Dancing Lessons, Part 5

~ Unreserved ~

“May I be frank?”

Darcy was astonished but pleased by the question Miss Lucas asked him. It was exactly what he had been on the point of asking her. “Please do.” he said, as he thought this evening could hardly become any more singular.

“What specifically do you wish to know about Miss Elizabeth Bennet?”

Darcy thought back over the last few minutes of the dance and wondered whether his attention had drifted to Elizabeth so completely as it had when he sat with Miss Mary. It probably had. “Has my interest been so obvious?”

“I would have noticed because she is my friend, but think about it. A young, eligible man, a stranger to Meryton society, walks into the assembly rooms of our humble town. He is clearly above us all in station. We can see it, and we know he agrees, for he seems disinclined to talk to anyone outside his party.”

The dance separated them for a moment, and then Miss Lucas continued. “Then his friend procures him an introduction to a local lady, and he asks her to dance not once, but twice.”

Darcy winced. Of course people would notice. That was why he never asked a lady to dance more than one set on any occasion—never until Elizabeth Bennet.

“Furthermore, when the gentleman sits out one set,” said Miss Lucas, “his eyes follow his erstwhile partner. When they both sit out,”—and here she looked distinctly amused—“his entire body follows her.”

Darcy could hardly deny it, and he was tempted to laugh. He had made a spectacle of himself. “And when he dances with her kind and accommodating friend,” he said apologetically, “his eyes once again stray to her.”

Miss Lucas smiled. “What can I tell you about Eliza?”

They had a refreshing conversation. Miss Lucas was good company. He wondered how long she had been out. She seemed closer to his age than to Elizabeth's. Perhaps he would return her kindness by encouraging Elizabeth to invite her to town and to Pemberley often, where she might meet more eligible gentlemen than were likely to venture through Meryton.

He was indulging in a flight of fancy, being presumptuous even, but he really was beginning to see it all now, or enough of it to move forward with purpose. He would be consistent and bold. Who was to gainsay him after all? He was used to being called stubborn and even arrogant. He would be intrepid, and he would be happy.

Darcy maintained his intrepidity, which was needed in ways he had not anticipated. It took several visits to Longbourn before he was comfortable with, or at least inured to, Mr. Bennet's sarcastic commentary. The sheer volume of silly exclamations that came from Miss Lydia, Miss Kitty, and Mrs. Bennet in the course of a day confounded him. The Phillipses could be a trial, especially when the wife was overfull of gossip. Mrs. Bennet loved to entertain, so his social powers were often stretched to their limits.

Wickham made a surprise appearance one November day on the high street in Meryton. Darcy heard that he was to join the militia, but he was delighted when the man developed a sudden aversion to the idea and fairly fled back to London.

Bingley was delighted with Darcy's altered manners. When he could be bothered to pay attention to someone other than Miss Jane Bennet, he laughed good-naturedly at his friend and pressed him even more frequently to join in the society of the neighbourhood.

Miss Bingley alternated between obsequious importunity and resentful silence.

Elizabeth daunted him the most. She had her own mind to make up about their future, and he could not rush her. Simply accepting that he had determined to pursue her was insufficient. She possessed a will of her own and thus had to determine to be caught.

Significant progress was made towards that end one afternoon at Longbourn. Darcy complimented Elizabeth on her looks—she was in excellent looks that day—as they sat near the pianoforte. She deflected the remark in her teasing way, except her reply was a little more flippant than usual, as if she were determined to avoid talk of all things romantic. The only other person in the room was Mary, who had been working on a new piece of music Georgiana had recommended to her. Mary stopped playing and stared at her sister. Darcy looked between the two ladies for a moment, and when the tension did not resolve, he excused himself.

As he left the room, he heard Mary mumble not quite under her breath, “Lizzy, I never imagined I would say such a thing to you, but I think you are a ninny for making that good man wait so long.”

