He was swept into a dizzying turn with another of the ladies then flung back to his wife.
He knew full well his regard for Jane had been neglected once his feelings for Elizabeth emerged.
He staggered about in a disorientating pirouette with the next lady before being returned to Jane’s more steady presence, falling more quickly into step with her this time.
He had made no attempt to discover why she dismissed Amelia, grateful only that the woman was gone and more resolved than ever to conquer his feelings for Elizabeth.
He lost Jane to Lord Vale, who whisked her off into a turn in the centre. Bingley watched her dance. The candlelight afforded her countenance a soft, delicate sheen. She truly was an astoundingly handsome woman. Vale span past, delivering her back to him. Bingley took hold of her hand and smiled, earning himself a look of hopeful surprise.
Was this not rectifiable? Given time to nurture his regard—away from the distraction of either Elizabeth or Amelia—had he not every reason to hope that his feelings for Jane would grow to surpass all other desires? He raised her hand to his lips and kissed her fingers. Perchance she might be ready to receive him this evening. Then they might begin their journey to felicity in earnest.
He set off into the next round ahead of tempo, willing the set to end that he could escape the place and return home into the arms of his beautiful, serene, uncomplicated wife—away from the terrifying, fierce and insuperable passion of her sister.
Elizabeth grew giddy from Darcy’s effect upon her senses as they wheeled feverishly towards the end of the set. He drew her closer, held her tighter, and released her later with every glancing convergence. The feel of him so close behind, as he pursued her through the dance’s closing steps, set her heart to racing, emboldening her to stop two steps early and wait—heart thundering, eyes closed and all anticipation for that moment he would, inevitably, capture her.
They came together with too much force, toppling onto the bed in a tangle of limbs and lust to enact a dance all their own, the tempo fierce and the steps urgent. They moved fervently, Darcy incandescent with desire. No other woman had ever roused in him such ferocious lust. Elizabeth was sublime, her skin flushed in the candlelight and exquisite gasps of pleasure on her lips as he loved her. He welcomed the familiar coil of tension when it began and increased his pace, pursuing his bliss. Elizabeth’s passion rose to meet his. Her hands tangled in his hair, and she bucked against him muttering incoherent half-formed words ’til, without warning, she cried his name, and Darcy was sent reeling violently into the rapturous denouement of the most exhilarating dance he had ever performed.
He lay still, unmoving but for his heart thundering in his chest, and fought to catch his breath. Into the stunned hush came Elizabeth’s sultry, passion-drenched voice.
“Fitzwilliam Darcy, had I known you could do that, I should have said yes the first time.”
Saturday 18 July 1812, London
The following afternoon, Jane sat in her parlour, her hands idle and her mind engaged in reflections answerable for the blush overspreading her cheeks. She and Bingley had at last consummated their union, binding themselves eternally in body where she was certain their hearts must soon unite. Such reveries rendered her already somewhat discomposed—and therefore apt to become even more so—when none other than Lady Ashby came calling.
Her ladyship blew into the room in an eddy of hauteur and installed herself ceremoniously upon the chaise longue.
“I did not expect to see you so soon, Lady Ashby,” Jane began nervously.
“Come now, did we not agree you would call me Philippa?”
“Forgive me.”
“Never apologise, Jane. It is unbecoming.”
A footman delivered some refreshments, and Jane poured tea for her visitor, glad of some activity to steady her hands.
Lady Ashby accepted her cup with a wide, close-lipped smile. “Now tell me, how did you enjoy my ball? You seem the sort of woman to appreciate finery.”
This began a discussion on all things refined and admirable, from Miss Christopherson’s exquisite performance at the pianoforte to the divine shade of Lady Frances’ gown.
“You, too, were quite sublime, my dear,” her ladyship added, much to Jane’s delight. “I believe I must be allowed to detest you just a little for your looks. You were universally admired. And you acquitted yourself admirably given your recent elevation to your husband’s sphere.”
“Thank you.”
“Such a pity the same cannot be said for your sister. In her every action there was something of which to be ashamed. One can hardly blame your husband for his enthralment, for what man’s interest wouldnotbe piqued by such a flagrant exhibition of feminine charms?”
Jane gasped and coughed, and hot tea burnt the back of her nose. Throughout their intimacy the previous evening, Bingley had showered her with such assurances of his regard as made her forget, momentarily, Elizabeth’s claim on his affections. “Pardon?” she whispered.
“I have an eye for these things, Jane. And believe me, your husband was not alone in being drawn in. It was precisely as you said—Mrs Darcy teases and flirts at will. That a few weak-minded individuals should fall prey to such a widely cast net is unsurprising.”
“Yes, I suppose…”
“No matter. Your husband, indeed the whole of society, will soon tire of her when they realise she has naught to offer but coquetry and satire. One wonders when Mr Darcy will tire of her, but in any case, your husband will certainly lose interest soon.” She leant forward and patted Jane’s hand. “Understand, my dear, that while men’s heads are easily turned by women’s charms, their hearts are governed by pride. They have a great need to feel respected. Youreminently more sensible marriage has allowed you to achieve that which your sister never will—the veryne plus ultraof your sphere. Of course, a connection with me will recommend you further still. Mr Bingley cannot long remain unmoved by such distinction.” She gave her hand a parting pat and leant back. “You observed, I presume, how his interest in her waned once you began dancing with the likes of Lord Vale?”
“I had not, though, yes, I suppose it did.”
“There, you see? It is perfectly within your power to harness his esteem if only you can learn to become the sort of wife of whom he can be proud.”
