Into Hertfordshire (17 page)

Chapter Nineteen

By Tuesday morning, Darcy’s confidence had eroded into despair; the problem was intractable. Without giving up his sister’s secret, there could be no exposing Wickham; without such exposure, there could be no safeguarding Elizabeth. And since he would never subject his sister to society’s contempt, nor himself to its condemnation for making public her private affairs, there was an end to it.

He was at times uncertain whether he ought even to attend the ball—he did not think he could stand by and watch Elizabeth on Wickham’s arm. But neither would he allow himself to run from Wickham’s presence—rather would he take her hand for every dance, if it came to that. He could only hope that there might arise an opportunity for him to make such communication as would give her some degree of warning, some measure of protection against Wickham’s deceits. Failing to arrive at a more definite solution, he determined that that was the only course open to him: he must take her hand, and trust to luck to supply the needed opportunity.

After dinner Perkins had laid out only one set of clothes for the evening: his finest. The linen would have put newly fallen snow to shame, and Darcy could have shaved in the reflection given off by his shoes. Darcy dressed with something of the air of a knight donning his armour prior to battle; if he was to face Wickham, he would do so with every advantage at his disposal. He reassured himself that, if nothing else, his attire for the evening must represent six months’ income to Wickham, and a lieutenant’s regimentals could not hold a candle to the exquisitely tailored coat and breeches Perkins so carefully draped on his form.

Darcy was downstairs in very good time in hopes of finding Miss Elizabeth Bennet alone before Wickham should arrive; he therefore positioned himself to one side of the stairs to watch the arrivals. The Lucas family was first to arrive, led by Sir William, who bowed so often and so indiscriminately that Darcy actually saw him bow to a startled footman—who nonetheless returned the bow with perfect aplomb. Darcy ensconced himself well behind the banister, hoping to postpone the enjoyment of receiving Sir William’s effusive courtesies. Bingley was smiling brightly at every one as they entered, while Miss Bingley maintained a decidedly more formal and proper civility, as if she wished to atone for her brother’s lack of reserve. After perhaps a quarter-hour dawdling thus amongst the potted plants, the arrival of the Bennets, heralded by the mother’s shrill voice from the drive, rewarded Darcy with the sight of Elizabeth he had been waiting for. She was very much in looks; her eyes were bright and a look of happy anticipation played about her features as she took in the scene, making signs of recognition to her friends and neighbours. Darcy felt as though he had never been seeing her before with proper appreciation of her beauty; she was without question the loveliest woman he knew: her eyes and smile were perfection, and the gown she wore this evening set off her figure to such a degree Darcy had difficulty taking his eyes away from her. His determination to protect her from Wickham was strengthened by the apprehension of such a flawless woman being sullied by the attentions of so low a creature. His eyes followed Elizabeth as she drifted with the rest of her family down the reception line and into the drawing-room, where the bulk of those already present were raising a clamour of greetings, laughter, and the communal noises of the occasion. He allowed the crush at the door to subside, then passed into the drawing-room himself.

Elizabeth, as Darcy entered the room, was standing with her youngest sister and an officer, Mr. Denny—he who had stood with Wickham in the street at Meryton. Unable to hear what was said, Darcy nonetheless observed that Elizabeth appeared disconcerted by his words, and even somewhat cast down. Her shoulders drooped slightly, and the smile fled from her face. Moved by seeing her thus discomfited, when they parted he approached to make his greeting, hoping to divert her thoughts or perhaps even to assuage her feelings, whatever might be called for in the case. He stepped around to face her and bowed.

“Miss Elizabeth Bennet; good evening. It is a great pleasure to see you again. You are well, I trust?”

