Page 9 of The Happiness of a Most Beloved Sister (Pride and Prejudice Variation)
CHAPTER EIGHT
W ith the supper set nigh, Elizabeth detached from her partner and moved to secure herself a glass of punch. She was parched after so much exercise and flushed with heat besides. She drank deeply at first, then contained herself to more demure sips as she observed the ballroom.
Although she was loath to admit it, Miss Bingley had outdone herself in her preparations.
The room was primarily lit by a crystal chandelier, which hovered over the ballroom scattering fragments of light over the scene and making it appear as if the space had been enchanted by fairy dust. Greenery and flowers—no doubt delivered from a London hothouse, given the season—were draped about the walls and provided a heady perfume as the warmth of so many bodies pressed upon them.
The chalk pattern that adorned the floor was smudged, but she had seen the intricate flourishes at the beginning of the evening when they had been pristine and lovely.
And, if the meal was as delicious as the punch, she would be forced to acknowledge that the refreshments were also unusually excellent.
In general, her hostess ought to be proud of her achievements.
Her gaze unconsciously sought out Jane in the crowd, hoping for assurance that she was well.
If not, perhaps a drink might revive her.
After a few seconds of perusal, she discovered her sister once again in Mr Bingley’s company, as Elizabeth was coming to expect.
They had sequestered themselves in a corner and appeared to be enthralled with one another, from what she could tell at a distance.
Jane smiled beatifically at Mr Bingley and lightly touched his arm before withdrawing it with a shy blush.
Elizabeth’s heart seized upon witnessing this boldness.
Jane, as demure and ladylike as she was, would not give a gentleman such encouragement if her heart were not already engaged.
It was no longer a question of guarding her sister’s tender feelings, for it was clear that Jane was in love with him. What shall we do if he proves unworthy?
“Miss Elizabeth.”
Having not heard his approach, Elizabeth started at the sound of her name in Mr Darcy’s sonorous baritone. There he was before her as if he had always been near, his countenance inscrutable in open defiance of the revelry taking place around them.
Setting down her cup, Elizabeth curtseyed and returned his greeting in kind. “Mr Darcy, good evening.”
He bowed to her with stiff correctness, then held out his hand. “I am here to collect you for our dance.”
“Of course.” Placing her hand upon his palm, Elizabeth allowed Mr Darcy to draw her away from the refreshment table. He was surprisingly warm to the touch for someone who appeared so cold all the time.
They took their places midway down the line of dancers as they waited for the music to resume.
Before it did, Elizabeth took the opportunity to sneak another glance at Jane and Mr Bingley, who were at the top of the formation and regarding one another with bashful wonder.
He truly appears smitten with Jane, but how can I know for certain that his intentions are honourable?
The first notes of a minuet sounded, and Elizabeth hastily withdrew her gaze from the other couple.
In returning it to Mr Darcy, she discovered his forehead lightly furrowed between his brows, as if he observed her with curious intensity.
She flushed to be so closely regarded and took her first steps in the dance.
They were largely silent as they moved through the figures, gliding from one position to the next with surprising ease.
It distantly occurred to Elizabeth that they danced well together, without any stumbling or awkwardness between them.
It was not only that Mr Darcy refrained from stepping on her toes but also that he seemed to anticipate her every gesture—and not only those prescribed by the dance itself. They were one in their configuration.
Desirous of some conversation, if only to disperse the unspoken tension between them, Elizabeth made some slight observation on the dance. Mr Darcy replied and was silent again.
“It is your turn to say something now, Mr Darcy,” she playfully scolded, skipping about him as the pattern demanded. “I talked about the dance, and you ought to make some kind of remark on the size of the room, or the number of couples.”
He smiled, his eyes lighting with the soft glow of amusement, and replied, “Whatever you wish me to say will be said.”
“Very well, that reply will do for the present, but you really must make some effort. It would look odd to be entirely silent for half an hour together.”
“Are you consulting your own feelings in the present case, or do you imagine that you are gratifying mine?”
“Both,” replied Elizabeth archly, “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 éclat of a proverb.” She offered him an impertinent wink before spinning round and away.
When she whirled back, it was to the sight of Mr Darcy’s shaking head and the raspy sound of his indulgent chuckle.
“This is no very striking resemblance to your own character, I am sure,” was his dry rejoinder.
“Since you require it of me, however, I shall exert myself to speak. What think you of books?”
“Books!” Elizabeth objected with a titter. “We cannot speak of books in a ballroom.”
“Forgive me, I am unstudied in the art of ballroom conversation, it seems. I had no notion that certain topics were forbidden.”
“I suppose I can overlook it this once, but do stick to idle remarks from henceforth.”
“You are everything magnanimous, madam. Allow me to try another subject—you are an excellent dancer.”
Elizabeth was nonplussed by this unlooked-for compliment. “I thank you, sir. I am obliged to say the same of you, though you profess to dislike the amusement so much.”
“I do not dislike dancing, per se, only dancing with strangers. ”
“I see. I suppose that accounts for your refusal to stand up when we were first introduced.” She offered him a smirk.
To her amusement and delight, Mr Darcy’s ears flushed brightly red. “Yes, well, ah, I had not the pleasure at that time of being acquainted with anyone in the room other than my party.”
“And no one can ever be introduced in a ballroom.”
When he lapsed once more into silence, Elizabeth worried that she had taken her jesting too far, but Mr Darcy surprised her with a delayed response.