Darcy smiled at Mary's defence of him, but he could not be easy. He did not know how Elizabeth would react. That question was answered in half a minute when her hand slipped into his and she tugged him along to someplace that afforded them more privacy than the hall.

“What is it you would have said of me that first night?”

“What do you mean?” Darcy wondered.

“At the assembly,” Elizabeth clarified, “before we had even been introduced.”

Oh. That was what she meant. He shut his mouth, realising belatedly that he had gaped at her. “I do not want to think of what I would have said then,” he admitted. Of course it was too late. He certainly was thinking of it and regretting it anew.

“But you will be so good as to tell me,” she insisted.

“It was not true, Elizabeth. I discovered that after mere minutes in your company.”

“Fitzwilliam, what was it?”

She had never called him that before. He understood now that she would have him, however unpleasant his revelation proved to be.

He was ashamed of what he had almost spoken aloud that night, but he held tightly to her hand and his courage and looked into her eyes. “I would have said something of this nature to Bingley: 'She is tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me, and I am in no humour to give consequence to ladies who are slighted by other men.' Horrible, is it not? And just as false.” He touched her face and caressed it, as if by so doing he could smooth away any vexation. He hoped his words would do the job better. “I saw, as you walked towards me with Bingley and your sister, that you moved gracefully and had a lovely figure. I had ample opportunity during our first dance to appreciate your features, your cleverness, and even your generosity, and you showed the prettiest look of astonishment on your face when I asked you to dance a second time. Besides that, it did not take me long to realise that the other men were engaged in dancing, and I myself had been the idiot slighting you.”

That made her smile.

“Do you want to know,” Darcy continued, “what else I would have said? Before we danced again, you asked me what I was thinking of, but I refused to answer. I have told you the one, so I ought to tell you the other.”

“Shall I like to hear it?” Elizabeth asked him with a softness that drew him closer.

“I hope you shall,” he said. The words came effortlessly as he considered how much she meant to him and how quickly she had come to mean so much. “I thought I should not mind repeating that dance over and over just for the pleasure of holding your hand.” He raised her hand and kissed it. “And now, dearest, I tell you that I would confess a hundred embarrassing wrongs and a hundred fanciful notions if you wish it. Just tell me you will grant me your hand for more than a dance.”

That evening Darcy left Longbourn very late and most happily engaged to Elizabeth Bennet. While there, he had been all smiles, exhilarated by the taste of success and the sweetness of his lady's kisses. He had even agreed to dance a reel when Lydia prevailed upon Mary to play one in celebration of the good news.

In future years, Darcy's friends were diverted by the ease with which Mrs. Darcy—with just a word, a look, or even, on occasion, a laugh—could tempt her husband to dance.

---

Dancing Lessons, Part 4

~ Insupportable ~

Miss Bingley was not slow in joining Darcy once he was free. This time, he did nothing to avoid her, for he suspected what she would be about—aside from hinting futilely at a request for another set.

“I have been inquiring into the situation of these Bennets,” she said.

He had been correct. She was an inveterate gossip, and she habitually collected unflattering intelligence regarding those she considered rivals. He would not even need to speak. She would require no prompting or response from him.

He learned that the Bennets were some of the principal residents of the area, and Longbourn, an estate generating perhaps two thouasnd a year, was their home. There was no son. Longbourn was entailed, and the mother constantly strove to marry off her five daughters.

Ah. That answered the question of why so many of them were out at once.

There was nothing to speak of in the way of dowries, which was unfortunate if unsurpising with an entailed estate. Still, he thought Mr. Bennet might have made an effort. Five daughters! He might have done it in stages, bringing out one or two of the girls at a time as money for their dowries accumulated, and as they were married, applying the small savings in household costs to the portions of the others.

There he was again, scheming to solve someone else's problem. He had enough of his own problems to solve, including this new one he had created for himself. He directed his attention back to Miss Bingley, who had proceeded to denigrate the Bennet ladies' looks in comparison with those of her friends in town. No wonder he had become distracted.

