Her heart beat faster at the warmth in his tone, but before she could reply, Sir William Lucas bustled towards them, effusive and beaming, eager to congratulate Mr. Darcy on his condescension in honouring their humble assembly.
“I have been most highly gratified, indeed, my dear sir; such very superior dancing is not often seen. It is evident that you belong to the first circles. Allow me to say, however, that your fair partner does not disgrace you: and that I must hope to have this pleasure often repeated, especially when a certain desirable event, my dear Miss Eliza,”—here his eyes flicked meaningfully toward Jane and Mr. Bingley—“shall take place. What congratulations will then flow in! I appeal to Mr. Darcy;—but let me not interrupt you, sir. You will not thank me for detaining you from the bewitching converse of that young lady, whose bright eyes are also upbraiding me.”
Elizabeth coloured, uncertain whether to laugh or frown. Mr. Darcy’s gaze had indeed strayed towards her sister and Mr. Bingley, thoughtful and unreadable. She dared not pause.
“Please, sir,” she said with careful urgency, her voice low so as not to draw more attention, “my sister hides her feelings as you do. She is not prone to show affection in a crowd, but with her most intimate friends she—”
Mr. Darcy’s head turned sharply, his eyes narrowed with sudden intensity. “How do you know what I am thinking?” he demanded. “We have only just met, yet you speak things you cannot possibly know. Even if you had a spy—” he broke off. “I cannot make you out.”
Elizabeth, caught between fear and a rising desire to be honest, merely answered, “I have no words, sir.”
He studied her closely, disbelief mingled with something more searching. “My logical mind tells me you are in league with someone—to compromise me, to harm me insome way—for you possess knowledge you cannot reasonably have. And yet—your actions, your manner…” He shook his head, as though dismissing his own suspicions. “They speak the opposite.”
The music ended. The dance was over. They bowed. Mr. Darcy led her from the floor, still looking as though the words he longed to say warred against his better judgement.
But just as his lips parted, Miss Bingley descended upon him with a determined expression and linked her arm through his. With a final glance at Elizabeth, unreadable and intense, he allowed himself to be led away.
Elizabeth remained still, the echoes of the dance and conversation reverberating through her chest. Her pulse had not calmed, and she could not decide if it was dread or something far more dangerous that stirred within her. She walked the ball and then grew thirst.
She had scarcely reached the refreshment table and was lifting a glass of punch to her lips when Miss Bingley, graceful and gliding as ever, approached her once more, her expression too smooth to be sincere.
"Miss Eliza," she began, her voice low and laced with artificial sweetness, "I do not profess to understand your intentions, but I feel compelled, as a friend to Mr. Darcy, to warn you. He is not one to be caught by rural charms or games of artless airs. I trust you comprehend me."
Elizabeth set her glass down slowly, meeting the other woman's gaze with quiet amusement. "Indeed, Miss Bingley, your solicitude is most flattering. I assure you, I play no game. And should Mr. Darcy be so weak as to fall prey to mere country wiles, I must think better of your opinion of him than you do."
Miss Bingley's smile tightened. "You mistake me. I only mean to caution against misplaced hopes."
"And I thank you for it," Elizabeth said with a curtsy just sharp enough to sting. "Though I assure you, my hopes are always precisely placed."
At that moment, Jane approached with her usual serene countenance, glancing between the two women with gentle inquiry.
"Lizzy," she said, her voice soft, "was Miss Bingley just now speaking to you? I hope all is well."
Elizabeth turned to her sister, her tone tempered but pointed. "She was merely cautioning me regarding Mr. Darcy’s susceptibility to rustic charms."
Jane's brow furrowed. "Oh, there must be some misunderstanding. Miss Bingley always speaks with such... concern."
Elizabeth could not suppress a laugh, though it was touched with weariness. "Indeed, concern for herself, most ardently. But let us not speak of it. Jane, you must show Mr. Bingley that your affections are not wanting. He will not know if you do not let him see."
Jane blushed and looked away. "I cannot be so forward, Lizzy. If he truly feels as he did before, he will act."
"But you must meet him halfway," Elizabeth urged gently. "He is not Mr. Darcy, slow to believe himself admired. A kind word from you would mean everything."
Jane hesitated, then smiled faintly. "You always think the best of me, dearest Lizzy. I shall try."
Mr. Collins was deep in discussion with Charlotte when he abruptly broke away and walked directly up to Mr. Darcy. Elizabeth, who had been watching with an increasing sense of dread, knew precisely what he was about. A blush rose to her cheeks even as she looked away, thinking bitterly,And so the evening, so thoroughly beyond the reach of reason and civility, begins in earnest.
When they sat down to supper, Elizabeth prayed fervently that Mr. Darcy would take a seat some distance away—perhaps beyond hearing range of her mother. Yet fate, ever mischievous, placed him directly opposite. And as the platters were passed and the punch flowed, the scene unfolded just as it had before.
In vain did Elizabeth endeavour to check the rapidity of her mother’s words or persuade her to describe her felicity in a less audible whisper; for to her inexpressible vexation, she could perceive that the chief of it was overheard by Mr. Darcy, whose face remained composed, though his eyes betrayed an attention too keen to ignore.
Mrs. Bennet, with flushed cheeks and an ill-timed sense of triumph, scolded her daughter for being, as she said, nonsensical. "What is Mr. Darcy to me, pray, that I should be afraid of him? I am sure we owe him no such particular civility as to be obliged to say nothing he may not like to hear."
Elizabeth leaned in, her voice low and strained. "For heaven’s sake, madam, speak lower. What advantage can it be to you to offend Mr. Darcy? You will never recommend yourself to his friend by so doing."
But nothing that she could say had any influence. Her mother would talk of her views, and of Bingley's regard for Jane, in the same intelligible tone. Elizabeth blushed and blushed again, mortified beyond measure. She could not help glancing frequently atMr. Darcy, though every glance confirmed what she dreaded: though he was not always looking at her mother, his attention was fixed upon the conversation.
The expression of his countenance shifted—from indignant contempt to something graver, a steady, composed gravity that was no less painful to behold.
