“Forgive me, Mr. Collins,” Darcy interrupted, his tone impeccably polite but firm. “I am already engaged for this set, which is about to begin. Miss Bingley, shall we take our places?”
He offered the barest inclination of his head before stepping away with measured precision, Miss Bingley’s hand resting lightly on his arm. Mr. Collins was left blinking in startled confusion at the sudden, unassailable finality of the dismissal.
Elizabeth watched him go, a tiny spark of wry amusement and reluctant respect lighting her eyes.
Mrs. Bennet, meanwhile, bustled forward with renewed determination, unwilling to lose her advantage. “Mr. Collins, you must not let Mr. Darcy claim all the pleasure. Elizabeth is an excellent partner, I assure you. You will find her steps quite... suitable.”
Elizabeth felt heat rise swiftly to her cheeks but forced herself to reply with calm dignity. “Mama, please. I doubt Mr. Collins is inclined toward such common diversions.”
Collins puffed up slightly, eager to seize the moment before Mrs. Bennet could scold. “Ah! Yes—quite so. Observation is often the wiser course. I myself find it most edifying to reflect upon the company, the arrangements, the...er...acoustic qualities of the room before engaging in such lively amusements.”
Elizabeth exhaled in relief—but it was too soon.
“However,” Collins added ponderously, “when it comes to a lovely cousin, a small sacrifice from an unmarried clergyman may indeed be required.” He blinked solemnly, then offered Elizabeth a slow, deliberate nod. “Miss Elizabeth?”
Mrs. Bennet started like an exhausted hen suddenly roused from her doze.
Elizabeth’s smile froze just enough to reveal her private reluctance. She would gladly have danced that evening—just not with her cousin, and certainly not in any way that might encourage him. Yet courtesy demanded she say nothing too sharp. Worse still, a small, traitorous hope stirred that if Mr. Darcy saw her dancing, he might feel the flicker of jealousy—though watching Mr. Collins waddle toward the floor like an officious duck, she could only pray he did not fancy for a moment he danced any better than he walked.
***
From her chair against the wall, Mrs. Bennet watched the swirl of dancers with the concentration of a general reviewing her troops. Mr. Bennet stood beside her like a patient aide-de-camp, enjoying a moment of quiet reflection before the inevitable storm of words he knew would follow. His wife leaned so far forward she nearly slid from her seat, her eyes fixed on Jane and Bingley as they moved gracefully through the set.
“Oh, look at them, Mr. Bennet!” she whispered fiercely, fingers knotting around her fan. “See how he smiles at her? If this does not end in a proposal, I shall perish of vexation.”
Mr. Bennet folded his arms with mild amusement. “I beg you to delay your funeral until we return home. The floor here is quite hard.”
She shot him a scandalized look but could not quite hide her grin. “You are determined to mock me in my hour of triumph.”
He raised a brow. “Triumph seems premature. Jane may yet run away to a convent.”
“Nonsense! Look at her blush. And he gazes at her as if she were a saint. Oh! If he asks her for the next set I shall expire from happiness.”
Mr. Bennet inclined his head gravely. “And I shall be forced to revive you with smelling salts. It will cause a dreadful scene.”
‘Impossible man,’ Mrs. Bennet thought, then huffed and turned her gaze sharply to the next couple of interest. “As for that,” she sniffed, nodding at Mr. Darcy and Miss Bingley, “I do not know who I pity more.”
Mr. Bennet followed her glance. “Darcy appears in imminent danger of being flattered to death.”
“Precisely,” Mrs. Bennet said, her fan snapping shut with a crack. “She simpers so I fear her face may stay like that. I almost wish she would catch a chill and give Jane a little peace.”
Her husband smiled lazily. “Ah, Christian charity. How it adorns you.”
“Do hush,” she snapped, but she was smothering a laugh.
Her mirth died instantly when she caught sight of Elizabeth with Mr. Collins. She let out a small gasp of horror.
“Look at them!” she moaned. “He is stepping on her gown! Lizzy will never forgive me for making her accept him for this dance.”
Mr. Bennet squinted. “Cousin Collins moves with all the grace of a sack of flour. Look, an improvement—he almost fell down. A very determined sack, I grant you.”
“Hush! Do not make me laugh—I can’t bear it!” She swatted at him with her fan.
“Better laugh than weep,” he murmured.
“Elizabeth will hardly thank me if he decides to propose mid-dance.”
“Oh, I think she will keep her wits about her,” he replied serenely. “At worst she will tell him no with exceptional politeness even as she’s dodging his foot.”
