Oh, Brother, I do not wish to speak of him any longer! He has dominated our lives for far too long. Let us discuss other things.
When do you return to town? I miss you dearly, and look forward to the holiday season with great anticipation.
Your loving sister,
Georgiana
It was clear Georgiana still felt the wound from Wickham's blow, but it was equally obvious she was determined to move on with her life as best she could. If she could look on Wickham with such equanimity, then so could Darcy.
Caroline Bingley had apparently taken Darcy's earlier words regarding the ball to heart. Not an evening passed without some discussion of the preparations she'd made. On the day in question, even Mr. Hurst escaped into the fields to hunt and get away from her shrill voice piercing the air as she yelled at some hapless servant.
Alas, the good weather did not last, and the clouds opened up shortly after noon. Darcy, Bingley, and Hurst tromped across the fields back to the house, where they were greeted by the shrieks of the lady demanding they walk through the servants' entry so as not to soil her freshly cleaned carpets. "And do not think of coming downstairs until you are clean!" she ordered.
After Darcy had dressed, he found himself still with time on his hands before the ball began. His fingers tapped the side of his leg for a minute, and then he left his room for the sanctuary of the library.
This proved to be an ill thought-out decision. This room, like so many others, held memories of Miss Elizabeth Bennet, and Darcy only made it through a few pages of his book before he snapped it shut in frustration. "This will not do!" He paced the length of the room, his scowl deepening with each pass. "I cannot continue to think of Miss Elizabeth; I will put her from my mind henceforth."
Darcy glanced at his watch one last time. Guests had begun arriving over half an hour ago, and he had purposely delayed his own entrance in order to avoid the Bennet family.
For Mrs. Bennet surely saw to it they were among the first to arrive.
He walked through the open doors, and all his good intentions were lost. Elizabeth Bennet stood not ten feet away. Her back was to him, and though Darcy told himself to turn away, to pretend he had not seen her, he could not.
She took his breath away. The delicate fabric of her ball gown revealed more of the lithe lines of her figure than he had previously seen, and the candlelight caught and reflected off the jewels in her hair.
Darcy approached her slowly, gauging his own reaction. Only when he was certain he could maintain his usual reserve did he speak. "Miss Elizabeth?"
She turned, and he wondered if perhaps he had overestimated his own control. Up close, he could see the smooth texture of her creamy skin, and he clenched a fist to keep himself from taking her hand to see if it felt as satiny as it looked.
"Yes, Mr. Darcy?"
He flushed at the question in her voice; how long had he stood without saying a word? "I trust the weather has not dampened your spirits this evening?"
He thought her smile was a little forced, but as he himself struggled to find enjoyment in balls, he did not wonder at it. "You will find, sir, that I rarely allow anything to interfere with my enjoyment."
He bowed and walked away to hide the emotions those words stirred in him. "You will find..."
Could this be a hint that she would welcome further attentions from me?
Darcy had thought himself immune to her charms, inured against them by the knowledge of her family connections. However, the idea that she would encourage his suit enthralled him.
His mood was made still better when Bingley told him in low tones that Wickham had opted not to attend the ball.
An evening spent in the company of Miss Elizabeth, without the aggravation brought by George Wickham. Excellent.
Duty kept Miss Bingley at the door during the first dance, greeting the late arrivals, and her absence allowed Darcy to wander the floor, mulling over the possibilities. There was nothing he could do... she was not... and her family. Just as he made the decision, he looked up and saw her lovely face, smiling at her partner with a certain amount of forbearance--and forbearance was required, for the stout gentleman made a horrible muddle of the dance.
Still, some strange beast rose up in his chest when he saw that smile directed at another man.
She should be smiling at me!
He took half a step toward them, but his sense of decorum held him in place.
What would you do, wrest Elizabeth from his arms?
He was surprised by the satisfaction that thought gave, and decided it might be best if he quit the ballroom for the card table.
However, he could not attend to his play, and rather than annoy his fellows and lose more money, he returned to the ballroom after only a few hands. He found Elizabeth easily, on the far side of the room with Charlotte Lucas, and he approached them, pulled to her side by his own desires.
He did not know what he planned to say to her, but after he had bowed to them, the words came to his lips naturally. "Miss Elizabeth, I pray you will grant me the pleasure of a dance. Are you available for the two next?"
She blinked, and her surprise gratified him. At least he had kept his weakness for her a secret from others, if not from himself.
"I am, sir," she answered finally.
"Then will you allow me to claim you for the set?"
"I will. Thank you, Mr. Darcy."
"No, Miss Elizabeth, thank you." He bowed again and retreated before he could say anything that would give away the depth of his attraction to her.
Regrettably, he paid no attention to where he walked, and he wandered across the path of Caroline Bingley. "And how are you enjoying the ball, Mr. Darcy?"
"Quite well, Miss Bingley. You have done an excellent job."
She preened, and Darcy could not help but think that in comparison to Elizabeth's refreshing simplicity, Miss Bingley's ensemble was fussy and overdone. "Thank you, sir. I confess I was not sure I could manage in the wilds of Hertfordshire. I imagined many a disaster in the last weeks."
"It is strange the fancies our minds can take if we do not regulate our thoughts with common sense."
She placed a hand on her chest and simpered up at him. "Oh sir, I fear you will find that my fancies are quite wild tonight. Why, I thought I saw you talking with Miss Eliza just now, but surely that cannot be."
