Page 22 of Colour My World (The Bennet Sister Variations #3)

The moment Mr Darcy strode away, the air shifted. A cut. A deliberate, public slight.

Heat, quick and sharp, crawled up her neck. Murmurs, thin and pointed, spread like ripples through a still pond. Women leant towards one another, whispering behind gloved hands; gentlemen raised eyebrows and exchanged glances.

Elizabeth did not move. She felt eyes upon her, but she offered them nothing.

Shock came first. Then the flush of humiliation. But still she did not move. Let them look—

Something was different. The room, once full of hues and ripples of emotion, had dulled. Or had I snuffed it out, like a candle? Elizabeth blinked, but the aires remained muted. For the first time in years, the world was colourless.

“Lizzy.” She heard what she thought was Jane’s voice, but the buzzing hum of the affront muddled her thoughts.

“Well, I never!” Mrs Long’s voice cut across the room like a whetted blade. “To gasp at a lady as though she were a spectre and then flee! Never have I witnessed such rudeness in all my years.”

Mrs Bennet’s indignation flared. “It is a public insult. And wholly undeserved! Why, my Lizzy is as accomplished as any lady here!”

“More accomplished,” Miss Goulding said at once.

Mrs Bennet raised her voice. “If a gentleman cannot behave properly, he ought not attend an assembly. How dare he insult my daughter!”

Mrs Phillips sniffed. “Mark my words, he is no true gentleman. He may have ten thousand a year, but what use is it when he has not one ounce of manners?”

A growing chorus of agreement swelled around them. Mr Darcy has offended the entire room, not merely me.

Mr Bingley hesitated, his lips parted, struggling for words. I would think him a trout if my vanity had not been so wounded.

Elizabeth glanced at Jane. Her lips were pulled tight. Her aire burned red.

“Your friend has insulted my sister before all of Meryton, sir.” Even in her rage, her voice remained even. She did not fool Elizabeth. Jane is livid!

Mr Bingley blinked. “I—what? Surely, there has been some misunderstanding.”

“Oh, no misunderstanding, Mr Bingley,” Mrs Long replied. “He fled as though Miss Elizabeth sprouted fangs and claws.”

“I do not understand. Darcy is a gentleman. His honour would never allow him—”

“Honour?” Mrs Bennet interrupted. “He has humiliated my daughter. In public! If that is what gentlemen of the first circle consider civilized behaviour, you all may remain in Town!”

Bingley said, “Miss Elizabeth, I—Darcy is not—”

“He is not a gentleman,” Mrs Philips snapped. “And I pity you, Mr Bingley, to have such poor taste in friends.”

The barb struck, and Mr Bingley visibly recoiled. “I-I shall speak with him.”

Jane offered a tight smile. “Please do.” Her aire burned crimson.

* * *

From her vantage point, Caroline Bingley observed the rising spectacle with quiet satisfaction. Her sister, on the other hand, looked visibly worried.

“She must have startled the poor man.” Caroline made sure her voice carried just enough for those nearby to hear.

Louisa seized her arm. “Lower your voice, for heaven’s sake.”

“Why? Did you not see Mr Darcy’s face? The shock? But one must admit, she is rather…unusual.”

Louisa lifted her chin and hurried off.

A young lady hovered near, clearly listening. Caroline turned slightly.

“Miss Bingley, is it not?” the girl asked.

“Indeed,” Caroline said. “And you are—?”

“Miss Harrington. I am staying with my aunt, Mrs Long, at Purvis Lodge.”

Caroline smiled at Miss Harrington, the seeds of a scandal, like coins in her purse. “Oh?”

Miss Harrington’s eyes glittered with excitement. “Well, it is only whispers, of course, but some say Miss Elizabeth sees spirits.”

Caroline gasped, then pressed a hand to her chest. “Spirits?”

Miss Harrington nodded solemnly. “And worse. It is said she has…visions. That she speaks of colours that are not there.”

Caroline tapped her fan against her shoulder. “How very interesting.”

“Of course,” Miss Harrington added quickly, “I do not believe such things, but, well…” She glanced towards Miss Elizabeth across the hall.

Caroline did not look away. “Indeed.”

“One wonders, truly, what Miss Elizabeth is hiding.”

* * *

Though the assembly had settled from the commotion, Bennet had no patience for further spectacle. He cornered Mr Bingley near the entrance.

