A Better Understanding, page 15
This was said with a look for the two gentlemen that Elizabeth could not interpret beyond a mixture of affection and exasperation.
“Of course, Mother,” Colonel Fitzwilliam echoed. “You know Darcy and I would not dream of missing your ball.”
The countess arched a perfect eyebrow. “Perhaps you will also dream of dancing with the young ladies I introduce you to.”
Elizabeth burst out laughing. All eyes in the room turned to her and she clapped a hand over her mouth. “I am sorry, truly,” she told Lady Matlock, feeling her cheeks heat. “I have heard that sentiment so many times from my mother, but never once has it been applied to a gentleman in my hearing.”
Slowly, the countess’ frown turned to amusement and understanding. “You are one of five sisters, I believe?” At Elizabeth’s nod, the smile grew. “Yes, I daresay you have heard that a time or two. Heavens! Five daughters. I am amazed your mother has not gone distracted trying to see you all settled.”
You have not met her, Elizabeth thought, but kept her lips clamped together.
“Strange as it may seem, gentlemen hear similar sentiments from their mothers as well,” Lady Matlock went on. “Especially,” she fixed her son with a stern look, “those gentlemen who seem intent on chasing excitement to their own detriment.”
The party lapsed into silence, and Jane caught Elizabeth’s eye. A lifetime of watching each other across sitting rooms and ballrooms allowed for a twitch of an eyebrow and the swiftest smile to convey all that needed to be discussed. “Your invitation is more than we could have hoped for,” Jane said smoothly. “We will need to confirm with our aunt and uncle, of course, but if they have no concerns then we would be delighted to attend.”
Elizabeth bit her lip and wondered how much of a fool she could make of herself at a ball.
*
As expected, neither Mr. or Mrs. Gardiner were opposed to Jane and Elizabeth attending Lady Matlock’s ball. Mr. Bingley had informed them that both of his sisters would attend, Mrs. Hurst acting as a chaperone for Miss Bingley, and could provide the same service for them.
Elizabeth found the information interesting, because she had gathered from Lady Matlock’s comments that the countess did not particularly care for Caroline Bingley. Of course, she had only met the lady once. Perhaps Lady Matlock just knew that Georgiana did not appreciate Miss Bingley’s company. Since she clearly did like Mr. Bingley, it would also be hard to extend an invitation to a brother and not the sisters he still officially lived with.
As they had been for the greater part of the autumn and winter, Elizabeth’s emotions were in turmoil. She was excited: she dearly loved to dance. She was nervous; what would the elevated guests think of them? Were their gowns fine enough? Mainly, however, Elizabeth was confused. Whenever she thought of the upcoming ball, her heart and stomach both leapt in anticipation, only to fall the next instant into unease. After several days of staunchly believing she had no idea why, Elizabeth forced herself to admit that much of her anticipation and worry alike revolved around Mr. Darcy. He would be present. Would he dance? And more to the point, would he dance with her? She did not like the thought, and was not sure if she wished to dance with the gentleman, but Elizabeth could not get Mr. Darcy out of her head.
At last, the evening arrived and Elizabeth and Jane stood waiting for their ride to arrive. “Oh, you are lovely,” Mrs. Gardiner told them both, her smile full of pride. “You’ll put the ton to shame with their ostentatious turbans and overdone gowns. The two of you are pure beauty brought to life.”
“Well, at least one of us is,” Elizabeth said wryly, taking in Jane’s blushing cheeks and shining blue eyes, both offset by the creamy white of her gown and the pearls studded throughout her hair.
“Yes, you,” Jane replied, wrinkling her nose at Elizabeth. “Especially in that darling new cloak.”
“I’ll make sure to wear it while I’m dancing,” Elizabeth said, thankful her wit had not abandoned her even as her cheeks heated. Mr. Darcy, banished momentarily, returned to the forefront of her mind with alacrity.
“Oh, and there is the carriage,” Mrs. Gardiner said, peering out the window. “Do behave yourselves, girls, but I hope you have a great deal of fun. I will ask you for all of the details tomorrow!”
