Elizabeth would be vigilant, ready to check her sisters without being too obvious lest she draw more attention to their unbecoming behavior by provoking their ire and making herself noticeable to those who had nothing better to do than to refuse to dance.
Not even the prospect of Mr. Darcy’s disapproving stares could stifle Elizabeth’s hopes for Jane. She anticipated his criticism, and many happy hours passed that afternoon while she imagined her witty retorts.
CHAPTER6
In the weeks since their arrival, Bingley had impressed Darcy with the timeliness and efficiency with which he saw to Darcy’s suggestions. Already, Bingley had made several improvements to Netherfield.
Perhaps he was a bit too hasty in some cases: his eagerness to have the exterior of the house painted before the ball at the height of the rainy season meant that all the windows in the upper floors were sealed shut. But Bingley had been making decisions and acting on them, just as Darcy had encouraged him to do.
However, it had not occurred to Darcy that Bingley might exercise his newfound assertiveness in the selection of his first dance partner to open his ball. To give a lady from such a family the distinction of preference was the last straw. To London they must return. In haste!
Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley, equally discontented with their brother’s selection, proved attentive that Bingley end the evening unengaged and free to return to town. While Darcy cringed to have those two waspish women as allies, he was grateful for their assistance. It evened the odds against the Bennets somewhat.
Since the opening dance, Darcy had stuck to Bingley’s side like cat fur on black trousers. He steered his friend away from the grasping clutches of the Bennets, encouraging him to dance with any lady who was not of that accursed family.
Miss Elizabeth proved to be a thorn in Darcy’s side. Her indefatigable efforts to check her younger sisters and occupy her mother, all while laughing and conversing as she flitted from one grouping to the next, occupied her in a constant rotation from one Bennet to the next.
It was cleverly done. Anyone who was not observing her actions closely would assume she had no objective but to enjoy herself. One minute, she encouraged Sir William Lucas’ sons to dance a reel with her youngest sisters, and then she returned to the music room, where Miss Mary reached the final chorus of a piece unbefitting a merry assembly. Her finale was met with polite applause from her sparse audience, who was no doubt grateful her performance had come to an end. Darcy was. Bingley’s sisters hovered nearby, giggling behind their gloved hands.
Darcy looked to his side to make certain Bingley was still engaged in conversation with Mr. Collins. He would be stuck with the clergyman for a while. Bingley was too kind. He would not know how to extract himself from the long-winded, pompous boor without being rude. And Bingley was never rude.
Knowing his friend was safe in Mr. Collins’ repelling presence, Darcy returned his attention to Miss Elizabeth. He saw her shoulders tense upward as her sister mistook the applause for encouragement to continue.
To his ears’ relief, Miss Mary began Bach’s Minuet in G Major. It was a piece Georgiana had mastered in her first year of lessons, years ago. Its simplicity would provide ample fodder for Bingley’s sisters’ mockery, but Miss Elizabeth’s posture had relaxed. An easy smile touched her lips. Clearly, she would take whatever wins she could, no matter how small.
Miss Elizabeth was tireless, imperturbable, and relentlessly cheerful in her efforts to keep her family under regulation. Had her purpose not run so contrary to Darcy’s, he would have admired her intrepidity.
As it was, Darcy understood her motive all too clearly. With every glance between her eldest sister and Bingley, she confirmed her outlandish hope. Miss Elizabeth was a formidable opponent, but she was in deep waters and well over her head.
As she left the music room, Darcy glanced back to his friend’s position. He was dismayed to realize that Mr. Collins now had ensnared Bingley’s sisters in conversation and Bingley was nowhere in sight.
Ignoring Miss Bingley’s obvious plea for assistance, Darcy followed Miss Elizabeth back to the ballroom. She tapped her sister on the shoulder and continued in a direct line to the refreshment table, where he now spotted Bingley standing.
Not on your life, Miss Elizabeth.Taking advantage of his superior height and longer legs, Darcy cut through the crush, reaching Bingley at the same time as the lady.
They locked eyes, each sizing the other up as two opponents did in a boxing match. She was charming and attractive, clever and engaging. Behind those warm brown eyes was a woman in possession of a keen intellect and nimble humor. She would pierce Darcy’s sails the moment he let down his guard. Thus, her danger.
Bingley, gentleman that he was, acknowledged her presence immediately. “Miss Elizabeth, allow me to fetch you a glass of punch.” Darcy felt his friend look at him, but he would not back down. He was not susceptible to her siren-like charms.
How long they stood staring at each other, Darcy could not say, but Miss Elizabeth only looked away when Bingley returned with a glass. “Thank you, Mr. Bingley. How kind of you to offer a parched lady a drink.” With one eyebrow arched, she returned her gaze to Darcy and took a sip.
Darcy sensed that she intended her comment to slight him. He narrowed his eyes. She dared to criticize him when her own family offended at every turn?
“Five thousand a year! My Jane shall want for nothing!” Mrs. Bennet’s voice echoed over the crowd. Darcy raised a brow in turn. The vociferous matron’s voice faded. In his peripheral vision, he saw Miss Bennet lead her mother away. At least, he thought it was Miss Bennet. He hoped it was. He dared not look away from Miss Elizabeth. She had already caused him to lose Bingley once. He would not allow it to happen again.
“Are you enjoying the evening, Mr. Darcy?” Miss Elizabeth’s voice had a hint of tightness, and her cheeks flamed in high color.
Very much now, Darcy thought. “Well enough. And you, Miss Elizabeth?”
“Immensely. Those of us who enjoy dancing are often happiest at a ball. Do you frown at that, Mr. Darcy? Perhaps you would smile more if you danced.”
Bingley laughed and then drank deeply from his glass of punch.
It irked Darcy to be the butt of a jest. That the impertinent minx pretended to understand his character when she had danced no more than he had that evening heated his blood. “For one who claims to love dancing, you are doing precious little of it this evening.”
He bit his tongue as soon as the words came out. Now she would expect him to ask her to dance, and he did not have the time or attention to waste.
He waited for her snappy retort, resigning himself to accept the consequences of his blunder. Perhaps there was a young lady nearby with whom Bingley had not yet danced, for Darcy refused to leave his friend unattended and vulnerable to a Bennet attack. No doubt that was Miss Elizabeth’s plan. Darcy looked about, trying to find a face to whom he could put a name.