“I…I have not the same talent my friend has of making myself agreeable to those I am unfamiliar with. I fear I present a diffident figure upon first introduction and, as a result, make a habit of avoiding such scenes. This, in turn, often gives offence where it is undeserved. When pressed, I sometimes make the situation worse with thoughtless comments meant to dissuade and repulse any who might choose to approach. You, of anyone present, are well aware of this proclivity.”
With a deep breath that he then released in a harsh rush, Mr Darcy concluded his speech with a long-due apology.
“Although I do not deserve your grace, I beg you would forgive me for insulting you on the first night we met when I refused to dance with you. I hope this dance, in some way, makes amends for that unconscionable slight, though of course that does not erase my previous boorish behaviour.”
The clench of his jaw and the downturn of his gaze left Elizabeth in no doubt of the sincerity of his confession, of the shame weighing upon his shoulders.
Such genuine contrition could only serve to soften her previous animosity and encourage her towards magnanimity.
Acknowledgement of his previous sin was apparently all she required to grant him absolution.
“How can I deny you forgiveness when you prostrate yourself so prettily, sir? Let bygones be bygones, for there is no need to dwell upon our past mistakes endlessly.”
Mr Darcy’s eyes lifted and fixed her with that intensity she had come to know from him. She swallowed against the rapid thumping of her heart, which had somehow risen into her throat. “You are too good. I hope we might begin again.”
Elizabeth laughed, an oddly strangled sound, and turned her eyes from his.
Somehow, the vivid metallic hue of his scrutiny made her nervous now.
“Oh dear, that will not do at all! If we are strangers again, you are sure to declare me merely ‘tolerable’ and leave me here in the middle of the dance. Perhaps we ought not to go back to the very beginning, else we shall be as hopeless as we were before.”
“I should like to amend my apology by adding a declaration that I did not mean what I said then. I said what I did out of pique, not truth, and in fact find you a great deal more than ‘tolerable’. You are…”
She looked to him again, her gaze drawn to his like one magnet to another, and anxiously awaited the conclusion of his sentence. “I am…?”
Mr Darcy continued to stare at her, his mouth parted slightly as if ready to launch into speech, but no words were immediately forthcoming. They swirled through the motions of the dance, eyes locked, chests heaving with exertion, aware of nothing save for the other. “You are…”
Whatever she was, Elizabeth would never know because at that most inopportune moment they were interrupted by Sir William, who had stopped to compliment Mr Darcy on his dancing.
Upon rising from a deep bow, Sir William declared, “I have been most highly gratified, indeed, my dear sir. Such very superior dancing is not often seen. It is evident that you belong to the first circles. Allow me to say, however, that your fair partner does not disgrace you.”
Mr Darcy’s disgruntled expression softened as he returned his attention to Elizabeth. Quietly, he agreed, “Indeed, she does not. Miss Elizabeth is a superb dancer.”
Elizabeth experienced the tingle of a blush descend from the top of her crown to the tips of her toes at this praise, though she could not say why she was so overcome.
Mr Collins and his studied compliments that were designed to flatter her egregiously had not this effect on her.
She could only surmise that the warmth radiating from Mr Darcy’s tone, the fervent raptness of his steady gaze, had done the business.
Is Charlotte correct? Does…does he admire me? A notion that had been preposterous at the beginning of the evening suddenly seemed somehow possible.
Sir William, apparently heedless of any moment of import occurring between the young people before him, continued, “I must hope to have this pleasure often repeated, especially when a certain desirable event”—he cut his eyes to where Jane was dancing with Mr Bingley, both of them blissfully unaware that they were the subject of speculation—“takes place. What congratulations will then flow in! But let me not interrupt you further, for I am sure Mr Darcy does not thank me for detaining him from his bewitching partner.”
With that, Sir William left them to an awkward silence, much like they had begun the set with. A staggered moment later, they resumed dancing, though now there was a distraction that had not been present before, rendering their movements comparatively stiff.
Elizabeth found her mind greatly disturbed by Sir William’s observations, and she suspected that Mr Darcy shared her concerns if his surreptitious glances up the line were any indication.
It seemed there was a general expectation that Mr Bingley would propose to Jane, which ought to satisfy her, yet her previous worry over the gentleman’s steadiness continued to plague her.
If Mr Bingley withdrew his affections from Jane now, not only would she suffer privately but publicly as well.
Mr Darcy had rebuffed her efforts at enquiry once before, but would he indulge her now that they had called a truce between them?
To avoid anyone overhearing, Elizabeth waited until the conclusion of the set and the announcement of supper.
As people filtered out of the ballroom, she slowed her steps, requiring Mr Darcy to likewise lag behind the crowd.
When it was safe, she gathered her courage and bluntly asked, “I once heard Mr Bingley’s sisters opine that he is often in love. Is it true?”
Mr Darcy stopped short and turned to her with an open expression of surprise. “I beg your pardon?”
“Mr Bingley—is he often in love?”
“I cannot attest to what is in another man’s heart.”
“I am not asking you to,” Elizabeth replied with mounting frustration. “I only mean to enquire whether Mr Bingley is inclined to…to flit from flower to flower, as it were. I believe you can understand what and why I am asking.”
Mr Darcy was grim and mute for a long moment before saying, “I do understand. However, all I can say is that he is an open, gregarious sort of person who is eager to approve of everyone he meets.”
“Especially pretty, blonde young ladies?”
With palpable reluctance, Mr Darcy admitted, “He has been known to prefer their company, yes.”
Elizabeth’s heart, which had previously fluttered into her throat, stilled and plummeted to her feet. It is exactly as I feared.