Chapter 1
Until Elizabeth stepped into the ballroom at Netherfield and realised, to her disappointment, that Mr Wickham was not among the cluster of red-coated officers, it had never crossed her mind that he might not be there. The evening, which had promised amusement, now seemed utterly ruined. Looking about the room with some annoyance, she spotted Charlotte Lucas, whom she had not seen for a week, and she approached her friend in haste, speaking well before arriving at her side. “Do you think Mr Wickham has been excluded to please Mr Darcy?”
“Lizzy!” murmured Charlotte, a hint of reproach in her tone, glancing about them with concern. However, her unease subsided when she noticed that no one was paying any attention to their conversation. In the distance, Jane was already engaged in discourse with Mr Bingley, well away from his sisters and Mr Darcy, who had, as was their habit, retreated to a corner. This aloof positioning made it abundantly clear that theystill considered themselves apart from those assembled around them.
Elizabeth followed Charlotte’s gaze and sighed. Nothing had changed in the weeks since the assembly in Meryton; the same haughty glances from Mr Darcy and his companions made her wonder anew what they gained by remaining amongst them. Her heart ached with indignation and confusion, her mind unable to comprehend their actions.
“I had not thought Mr Darcy capable of contriving to exclude Mr Wickham from this ball,” Elizabeth continued, her hands clenched into fists, speaking loudly enough to raise Charlotte’s concern again.
“You do not know for sure,” Charlotte replied, attempting to soothe her friend. “You heard Mr Denny explain that Mr Wickham was called to London on business yesterday and has not yet returned.”
“So it seems. Yet Mr Denny also added, with a knowing smile, that he doubted Mr Wickham would have gone at this moment were he not attempting to avoid acertaingentleman here.”
No name had been spoken, but it had been sufficient to understand who the culprit was. Her indignation deepened; even Mr Bingley appeared culpable for indulging his friend’s caprice.
“Do not be absurd, Lizzy. Of course Mr Bingley would do this favour for his friend,” Charlotte replied, emphasising the word ‘friend’. Elizabeth merely shrugged, her ire undiminished.
“Are you saying you would not grant me such a request or indulge such awhim?”
“Perhaps,” Elizabeth admitted with a faint smile.
At this, they both turned their attention to Mr Darcy, who was pacing towards them, wondering what he could possibly want.
The question was soon answered when, with the utmost politeness, the gentleman asked after their well-being. Elizabeth could scarcely muster the civility to respond. To engage with Mr Darcy felt, in her mind, like a betrayal of Mr Wickham. Determined not to prolong the excruciating moment, she obliged Charlotte with her ostentatious silence to carry on the conversation alone, prompting Mr Darcy to withdraw quickly. Nevertheless, he cast a questioning glance in her direction as he departed. She pretended not to notice, though his intense gaze made her quiver. What this man, whose whims had spoilt her evening, wanted from her was impossible to know.
Elizabeth did not dwell long on anger or frustration. Although her prospects for amusement seemed almost dashed, she turned to Charlotte, moving their discussion to lighter topics, particularly the oddities of her cousin Mr Collins, who had proved to be insufferable.
“I doubt your judgment, Lizzy,” Charlotte replied with a soft laugh. “You have a tendency to see only the worst in people.”
“I assure you that is not the case. You will see there is little good to say of Mr—” Elizabeth stopped abruptly, her words catching in her throat as the subject of their conversation approached with an awkward bow and extended an invitation to dance. Her evening, which had begun poorly, had now become utterly unbearable.
The first two dances brought nothing but mortification. In Mr Collins’s company, they were exercises in humiliation. Awkward and solemn, he apologised incessantly instead of attending to the steps, frequently moving incorrectly, ignorant of his errors. Elizabeth endured all the shame and misery that an unsuitable partner could inflict. When, at last, she was released from his company, the sensation was one of sheer relief.
Her next partner, an officer, provided some solace, and she took comfort in discussing Mr Wickham, hearing that hewas liked by all his comrades. Once the dances concluded, she returned to Charlotte, only to be startled by the approach of Mr Darcy, who asked her to dance. Taken by surprise, she accepted without thought. As he walked away, she berated herself for agreeing to stand up with the man who had made it clear that he did not find her handsome enough to tempt him and lately had refused Mr Wickham the joy of participating in the ball.
“I am sure you will find him quite agreeable,” Charlotte murmured to console her.
“Heaven forbid!” Elizabeth exclaimed, her angry countenance clearly showing her state of mind. “That would be the greatest misfortune of all—to like a man who has given me every reason to dislike him. Do not wish such a calamity upon me!”
“My goodness, Lizzy, you cannot think so ill of a gentleman like Mr Darcy. Look about you—everyone has flaws, great or small, but there must be one whose imperfections you can overlook and whom you can give your affection to without hesitation.”
“Is that what you dream of doing?” Elizabeth asked, surprised, for this sentiment was far removed from their earlier youthful ideals of a man without faults who could grant them unblemished love.
“Me?” Charlotte hesitated, glancing about as though searching for evidence of her theory among the gathered gentlemen. “I shall likely do whatever my father decides.”
Elizabeth had no time to reflect on this unexpected response, for the music began again, and Mr Darcy approached to claim her hand. Charlotte leant close, whispering a warning not to let her feelings for Mr Wickham make her appear rude to a man of such superior status. Elizabeth said nothing and took her place opposite Mr Darcy in the set. She noted the astonishmentin the faces around them, mirroring her own disbelief that this conceited gentleman would ever invite her to dance.
For a time, they moved in silence, and Elizabeth wondered whether it would persist for the entire set. Initially, she resolved not to break it, but she soon decided that compelling Mr Darcy to speak would be a more satisfying punishment.
“I had imagined you did not care much for this futile activity of dancing,” she remarked, her tone laced with sarcasm.
“I dare say your imagination was mistaken,” he replied, and silence again descended between them.
After another pause, Elizabeth tried again. “It is your turn to say something now, Mr Darcy. I have mentioned the dance—perhaps you might explain how it is possible to enjoy dancing when you have danced so rarely since you arrived in Hertfordshire.”
She wished to add that he likely found the society of Meryton neither elegant nor distinguished enough to tempt him to dance, but she restrained herself. They turned away from each other then, the steps carrying them around the couple below them in the line, and when she found herself before him once more, her expression conveyed nothing but a slight curiosity and an unspoken invitation for him to offer an explanation.
“Very well, Miss Elizabeth,” he said with an unexpected smile. “Perhaps I consider that private balls are far more enjoyable than public ones. As you probably remember, I invited you to dance at Sir William’s dinner, but you refused.”
