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.
No comments:
Post a Comment