When Miss Bingley took a breath, he posed a question: “From whom were you able to gain so much knowledge of your new neighbours in such a short time?”

“Ah, Mr. Darcy, that is the best part!” She moved a bit closer, and he took a small step away once she resumed speaking. “Their aunt, sister of Mrs. Bennet, is the wife of the local attorney, who took over the business from her father. So Mrs. Bennet's father was in trade! The aunt—Mrs. Philips or Phipps or something—made an impertinent comment about you and the Miss Bennet you were dancing with, and she must have taken my appalled reaction for interest, for she rambed on without even waiting for an introduction, though of course she recognised me as one of Charles's sisters. How could she not? She even had the temerity to suggest I might encourage my brother towards the eldest Miss Bennet! As if I would! Oh!—there she is, waving at me as if we had not just met. Intolerable!”

Darcy did see, and he agreed. There was not much to work with: a precarious position in society, relations in trade—vulgar, forward ones at that—and no dowries. If Mr. Bennet had notable connections, they probably cut him when he married low. Perhaps there had been none high enough to object to his marriage to Mrs. Bennet. The poor girls! There must have been other relations or intimate friends of good character, if not good situation, with whom they spent time, for the manners of the two eldest were flawless, and Miss Mary's, if awkward, were endearing. True, Elizabeth had laughed at him, but that was no more than he had deserved.

How would his family support such a match?

Georgiana would not mind it. A girl who had been persuaded to consent to elope with a steward's son could hardly disapprove of his marriage to a gentleman's daughter. Surely not. The thought did make him wonder just how much, when the scheme was revealed to him, he had dwelt on Wickham's position as opposed to his perfidy. He hoped he had put more emphasis on the latter, but he would have to write to Georgiana and make the point clear. If only! If only....Those were useless words. That wretch had been given so much by the Darcys, and it had all been less than useless.

Wickham had taken up far too much of his time and thoughts of late. Darcy decided to put aside such musings and look about him, which was a good thing because Miss Bingley had moved closer again. He wearied of this game of inching round a ballroom or drawing room, but he would do what he must.

As Miss Bingley went on and on about what she did not like, Darcy thought about how often he had done the same. He had gone on in that manner with Bingley, listing all the reasons he had been dissatisfied with the assembly. It was sad, really. He did the same in town, complaining or agreeing with the complainers rather than excusing himself or finding some way to salvage the evening.

His departure from his usual behaviour, unwilling though it was at first, was proving its merit. It was refreshing to have something at a ball to challenge his mind rather than dull it. He would rise to the challenge. He intended to do this right; just because the act itself could be deemed irrational did not mean it had to be accomplished in an irrational manner. He would learn as much as he could about the Bennets in general and Miss Elizabeth in particular.

As had been the case in the company of Miss Mary, once again Darcy's eyes were drawn away from his companion and towards Miss Elizabeth. She was not dancing this time. She stood with a friend, a good one, if her manner was any indication. He believed the lady to be the eldest daughter of Sir William Lucas. Perhaps the friend would be another helpful source of information. Darcy began to move carefully in that direction whenever Miss Bingley sought to close the distance between them. It was much better to have a destination in view than only the goal of avoiding terraces, alcoves, gossips, Miss Bingley, and worse fortune hunters than Miss Bingley.

After some minutes, he was close enough to Miss Elizabeth to overhear bits of her converesation. Miss Bingley, having seen what he was about, had been frowning her disapproval and speaking only sporadically ever since, though she had kept pace with him. It was rather pitiful to have the lady trailing him like a puppy. He glanced at her and saw desperation along with determination in her eyes. He should have expected it. She probably feared he would petition Miss Elizabeth a third time. Did she think by standing nearby, she would prevent it? To be fair, he had considered the bold move simply to have at least four dances with Miss Elizabeth instead of three. That would be ill advised, however. Miss Elizabeth would refuse a third set, as any well-bred lady must, and for her pains she would have to refrain from dancing for the rest of the evening.

