“Why would you say he does not like dancing? He danced withyou.”
Elizabeth walked to stand where Miss de Bourgh could see her more easily, and from there she could perceive, beneath the discourtesy and hauteur, a vulnerability that moved her to reveal what she had previously preferred to keep private.
“Yes, he did, but that was at his friend’s ball, where it would have looked very odd indeed had he not danced withsomebodyoutside of his circle. But the first time it was suggested that he stand up with me, he refused and declared that I was not handsome enough to tempt him.”
She tried her best not to be offended by how obviously this cheered Miss de Bourgh, who pulled herself farther upright in her seat and accepted a glass of wine from Charlotte.
“I always thought hedidenjoy dancing. I know he dances often enough with his sister, for she is forever mentioning in her letters that he has helped her practise again.” She shook her head slightly. “No matter. Mr Collins, I am ready to return to Lucas Lodge now. You may summon the carriage.”
He blinked at her a few times, his entire demeanour that of exasperation. “You have danced but one dance, madam.”
“Not even that, Mr Collins, yet I am ready to return. Now, make haste and summon the carriage.”
Elizabeth smiled sympathetically at her friend and excused herself, for there was nothing more she could do. She returned to the main room where she answered the barrage of questions about Miss de Bourgh’s well-being with as much consideration for the lady’s dignity as she could summon.
Mr Wickham could not be avoided all evening, and Elizabeth was eventually obliged to join him for a set. His interest in Miss de Bourgh was diametrically opposed to the rest of Meryton’s—he did not ask after her once. She paid it and him little attention, however. Her thoughts were largely taken up imagining how pleasant it would have been to have an older brother with whom to practise dancing as she grew up. And how surprising it was, in a strangely endearing sort of way, to discover that the austere and fastidious Mr Darcy would do such a thing for his sister.
6
“Darcy, what brings you here at this time on a Sunday? I do hope nothing is amiss.” Bingley ushered Darcy into his study and offered him a drink.
“No, thank you. I have an early start in the morning.”
“Oh? Going anywhere pleasant?”
Darcy clenched his teeth, partly at the now familiar flare of vexation at Anne, Wickham, and the world in general, and partly against the surge of anticipation that had been intermittently assaulting him ever since it became apparent that he would need to travel to Meryton. There was no reason to anticipate the trip, for he would not see Elizabeth while he was there. He had briefly considered taking advantage of the opportunity to ensure she was safe from Wickham but had ultimately decided that if she had chosen to believe that blackguard’s account of things, it was her prerogative. He would not intervene. He would retrieve his cousin and leave.
“A pressing matter has arisen, and I find I must go away for a day or two to resolve it.”
“You are leaving London? Two days before Christmas?”
Darcy nodded.
“Will you tell me the reason?”
“No.” The word sounded officious, even to his ear, but he would not demean his friend by making up a fictitious excursion to evade suspicion. Neither would he reveal his true destination. Bingley was evidently still in danger of succumbing to Jane Bennet’s charms, and since those charms consisted of naught more than a handsome countenance, a vapid smile, and her mother’s tenacious aspirations, Darcy had no intention of permitting his friend to be taken in. Better that the word ‘Meryton’ remain unspoken, lest it dislodge Bingley’s resolve to stay away. “It is a family matter. The timing is regrettable, but it cannot be avoided.”
Bingley, as ever, took him at his word. “Then I wish you a safe journey. I hope the weather holds for you. Does this mean we shall not see you for dinner tomorrow evening after all?”
“That is why I have called. I wondered whether you would still be good enough to welcome Georgiana in my absence. I am loath to leave her alone again so soon after returning.”
“But of course! I assumed she would be travelling with you.”
“Not on this occasion. I hope to be back in London on Tuesday. It will not be a leisurely trip.” Anne would have to remain in town for now. Darcy had no intention of returning her to Kent before Christmas.
“Consider it done. And, should you be delayed, you may of course count on us to keep her spirits up over Christmas as well.”
“That is good of you, Bingley. Thank you.”
Darcy wished he had accepted the offer of a drink. He was uncomfortable with how close he was sailing towards disguise, and speaking of his sister only served to remind him about their unpleasant conversation earlier that day.
What had begun with a simple request that Georgiana not reveal his destination to Bingley had transformed into a highly unpleasant exchange in which she expressed several objections to his inducements for separating Bingley from Miss Bennet. He had been forced to remind her that not all suitors were motivated by genuine affection. This she took as reproof for her own recent misadventure, and matters had deteriorated from there. Nevertheless, in the course of their quarrel, Georgiana had confirmed his own suspicions that Bingley was still very much in love with Miss Bennet, hardening his mind to his present course.
“You never know,” Bingley said, interrupting Darcy’s reflections. “A quick spell out of town might do you good.”
“In what way?”
“Well, it might cure you of this ill-humour of yours.” His affront must have shown, for Bingley hastily added, “I mean no disrespect, my friend, but you have not been at all yourself of late.”