He regarded Miss Bingley coolly, wondering how much he ought to tell her. "In fact, you did see me talking to Miss Elizabeth," he said at last. "She has done me the honor of agreeing to stand up with me for the two next."
Her lips pressed into a thin smile. "Ah, of course. Her fine eyes have drawn you in, I see."
"Miss Bingley, I would be glad to discuss this at another time, but I believe the dance is about to begin. If you will excuse me, I must collect my partner." Darcy left without waiting for a response, a rudeness he knew he would pay for later.
"Miss Elizabeth, I believe this is our dance. May I?" She took his outstretched hand without hesitation, and he led her onto the dance floor.
As he did so, he heard the whispers around them.
Let them wonder that I should choose to dance,
he thought, for once giving no care to the thoughts or attentions of others.
They will see a very well contented man.
Their position in the dance allowed them some time before the pattern reached them, and Darcy took advantage of those still moments to quietly admire his partner. She looked up the dance to where her sister danced with Bingley, a smile on her face. After some minutes, however, she turned to him.
"This dance is one of my favorites; I am afraid, though, that I do not often get the chance to dance it."
"I am glad you can do so now," he said, and then, not knowing what else to say, he was quiet once more.
Miss Elizabeth watched him for a few moments, a gleam in her intelligent eyes.
What is she thinking?
he wondered.
I do not know if I can manage our verbal parry and thrust in the middle of a dance floor.
Their turn in the dance came, and for a minute the steps kept them occupied. But if he thought the action would protect him from her satirical eye, he was mistaken. "It is
your
turn to say something now, Mr. Darcy.
I
talked about the dance, and
you
ought to make some sort of remark on the size of the room, or the number of couples."
He recognized the common forms of conversation on the dance floor, but he also heard the challenge in her voice.
She does not think I can move past those. I shall prove to her I am more than her match.
He smiled blandly and said, "I am glad to oblige you. Which of those subjects would please you more?"
She did not hide her amusement so well; her eyes sparkled with ready wit. "Very well. That reply will do for the present. Perhaps by and by I may observe that private balls are much pleasanter than public ones. But now we may be silent."
Darcy pressed his advantage. "Do you talk by rule then, while you are dancing?" he asked.
She tilted her head and pretended to consider. "Sometimes. One must speak a little, you know. It would look odd to be entirely silent for half an hour together, and yet for the advantage of
some
, conversation ought to be so arranged as that they may have the trouble of saying as little as possible."
Against his will, his lips quirked up and he had to swallow a laugh.
What a delight she is!
"Are you consulting your own feelings in the present case, or do you imagine you are gratifying mine?"
"Both, for I have always seen a great similarity in the turn of our minds. We are each of an unsocial, taciturn disposition, unwilling to speak, unless we expect to say something that will amaze the whole room, and be handed down to posterity with all the eclat of a proverb."
His lips quirked up briefly in a smile.
That last sounds more like Caroline Bingley than either Elizabeth or myself.
"This is no very striking resemblance of your own character, I am sure. How near it may be to
mine
, I cannot pretend to say.
You
think it a faithful portrait undoubtedly."
She shook her head slightly, and he watched, mesmerized, as loose curls danced about her face. In that moment, Darcy would have accepted any judgment of his character or person from Elizabeth, no matter how harsh or ridiculous. He was so taken by her appearance that he entirely missed her answer and had nothing to say in response.
Darcy's earlier words to Sir William had been honest. He had never seen the great appeal of dancing--until now. To be so close to Elizabeth, every moment taking her hand or feeling her pass behind him, was an almost unbearable pleasure.
At this moment, Elizabeth was perfection. Her every movement was gracefulness itself, her every smile pleasing to his eye. Her warmth invited camaraderie with the other couples on the floor and she charmed them all with her laugh, but none so much as him.
When they had gone back up the dance, Darcy realized with a start that he had been silent for several minutes. He pursed his lips slightly as he sought a topic of conversation that would be appropriate to the dance floor. "Do you and your sisters often walk to Meryton?" he finally asked, remembering the last time he had seen her.
"We do," she replied. "Our aunt enjoys our company, and as you can imagine, there is nothing in our small village to amuse my younger sisters." A curious light entered her eyes, and he realized what she was going to say a moment too late. "When you met us there the other day, we had just been forming a new acquaintance."
All of Darcy's happy thoughts of the evening vanished. He barely called back the violent accusations that sprung to his lips, and he compressed his mouth into a thin line. The effort of holding his tongue made him red in the face, but he would not expose his sister's folly, no matter how much he trusted Elizabeth Bennet.
Finally, he deemed himself master enough of his emotions to speak. "Mr. Wickham is blessed with such happy manners as may ensure his
making
friends," he said, a tinge of bitterness coloring his voice. "Whether he may be equally capable of
retaining
them is less certain." The reminder that Georgiana had dropped Wickham's acquaintance once she knew his character brought back a hint of warmth to his heart, which Elizabeth's next words dispersed entirely.
"He has been so unlucky as to lose
your
friendship, and in a manner which he is likely to suffer from all his life."
It did not take much thought to work out her meaning. Wickham had been spreading his old lies regarding the living.
But surely the truth will come out at some point,
he consoled himself.
Elizabeth will learn in the future that I am not so mean as to withhold help from a friend of my father's, even one as undeserving as Wickham.