He did mean to dance once more tonight, however, and after a wistful look at the object of his interest, he turned his attention to her friend.

---

Next

Dancing Lessons, Part 3

~ The Boulanger ~

When the Boulanger was called, Darcy despaired. He would barely have five seconds together to speak to Miss Elizabeth Bennet. The good thing was that he would have little opportunity to speak with anyone else either. He decided perhaps it was for the best. He had not selected a topic of conversation, and knowing himself, he would end up staring at the lady until she broke the silence and left him tongue-tied again.

Some of the couples stood about talking while others gathered in their places. Darcy likewise gathered his thoughts into their proper place, or he tried to for about three seconds. As the fourth second ticked into oblivion, he found his efforts arrested by the inquiring look in his partner's eyes.

Miss Elizabeth Bennet, continuing to study him, said, “You look as if there is something particular you wish to say. Will you not share it?”

“I do not know if I ought.” Actually, he knew he ought not. Just as he ought not to have considered saying earlier that she was tolerable but not handsome enough to tempt him to stand up with her, he ought not to say now that he would dance this infernal Boulanger twice more simply for the pleasure of holding her hand. He had begun to anticipate returning to her side and watching her return to his, as if she belonged to him, as if she could not stay away, as if no other partner would do. He was being fanciful, he knew, but he could not help it.

Dancing was a commitment of but half an hour or less. He knew this, and he had been glad of it on innumerable occasions in London ballrooms. Rare and brief had been those instances when he had wished to extend time spent with one of his partners. Even rarer were times when he had wished particularly for more conversation from one of them.

He did not know precisely what he wished for at the present moment.

He only knew that he had found it.

It made no sense. This was only one evening out of his entire life. He could go back to Netherfield with his party and forget it had ever happened, or mostly forget. Henceforth he could greet Miss Elizabeth Bennet and her sisters as he would any new, inconsequential acquaintances, perhaps reserving for them a measure of warmth for their part in making his first foray into Meryton society so enjoyable. He could remain in the country several weeks, repelling Miss Bingley's tedious but predictable attentions, and then scour the London ballrooms and drawing rooms for a potential bride that would not raise an eyebrow amongst his relations and friends, a bride whose existence would banish all thought of this night to some dark recess of his memory.

He was fairly certain he could. But would he?

He had tried seeking a bride in the usual manner, and invariably he had been rewarded with ennui and vexation. He had tried not seeking a bride, and the reward for that had been increased badgering from Lady Catherine to marry Anne. He had tried waiting for Georgiana to grow up, only to stumble upon his young sister's plan to marry before him, quite disastrously and without his consent.

He could hardly do worse by trying to befriend and then woo an unpretentious young lady he happened to meet in the otherwise uninteresting assembly rooms of an unremarkable market town.

For, remarkably, it was here that he had enjoyed the most comfortable conversation he could recall having had in a ballroom, with a woman who had no designs upon him whatsoever. Here too was a modest, amiable, decorous woman admired by his friend, and likely beautiful enough to put thoughts of all other women out of Bingley's head for good. And here was the central and yet most tenuous element of the business: his intriguing, puzzling partner with the compelling eyes, Miss Elizabeth Bennet.

Darcy thought of these things while he waited for the dance to begin and while he pranced this way and that and watched Miss Elizabeth do the same. Then it was their turn, and he found that he had been right. It was heady being paired with Elizabeth, and he thought not only could he become accustomed to it, he very well might wish to.

He knew so little of her, but he could not deny that he wanted to know more. He was heartened by the certainty that her character had attracted him and drawn his attention to her beauty rather than the reverse. That was better than feeling obligated because of a woman's looks or pedigree or dowry to find something to like and then failing utterly, coming away from the encounter disappointed and cross.

He felt more than a little reckless to be entertaining a notion so at odds with what was expected of him. It was liberating.

