Elizabeth’s gaze followed them fondly, then turned back to the floor. Her eyes, bright with mischief, took in the swirl of dancers, the flushed faces, the laughter, the rustle of silk and the gleam of polished shoes. Kitty and Lydia were in high spirits, chattering to two officers in scarlet, their heads bent together in eager delight.
As for Mr. Darcy, he remained at his post near the wall, silent and immovable as a statue. Elizabeth allowed herself one last glance at him before turning away entirely. Whatever his opinion of her might be, she thought, the evening was far too pleasant to waste on the proudest man alive.
***
BY THE END OF the evening, opinion had settled with remarkable unanimity. The greater part of the room agreed that Mr. Bingley was the most amiable young man ever to appear inHertfordshire, and that his evident admiration for Miss Bennet was perfectly plain to every discerning eye. Concerning his friend, however, the verdict was equally clear: Mr. Darcy was universally pronounced the proudest, most disagreeable man alive
Elizabeth very nearly choked with laughter when one spirited matron declared, “To the devil with his ten thousand a year, I would not endure his company for ten minutes!” Another lady, less restrained, asked rather loudly, “How in heaven’s name does so pleasant a gentleman as Mr. Bingley keep such a friend?”
Elizabeth pressed her hand to her lips to hide her mirth. She was just turning to find Charlotte and share the jest with her when a sudden stir rippled through the room. Heads began to turn, voices rose in confusion, and someone near the refreshment table cried out, “A dog! There is a dog in the room!”
Elizabeth froze, her laughter faltering as the colour drained from her cheeks. She blinked once, then twice, as a single dreadful thought struck her.
“Oh no,” she whispered. “Pippin.”
Before she could move, the familiar brown spaniel bounded into view, her ears flying and her tail wagging furiously. Evidently drawn by the scent of the pastries, she darted beneath tables and between startled guests, scattering ribbons, crumbs, and alarmed whispers in her wake.
Pippin, oblivious to the scandal she caused, stopped short before Mr. Darcy, who had been standing in grave conversation with Sir William. She sniffed his boots once, appeared unimpressed, and promptly placed both muddy paws upon them in cheerful greeting.
A small shriek escaped one of the Bingley sisters. The musicians faltered. Several matrons gasped aloud, fans fluttering like startled birds.
“Merciful heavens,” cried an elderly gentleman nearby, “how on earth did a dog get in here?”
Another voice, sharper and more offended, declared, “Who would bring such a creature to an assembly?”
Mrs. Bennet’s bonnet trembled as she turned crimson. “Elizabeth Bennet!” she hissed, her voice high with horror. “Your dog, child? Yourdog?”
Elizabeth’s colour rose swiftly. “She must have followed the carriage,” she said, though the slight hesitation in her voice betrayed how little she believed her own pretence. Without another word, she stepped forward in haste.
At the sight of her mistress, Pippin let out a joyful bark and began circling her feet with all the triumph of a conqueror, her tail waving as though she had achieved some noble exploit.
Elizabeth’s heart sank. “Oh, Pippin,” she murmured, hurrying forward as the spaniel’s delighted bark rang out. “You could not have chosen a worse moment, dearest.”
The little dog wagged her tail furiously and bounded toward her, utterly unrepentant. Elizabeth dropped to one knee, catching her collar before she could begin a second round of mischief. “Hush now,” she whispered softly, running a quick hand over her silky head. “Let us preserve what dignity remains.”
The room had fallen silent again. Darcy looked down at his boots, where two perfect prints of mud stood in mocking contrast to their former polish. He raised his eyes to Elizabeth, his expression unreadable, his tone low and deliberate.
“It seems, Miss Bennet,” he said, “that your companion is of a bold and independent temper. A pity such qualities are seldom improved by indulgence.”
The words were spoken with composure, almost gentleness, yet their meaning stung. Elizabeth felt the warmth rise in hercheeks. Her fingers tightened on Pippin’s collar, but her reply came calm and clear.
“Your opinions, however grave they are, are duly noted, sir,” she said, her tone steady and touched with irony. “But you would find my dog far more forgiving than I. She seldom takes offence, and never remembers it long.”
A soft murmur of amusement stirred the onlookers. Sir William, eager to restore good humour, gave a hearty “Ha!” and declared that no harm was done. One of the younger officers grinned, though quickly sobered when his companion nudged him to silence.
From among the Bingley party came a sharp little gasp. Miss Bingley had drawn herself up, her eyes flashing indignation at such boldness, but she stilled at once under Mr. Darcy’s cool glance—half astonished, half warning. She coloured slightly and turned away, biting her lip.
Mrs. Bennet, meanwhile, fanned herself with desperate vigour. “Oh, my dear sir, I beg a thousand pardons,” she burst out, bobbing a curtsey in Darcy’s direction. “It is only Lizzy’s foolish little dog. A most tiresome creature—she must have followed the carriage when we left Longbourn, and none of us were the wiser till now. I assure you, sir, it will never happen again. Such a mischievous animal!”
Darcy inclined his head slightly. “It was of no consequence, madam,” he said, though his tone suggested that it had been very much a consequence indeed.
Elizabeth’s lips quirked, her mortification softened by the absurdity of her mother’s fluster. Gathering Pippin into her arms, she murmured a quiet reassurance to the spaniel, who nestled contentedly against her shoulder, quite pleased with her evening’s adventure.
When Elizabeth turned again, the musicians were packing away their instruments, and the lively hum of the room hadsoftened into farewells and laughter. Jane stood near the door, her countenance serene and softly glowing, while Mrs. Bennet alternated between smiles of rapture and sidelong glances of reproach at Elizabeth, as though uncertain whether to scold or rejoice.
Elizabeth bore it all with composure, her thoughts divided between amusement and relief. Her eyes drifted once more across the room to where the Bingleys were gathering their party to depart. Mr. Darcy stood a little apart from them, his expression as composed as ever, speaking but little while the sisters made their farewells. For a fleeting instant, she fancied his gaze turned toward her and Pippin’s retreat, though she could not determine whether in curiosity or censure.
Her lips curved faintly. “Good night, proud Mr. Darcy,” she murmured to herself, more amused than offended.
