Chapter Thirteen A Ball of Excellent ution Part II #4
Mr Bennet examined the hand she had placed against his sleeve. “Then by all means preserve him. Shocks are rare improvements and should not be wasted.”
Charlotte led Mr Collins into a cluster of chairs.
He sat beside her instead of seeking another dance with Elizabeth, and she stayed close while his hands gradually ceased trembling.
Their conversation could not be heard, but Mr Collins spoke without expansive gestures and Charlotte listened without correcting him.
For the first time since his arrival, he was interested in a woman’s presence rather than her availability.
The punch bowl returned under Fletcher’s supervision and was placed on a sideboard. It had been polished and instructed to remain still. Every few minutes it attempted to roll towards Elizabeth until Fletcher returned it to its original position.
Mr Darcy turned to her when the next set ended.
“Will you walk with me?”
“This is a ball, sir. Where could we walk with privacy?”
“Only to the far side of the ballroom. Please.”
He offered his arm and Elizabeth accepted it. They moved around the dancers while every curious eye received the reassuring picture of a gentleman accompanying a lady through a crowded room. Mr Darcy maintained a proper distance, though she felt tension through the sleeve between them.
Mr Darcy guided her around two couples and stopped near the windows, far enough from the music to speak without being overheard by humans.
“I should never have permitted you to enter that room,” he said.
Elizabeth withdrew her hand from his arm. “You did not permit me. I chose.”
His face tightened. “The distinction offers little comfort when I imagine what might have happened.”
“Then do not confuse your discomfort with my incapacity. You cannot claim to respect my consent when I choose to help you and then treat the choice as invalid because it frightened you,” she reasoned.
“I felt him exert compulsion. I felt the bond break when Collins killed him, but until I reached the door, I did not know whether you were alive.”
Mr Darcy’s voice faltered on the final word.
Elizabeth had attributed much of his authority to pride, habit, and the certainty of a man accustomed to obedience.
Now she recognised fear inside it. He had not wanted command for the pleasure of directing her.
He had wanted it because command promised an impossible world in which nothing could reach her before he did.
She softened without surrendering her argument. “Partnership cannot exist without risk.”
His eyes settled on her face. “Partnership?”
“If we are to confront dangers which involve both of us,” she tilted her head upwards to look squarely in his eyes, “you cannot make every decision alone.”
“Does this mean you intend to confront further dangers with me?”
“It means I reserve the right to decide which dangers deserve confrontation.”
“That is not reassuring.”
“It was not intended to be.”
The musicians ended the set. Couples separated, servants moved through the room with trays and Miss Bingley began arranging the final dance before supper.
Mr Darcy extended his hand. “Will you dance with me?”
Elizabeth paused to consider. “Mr Darcy, my father is very good at arithmetic. You do realise he is constantly counting, do you not?”
“I am aware, Miss Elizabeth. Bingley is aware, as well. Nevertheless, will you dance with me?”
Elizabeth placed her fingers in his.
They joined the forming set. Mr Wickham’s absence had already disappeared under music, conversation, and the county’s greater interest in supper. Mrs Bennet watched Mr Bingley return to Jane, Lydia complained to Mr Denny, and Mr Bennet observed far more than he intended to discuss in public.
Mr Darcy guided Elizabeth through the first figure. He breathed because she had once mocked him for forgetting, though the rhythm was too deliberate to be natural.
“You truly wish to become human, do you not? Mr Wickham said that every master vampire knows it.”
His hand tightened around hers before releasing her for the turn. “Yes.”
Elizabeth crossed the line, circled another dancer, and returned. “And you will never ask me for what you require.”
“Never.”
“Even if I wished to consider it?”
Mr Darcy missed half a step. No one else noticed, but Elizabeth felt the error through their joined hands.
“You do not wish to consider it.”
“That was not my question, though.”
He guided her into the next figure, his composure recovered everywhere except his eyes. “I will not purchase my humanity with yours.”
“You describe the exchange as though only one person has the right to decide its value, Mr Darcy.”
“You would become what you called a monster yesterday.”
“I also said that I was not afraid of you,” she pointed out.
“Those statements are not contradictory.”
“No.” Elizabeth allowed the dance to separate them again. “That is what makes the matter difficult.”
When they came together, Mr Darcy did not pursue the possibility or retreat from it. He simply held her hand with care, his refusal remaining between them more powerfully than persuasion could have done.
They passed the sideboard during the final turn.
The punch bowl tilted towards Elizabeth. Fletcher, stationed nearby, moved to correct it, but the bowl rolled beyond his reach, struck the leg of the sideboard, and displaced a tray of glasses.
Crystal met the floor in a magnificent succession of crashes.
The musicians stopped. The dancers halted. Miss Bingley closed her eyes, while Mrs Bennet turned to the servants in delighted horror.
The county concluded that Netherfield’s household had failed at last. It never learned that Mr Collins had saved them all.