“If the next words out of your mouth are a joke about dancing, sir, then I shall scream.”
Fitzwilliam was not at all perturbed at by her outburst, and Mary immediately felt guilty. She was apparently such a curmudgeon that she would not only blame the man for something he had not done, but would snap at him for catching her fall.
“Sorry.” she mumbled.
The man gave her a sunny smile. “For what?”
Mary scowled, “For being so harsh! I am always scolding you, and I swear I do not mean it. I amnota bad person. I am not socruel!”
“Of course you are not.” Fitzwilliam replied, looking boyish and baffled, “There is no need to apologise - none at all! What hascaused such an assault upon your character? I, certainly, would never criticise you.”
“Because you are a gentleman! There ismuchto dislike!”
“Who has told you this?” he growled, finally losing his cheerful look. This was better territory. Mary raised her chin.
“Nobodytoldme! I am capable of forming my own opinions, you oaf!”
Fitzwilliam grinned, showing teeth.
“Not when they are so misguided. The only thing I agree with is that I am an oaf. Most of my friends would say the same thing. Even Bingley, who would call a rabid mongrel a ‘good dog’, has me bang to rights. As for Darcy…”
“Gentlemen can say such things to one another. I cannot.”
“I am no less an oaf because of your gender. It should not prevent you from being honest with your friends, Miss Bennet.”
She was silent for a moment and then wrenched the words out. They sounded like nails on a chalkboard. “You are different around other women.”
“Oh,thatis what troubles you?” Fitzwilliam shook his head, not with his usual teasing smile but a sympathetic frown, “Miss Bennet… Mary, you are my friend. I count upon you to keep my feet upon the ground. They - the other ladies - do not see me as a friend. They barely even see me as a person. I confess that I like to flirt with them, but once we have finished dancing they drift away, and so do I. They have not your… your depth. Most of them are puddles compared to you.”
Mary swallowed hard. She felt as if she was drowning. His voice, soft and raw, made her feel utterly exposed. He looked just asvulnerable, and she could not bear it. She gave him one last chance to regret his kindness, to drift away fromher,too.
“You prefer their company, and you should. They are…”
“I prefer your company.”
Her mouth gaped open. Like her sharpness, it was another sign of her inability to be ladylike. Mary realised that her stomach was in knots and she was listening for her mother’s brazen voice, waiting for a scolding that would not come.
“I do not dance.” she blurted out, “Orflirt. You may seek such amusements elsewhere, sir. I shall remain your friend, as Bingley is.”
“No.” he interrupted quietly, “As Mary is. Without flirting or dancing, but with as much as she will allow me. Mary - I am here only for you.”
She looked down at her feet, large and cumbersome, crushing daisies underfoot. Left and right, incomprehensibly disobedient, rooted to the ground so that she could not run away.
Fitzwilliam offered her his arm, and with his touch came warmth and light. She could move again, with him, into the trees and away from the wretched music and beautiful fools.
Mary Bennet did not dance.
But, tonight, that was perfect.
Chapter 71
If nothing else in his long, strange year had convinced Darcy to give up drinking, the sight of Mr. Collins after five glasses of punch would have done the trick. The evening they spent together was intolerable. Every minute was such a viscous mixture of fawning, sulking, sneering, flattery and downright nastiness that Darcy was sure that the man could sink no lower. Yet, he did! Every sip sent Collins closer to the rancid depths, like the bottom-feeding pond scum he was.
Darcy’s normal response to such an abhorrent companion would have been a fervent thought:I need a drink!Tonight, finally, that voice was silenced. Darcy’s flirtation with liquor turned into an outright divorce. He could not pretend that the maggot writhing before him was not the same one that squirmed within his own belly.
It was important that Collins drank, so that he was insensible to Jane and Bingley’s escape later that night. He was in a celebratory mood, but still somewhat guarded, and insisted on walking with Jane for the first part of the evening to ‘confirm their arrangement’. They had been expecting this, and Jane had agreed. The most difficult task of the evening fell to her:to convince Mr. Collins that he was victorious, without actually tying herself to him.
Serving as both brother and chaperone, Darcy walked ten paces behind the mismatched couple as they wandered around the gardens. They never went too far from the torchlit patio but did not remain so close that they would be distracted by music and laughter.
