“And you omitted to mention,” she said evenly, “that you had first relinquished it in exchange for a considerable sum.”
The music for the next set began, but neither of them moved.
Wickham’s countenance altered – not dramatically, but enough.
“I see,” he said slowly, “that I have been misrepresented.”
“Perhaps,” Elizabeth replied. “Or perhaps I was too ready to be persuaded by what was agreeable.”
Across the room, Darcy did not stir. The musicians struck the opening bars again; couples began to form.
Wickham’s tone softened, urgent now beneath its polish. “Miss Elizabeth, you cannot imagine how circumstances compel a man to…”
“I imagine,” she interrupted gently, “that circumstances often reveal more than they excuse.” There was no heat in her manner. Only steadiness.
He looked at her – properly now – and understood that the advantage he had once enjoyed was no longer his.
“You refuse me?” he said, with a faint attempt at levity.
“Fortunately,” she answered, with a composure that left no room for negotiation, “you never asked me.”
Wickham bowed – a shade more stiffly than before – and withdrew into the movement of the room.
***
The second set formed with less ceremony and more eagerness. Mr. Bingley crossed the room almost before the previous noteshad faded. “Miss Bennet,” he said, bowing with unaffected eagerness, “I believe I have secured the honour of this dance.”
For one unguarded instant – before composure reclaimed its place – a smile lit her countenance unlike any she had shown. It was brighter, freer, wholly sincere.
It struck him so unexpectedly that he quite forgot to move. He blinked – actually blinked – and then laughed softly at himself.
“Forgive me,” he said quickly, offering his arm at last. “I had not anticipated such… encouragement.”
Jane’s colour deepened. “I meant only to express pleasure, sir.”
“If that was pleasure,” he replied as he led her toward the forming set, “I shall endeavour to deserve it again.”
They reached their places and separated to stand opposite one another. The musicians lifted their bows.
Across the polished floor, Jane’s expression had resumed its usual serenity, yet something of that earlier warmth remained.
Bingley bowed, a shade more earnest than custom required.
“If your pleasure produces such effects,” he said lightly, as the first notes sounded, “I find myself newly devoted to it.”
Jane lowered her eyes – but her smile, though gentler now, did not entirely fade.
Sir William Lucas, who had stationed himself near the edge of the floor with an air of civic benevolence, observed the pair with increasing satisfaction. Mr. Bingley’s animation was evident even at a distance; Miss Bennet’s composure lent it grace. They moved in exact time, advanced and retired with equal harmony, and appeared to understand one another without the least confusion of figure. Sir William’s brows rose approvingly.“Very pretty,” he murmured to no one in particular. “Very pretty indeed. A most elegant understanding.”
***
Mr. Bennet had withdrawn to a position of relative safety near the window when Mr. Collins approached him with evident self-importance.
“I am pleased to inform you, sir,” Mr. Collins began, lowering his voice though not his volume, “that I have secured Miss Kitty’s hand for the next set.”
“Indeed?” Mr. Bennet replied. “You move with commendable efficiency.”
“I considered it my duty to ensure that no young lady of your household should remain unengaged.”
