One Thread Pulled: The Dance With Mr. Darcy (11 page)

Mr. Darcy nodded his assent, bowed slightly and returned to his chair and to his book, which he did not even pretend to read, for although Elizabeth had refused him, her manner of doing so had been both sweet and arch—such a bewitching combination that he was more tantalized by her than ever. Were it not for the inferiority of her connections, he told himself, he would definitely be in some danger.

“I declare, why should we wait for there to be a ball in Meryton?” Bingley suddenly cried out, clapping his hands as he jumped up from his seat. “Netherfield is perfect for a ball! The drawing room here will make a very fine ballroom, and I am sure that my sisters would be the most gracious hostesses in welcoming all the neighborhood. We must have a ball!”

“Charles, there is hardly enough society in the whole of Hertfordshire to have a really poor ball, let alone an excellent one.” Caroline whined. “There are balls enough in London. Let us go to town and enjoy the balls and quality society there.”

“I am fixed upon the idea.” Charles grinned. “Miss Elizabeth, as you are not already engaged, perhaps you would agree to dance a set the night of the ball—with Mr. Darcy here, as you promised just a moment ago.”

Elizabeth, who had certainly not expected such a turn of events, could only imagine how delighted Jane would be at the news and informed Mr. Bingley that should he host a ball, it would undoubtedly be the social event of the year, and that all of the neighborhood would adore him for it. She did not, Mr. Darcy noted with some disappointment, directly consent to the promised dance at his hand.

Charles, having seized upon the idea, quickly became obsessed with it. The remainder of the evening was spent discussing the menu, the musicians, the décor, and, of course, who should be invited. For the first topics, Caroline, Louisa, and even Mr. Darcy obliged him with their opinions. For the guest list, however, Bingley depended on Elizabeth, a task to which she gracefully complied with her knowledge of the neighborhood.

Mr. Darcy was reduced to simply listening, which he did not resent, for he found her descriptions of the various families most diverting and gracious. He had seen the society of Meryton, and knew exactly how it was, yet through Elizabeth’s eyes, they all sounded charming, and he found that in spite of his reservations, he began to think of the ball with some degree of anticipation.

Mr. Darcy remained in the drawing room long after Elizabeth had excused herself to return to Jane, yet he appeared to the others to have allowed his mood to turn, and they did not dare disturb him. It was right that they should leave him to his thoughts, for a conflict was raging in his mind.

Never before had he met a woman who was impervious to him. Indeed, women of all types had been paraded before him for many years now, the daughters of the wealthy and the noble elite. He had taught himself to discern the eligible matches from those who were not, yet none who remained had tempted him. They had preened before him, flirted with him, and flattered him, but he was irritated by their manners and suspicious of their motives. He had been as invulnerable to them as Elizabeth Bennet now seemed to be to him.

She could not
 
truly
 
be as indifferent as she seemed, Darcy thought, consoling himself. She was willing enough to converse with him, although apparently not eager for it. She did smile at him from time to time, but they were not the type of seductive smiles that women like Caroline Bingley bestowed on him. It was a warm smile—a playful smile that tingled on his skin as surely as her touch did.

It was while he was thus embroiled in thought that the realization came to him that he had deceived himself. He
 
could not
 
pursue a platonic friendship with Elizabeth Bennet. It was impossible. He was, in fact, very much in danger of falling in love with her, for even the simple thought of her was eroding his commitment to all that he knew of his place in the world. He was Fitzwilliam Darcy, master of Pemberley, and he could have the hand of any eligible maiden in the kingdom should he desire it—any maiden except for Elizabeth Bennet. He frowned. The only answer was to separate himself from her, for his resolve against her weakened with every moment. Every glance, every laugh, every witty phrase dug him deeper into this pit—a pit that could only lead to acute misery and destruction.

He knew as he took the stairs up to his room that night, it would be hours before sleep would come to him, and when it did, that his dreams would be haunted by the same face that had appeared in them every night of late. They were dreams that he dreaded waking from, dreams of the lovely Elizabeth Bennet.

Chapter Thirteen

the personification of perfection

P
erhaps it was Jane's tale of Mr. Bingley’s appearing in her dreams that caused it, Elizabeth thought upon awakening the next morning; but it really was terribly rude of Mr. Darcy to impose himself into her own. Then she laughed at herself, for it was ridiculous indeed to suppose that Mr. Darcy's abilities extended to purposeful influence of her dream state, irksome as it was.

She quickly addressed her own toilette, then attended to Jane. She was pleased to see that the brilliance of the bruise on Jane's head was beginning to shift from a dusky purple to bluish green, with a fringe of yellow forming around the edges—further evidence that Jane was healing. Elizabeth was thrilled to find that Mr. Jones had been perhaps too pessimistic about Jane's recovery, for Jane seemed almost herself today, with just a slight light-headedness upon removing herself from the bed, aided by her sister.

“Oh Lizzy, it feels so good to have my feet on solid ground that does not sway beneath me!” Jane exclaimed. “I can truly appreciate your penchant for walking—especially since I owe my current state to relying on a horse for transport.”

“Do you remember it now, Jane? What happened?” Elizabeth encouraged her sister to speak as she set Jane down in a chair and began brushing her hair.

“I do remember it, and I will tell you because I know that I must, but you must not laugh at me, Lizzy,” Jane replied, watching Elizabeth in the looking glass that hung above the dressing table.

