But at that moment, Sir William Lucas himself interrupted us both. “I see that a few couples are starting to dance.”
It was true. The song that Mrs. Bennet was singing had started out quite slow, but it had grown more jaunty towards the end, and there were several people lining up to dance.
“Nothing like dancing, after all,” said Sir William.
“I suppose that’s true,” I said, turning to look out at the rest of the room and then going back to fix my gaze on Elizabeth.
“I consider dancing to be the truest sign of refinement,” said Sir William, “the pinnacle of what a civilization can accomplish.”
“Well,” I said, coughing, “don’t savages dance?”
He only smiled. “Your friend Bingley is quite proficient.”
Mr. Bingley was dancing with his daughter, Miss Lucas, so perhaps this was the reason he was speaking to me. Sir William seemed to be making conversation for the sake of making conversation, which was fine, as far as that went, I supposed, but I suspected he had some hidden motivation for approachingme in the first place. Perhaps it was to feel about for Bingley’s intentions.
If so, I was not sure what to say.
Bingley himself mostly ignored women, except for dancing, that was. Well, and occasionally, he might have long conversations with women at dinners. He seemed to have utmost patience for conversations about things like gloves and ribbons, I had to say, which was perhaps why his sister thought men were interested in such things. I could not be certain.
But if Sir William thought that Mr. Bingley might be at all interested in marrying his daughter, that was very unlikely. I didn’t think that Mr. Bingley was serious about anything, least of all his future.
But Sir William continued, “And you must be quite adept as well, Mr. Darcy. You have a house in town?”
“I do,” I said, now quite thrown by the change of subject. I must have been correct in the first place. He was making conversation for no reason, just to have something to say.
“I had considered settling in London at one point,” he said. “But I did not think the air might agree with Lady Lucas.”
What was I to say to this? Did he expect me to defend the air of London? Did he think I truly thought that he could afford to keep a house in London in addition to his holdings here?
“Perhaps you dance in your London house quite often,” he said, seemingly unaffected by my silence.
“Well, truthfully, not often,” I said.
“I have an idea,” he said, smiling at me. “You might grace us with a dance here, and look at this! A quite lovely partner is practically in arms’ reach, Miss Bennet.”
I had not thought to dance, but I turned to her and said, “Would you care to dance, Miss Bennet?”
“I am not over here begging for a partner,” she said. “You mustn’t think that I have any intention to dance at all.”
Which was the polite way of saying no for a woman. Women did not turn down the man, but the activity.
Sir Lucas was not to be put off. He tried to convince her but she stayed firm, and then she took her leave from the both of us, leaving me there with the man, who prattled on a bit longer about positively nothing.
Eventually, I was saved by Miss Bingley, who declared that she had need of me this instant, and I said to Sir William, gravely, that I must see to her, and together we walked off, out of the room, and stood out on the terrace surrounding the room we’d been in, next to an open doorway. I daresay we were visible to anyone who may have walked by, and I was careful about such things, because the appearance of impropriety is not something to be taken lightly. I had no desire to be off and alone with Miss Bingley or to be thought to have done anything untoward to her.
“Charles says we may all go home in a fortnight,” she said, gazing out into the darkness. “I should be happy to go tomorrow. These people, this company. They are so insipid and yet so self-important.”
I was inclined to agree with her. I knew not what to say about that conversation with Sir William. What an empty-headed man, in truth.
“You must have been thinking the same,” she said.
“I was mostly thinking about Elizabeth Bennet,” I muttered.
She turned to me, quite surprised. “Miss Bennet? Oh, yes, the pretty one.” Her nostrils flared. “The one with the brother that Charles finds so interesting.”
“I suppose everyone thinks she’s pretty,” I said. “But she does have quite bright eyes and she is aloof in a certain way, and I don’t think she likes me. That’s perhaps my own fault, I cannot say, but I would like to correct it if I could.”
“Well, when am I to wish you joy?” she said, arching an eyebrow.