The sisters readied themselves, promising to behave and take in all the details they could.
“Just think,” Jane murmured to Elizabeth, “next time we attend a ball I can act as chaperone for you. Won’t that be grand?”
“Exceedingly so,” Elizabeth replied, pushing down hard on the loneliness that threatened at Jane’s words. How could she get ready for a ball without her sister? What would it be like to come home to an empty room, with no one to help take down her hair and giggle under the covers?
Enough, she admonished herself. Jane is not gone yet, and she is not going so far. You are going to a ball at the special invitation of a countess, and you will enjoy yourself. Raising her chin, Elizabeth gave her sister one last smile before descending the steps. Greetings were issued, seats shuffled, and Caroline Bingley issued a cutting compliment about the quaintness of their gowns, but at last everyone was settled.
“This will be a glorious evening!” Mr. Bingley proclaimed as the carriage trundled towards Mayfair.
Elizabeth ducked her face, tucking her hands into that glorious red cloak, and hoped her soon-to-be brother was right.
Chapter Twenty
Darcy
“Richard,” Darcy said as they stood on the edge of the dance floor, watching guests pour into the Countess of Matlock’s ball, “does it not seem odd to you how fast your mother took a liking to the Miss Bennets?”
His cousin shot him a sideways look. “You have not stopped talking about how Miss Elizabeth made Georgiana laugh. Mother noticed it, too. I guarantee she also noticed how much Georgie pored over the letters you sent her from Hertfordshire. Mother has worried about Georgie ever since your father died—she would happily encourage an acquaintance if it made her niece smile more. Or,” Richard added, eyes on the guests coming through the door, “perhaps she just wanted to annoy Caroline Bingley.”
Against his will, Darcy felt the corners of his mouth twitch up. “She could not have picked a better pair of ladies, if that is her intent. With Miss Bennet engaged to Bingley and Miss Elizabeth unwilling to hear her sister demeaned, I am not sure there is anyone else who could annoy Miss Bingley so thoroughly.”
“Oh, I am sure she could stomach Miss Bennet. Miss Elizabeth is a different story.”
Eyebrows snapping together, Darcy jerked his eyes from the door. “And why is that?” Elizabeth was not defenseless, he reminded himself. She could take care of herself if needed.
Richard smirked. “Don’t be dense, Darce.” He raised a single eyebrow, then turned and walked away, calling out jovially to someone in greeting.
“Darcy! There you are!” Bingley appeared in the crush, beaming as he escorted Miss Bennet. Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley followed them, and Elizabeth trailed in the party’s wake. Apparently Mr. Hurst had already departed to find the card room.
“Bingley,” Darcy replied, then greeted the ladies. His eyes met Elizabeth’s last; her cheeks flushed and she dropped her gaze to curtesy demurely. Elizabeth, not meeting him in a silent challenge? He was not sure what to make of it. He didn’t know if it was a good sign or a bad one, but he did not look away until she glanced up again.
Only then did Darcy realize Bingley had said something to him, and pulled his attention back in time to hear his friend say, “—and do you actually mean to dance, or will you simply be standing on the sidelines glaring at everyone who dares to have fun?”
“Charles!” Miss Bingley exclaimed. “That is a horrid thing to say.”
Bingley shrugged, not at all chagrined, and winked at Darcy.
Darcy shook his head at his friend. “Bingley, you will rejoice to hear that my aunt has made me promise to dance, and I dare not disappoint her. Therefore,” he bowed to Jane Bennet, “Miss Bennet, I am sure your first two dances are reserved, and the supper set as well, but might I request your hand for the second set?”
Her face lit up as she laughed, and Darcy realized that Miss Bennet really was a beautiful lady. “You have guessed correctly, Mr. Darcy,” she said, “and I would be delighted to dance the second with you.”
Gritting his teeth, Darcy secured Miss Bingley’s hand for the first set, and Mrs. Hurst’s for the third. At last, he stood before Elizabeth. How he longed to take her hand! Instead, Darcy allowed himself an extra half-step towards her. Really, it could have been blamed on the man who jostled him from behind, effectively separating them from the group for just a moment. “Miss Elizabeth,” he said, and his heart sung as she looked up at him.
