Elizabeth, sitting just beyond the two men, covered her mouth to prevent a snicker. The action, however slight, apparently drew the eye of Mr Bingley.
“Oh! I could hardly be blamed if I did! But there is one of her sisters sitting down just behind you, who is likewise verypretty, and I daresay very agreeable. Do let me introduce you.”
“Whom do you mean?” Mr Snubs asked, turning around and looking for a moment at Elizabeth until, catching her eye, he withdrew his own and coldly began, “She is tolerable but?—”
“Oh, Mr Bingley,” Elizabeth interrupted, quickly standing before ‘Snubs’ could finish whatever critical or sarcastic remark he was obviously in the habit of supplying. “How thoughtful you are! Sadly, I must correct your supposition. I am not at all in the habit of being agreeable to those who find dancing—at aball—a torture. I always delight in overthrowing those kinds of partners, and cheating any of premeditated contempt. You had better return to your lovely partner, and your friend to his preferred tedium, for you are wasting your time with me.” With a brilliant smile at them both, she splashed a quick curtsey their way before walking quickly in an opposite one.
Insolent wench!Darcy thought, as the impertinent creature glided away. Yet, there was something in her walk—a confidence contained within her—that captured the eye, caught his attention and held it. Her dress, he now noticed, was a deep, rich emerald green—not at all a maiden’s colour—clinging to her figure in a way which he should not have noticed. More than one man, he saw, did the same, consciously or perhaps unconsciously following that tantalising sway of feminine progress across the room.
Unbidden, his mind’s eye delivered an onslaught of memory: Anne de Bourgh, looking up at him pleadingly asthe carpets were rolled up at a long-ago large family party at her home in Kent. How old had he been—fifteen, perhaps? A year younger than she, anyhow. The merry group had dared their pianist to play a waltz—quite the audacious challenge, especially in that country abode—and Anne, her eyes wide, her delicate frame practically quivering in eagerness to join the dancing, gazed at him longingly; he had looked to Lady Catherine and his parents for permission and received it in their approving smiles. He had held Anne in his arms, and danced those steps he had only so recently learnt himself, and she had laughed and he had smiled and he had actually thought the words, ‘a marriage to her would not be such a terrible match’.
A shudder of revulsion at the recollection nearly shook his frame, in stark contrast with the feelings Mrs Collins’s sister inspired. Now, what would it be like, to dance a waltz withher? To hold such a woman in his arms? But he did not waltz. Not ever.
It was Bingley’s laughter which brought him abruptly back into the present. “Hah!” the younger man said, chuckling. “She handed you back your bad manners, sir! I just know you were about to say something of which you ought to have been ashamed. I shall take Mrs Ashwood’s advice—Mrs Collins has been awaiting me long enough!” Clapping Darcy heartily on the shoulder, he returned to the dance floor.
Darcy frowned after him.Hadhe been about to say something shameful? Possibly so. Yes, the crowd here was insupportable; the subscription prices must be ridiculously low. It did not follow, however, that every person in attendance was beneath him. Simply because he had been irritated at Bingley for insisting on attending this assembly tonight, he hadforgotten everything he knew about good conduct. He felt his neck begin to warm with embarrassment.
Had the womanknownhe was about to say something rude? What had he been ranting to Bingley about? About hating to dance, about hating everything and everyone around him, about hating… the linen draper.
Darcy’s father had been polite, kindly even, to everyone, no matter their station. In fact, had his father been in attendance at this particular assembly, he would have made genial conversation with the linen draper and anyone else who cared to speak to him. He wouldnothave been pleased with his son’s behaviour and attitude, no matter the society; it was much more reminiscent of that fifteen-year-old childish fool he had once been, than the man he had striven to become since.
What had Bingley said of her name? Mrs Ashwood? She was married then, like her sister. Unsurprising, for she held an appeal, an allurement that every man in this tiny neighbourhood must have identified quickly.
Unwillingly, Darcy followed the course which the young lady in green had taken. It was not difficult to find her; she was within a little knot of young ladies in pastels, her dress standing out amongst all the whites and pale pinks. He wished beyond anything that he had simply kept his senseless opinions to himself and allowed Bingley to make an introduction to her. Now he was required to seek one out.
Darcy saw a gentleman nearby, one who had been made known to him before. What was his name? Goulding, he was certain that was it—doubtlesshecould manage an introduction to Mrs Collins’s sister. Alas, the fellow was much closer—and aiming, unfortunately, for Darcy’s own target, with a clear intention of partnering with her. However, just beforeGoulding could attach himself to the group and extract her from it, she moved quietly away.
It was her timing that struck him. She had waited until Goulding made his approach, until the other young ladies had looked at him and he, them—acknowledging his admittance to their little circle, yet before he had actually stepped within it, before she could possibly be accused of trying to avoid the man. Goulding was left with the choice of chasing after her in a very obvious manner, or else asking one of the other young ladies to dance. He opted for the latter, asking the prettiest of them for the set—as Darcy guessed Mrs Ashwood had somehow known he would. She was free, then, to join a different group.
