Chapter 7 #3
The answer was civil, but no more than civil. They moved through the next figure, and the silence between them grew more pronounced. Other couples around them were laughing, talking easily.
When they came together again, Darcy spoke before he thought. “I see Mr Collins arrived with your party,” he remarked. “You have long been acquainted with him?”
She shook her head. “He is my cousin, but we had never met before a week ago. I believe Mr Collins introduced himself to your notice.”
Darcy could hardly say what he had thought of that to the man’s cousin. “He did,” he said. “My aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, is his patroness. He wished to assure me she was in good health.”
“That sounds like my cousin,” she said. For a moment, Darcy almost thought she would smile, but the expression was gone before it could fully cross her lips.
Another turn. Another silence. “The musicians are very accomplished,” he attempted.
“Yes,” she allowed. “Indeed, they are.”
Again, the reply closed rather than opened the subject.
Darcy felt her unusual restraint, and with it a degree of uncertainty he was not accustomed to experiencing.
He had expected her to be flattered by his notice, or at least to welcome his attentions.
It was all too apparent that she felt neither sentiment.
They moved through the next figure, and when they returned to their places, he spoke again, with less confidence in his success. “You have lately formed many new acquaintances in the neighbourhood.”
“We have,” she said. “When so many have arrived of late, it would be difficult not to do so.”
There was a pause. Her tone was calm, yet there was something in it that suggested more than the words conveyed.
Darcy regarded her more closely. “You do not seem disposed to speak of them with much satisfaction,” he said.
Elizabeth’s expression altered slightly. “On the contrary,” she replied, “I find some of them extremely agreeable.”
The emphasis was slight, but not without meaning. Darcy felt it, though he did not immediately understand it. “I am glad to hear it,” he said. “It is always desirable that one’s neighbours should recommend themselves.”
Darcy felt a flicker of frustration. He had asked her to dance to rescue her from Mr Collins, and instead found himself floundering worse than that gentleman ever had.
At least Collins did not appear to notice when he was unwelcome.
“Have I offended you in some way?” The question escaped before he could consider whether it was wise.
Elizabeth’s eyes met his with a directness that was almost startling. “Should you have reason to think so?”
“I cannot account for your manner otherwise.”
“Perhaps, Mr Darcy, my manner is simply my manner, and requires no particular accounting.”
They stood again in silence, and for the first time Darcy felt the full awkwardness of the situation. That he should have sought her out, and yet find himself unable to sustain the conversation, was not a circumstance he had anticipated.
Elizabeth Bennet, who charmed others as easily as she breathed, was only too obviously poorly disposed to him.
That she wished neither to please him nor to be pleased herself was impossible to overlook, and her steadiness made it impossible to mistake the distance she chose to maintain.
Darcy would have thought her still angry over their first meeting and the accidental insult he had given her, had she now so easily outdone him on that subject before.
When the set at last drew to a close, he bowed, and she returned it with equal formality.
“I thank you for the dance,” she said.
“The obligation is mine,” he replied.
Before Darcy could leave the set, a sudden movement drew the attention of the room.
Lydia Bennet passed through the dancers with rapid steps, laughing without restraint, an officer’s sword held loosely in her grasp.
The gentleman in question followed in equal haste, his attempts to recover it producing a great deal of public amusement and very little success.
“Miss Lydia, you must return it,” he said, reaching after her.
“You shall have it when you catch me,” she replied, turning just out of his reach.
To Darcy’s astonished disgust, Mrs Bennet had turned towards the source of the commotion and clearly observed her child, but made no motion to check her. Almost as soon as he had the thought, Elizabeth had hurried to her sister.
“You must give it back,” she said, in a tone that admitted no argument.
Lydia yielded the sword with reluctance, her spirits undiminished.
Elizabeth did not remain. “I must beg your pardon,” she said. “My sister and I must refresh ourselves.”
She hurried her sister off the dance floor without further explanation, and Darcy watched them go.
The disturbance soon passed, and the next dance began.
Yet even as Darcy told himself that the shocking scene was another reason no gentleman ought to willingly associate himself with the name of Bennet, he could not help thinking that Elizabeth’s judgement and good sense was all the more impressive in a family otherwise so lacking in those qualities.