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.

---