, dryly surveying the flushed faces and swirling gowns, “I see the Meryton Assembly retains its reputation for noise.”
Mama clutched at her heart. “You have no notion of it, Mr Bennet. Jane was the toast of the evening! Mr Bingley could scarcely remove his eyes from her. Did you not hear me? They danced twice, and everyone observed how exceedingly pleased he was.”
“Was he, now?” Papa mumbled.
Jane coloured. “He was very obliging, Papa.”
Lydia spun once in the middle of the room to make her point. “And I danced every single dance, Papa—every one! Wally Purvis said—”
Kitty interrupted, “Lizzy would have danced nearly all of them, too, if—”
Elizabeth shot her a look, but Kitty’s excitement outran Elizabeth’s caution.
“—if she had not been fighting with Mr Darcy.”
Papa’s gaze sharpened over the edge of his book. “Fighting? With someone named ‘Mr Darcy,’ you say?”
Elizabeth closed her eyes briefly. “Kitty is exaggerating.”
Lydia giggled. “Not at all, Papa. She quite sprang away from him. Like he slapped her, but he only touched her. Half the room saw.”
Papa’s brows lifted. “Touched my Lizzy, did he? Well, well, that is, indeed, something worth fighting over.”
Elizabeth drew herself up, coat still unfastened. “I did not fight with Mr Darcy.”
Papa set the book aside. “And yet you sprang?”
“I started,” Elizabeth replied. “There is a difference.”
Kitty popped up behind her. “Mrs Long says she believes Mr Darcy offended you. Mrs Long’s cousin says you offended him. I told her you never offend anyone unless you wish to, and then you take care to do it properly so it could not possibly—”
“It was nothing. A spark. The rooms were close, the air dry. The dancers collided with us, and—”
“And Lizzy flew back as though she had been pricked with a pin,” Lydia finished.
Papa regarded Elizabeth with a flicker of seriousness. “You are unhurt?”
“Hurt! No, not at all,” she said. “Why did everyone make such a fuss over such a little thing? It was nothing.”
He nodded, the brief shadow of concern passing. Then his expression shifted into the familiar dry amusement. “I see. So, Mr Darcy’s touch is enough to send young ladies leaping about the room. A powerful man indeed.”
Mama pressed a hand to her cheek. “Oh, Mr Bennet, do not tease! Lizzy would never leap unless she had good reason. Though I must say,” she added, turning suddenly toward Elizabeth, “you might have handled the matter with a little more grace, my dear. Mr Darcy is a man of consequence, and it does no harm to appear agreeable.”
Elizabeth opened her mouth, but Kitty got there first.
“She was agreeable, Mama. And then she said—”
“Kitty,” Elizabeth warned.
Kitty ignored her entirely. “—she said Mr Darcy must drag his feet, or else his valet forgot to brush his coat, because the spark—”
Mama gasped and clapped a hand over her heart. “Lizzy Bennet! You said that?”
“Not to him,” Elizabeth muttered.
Jane raised a hand to conceal a smile. Lydia gave a delighted squeal and spun again.
“I should like to see his face if he heard that,” Lydia declared. “He is as tall as a church steeple and twice as solemn.”
Elizabeth felt heat rise to her temples. “Lydia, pray stop.”
“Oh, let her have her merriment,” Papa said. “A household must take its entertainment where it may. If Mr Darcy cannot bear a spark—or a remark—he is hardly fit for a country assembly.”
Mama fluttered. “Oh, Mr Bennet, you do not understand. If Mr Darcy is Mr Bingley’s intimate friend, then any slight, any offence—real or imagined—might influence Mr Bingley’s opinion of Jane. Lizzy, my love, tell me you were perfectly civil.”
Elizabeth drew a slow breath. “I said nothing uncivil, Mama. And the rest… was said in jest.”
Mama squinted at her. “A jest that half the room may repeat.”
Elizabeth winced.
Papa chuckled. “Then I expect Mr Darcy will recover admirably. He is like enough a sturdy fellow. A good night’s rest may restore him.”
Kitty flopped onto the nearest chair. “Well, I think he deserved it. He stared at Lizzy so dreadfully, like he was trying to decide whether she was peculiar.”
Elizabeth felt a prickle at the back of her neck. She had noticed that odd look of his, too.
Mama put a hand to her mouth. “He stared? Stared? Oh, Jane, do you hear? Mr Darcy took notice of Lizzy. This bodes exceedingly well. If Bingley admires Jane and Darcy admires Lizzy—oh, Mr Bennet, do say you are pleased!”
Papa stretched his legs toward the fire. “I will be pleased when the house regains its quiet.”
Elizabeth narrowed her eyes at him, half-amused despite herself. “You might show a morsel of interest in your daughters’ happiness, Papa.”
He tilted his head. “My dear, your happiness is my constant concern. And if dancing twice with Mr Bingley makes Jane happy, I applaud it. If leaping away from Mr Darcy makes you happy, I applaud that as well.”
Elizabeth huffed a laugh. “I did not leap.”
“According to Lydia,” Papa said, “you took flight.”
Lydia bobbed in agreement. “Like a startled cat.”
Elizabeth groaned into her hands. “I shall never hear the end of this.”
“Of course not,” Papa said cheerfully. “That is the delight of daughters.”
Mama waved him off. “Enough, Lizzy. You must tell me—did Mr Darcy show the least inclination toward you? Any admiration at all?”
Elizabeth shook her head. “None worth mentioning, Mama.”
Not quite true, but she would sooner swallow her glove than admit it.
The faint sting at her wrist pulsed again as she unfastened her cloak. She rubbed at it absently, annoyed it had not yet faded.
Nothing but a spark. A spark and a misunderstanding.
And a very tall man she had no wish ever to encounter again.