Was this how Georgiana felt when she agreed to run off with that fiend? He could sympathise with the desire for freedom from societal expectations, or even the need to have the whole matter over and done with. He felt a familiar surge of anger and annoyance. If Wickham had been a good sort of man...but it was of no use wishing for the impossible.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Miss Elizabeth staring at him, and he could feel his Wickham-inspired bad humour dissipating as quickly as it arose. It left him entirely the next moment when the young lady approaching them called out a silly remark to “Lizzy,” who looked decidedly embarrassed. The girl, for he could see up close that she was but a girl, bore some resemblance to Miss Elizabeth and Miss Bennet, though she was not as pretty as either. He even found a trace of likeness to Miss Mary. If she was yet another of the Bennet sisters, there certainly were several out at once!

Silently he enquired of Miss Elizabeth with a raised brow and a glance at the girl, and the silent sigh that was her answer convinced him his conclusion was correct. He gave Miss Elizabeth a sympathetic smile. After the events of the summer, he knew all too well how trying younger sisters could be. When Miss Elizabeth's eyes showed surprise rather than comfort or gratitude in response to his gesture, Darcy realised he also had caught her hand before it was necessary and intertwined his fingers with hers. He did not let go until the dance required it. At the conclusion of the dance and throughout the next, he was loath to let go of Miss Elizabeth's hand at all, and he knew then that he had fully given in to the madness of this inexplicable and rapid attachment to Elizabeth Bennet and her sisters.

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Next

Dancing Lessons, Part 2

~ To Sit Down for Two Dances ~

Darcy was presented to Miss Mary Bennet, Miss Elizabeth's younger sister. Bingley joined them briefly to claim his partner for the next, and Darcy was left alone with Miss Mary.

Darcy complied with what he assumed was expected of him and asked this Miss Bennet to dance. He did not want to lose any ground he had gained with her elder sister or set himself up to be chastised again.

He was surprised to see that the young lady was more flustered than gratified by the request. “Oh,” she said, “I would prefer not to, but th...thank—” She looked straight at him and swallowed noticeably. “Thank you for asking.”

Feeling nonplussed by the rejection despite not having wished to dance either, Darcy took the seat next to Miss Mary.

The two looked awkwardly at each other for a moment, and then Miss Mary burst into speech. “I am not fond of dancing,” she said. “It is not that I cannot dance. It is the talking. Unlike my sisters, I am not good at making conversation while I dance.”

Darcy began to feel sympathy for this rather plain gentleman's daughter of no particular note. He would have called her absolutely plain if the vulnerability in her eyes had not softened her expression. Her lack of beauty had at least as much to do with the severity of her countenance as with her features.

Though he had little imagined they could have much in common, her words resonated with him. He watched her, her head down, her fingers drumming on her lap in time with the music, as if she were playing the tune on a pianoforte. He had to chuckle at where his thoughts led.

Miss Mary heard him and looked up.

Eager to reassure her that he was not making sport of her, he explained, “My sister does that,” and he pointed to her hand and mimicked her movements. “Do you play an instrument?”

“Yes.” Her face lit up, and all severity faded.

He could not help his answering smile. “I was just thinking it is curious that you should be Miss Elizabeth Bennet's sister when from your description, in character, you could very well be mine. My sister is very musical. She spends hours at the pianoforte. She is only fifteen and not out, so I cannot speak to her ability to converse while dancing. She is shy, however, and I cannot imagine she would feel comfortable doing so. I am not shy, but neither am I good at catching the tone of others' conversations. Your sister is quite adept at it.”

He turned to look for Miss Elizabeth among the couples and saw her smiling and talking with Bingley. He wondered if he would be able to draw a smile like that from her when his turn came. He wondered what they would talk of, whether her eyes would look kindly upon him, what it was exactly about her that appealed to him and inspired him to do uncharacteristic things such as solicit a second set from a lady, and how he could get to know her better without raising expectations. Then he wondered why the thought of raising expectations, just a little, suddenly seemed tempting.