She seemed almost startled to see him, but this Darcy attributed to her discomposure, for, looking over his shoulder, she answered shortly: “Perfectly well, I thank you, Sir. Will you excuse me, please?” And with a preoccupied air, she stepped around him and crossed the room to where her friend, Miss Charlotte Lucas, stood against the wall. Concerned, hoping Elizabeth was not unwell, he watched them both for a time. That she was distressed was evident, but the case seemed to need only sympathy, for, after a few minutes of speech from her and consoling looks from her friend, Elizabeth’s good humour revived. She began to smile and laugh again, and was soon entertaining Miss Lucas, as well; she, too, began to laugh behind her fan at what Darcy was sure must have been some of Elizabeth’s intentionally outlandish opinions. Satisfied, he turned away; a breath he had not known he was holding became a sigh of relief: all was well—the evening could proceed according to plan. He began to think of moving towards her again through the crowd.

At that moment he felt a touch at his sleeve and turned to find Miss Bingley; said she: “I hope you will forgive me, Mr. Darcy, but I fear I am committed to Colonel Forster to open the ball. You will not mind, I trust?”

Darcy locked his features into neutrality and said with a bow, “Not at all, Miss Bingley; quite proper.”

“I do not know when I shall be free from my duties as hostess…” she paused, waiting for Darcy to take the hint.

“I am quite sure we shall find ample time to surfeit ourselves with dancing during the evening, Miss Bingley,” was Darcy’s careful response. On his side, he was already surfeited with dancing, if it meant partnering her. His reply satisfied Miss Bingley, however, and she turned away to attend to her other guests. Darcy again breathed his relief and looked for Elizabeth; she still chatted with Miss Lucas, and as none of the other gentlemen present had approached them, Darcy felt some assurance that no one had engaged her yet.

Bingley briefly broke away from his other guests then, to approach his friend with this news: “Well, Darcy, you were right—that fellow has stayed away. I have just had it from Colonel Forster, who tendered his regrets to me. He has gone to Town.”

This intelligence brought considerable relief to Darcy’s mind. While he had been nearly certain Wickham would not attend, he could not but have moments of doubt, and Bingley’s information was welcome, indeed. In addition, Wickham would have no opportunity to influence Elizabeth with his lies if he were absent; moreover, as it had rained steadily most of the week, he could have had little occasion to be in company with her prior to this evening. Encouraged, he nodded his thanks to his friend and again began moving across the room to Elizabeth.

That intention was forestalled, however; just then the musicians struck up their instruments, and Elizabeth was approached by a parson who appeared to have made a prior claim; bowing like the veriest dandy, he took her hand with excessively studied manners and led her to the floor. Darcy was disappointed and a little alarmed, as the man was the same one he had seen in the square with Wickham and the others. Not knowing anything about him other than the fact that he had seen him with Wickham, he was concerned lest the man was in some way connected with him. His alarm was quieted, however, by the fact that Elizabeth gave Miss Lucas a droll look of martyred anguish behind the parson’s back as he turned to lead her to the floor. Darcy smiled and relaxed: this might hold some amusement.

In truth, it went a little beyond amusing, for the man was an absolutely wretched dancer; that, coupled with his odd and affected mannerisms, made him, and his poor partner, an object in front of the whole room. Darcy believed that he spent more time bowing and apologising to those whose dance he interrupted with his missteps, than he did leading Elizabeth through the set. To Darcy, incompetence in any activity was deplorable; as little as he liked the pastime, he had made it his business to be able to perform it with acceptable skill. Elizabeth bore with her partner as well as any one could, but it was clear to every one in the room how she must be suffering; to make matters worse, he kept her hand for a second dance. Darcy pitied her, but he reflected that this would at least make him a more desirable alternative.

Just as the set was ending, and Darcy was beginning once again to move in Elizabeth’s direction, he spied Miss Bingley enter the room and look about as though seeking some one; he was instantly persuaded that he was her quarry. He quickly ducked behind a conveniently placed screen. She surveyed the room in one quick revolution, going up on her toes to see over the heads of the couples returning to their seats; she then left by the same door through which she had entered. Darcy emerged cautiously from his hiding place, only to see Elizabeth be claimed for the next dance by an officer, one whom he recognised from his dinner at the mess, but whose name he did not know. Cursing his luck, with a bit left over for Miss Bingley, he waited out the dance while keeping a weather-eye out for the redcoats, the parson, Miss Bingley, or any one else who might prevent his asking Elizabeth’s hand for the following set.

