Still, he reminded himself, such placidity was no fault. Miss Rochford was well-bred and well-mannered—qualities of far greater importance than mere entertainment. She possessed none of Miss Bennet's bold frankness, that ease of address which bordered on presumption. Combined with her family's fortune and connections, she represented precisely the sort of match a man in his position ought to pursue.
"Your aunt tells me Pemberley is quite magnificent," she remarked as they turned in the figure. "I should love to see it one day. I do adore grand houses—they are so very beautiful, aren't they?"
"It is a fine estate," Darcy allowed. "The grounds are extensive, the house well-proportioned.”
"How modest you are!" She laughed again, the sound light and moderate, precisely what one would expect from a young lady of her breeding. "I've heard that it has such beautifulgrounds. Lady Catherine says the gallery alone contains portraits worth a fortune.”
"My aunt is partial."
"I simply adore portraits," she continued. "And I understand Pemberley has the most elegant ballroom. One could host the most delightful parties, I should think. Do you entertain often, Mr Darcy?"
"On occasion."
"Oh, but you must! With such a house, it would be quite criminal not to show it off. I declare, if I were mistress of such an estate, I should have parties every fortnight at least!"
He managed a polite smile. "Estate management requires a more measured approach, Miss Rochford."
"How very serious you are!" She exclaimed. "But I suppose gentlemen must think of such dull things. Fortunately, ladies need only concern themselves with making everything beautiful."
The dance concluded, and Darcy bowed. As Miss Rochford's hand remained lightly on his arm, he led her back into position for the second set.
The next dance proved much like the first. Miss Rochford giggled at his measured statements, complimented his dancing with enthusiasm, and regarded him with the sort of admiration many gentlemen of consequence would find enjoyable. If there was something faintly predictable in her responses, well, predictability was hardly a fault. Perhaps it suggested a steadiness of character that boded well for a harmonious union.
When the second dance ended, he escorted Miss Rochford back to her party with a sense of satisfaction. He had been deliberate in requesting both dances earlier—two dances with the same partner constituted a clear declaration of serious intent, a signal to the entire assembly that Miss Cassandra Rochford had secured his particular attention.
Miss Rochford appeared equally pleased with the arrangement, her cheeks prettily flushed as she rejoined her friends.
Having fulfilled his immediate social obligations, Darcy excused himself and retreated to the periphery of the room. The assembly had grown warmer, the noise more pronounced, and he was content now to observe rather than participate further.
Bingley appeared at his elbow moments later, his face flushed with exertion and pleasure. "You must dance again, Darcy! Mrs Lucas has just introduced me to the most delightful young lady—Miss Bennet, the elder Miss Bennet—Jane, I believe. An angel, Darcy, a true angel!"
"I am pleased for you."
"But you cannot simply stand here all evening! There are several young ladies yet unpartnered. What about Miss Elizabeth Bennet? She seems amiable enough, and I observed her watching the dancing with great interest."
Darcy's gaze followed Bingley's gesture to where Elizabeth Bennet stood in conversation with another young woman. Even from this distance, her sprightly nature was evident—the expressiveness of her gestures, the brightness of her smile. She was handsome enough, he supposed, though her features lacked the classical regularity of her friend's. Moretroubling was the liveliness of her manner, which bordered on the unrestrained.
"She is tolerable, I suppose," Darcy said slowly, "but not handsome enough to tempt me. I am in no humour to seek out young ladies who lack dance partners. Return to your angel, Bingley, and leave me to my solitude."
Bingley departed, but Darcy remained where he stood, his attention drifting back towards the dancers. He did not immediately perceive that Miss Elizabeth Bennet had moved closer—close enough, it seemed, to have overheard his remark.
When he turned and found her directly before him, her expression was not one of wounded feelings or embarrassment. Instead, her eyes blazed with something far more disconcerting—defiance laced with disdain.
"Mr Darcy." Her voice was steady, controlled. "I feel compelled to inform you that your concern is entirely unnecessary. I would not dance with you if you were the last gentleman in Hertfordshire."
She did not wait for his response. With a slight, mocking curtsey, she turned and walked away, leaving Darcy staring after her with a sensation wholly unfamiliar to him.
He had been overheard. By her. The woman whose liveliness he found unsettling, whose conversation bordered on impertinence, whose very presence seemed designed to disrupt his carefully maintained composure.
And she had heard him dismiss her as beneath his notice.
Across the room, Elizabeth Bennet rejoined her companions, her head held high, her countenance one of perfect indifference.
Darcy stood motionless, the sounds of the assembly fading into inconsequence. The strangest impulse seized him—an urge to follow Miss Bennet, to catch her attention before she disappeared into the crowd and offer some form of apology. The feeling was so foreign, so entirely unlike his usual composure, that it stopped him in his tracks more effectively than any consideration of propriety might have done.
Chapter Two
Not handsome enough to tempt him.
