The words circled through Elizabeth's mind with the persistence of an unwelcome melody as she took her seat for supper. Around her, the assembly room buzzed with conversation and the clatter of dishes, but Mr Darcy's pronouncement echoed through the sounds.
She had not angled for his notice, nor had she positioned herself in his path, hoping to secure a dance. Yet he had deemed it necessary to announce—within her hearing, no less—that she fell short of his exacting standards. As though his opinion held such weight that everyone ought to be informed of it.
Prideful man. Joyless, too, if his expression throughout the evening was any indication. He had moved through the ball with all the warmth of a marble statue, speaking only when addressed, smiling only when absolutely required. She had spoken to him in a civil and friendly manner, but he’d responded with the sort of stiff formality one might employ with a tiresome acquaintance.
Even his dances with Cassandra—two of them, which had set every hopeful mama in the room whispering—had been executed with correctness rather than romance.
She had not asked for his admiration, and she would not waste energy dwelling on his rudeness. There were far more agreeable people in the room deserving of her attention.
"Lizzy, you are very quiet," Jane observed softly from her left. "Are you unwell?"
Elizabeth summoned a smile for her sister. "Not at all. Merely contemplating the evening's entertainment."
Jane's expression remained concerned, but she was too good-natured to press further. Instead, she turned her attention to the gentleman beside her—Mr Bingley, who had somehow contrived to secure the seat at Jane's side and now gazed at her with such transparent admiration that Elizabeth felt her spirits lift. At least one member of the Netherfield party possessed warmth and genuine feeling.
"Jane!" Mrs Bennet's voice carried across the table with unfortunate clarity. "My dear Jane! I have just been telling Lady Lucas that Mr Bingley danced with you twice this evening. Twice! And such a fine gentleman, with his own estate and four or five thousand a year! I should not be surprised if we hear news of an engagement before Christmas!"
Elizabeth closed her eyes briefly. Oh, Mama.
Jane's face flooded with colour, her mortification evident in every line of her posture. "Mama, please—"
"Mrs Bennet," Mr Bennet interrupted mildly from the head of the table, "I believe the assembly committee has outdone themselves with the supper. The venison in particular is quite creditable."
Mrs Bennet turned to her husband, momentarily diverted. "Oh yes, Mr Bennet! I did notice the pastry on the meat pies was perhaps a trifle overdone. Still, one cannot expect perfection from assembly room fare, I suppose—especially not when we may soon be entertaining very particular guests at Longbourn—"
"And the weather has been remarkably fine," Mr Bennet continued with admirable persistence. "I trust the harvest shall be excellent this year."
Grateful for her father's intervention, Elizabeth allowed herself a glance around the room. Mary sat with her customary solemnity, pushing food about her plate with little interest in consumption. Farther down, Lydia and Kitty were engaged in animated conversation with two young lieutenants, their laughter occasionally rising above the general din.
Her gaze drifted across the table and collided, quite unexpectedly, with Mr Darcy's.
He sat opposite with Cassandra at his side, and for a brief moment, his dark eyes were fixed upon her with an expression she could not quite interpret. Disapproval, no doubt—further judgement upon her family's lack of refinement. Her mother's pronouncements had been mortifying enough without having to endure his silent censure as well.
Elizabeth lifted her chin slightly and looked away with deliberate indifference, turning her attention to the gentleman at her right. Mr Andrew Lucas, Sir William's eldest son, had been a pleasant dance partner earlier in the evening, and his company promised to be far more agreeable than brooding over impolite remarks or enduring the silent criticism of proud men.
"Miss Elizabeth," he said warmly, "I hope you are enjoying your supper? The assembly has provided quite a generous spread."
"Indeed, they have, Mr Lucas. I admit I find the company more nourishing than the food."
His eyes lit with amusement. "Do you? I am gratified to be counted among the nourishment rather than the indigestion."
Elizabeth laughed. "You flatter yourself, sir. I said the company, not any particular member of it."
"Ah, but I choose to interpret your words in the manner most favourable to myself. It is a philosophy that has served me well."
"A dangerous philosophy, surely? One might develop an entirely inflated sense of one's own importance."
"Only if one lacks the self-awareness to recognise flattery for what it is." He paused to take a bite of his meal, then added, "I must tell you, Miss Elizabeth, that you were easily the most accomplished dancer today. You have a natural grace that cannot be taught."
"Now you are engaging in the very flattery we were just discussing."
"Not at all. I am merely stating an observable fact. There is a difference."
Elizabeth felt her spirits continue to rise. Here was a gentleman who could engage in playful conversation without treating every exchange as though it were a business negotiation. "And what other observable facts have you noted so far, Mr Lucas?"
"Well," he said, leaning slightly closer with a conspiratorial air, "I have observed that Miss Bingley appears to have developed a sudden fascination with Mr Darcy, despite his dancing exclusively with Miss Rochford. I have observed that your younger sisters possess more enthusiasm than discretion, though I mean no offence by the observation. And I haveobserved that you, Miss Elizabeth, are far too intelligent to be satisfied with idle conversation about the weather and the quality of the punch."
"You observed all that in a single evening? How remarkably perceptive of you."
