Page 13 of To Love And To Cherish (Pride And Prejudice Variation #3)

The assembly room at Meryton was aglow with candlelight and color, with music floating through the air and laughter rising above the din. Elizabeth Bennet, though fond of a lively dance and cheerful company, had found herself seated for two sets, owing to the scarcity of gentlemen.

She had suffered a shock when her friend walked into the Meryton assembly room, older, more muscled, yet dressed with the same impeccable taste she remembered. Mr. Darcy. He had not yet seen her, but their meeting was inevitable.

Elizabeth was grateful for the reprieve she had been granted upon first seeing him. Her heart had tried to pound its way out of her chest, and she had felt short of breath and lightheaded, but she had recovered herself and remained seated, silently watching him.

As the minutes passed, his party moved further into the assembly room until Mr. Darcy now stood only a short distance away, elegant and reserved, his expression betraying no hint of enjoyment.

His manner was one of practiced aloofness, a man not easily stirred by music or mirth.

Mr. Bingley, flushed with the cheer of the evening and recently returned from a particularly lively dance with Jane, approached his friend with the easy familiarity of long acquaintance.

“Darcy,” he said, clapping him lightly on the shoulder, “you must join us. It pains me to see you so idle. There are more than enough young ladies willing to accept your hand.”

Darcy’s answer was quiet but firm, not intended for the wider company, though Elizabeth, seated not far behind them, caught every word.

“I will not. You know how I loathe dancing unless I am well acquainted with my partner. An event like this offers little appeal. Your sisters are engaged, and I see no other woman here with whom I’d willingly stand up.”

Bingley gave a good-natured laugh. “I could never be so particular, not for all the riches of the realm. Honestly, I have never encountered so many agreeable ladies in an assembly, and several are quite lovely.”

“You are already dancing with the only one whose beauty is worth remarking on,” Darcy replied, nodding subtly in Jane’s direction.

“She is angelic,” Bingley agreed with enthusiasm. “But just behind you sits one of her sisters, a most attractive young woman. Allow me to ask my partner to make the introduction.”

“Whom do you mean?” Darcy asked, turning slightly.

His gaze settled on Elizabeth for the briefest moment, and their eyes locked.

Then, with barely a flicker of recognition, he turned away and said coolly, “She is tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me ; and I am in no humor at present to give consequence to young ladies who are slighted by other men. You would do better to return to your partner than squander your time with me.”

Mr. Bingley, disconcerted, returned to Jane. Mr. Darcy walked away. And Elizabeth, though outwardly composed, felt the full weight of humiliation and injury settle on her chest.

She laughed lightly, and with more animation than she truly felt, recounted the scene to Charlotte Lucas, who joined in her mirth, though her eyes held some concern for her friend.

Elizabeth could not deny the sting, for this was no common acquaintance.

It was Fitzwilliam Darcy, her beloved friend of younger days, and he had slighted her before a crowd.

Later, Elizabeth saw him standing in solitary dignity near the refreshment table, surveying the room with practiced indifference.

Resentment stirred. She rose with quiet grace and moved along the edge of the room until she stood before him.

In a voice barely above a whisper, she said, “You used to be a better man, Mr. Darcy.”

His gaze, haughty and unreadable, flicked down to her. “Miss Bennet…”

“No,” she said softly but with unmistakable firmness, her eyes bright with anger.

“You may not remember the kindness you once showed, or the heart you once possessed, but I do. You were not always so proud, nor so cold. I thought you better than this. Once, I treasured the kindness you extended to me. But now… I scarcely recognize the man you’ve become.

I do not know how to reconcile the friend I once admired with the gentleman who could speak so cruelly. ”

She fixed him with a piercing gaze.

“Chi ti ha nominato giudice della bellezza?”

Before he could form a reply, she turned and walked away with quiet dignity, joining her two younger sisters, both of whom had overheard his slight and welcomed her into their midst with sympathetic nods.

Mr. Darcy remained rooted to the spot, struggling to grasp the meaning of what she had said. Was that Italian? Judge… of beauty?

And then he understood.

Who appointed you judge of beauty?

Had he truly said she was only tolerable ? He must be mad. The woman was among the handsomest of his acquaintance.

When, he wondered bitterly, would he learn to hold his tongue when it concerned Elizabeth Bennet?

He was not the only one discomfited. Around the room, glances turned toward him, some curious, others distinctly unfriendly.

Her neighbors, well acquainted with her visits, her cheerful heart, and tireless nursing care, cast him cool looks of disapproval.

Even Sir William Lucas narrowed his eyes, clearly displeased.

Miss Bingley, having observed the exchange, glided toward him, fan fluttering in hand. “Mr. Darcy,” she purred, “I had no idea you were acquainted with Miss Bennet.”

He flushed, the line of his jaw tight. “I am not. I refused to dance with her when your brother pressed me to, and she overheard me.”