He was determined, in any case, not to let her best him. If she drew forth that weapon again, he would meet it with his own. This time, he would leave her to stammer and stumble over her words if he could.

Then again, it might be more satisfying to establish some measure of goodwill between them. He found he did not wish to think of her always in opposition to himself, always defending herself from him. He wanted more than that.

What did it mean that he was thinking so much about a young lady, not quite of his sphere and not extraordinary in any obvious way, of whose existence he had been unaware as early as a few hours ago?

Minutes passed before Darcy realised he was completely ignoring his companion. He was made aware of the fact by Miss Mary's solicitude.

“Mr. Darcy,” she inquired, “did Lizzy say or do something to make you uncomfortable?”

'She is Lizzy to her family,' was his first thought. His second thought was that he had yet to reply to Miss Mary's question. “What makes you think that?” he said.

“You have been watching her for the last three minutes, but you do not look pleased. That is, unless it is your friend who has displeased you?”

If she knew that, then she had been staring at him for the last three minutes, and he had not paid the slightest notice. He turned away, reluctantly, from the dancing couples. “No, you are right,” he conceded. “Your sister did not upset me, as such, but what she said has made me reconsider my opinion.” That it was his opinion of Miss Elizabeth herself, along with some long-held and rarely challenged views about his future life, he did not say. “I apologise for my inattention.”

She looked earnest as she spoke. “I am not offended that your attention was engaged elsewhere. You asked me to dance, which is more than other gentlemen have done.”

Darcy concluded some of Miss Mary Bennet's disinclination for the activity might have developed as a response to her neighbours' neglect.

Darcy glanced again at the couples, but since he could not hear what Miss Elizabeth was saying to Bingley, he was unlikely to learn much more about her by watching her dance. “Would you like to talk of books, Miss Bennet?” he asked Miss Mary. They spoke in fits and starts, and after a few minutes the discussion flowed in a satisfactory manner. At first the lady was more eager to quote others' ideas than share her own. Darcy, as a much older brother—almost a father figure—to Georgiana, had no little experience in drawing out a young girl's thoughts, and he managed well enough with this new acquaintance.

Darcy was almost disappointed when the music ceased. This was how he would much prefer to spend his time in a ballroom, speaking of interesting subjects rather than the banal nothings or distasteful gossip his partners tended to introduce. Of further satisfaction was the fact that not one of the Bennet ladies had put herself forward. Miss Mary forgave his preoccupation with her sister. Miss Elizabeth, without the least concern for his good opinion, nearly delivered a set-down, and only after she was prompted—doing him a service, actually, by preventing him from causing offence where none was justified. Even the eldest Miss Bennet, who must be aware that her beauty eclipsed that of every other lady present, had been no more than friendly towards him; she had not sought his attentions, though she must have heard that his fortune was more than twice that of his friend.

People were moving about, and he saw one of the matrons coming towards them. “I am to dance the next with your sister,” he told Miss Mary. “Perhaps we shall speak again this evening, but if not, I thank you for the pleasant conversation and company.”

She blushed. “Thank you, sir.”

He had taken only a few steps when he heard someone address Miss Mary Bennet familiarly and scold her for “plaguing the gentleman with tiresome talk” and “keeping him from dancing,” or some such silliness. Was it the mother? He had forgotten about her. Alas, she was a fly in the ointment. He stopped and considered turning back to correct the woman, but he did not wish to embarrass her daughter by confirming in her mother's presence that he had overheard the mortifying exchange.

In his moment of hesitation, he was waylaid by Miss Bingley.

“There you are!” she said, taking his arm and moving them along. She leaned in and lowered her voice in that way she had, affecting a deeper intimacy between them than there was, or ever would be, for that matter. “Charles has found the prettiest girl as usual and danced twice with her. Miss Bennet is pleasant by all accounts, but I hope she does not think his singling her out at a country assembly means anything.”

“Pardon me,” Darcy said, disengaging himself, “but I must find my partner.”