“Yes, Mr. Darcy?”
“Would you find it tolerable to dance the supper set with me?” Her eyebrows shot up and her cheeks pinked ever so slightly, and Darcy could only blame the effect that her response had on him when he added without thinking, “and perhaps the last set as well?”
Her chest rose just enough more than normal that he noticed the movement, and then it was all he could do to look away, to focus on her words as she gave him a smile that was nearly a smirk. “That would be tolerable indeed, Mr. Darcy. Perfectly so.”
Richard chose that moment to reappear at Darcy’s elbow and promptly claimed Elizabeth’s hand for the first set. “My mother is delighted you could attend,” he added. “I am sure she will find you and tell you as much herself, once her duties as hostess have died down somewhat. When I last saw her she was muttering about a catastrophe involving something that sounded like soup, although I did not stop to inquire.”
It was some consolation, Darcy thought when the music started and Richard led Elizabeth away from him, that he did not have to worry for her safety. His cousin was a far cry from Wickham, and while not all of the men here were so trustworthy, Darcy doubted they would try to ruin a young lady for amusement or spite.
“You seem to be enjoying yourself, Mr. Darcy,” Miss Bingley drawled as they took their places on the dance floor. “I suppose I should not be so surprised. After all, a ball hosted by a countess is a far cry from that horrid Meryton assembly, is it not?”
Darcy gritted his teeth. He had asked her to dance the first partly because it was the easiest way to keep her from pitching a fit, but also in part to get their dance over with as soon as possible. “There are numerous differences, Miss Bingley,” Darcy said, “although I suppose they are not such different events in principle.”
She huffed at that, but soon recovered and prattled on. He replied to one comment in ten, and that seemed to keep Miss Bingley satisfied. It was a relief to turn her over to her next partner and take Miss Bennet’s hand.
Jane Bennet was infinitely pleasant, and only at the end of their dance did Darcy get the sense that she was wrestling with herself. Still, she stayed silent and smiling until the music faded. Only as they walked back to where Mr. Bingley already waited did Miss Bennet turn to him with serious eyes. “Thank you, Mr. Darcy,” she said, looking up at him intently, “for all that you have done.”
Then she was gone, and Darcy was left blinking in her wake. He had been a fool to think her insipid and indifferent, a very large fool indeed. Bingley was a lucky man to have such a lady in charge of his happiness. Could he truly not have the same for himself? Whenever he considered marriage, choosing someone who could guide Georgiana always seemed imperative. But what about someone who made her laugh? His sister had Lady Matlock to make introductions, after all. Was it really impossible to make Elizabeth Bennet his wife?
Distracted, Darcy barely spoke to Mrs. Hurst during their dance, although he doubted that she cared. Miss Bingley had always gone out of her way to pay him an inordinate amount of attention, while her older sister seemed to barely register his presence. Of course, she was already married and had no designs on becoming mistress of Pemberley.
He avoided dancing at all on the fourth set and partnered with a rich, pretty, and seemingly brainless girl to humor his aunt for the fifth. At last, the supper set arrived, and Darcy could claim Elizabeth’s hand. They stepped onto chalky surface of the dance floor as the first strains of music filled the air. She looked so right, her dress and hairstyle both simple and elegant. Elizabeth put the gaudy high society ladies to shame. Her fine eyes—Darcy blinked. Her fine eyes were widening in shock.
Recalled from his reverie, Darcy recognized the problem as well. Couples were not lining up across from each other, but paired off in a circle, and the music was unmistakable.
“Your aunt is a supporter of the waltz?” Elizabeth whispered, eyes returned to a normal size but cheeks delightfully pink.
He took a step towards her, mindful that the other couples were prepared to begin the steps. “Do you know it?”
“Of course I know it. Lydia made us all practice for weeks. I just did not expect to dance it here. The Times seems quite set against it, and gave the impression that it was not to be found in respectable London ballrooms.” But she did not seem opposed or scandalized, and stepped into his hold without reluctance as the dance began in earnest.