When that dance was over and Elizabeth was released by the officer, she crossed to the side of the room away from Darcy, where her friend Miss Lucas still stood watching the couples on the dance floor. He moved with celerity to seize his chance: she had her back to him as he approached, but, on seeing Miss Lucas curtsey, she turned to face him. Without hesitation he hurriedly said, “Miss Elizabeth Bennet: would you do me the honour of dancing the next with me?”

“I…I…yes, I will, Sir.”

His petition had clearly taken her by surprise, and he grimaced inwardly at the awkward manner in which he had made it; yet, she had accepted him, and he was satisfied. He bowed his thanks and retreated, gratified to have finally achieved his object, his mind already on the problem of how best to broach the subject of Wickham. When the dance began again, he still had yet to make up his mind. But on taking Elizabeth’s hand and leading her to the floor in his turn, he was suddenly struck—he held her hand in his, and she was to dance with him. A kind of warmth, unlike any he had ever felt, suffused him: thrilling, yet strangely comforting at the same time; he gazed at his partner for a long moment, amazed at the pleasing distinction to which he was arrived in being able at last to stand opposite such a woman. He was even able to accept with tolerably good grace the looks he and his partner garnered from about the room. The warmth continued within him as they entered the set, and he was content to move through the first forms of the dance in silence, savouring the pleasure of the moment and the sensation of her hand in his.

After some little time, his partner spoke: “This dance is a favourite of mine.”

The dance was the minuet, which had long been Darcy’s favourite, too. He appreciated its grace, and its stately and mathematical progression. Gratified by the concurrence of their taste, he agreed: “And mine. The orchestra is very fine, as well.”

Elizabeth made no reply and Darcy allowed his thoughts to drift back again into his reverie. It lasted some minutes more, until she broke into his thoughts, saying: ‘It is
your
turn to say something now, Mr. Darcy.
I
talked about the dance, and
you
ought to make some kind of remark on the size of the room, or the number of couples.”

Darcy hastily brought himself to the present, embarrassed by his lapse. This was the Elizabeth he so enjoyed: witty, confident, and yet so consistently gracious and charming in manner. It was wonderful how she could manage to take him to task and utterly enchant him in the same breath. He smiled at her, saying, “I shall be happy to comply, I assure you; you have but to hint at what you wish said, and it shall be so.”

“Very well. That reply will do for the present. Perhaps by and by I may observe that private balls are much pleasanter than public ones. —But
now
we may be silent.”

By which, given her habitual contrariety of speech, Darcy concluded that she wished him to continue speaking. Darcy had been thoroughly versed in etiquette, and knew that the thing to do when you have nothing of substance to offer, is to ask a question. He therefore re-joined, “Do you talk by rule, then, while you are dancing?”

“Sometimes. One must speak a little, you know. It would look odd to be entirely silent for half an hour together; and yet for the advantage of some, conversation ought to be so arranged, as that they may have the trouble of saying as little as possible.”

Delighted by this playful attack on what good manners must comprise, he said, “Are you consulting your own feelings in the present case, or do you imagine that you are gratifying mine?” Mindful of his reputation for reserve, he rather hoped he might hear her deny the latter part of his question in a manner favourable to his character.

“Both,” replied Elizabeth, “for I have always seen a great similarity in the turn of our minds. —We are each of an unsocial, taciturn disposition, unwilling to speak, unless we expect to say something that will amaze the whole room, and be handed down to posterity with all the éclat of a proverb.”

Now she
was
teazing him. “This is no very striking resemblance of your own character, I am sure,” said he, with a smile. “How near it may be to
mine
, I cannot pretend to say. —
You
think it a faithful portrait undoubtedly.” He tried again to gently probe about her opinion of himself.