Chapter 7 #2
Darcy coughed. “Lady Catherine is very particular in her attentions,” he said.
“Most particular, sir,” Mr Collins agreed. “Her judgement is of the highest order, and her interest in all that concerns her dependents is constant and discerning. I have been honoured with her advice on many occasions, and have found it invariably correct.”
He paused, as if expecting some further response.
Darcy offered none beyond a slight inclination of the head.
“I would not presume to detain you,” Mr Collins went on, though he made no immediate move to withdraw, “yet I could not deny myself the satisfaction of expressing my respect to a gentleman so closely connected with my patroness. It is a circumstance which reflects the greatest credit upon all parties concerned.”
Darcy bowed again, the civility exact.
“You are very good,” he said. “And now, I beg you would excuse me.” Without further excuse, Darcy turned and strode away, for he felt that if he were forced to listen to any more of Mr Collin’s unique combination of self-congratulation and toadying, he might lose all self-control and shake the man.
“Oh, you are going,” Mr Collins said in surprise. “I trust, sir, that I shall have the honour of seeing you again during the evening,” he called after Darcy’s back. “It would afford me the greatest pleasure to begin an acquaintance founded upon such distinguished connections.”
Having made his escape, Darcy did not trouble himself to reply.
But while he would have gladly gone the entire evening without seeing Mr Collins again, it was not to be.
Not a quarter of an hour later, Darcy could no longer resist temptation.
He allowed himself to look about the crush for another glimpse of Elizabeth Bennet and found her as readily as though her presence was magnetic — with Mr Collins standing entirely too close to her.
That she was uncomfortable was obvious even at a glance.
Mr Collins seemed to be speaking to her with very marked attention, and her answers to her were short to the point of being curt.
Only a fool could have doubted that she wanted him to leave her alone at once, but unfortunately, if there were ever was such a fool, it must be that buffoon Collins.
Even as Darcy watched, it grew worse. Mr Collins had drawn nearer still, and spoke with an animation that appeared only to increase. Elizabeth did not look frightened, but she did look utterly fatigued.
The contrast between them was too apparent to be ignored.
Mr Collins’s determined efforts at gallantry stood in continual opposition to Elizabeth’s weary composure, and the lack of perception with which he pressed his attentions made the disparity more striking.
Darcy told himself it was none of his concern.
She had not asked for his intervention, and would likely not welcome it.
He had no claim on her, no right to interfere. And yet he could not look away.
Mr Collins leaned closer, saying something that made Elizabeth’s smile tighten almost imperceptibly. Only someone watching closely would have noticed.
Darcy was watching closely. He found himself moving before he had consciously decided to do so.
He reached them in mere instants. Mr Collins, who had been in the midst of speaking, paused at once, his attention diverted by the interruption.
“Miss Elizabeth Bennet,” Darcy said, bowing, “I believe the music is about to begin. May I have the honour of this dance?”
Elizabeth looked at him with obvious surprise. For a moment she did not answer, as if uncertain that she had heard him correctly.
Mr Collins, who looked no less astonished, stepped back at once.
“Ah, such truly gentlemanly behaviour. Indeed, I would expect nothing less from the nephew of Lady Catherine de Bourgh. Much as I shall miss the company of my fair cousin, for indeed I should have liked to dance with her myself, naturally I cannot resent losing the opportunity to one of such a family, and indeed I had not yet asked for the honour —”
“Thank you, Mr Darcy,” Elizabeth said abruptly. “Yes, let us dance.”
With that, Darcy offered his arm, and she accepted it. They took their places among the dancers without further remark. The set was already forming, and whatever explanation might have been offered was postponed by necessity.
Darcy was not insensible to the unexpected nature of his conduct.
He had not intended to distinguish her in such a way, nor had he any expectation, earlier in the evening, of seeking her as a partner.
The decision was made, and he did not regret it, though it hardly fit the principles he had resolved to maintain.
The distinctions which separated their situations remained as clear as before.
Nothing in her family’s behaviour had served to lessen them, and nothing in his own circumstances allowed him to overlook them.
That he should be drawn into offering such a marked attention was neither logical nor desirable.
Only, it had been impossible to watch her troubled by Collins and do nothing.
When the music began, he became aware that she was looking at him with something nearer curiosity than warmth. Darcy took his place opposite Elizabeth, conscious at once that the distinction he had made was not received with the appreciation he had anticipated.
At first, they moved through the figures in silence.
The form of the dance allowed for no speech, and the intervals between them passed without remark.
She moved with remarkable grace, and yet she did not seem to be enjoying herself as he would have expected so lively and energetic a woman to enjoy a dance.
When at last they stood opposite one another again, he felt he ought to say something, though no ready subject presented itself.
“You are enjoying the evening, I hope,” Darcy attempted.
Elizabeth met his look levelly. “It is very lively,” she replied. “There is no want of entertainment.”