“She scolded you?” Caroline's eyes widened, scandalized. “What impudence! Who does she think she is? She should not have expected that a gentleman of your station would stoop to notice her.”

Darcy turned his gaze from her, guilt tugging at him. “She had every right to expect civility, Miss Bingley. I gave her an insult when I ought to have offered respect. Your brother had promoted her with such warmth, I had no call to publicly disparage her.”

Miss Bingley narrowed her eyes. “Charles is far too quick to admire a pretty face, regardless of pedigree. If Louisa and I do not temper him, he will tie himself to some rustic chit and bring shame to us all.”

Darcy stiffened. He had spoken too freely. A gentleman ought not discuss a lady so, especially one absent and undefended. The knowledge made him feel like a traitor.

He excused himself without ceremony.

Caroline watched him depart and then turned to her sister with evident satisfaction. “He is quite out of humor. I believe Miss Eliza Bennet had the audacity to reprimand him for some imagined slight.”

Louisa raised a brow. “Indeed?”

Together, they looked across the room and smirked.

Elizabeth, from her place beside Miss King and Charlotte Lucas, saw it all.

The tilt of Caroline’s chin and the gleam in Louisa’s eyes required no great imagination to know she was the subject of their amusement.

Her cheeks flamed, but she lifted her chin.

Whatever tenderness remained from the past was scorched away by fresh insult.

In that moment, Elizabeth resolved to burn the letters, his letters, the ones she had cherished like sacred relics during the painful years of estrangement from her mother.

Each page had offered solace, a whisper of connection to something softer, better, and wholly apart from the petty world her mother had created.

They had seemed, at one time, a quiet testament to his affection for her and the Gardiners.

But now, they were nothing more than ink and parchment, stripped of meaning.

They were worthless papers. Ghosts. Skeletons of bygone sentiments, no longer infused with warmth or affection.

Yes, she would burn them. As soon as she returned home, she would take them out of the little lacquered box in which they lay, creased and handled, beloved, and feed them to the fire.

Perhaps by doing so, she might finally root out the feelings she had so carefully buried beneath reason and resolve.

The affection and the love that had burned like a steady light in her heart all these years.

The hope had comforted and sustained her, but now he had betrayed her. The light must be extinguished.

It was time to put away childish things.

It was time to face a world, like a woman full-grown.

She stood straighter, lifted her chin, and smiled, forced at first, but warmed by the gentle support of Charlotte’s good sense and the quiet kindness of Miss King.

She threw herself into conversation with them, determined not to betray the sting of humiliation still fresh in her breast. But within, she made a solemn vow.

If Mr. Darcy ever asked her to dance, she would refuse him.

He would not, of course. She was far too low and not nearly tempting enough for his taste.

Elizabeth’s gaze drifted across the assembly and settled on Mr. Bingley, who stood engaged in cheerful conversation with Jane.

Even her sister, never given to outward displays, was not her placid self tonight.

She was smiling at whatever nonsense Mr. Bingley was reciting to her, her eyes bright with amusement.

A few moments later, Elizabeth saw her laugh softly, covering her mouth with a gloved hand.

As the evening progressed, Elizabeth observed that Mr. Bingley had taken Jane in to supper and, though he could not dance with her more than twice, they sat out two sets, content to remain in quiet conversation.

Elizabeth spotted them tucked away on a low couch, conversing with quiet animation, heedless of the dancers and music swirling around them.

A tender smile touched Elizabeth’s lips. Jane is in a fair way to falling in love, she thought. And he, he cannot look at another woman.

She turned to seek Miss Bingley and found her standing beside Mr. Darcy, a rigid figure of elegance and irritation.

Elizabeth’s breath caught when she realized Mr. Darcy was staring directly at her.

His expression was grave, she might even call it grim, and Elizabeth looked away at once, her cheeks warming despite herself.

It did not seem a gaze born of admiration.

What offence have I given him now? Or is he merely offended by my existence?

Miss Bingley, meanwhile, kept her gaze fixed on her brother. Her eyes narrowed as she watched him beside Jane, her face a mask of silent disapproval.

A pang of fear twisted in Elizabeth’s chest. Will she attempt to turn him away from Jane?

From the brief exchange she had shared with Miss Bingley upon their introduction, Elizabeth had gathered that Miss Bingley possessed neither her brother’s openness nor his warmth.

A woman of such pride would never willingly accept a sister whose connections were so decidedly beneath her.

Elizabeth folded her hands tightly in her lap, determined not to frown.

She would not let worry spoil this evening, not when Jane looked so radiant, and Mr. Bingley so attentive.

But even as she forced her lips into a smile, a silent resolve began to form: she would do everything in her power to protect her sister’s happiness.

Whatever Miss Bingley planned, she would not succeed without resistance.