His curiosity about the lady increased. Why would she bother coming to a ball, only to avoid dancing? He chose a spot from which he could observe her without drawing unusual attention to his scrutiny. It was obvious that Mrs Ashwood was not welcomed in every circle. While she held her head high, and some responded to her, others seemed to look the other way before she could catch an eye. No one gave her the cut direct, but there was a definite rift between her and many of her neighbours. Beyond that peculiarity, she seemed to have a preternatural sense of when another man might attempt to ask her for a set, and always managed to slip away before it could happen.
In a way, it relieved Darcy of responsibility—it was now obvious that she had not declined to dance with him solely out of disgust for his behaviour, despite her mocking words. Not that she had refused outright, because he had never asked her. But still, she had known. She had known he was about to reject the very idea, and she had spoken before he could embarrass himself.
It was all so dashed odd.
Something else happened as he watched. The more he studied her, the more he noticed her understated beauty. Her sister was a golden rose, perfectly petaled, with obvious attractions of showy appeal. He tried to guess which was the elder, and could not—they both appeared quite youthful, with complexions soft and smooth, and ivory skin any man would long to caress. But the young lady in green held a certain something else, an intangible charm that drew others to her; men, certainly, but not only. She made an obvious effort to be friendly, despite cool looks and cold shoulders; those with whom she tried the hardest to engage did not always dress expensively. In fact, she seemed to connect most with the elderly gentlemen confined to seated positions, with older matrons, with wallflowers, with those who might be consideredlesser—and, by probable inclination, those least likely to be asked to join the crowded dance floor. The one exception appeared to be a youthful, pretty young lady—very popular with the gentlemen, of rather giddy, even flirtatious manner. The girl could not have been older than his sister, Georgiana. Several times, Darcy noted Mrs Ashwood seeking out this younger lady, seeming especially kindly, even maternal in manner. She even had some success in slightly lowering the highest of the girl’s spirits, and keeping her strictly away from the punch bowl.
In his efforts to keep watch on the lady, Darcy lost track of those he had most wished to avoid and Sir William Lucas, a talkative leader of local society, managed to catch his eye and hail him with a hearty welcome. Darcy stifled the urge to cut short his greetings, knowing he had already behaved badly this evening. It was difficult, however, to pay careful attention to the man’s views on the court of St James’s,especially when Mrs Ashwood passed within three feet of where they stood. Sir William was not entirely fatuous, however; his sharp-eyed gaze caught the direction of Darcy’s.
“Ah, I see one of our fairest has captured your attention. Shall I make you an introduction?”
Darcy declined, however; this was a man who loved gossip, and would think little of spreading rumours of an interest that hardly existed. “I think not,” he stated flatly. He couldnotafford rumours.
Sir William seemed to think nothing of the rejection. “Ah, I have known her since she was a wee, stubborn little lass. She was the pride of her father’s eye, God rest his soul, and no one was more surprised than I when he married her off to Ashwood. Wanted to take care of her, I reckon, although it plainly did not work out as he hoped. So young, and already a widow of more than a year.”
Widow?Only a few moments earlier, Darcy would have been deeply annoyed at the man’s garrulous nature. Instead, he allowed—nay,encouraged—Sir William to do his favourite thing in the world: to talk, and talk, and talk some more.
3
IN APPARENT DANGER
Afew weeks after the assembly, Elizabeth was doing as she most often did for entertainment—walking the paths and gardens of Stoke. The late October sun was shining, and she enjoyed the warmth of its fading autumn’s kiss upon her face, enjoyed being able to walk without shivering, enjoyed her freedom to leave the confinement of the shabby dower house and enjoy the wide-open spaces to which she had access.
She needed these comforts, for she had just received a letter from her uncle containing news of her riskiest investment. He had advised against making it, had in fact argued adamantly against it. But in the moment of decision, a reckless desire to change everything about her life in one fell swoop had utterly possessed her. Unfortunately, the ship was late into harbour—very, very late—and no one knew if a storm had sent it, with all her investment, to the bottom of the sea.
Count your blessings, Elizabeth, she advised herself.Whetherit has or it has not, what has happened has already happened and all your frustration will not change it.The four Gardiner children were in good health, the youngest boy had taken his first steps, and Mrs Gardiner had included a note inviting her to come to London for the Festive Season. Probably, she would go. Possibly, she would remain. She had long believed it was time to surrender the pride that kept her in her dilapidated home; she had only hoped to move, instead, into a home of her own rather than exist as an impoverished relation. It was with reluctance that she ended her walk and returned to her own door.
“Mrs Ashwood! Oh, Mrs Ashwood!”