“How could I laugh, knowing what it did to you?” Elizabeth reassured her as she gently detangled Jane's locks.

“I was riding toward Netherfield, but I had let my thoughts run away with me and had completely given Nellie her head when a loud noise startled her. She ran away with me as well, and I lost my seat.” Jane sighed, the sort of deep sigh that precedes confession. “Lizzy, my thoughts were run away with Mr. Bingley. I do not know what came over me then, but I know what has come over me now.”

“Jane, of what are you speaking?” Elizabeth stopped brushing. “What has come over you?”

“Lizzy...,” Jane looked at her sister helplessly as she whispered, “I have given my heart to Mr. Bingley, although I have no true assurance that his regard for me tends in the same direction. If it does not, I do not know what I shall do.”

Elizabeth looked at her sister with some shock. To make such a declaration before she was absolutely certain of his feelings was not in keeping with her sister's character. “Jane, how can you say this? Have you come to an understanding with Mr. Bingley?”

“No, Lizzy.” Jane smiled serenely. “That is my difficulty. You know that I do not reveal my emotions easily, but my fear is that I will not be able to contain them.” Jane paused for a long moment. “When I fell, Mr. Bingley came to my rescue. My mind remains a bit of a fog in the particulars of the event, but what I do remember was that Mr. Bingley held my hand and that he whispered to me—he whispered sentiments that were most tender....”
 
She trailed off, looking at herself in the mirror as she reached up to examine the bruise on her head.

“Jane,” Elizabeth cautioned, “foggy memories are no foundation for a declaration of love such as you have made.”

“I am aware that I stand upon a thin sheet of ice in so saying, but the memories
 
have
 
become clearer. Lizzy, he called me his
 
beloved
, then he called me his
 
dearest angel
, and he begged me not to die, for he said that it would
 
rip his soul out
 
if I departed from this world. There were other things said too, but I know not how much was dream and what was real. In all of this I find that I now harbor no doubts that Mr. Bingley does have
 
some
 
feelings for me. I just have no idea how deeply they flow or if he intends to act on them.”

Elizabeth's thoughts were taken back to the scene a few days previous when Jane, delirious from her injury, had summoned 'Charles' to her bedchamber, and he had willingly come, in violation of all the rules of propriety. She thought of Jane's delusions of marriage and children fathered by Mr. Bingley and began to formulate a theory as to the seed of that fantasy. She thought, with new revelation, of the anguish Mr. Bingley had displayed in the hallway. She had seen his attachment to her sister then but had not supposed the depth of it until this moment. She knew that she could not reveal any of this to Jane, but she thought with a degree of relief, Mr. Bingley did not seem the sort of man to dabble with a woman's heart.

~*~

Elizabeth's last day at Netherfield was uneventful. Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy had left early in the morning to tend to some matters of the estate.
 
Elizabeth had enjoyed an early breakfast and a long solitary walk of the grounds, followed by more time with Jane, during which time she did not even encounter Miss Bingley or Mrs. Hurst.

Late in the morning both she and Jane agreed that Jane was well enough to join the party in the drawing room after dinner. A discussion arose on whether Jane should join them for dinner as well, but Elizabeth was concerned that too much exertion would tire Jane, and being anxious to return to Longbourn, she was not willing to risk a setback.

So it was that Elizabeth announced to the dinner party that Jane would be soon joining them for the evening, but for how long she could not say. As soon as dinner was complete, she returned to Jane's room, where Jane had not only eaten the dinner that had been served but had also refreshed her toilette and arranged her hair so as to cover most of the bruise.

Elizabeth helped Jane down the stairs and found the other ladies, who greeted Jane warmly and, to Elizabeth's surprise, were as kind and sociable to Jane as any she had ever seen. It was a bit of a revelation to realize the degree that she herself must be disliked by Miss Bingley, for if Miss Bingley had treated her with such generosity, she would in all likelihood consider Caroline Bingley to be a fast friend, and she finally understood to some extent why Jane liked her.

A half hour passed in company with the ladies, a sociable, pleasant time where they doted on Jane, told her amusing stories and entertained in a manner most pleasing. By the time the men joined them, Elizabeth had quite forgiven Caroline Bingley for the barbed comments of the past several evenings.

When the gentlemen joined them, Mr. Darcy, upon entrance, greeted the eldest Miss Bennet, congratulating her on her recovery and wishing her well. Mr. Hurst grumbled something unintelligible, but which Elizabeth assumed was a similar sentiment. Mr. Bingley's address to Jane was markedly different from the others. So warm and profuse was he in his well wishes that none could mistake the attention for anything other than devoted ardor for Jane. He insisted that Jane come and sit by the fireplace and
 
built the fire up so that Jane did not add a chill to her other discomforts before he sat next to her, quite as closely as he could, and engaged her in quiet conversation. From her seat in the corner, Elizabeth could only look on with the greatest happiness for her sister.

Miss Bingley attempted once again to engage Mr. Darcy in conversation. Although he was civil, his answers to her many questions did not elicit sufficient response to further the dialogue. Instead, he attended to some sort of business at the desk. Caroline was not easily discouraged, and within moments of the conversation fading would try anew. At length, she turned her attention to her brother, having overheard him mention to Jane the topic of the ball to be held at Netherfield.