“It is not so strange as the Times would have you believe,” Darcy said. He must not think too long on how close she was, how the dance allowed him to hold her. “I have seen it danced several times, although I have not participated.”
“You, sit out a dance?” Elizabeth asked, mischief lighting her face. “Surely not.”
He could respond immediately, did not have to wait for her to be passed back to him through a forest of other dancers! “To answer your question, my aunt does not like to be told what she cannot do. She also selects her guests with care, and believes those present can be trusted to behave. Since I often remain scowling on the edge of the room, I have had chance to observe that the waltz causes no concern as long as the participants are honorable.”
Her eyes laughed up at him. “Then I am glad to find myself dancing with you.”
The words struck Darcy dumb. She wouldn’t say such a thing if she knew the thoughts running through his mind, but the sentiment overwhelmed him so much he nearly missed a step. Did she actually trust him? He could not find it in himself to continue their conversation, and waited for her admonishment.
But it did not come. He looked down to find Elizabeth’s eyes on his, and held her gaze. The music played on, on and on and on and he wanted it to never stop, and both Darcy and Elizabeth remained silent as if they knew that to speak would be to break the spell of the moment. Only as the last strains of music faded did the corners of Elizabeth’s mouth turn up slightly. “Most tolerable, indeed,” she murmured.
Darcy did not think he had ever been so happy.
*
He had to admit, Darcy thought grudgingly as the ball went on, he could see why Bingley was so fond of the blasted things. It was a joy to sit beside Elizabeth at supper, and although she remained uncharacteristically tongue-tied, never once did he have to stifle a sigh or refrain from rolling his eyes. Bingley sat on her other side, with Miss Bennet beside him, and occasionally Elizabeth would lean forward and lock eyes with her sister in that silent communication they seemed to have perfected.
This is what he wished for Georgiana when she came out. To know those around you wished for your happiness, that a dinner partner would not upset soup into your lap on a dare or a whim, that conversation was to be enjoyed instead of endured. Quite shockingly, Darcy realized, it was what he wished for himself. He had taken on responsibility for Georgiana and Pemberley at his father’s death and ceased to allow consideration of that selfish question—what do I want?—until it hit him in the face. This. He wanted this.
Elizabeth, of course, was required to accept other partners and went willingly. He danced twice more himself, when his aunt brought a young lady to his attention, but within minutes could not recall their names. One had dark hair, the other was blonde, and quite honestly Darcy was amazed he remembered that distinction.
The musicians had struck up the second-to-last set and his heart had begun to pound in anticipation of that final dance with her, when Mrs. Hurst appeared at his side.
“Mr. Darcy, there you are.”
“Have you been looking for me?”
“No, but I believe your cousin is. Colonel Fitzwilliam, that is. He said something was amiss, and it needs your attention immediately. I told him I would pass on the message. He was looking for something or someone else, but will meet you in the library.”
Darcy could not stop his scowl. Blast Richard, he did not want to deal with a problem just now. But surely his cousin—who did traditionally enjoy balls—would not be called away from the event unless there really was a problem. Could it be something to do with Wickham?
Darcy glanced at the dance floor, where the dance was still in full flow. He could get an overview and return. It wouldn’t do to leave a lady waiting; Richard would understand that. Thanking Mrs. Hurst, he made his way through the throng deftly, ducking into the hall and striding purposefully to the library. Better to get this over with quickly.
“Richard?” he asked as he pushed open the door and stepped inside. The library, however, was empty. Who else had Richard needed to fetch? Scowling at the empty room, Darcy forced himself to take a deep breath and began to pace.
The minutes ticked by, highlighted by the clock on the mantle. Still Richard did not appear, and Darcy’s annoyance turned slowly to suspicion. Why would his cousin have chosen Louisa Hurst to carry a message? She could have been in the right place at the right time, true—but Richard was an intelligent man. He knew, as Darcy did, that anything Mrs. Hurst heard would be relayed to her sister, and from Miss Bingley to the rest of the ton. Mrs. Hurst was one of the last people Richard would ask for help.
