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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