“Your partner? Are you to dance with my sister again? No, Louisa would have mentioned it. Do not tell me you mean to stand up with another of the local young ladies!”

“Then I shan't tell you,” he said with a solemn look, and he left her to find Miss Elizabeth Bennet.

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Next

Dancing Lessons, Part 1

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(2023)
Pride and Prejudice
Mr. Darcy is introduced to Miss Elizabeth Bennet at the Meryton Assembly and is surprised to learn that she suits his fancy after all.

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~ No Very Cordial Feelings ~

Fitzwilliam Darcy stood in one of the corners of the assembly room in Meryton and stared straight ahead at the approaching trio. He struggled to comprehend how things had so quickly gotten out of hand. One moment he had been rebuffing Charles Bingley's attempts to get him to join the dancing; the next, all his efforts had proved to be for naught.

Darcy had turned away from the lady Bingley suggested as a prospective dancing partner only to see his friend rush back to his own smiling companion, who was the lady's sister. Bingley must have taken Darcy's distracted silence for permission to make the introductions. Such presumption! Though to be fair, it may have been mere precipitance, for Bingley, always cheerful, disliked anything resembling an argument and sought to curtail it as quickly as possible. Furthermore, instead of attempting to coax Darcy into seeking out the ladies, Bingley had decided to bring the ladies to him. As they were all within sight of each other now, Darcy could hardly run away without appearing ridiculous, and he did not know whether to admire or curse his friend's perspicacity.

It had been the fault of the shorter lady of the two that Bingley now escorted. Well, fault was not quite the appropriate word, but it had been her doing. Her gaze had distracted him, and her behaviour had piqued his curiosity. Her figure had his attention now. It was light and rather pleasing, something he had not noticed before. When Bingley pointed her out where she sat, Darcy caught her eye and was just about to withdraw his own and state the extent of his disinterest when the lady's expression halted him. She raised her eyebrow and then, to his shock, she turned away from him. He saw the quirk of her lips before she covered her mouth with her hand.

The shaking of her shoulders could not be so easily disguised.

She had laughed at him. At him! It was not as if she had intended to cut him. It was somehow worse. That unknown woman, that country girl of no consequence, had dared to make him an object of ridicule!

The group was presently before him. Between Bingley and the eldest Miss Bennet, the introductions were made. As the second dance of the set began, Darcy found himself doing what he had just declared he would not: submitting to the punishment of standing up with a stranger.

At first, Darcy determined to remain silent throughout their dance. He owed this Miss Elizabeth Bennet no more than the barest civility.

The knowing almost-smirk of a smile that appeared on his partner's lips when they faced each other in the dance shattered his resolve.

“May I inquire as to the source of your amusement, Miss Bennet?” he asked when he could no longer suppress his curiosity.

“You may.”

He waited, but she only smiled more. She looked intelligent enough. Surely she could not have misunderstood him.

“Miss Bennet?” he asked again, irritation mounting.

“I did not say I would answer your question.” There was some movement of her shoulders that was not strictly required to execute the dance steps.

Darcy started to speak and, to his mortification, found himself stammering for an instant. Stammering! This Bennet woman was laughing at him again, albeit silently. He watched her move gracefully through the steps. In a moment she faced him, and he saw that she had schooled her features into a calm expression, though humour sparkled in her eyes. He glared, and she appeared to soften. “Oh, very well!” she said. “You may regret having inquired. I trust you will not hold the answer against me.”

He would make no promises to Miss Impertinence. “You will have to take that chance.”

“Will I? Then I shall. My courage rises at every attempt to intimidate me.”

She hesitated again. Just when Darcy was ready to remonstrate with her for sporting with his impatience, she told him. “You, sir. You are the source of my amusement. And your friend, of course.”

Well, that was frank. He must have looked as scandalised as he felt, because she laughed aloud. “It is nothing dreadful,” she assured him. “Listening to you and Mr. Bingley reminded me of Jane and myself.”

