Mr Bingley, entirely unpretentious and seemingly oblivious to the effect his friend was having on the room, was soon making his cheerful way around, introduced by a beaming Sir William Lucas, whose own magical talents were mostly confinedto producing overly enthusiastic, slightly blinding bursts of congratulatory light whenever he made a public proclamation. Bingley quickly charmed everyone he met, requesting dances with an indiscriminate disregard for rank, fortune, or perceived magical standing.
Mr Darcy, however, remained pointedly aloof. He stood near the edge of the dance floor, his expression one of haughty boredom. He danced only twice: a stiff, formal measure, with Mrs Hurst, and, with slightly more animation but no discernible pleasure, with Miss Bingley. He declined all other offered introductions and invitations to dance with a curtness that bordered on open rudeness, his refusals delivered with an air of a man conferring a great favour by simply remaining in the same building.
At last, Mr Bingley, having noticed his friend standing alone and looking like a thundercloud, approached him. “Come, Darcy,” Elizabeth, seated nearby with Charlotte, overheard him say, his voice carrying easily in a momentary lull in the music, “I must have you dance. I hate to see you standing about by yourself in this stupid manner. You had much better dance. There are many pretty girls here, you know.”
”I certainly shall not. You know how I detest it, unless I am particularly acquainted with my partner. At such an assembly as this, it would be insupportable. Your sisters are engaged, and there is not another woman in the room whom it would not be an absolute punishment to me to stand up with.”
Elizabeth felt a flush rise to her cheeks. What a remarkable study in conceit he presented, to find an entire assembly of respectable people so entirely beneath his notice.
“I would not be so fastidious as you are,” cried Mr Bingley, his cheerfulness undaunted, “not for a kingdom! Upon my honour, I never met with so many pleasant girls in my life as I have this evening; and there are several of them, you see,uncommonly pretty. Really, Darcy, you must try to be a little more accommodating.”
“You have been dancing with the only handsome girl in the room,” said Mr Darcy, his gaze flicking briefly towards Jane. Jane, indeed, was in excellent looks that evening, her serene beauty enhanced by a calming influence that made those nearby feel unconsciously at ease and inclined to smile.
“Oh! She is the most beautiful creature I ever beheld!” Mr Bingley declared with heartfelt enthusiasm. “But there is one of her sisters sitting down just behind you, who is very pretty, and I dare say very agreeable. Do let me ask my partner to introduce you.”
“Which do you mean?” Mr Darcy asked, his gaze reluctantly following Mr Bingley’s indicating gesture. His eyes swept across the group of ladies seated near the wall, passed over Mary who was engrossed in a book she’d brought, skimmed over Kitty and Lydia who were whispering animatedly and attempting to catch the eye of any officer who happened to glance their way, and then, for a brief, charged moment, met Elizabeth’s.
Elizabeth, who had been listening to the entire exchange with mounting pique, felt a distinct shock, as if a spark of his immense energy had leapt across the intervening space and struck her.
Then, just as quickly, Mr Darcy turned back to Mr Bingley, his voice, though low, carrying with deliberate clarity to where Elizabeth sat, “She is tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me. I am in no humour at present to give consequence to young ladies who are slighted by other men. You had better return to your partner and enjoy her smiles, for you are wasting your time with me.”
Tolerable! Not handsome enough to tempt him!A laugh threatened to bubble up. The insult was so grand, so utterly without civility, that it fell just shy of magnificent.
Her first impulse was to rise and thank him graciously for his notice. After all, to be pronounced merely ‘tolerable’ by a gentleman who found an entire room beneath his consideration was, in its own way, high praise indeed.
But no, the performance was too perfect to be interrupted. His arrogance was not merely an insult; it was a masterclass in disdain, and she resolved not to mar its perfection with a display of an ill-bred outburst.
Instead, she turned to Charlotte, who had remained seated beside her throughout the entire exchange, and said cheerfully, “Did you hear that, Charlotte? Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy, the great arbiter of taste and beauty, finds me tolerable. Why, I believe that is high praise from a gentleman so discerning he can find no one here worthy of his notice. I shall endeavour to live up to the distinction.”
Charlotte gave a knowing smile. “Indeed, Eliza. And a distinction few others in Meryton seem to have achieved in his eyes.”
Elizabeth laughed. “I am quite overcome. It is a pity his consequence is so great and his conversation is so very small.”
As she finished speaking, a prickle of awareness made her glance back towards Mr Darcy. He was watching her, his expression unreadable, his dark eyes fixed upon her with a disconcerting intensity. She expected to see disdain, or perhaps irritation at being the subject of her amusement. Instead, there was only an analytical stillness. He seemed to be assessing her, cataloguing her reaction with the same detachment with which he had regarded the rest of the room. Elizabeth quickly looked away, a fresh wave of annoyance washing over her.
For the remainder of the evening, Elizabeth, in between merry re-tellings of the insult, could not help but observe him. Mr Darcy rarely spoke, and when he did, it was in brief sentences, usually addressed to Miss Bingley.
She was glad he was having such a delightful time.
Yet, whenever she happened to glance in his direction, she found his eyes upon her. It was not a casual or passing look, but a steady, penetrating stare that made her feel appraised and found wanting.
As the evening wore on, Mr Bingley, true to his amiable disposition, danced twice with Jane. The sight of them together was undeniably pleasing. Jane’s magic, which seemed to manifest as a soft, rose-gold light, intertwined beautifully with Mr Bingley’s cheerful energy, creating a harmonious shimmer around them that made those nearby feel a sense of peace and contentment.
“He is certainly taken with Jane,” Elizabeth remarked to Charlotte, with warmth in her voice for her sister’s happiness. “And she with him. She seems to positively bloom when he is near. Her magic feels brighter and more joyful.”
“It would be a good match,” Charlotte agreed, “A comfortable, secure prospect for Jane, and for your family.”
Comfortable. Secure. Elizabeth suppressed a sigh that felt heavier than her years. Was that all there was to aspire to in this world? A comfortable prospect? A secure alliance?
The assembly finally, mercifully, drew to a close. As the Bennets prepared to depart, the air thick with Mrs Bennet’s triumphant pronouncements of an engagement to follow within a month and Lydia’s exaggerated yawns, Elizabeth found herself inadvertently standing near Mr Darcy again, though with a few parties between them. He was waiting, with ill-concealed impatience, for his carriage to be called, Miss Bingley clinging possessively to his arm.
“That was a lamentable collection of people, in whom there was little beauty and fashion. I have never in all my life been so thoroughly discomposed,” Miss Bingley was saying.
“Indeed,” Mr Darcy murmured, his gaze flicking past her towards the carriages.
Despite his obvious disinterest in the conversation, Miss Bingley was undeterred. She laughed, a practiced, artificial sound. “Oh, but Charles seems to have enjoyed himself immensely, Mr Darcy! He declared Miss Bennet the most beautiful creature he ever beheld. I, for one, found the lot of them merely tolerable. And perhaps the less said about their magical competency, the better. That Eliza Bennet, for example, she was positively brimming with undisciplined power.”
Mr Darcy did not deign to look in Elizabeth’s direction, though she felt the subtle shift in his attention, the briefest tightening of the magic that surrounded him, as if he were assessing her presence one last, dismissive time.