“Sir,” he began, “I have ignored much over the years, but I shall not tolerate disrespect towards my daughters. If your friend has some moral objection to good manners, you may inform him I have no reservations about refreshing his outlook.”

“I assure you, Mr Bennet, I shall speak to him. Darcy is not—he would never mean offense.”

“Then let us call him something more fitting, shall we? Thoughtless. Unfeeling. Ill-bred. Any one will serve.”

“I…I apologize for any slight Miss Elizabeth has suffered.”

Bennet studied him for a long moment. “I believe you, sir. Let us hope you still do when, and not if, your friend repeats the exercise.”

* * *

The day following the assembly, Lady Lucas and Charlotte called. They spoke warmly of the ball, praising Meryton’s good company and Mr Bingley’s affable nature. But the real subject of interest, the one on everyone’s lips, was the public slight of Elizabeth.

As Mrs Bennet led their guests into the drawing room, cups of tea soon in hand, the conversation naturally turned to the events of the previous evening.

Charlotte, ever the pragmatist, addressed Jane first. “Jane, you were much admired last night. Mr Bingley scarcely left your side, and I daresay his admiration was apparent to all.”

Jane, seated beside Elizabeth, lowered her gaze, a soft blush rising to her cheeks. “You are very kind. Mr Bingley was most amiable and showed a fondness for Meryton.”

Mrs Bennet beamed; her excitement barely contained. “Oh, indeed! Mr Bingley spoke of nothing but the delights of our little society. He was taken with all of it. The countryside, the assembly, and especially,” she added with a pointed smile at Jane, “the company.”

Elizabeth glanced at Charlotte. Her friend sat with calm poise, her hands folded in her lap, her eyes quietly assessing. Charlotte’s aire remained steady: thoughtful, composed, and not a hint of amusement.

“And you, Eliza? Are you recovered from the evening’s adventure?”

“Adventure, you say?”

Lady Lucas huffed. “A man who cannot conceal his disdain ought not to attend an assembly at all!”

Mrs Bennet straightened in her chair. “And to insult Elizabeth so publicly. It was not simply rudeness. It was deliberate, cruel snub.”

Charlotte had remained silent, her expression thoughtful. She set down her teacup. “I do not believe it was deliberate.”

Elizabeth studied Charlotte closely. Her aire was calm, edged with certainty. She meant it.

Lady Lucas scoffed. “Not deliberate? My dear, he walked away as though he had been struck. If that is not a deliberate cut, what is?”

“I saw no disdain in his face,” Charlotte replied steadily. “Only…shock.”

Mrs Bennet waved a dismissive hand. “At what? That a lady dared to stand before him? He ought to be grateful Lizzy even glanced his way!”

“I believe he was shocked by what he saw in her.”

She believed it. Elizabeth could feel it. But if she was right, what then? What is worse: That Mr Darcy meant to insult me or that he genuinely had not?

Charlotte continued speaking. “My father spoke with Mr Bingley this morning. He swore he had never seen his friend in such a state. If we are to believe his judgement, that Mr Darcy is a man of caution, patience, and reserve, then such a reaction was entirely unlike him.”

Mrs Bennet’s aire burned bright amber, tinged with streaks of orange. Lady Lucas’s had a muted green tint. She does not want to believe Charlotte.

Charlotte’s, however, remained unchanged. She is firm in her belief.

Jane’s teacup rattled upon the saucer. “Mr Bingley seems to have a genuine regard for him.”

“To borrow from the Bard,” Elizabeth quoted, “There is no art to find the mind’s construction in the face.”

Charlotte smiled. “And I recall that ‘a deed without a name’ can may still leave its mark.”

Lady Lucas nodded emphatically. “Indeed! And what vanity he must have to insult a lady and remove himself as though he were the one wronged.”

Elizabeth kept her counsel. Aires shifted with every opinion, certainty in some, doubt in others. Charlotte’s held firm. She spoke not from affection but from something steadier. Reason, perhaps. Jane wished to believe in Mr Darcy's goodness, as she did of everyone.

Voices rose and fell, but she heard none of it.

She turned to the window and stared until her reflection crystallised. Of her eyes, it was the green that pulled for attention. Was that what he saw?

She had seen men startled before: pausing mid-sentence, stumbling over an introduction, glancing twice and then politely away. One gentleman had once addressed her bonnet for the length of an entire conversation.

None had ever fled.

If it was not arrogance or cruelty, then what had it been ?