He had not expected that. He had not even realised she had heard him, but then he had taken no pains to be discreet. He did not have long to think on the matter. Miss Bennet elaborated quickly while the demands of the dance allowed for it.

“Jane, to whom you were just introduced, is very like your friend appears to be: generally happy and generally wanting others to be happy as well. She is relentlessly optimistic and determined to present every circumstance in the best light. I cannot count the times she has pressed me to adopt her kinder view of an acquaintance or give way on a trifling matter for the sake of family harmony. She herself requires no one to scold her into harmony; she is always at peace with everybody.”

Darcy could see how that might make her smile, but he did not understand why she laughed as she had. “This you found particularly amusing?” he asked.

“It was not just that. What I found especially entertaining was the look on your face as Mr. Bingley left your side. When Jane provokes me—or, rather, sweetly importunes me—beyond bearing, I am tempted to say something shocking to put an end to it. You certainly seemed on the point of saying something shocking and possibly unpleasant, based on your previous remarks.”

“And you turned away,” he said, remembering the moment.

“I thought it best not to give you an audience.”

He had been about to say something shocking and unpleasant, he admitted to himself. She would have heard his unflattering words, too, whether she had been looking at him or not. From the way she looked at him now, she was quite aware of that fact.

An audience, she had said? He believed a more accurate way of putting things was that she had thought it best not to provide him with a willing target.

How reasonable of her.

Darcy might have stopped where he stood and disrupted the figures had not his natural sense of rhythm and his penchant for order prevented it. He believed he had just been taken to task for ungentlemanly behaviour—during a dance, of all things! He concentrated so as not to allow his feelings to affect either his expression or his movements.

What was it about these Bennet women? The elder was apparently too sweet to offend; he could well believe it from the lady's continual smiles and pleasant manner. The younger was not what he would call sweet exactly, or rather her sweetness had an edge. There was a sharp weapon, currently sheathed, in that speech of hers. She had exposed it briefly and let him feel the tip of it long enough for him to know that she would wield it expertly if necessary.

Their conversation was not resumed during the dance, though his partner spoke a few cheerful words now and then to others near her. Darcy thought about what he should do, if anything. Would it be appropriate to apologise for a comment he had not actually uttered? Nonsense! Should he beg pardon for his initial reluctance to ask Miss Elizabeth Bennet to dance, considering that he had indeed asked her? Preposterous.

Concluding that he owed the lady no apology, he began to study her. He would have called her tolerable at best—that is, until he observed her displayed to advantage as she moved about, until he saw that lovely expression in her dark eyes, until he heard her cleverly address and dispense with the initial awkwardness between them. He had thought her not much worth dancing with because she had been passed over by those who knew her. That was before he had looked about him and noticed how few gentlemen were present compared to ladies. Her sitting out a dance was due to mathematics and nothing more. She was an ideal partner, really: proficient; decorous in manner; able to ease into the conversations about her with well-placed words; and not prone to flirting, at far as he could see, which he greatly appreciated.

She was certainly more than tolerable to him now.

The dance came to an end, and Darcy was surprised to discover he was sorry for it. He had not finished studying this new acquaintance. He could see Miss Bingley looking about, and he did not want her chatter to disrupt his contemplation. Besides, she often hinted at the desire for a second pair of dances, no matter how consistently he ignored such hints.

“Would you like something to drink?” Darcy asked.

“No, thank you,” his partner replied, “but do not let me stop you if that is your desire.”

Darcy felt dissatisfaction at the idea of their interaction ending there. Before he could reason himself out of it, he asked, “Do you have another set free, Miss Bennet?” He checked his smile at the look of astonishment on her face. He could see very well now why Bingley had called her pretty.

“Mr. Bingley asked me for the next set, but the one after that is free.”

“May I have it?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you,” he said in a most gentlemanly manner.

He wondered aloud what he would do in the meantime, and she must have heard him, for she looked about for a moment and then suggested, “May I introduce you to another of my sisters?”

“Certainly.” What harm could it do?

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