Chapter 17

Netherfield Hall

5 th November, 1811

Darcy lurked in the hallway beside the closed drawing room door, watching the guests filter in along the receiving line. The hall was brightly lit, dozens upon dozens of candles glowing in their stands with the mirrors behind them, and light gleamed off the polished parquet floor. Several vases of flowers sat in niches in the hall, and the guests made their way to the open ballroom doors, from whence light and music were spilling out.

Bingley and his younger sister stood to receive their guests. Bingley was animated and bright-eyed, greeting each guest as exuberantly as the last. He cut a fine figure tonight in a deep blue coat that set off his eyes and hair, his silk cravat tied with particular attention, his teeth flashing with his joyous smiles. Beside him, Miss Bingley was far more restrained, smiling politely and welcoming the entrants gracefully. She was resplendent in rose-colored silk, diamonds glittering at her throat and dripping from her ears, with what looked like an entire peacock's worth of feathers in her hair.

The door opened again, and another knot of attendees entered, the Bennets in the midst of them. About half of the invited guests had arrived, Darcy noted, quietly pleased with the tact that had brought the Bennets over neither too early nor too late, despite their close geographic proximity. Miss Bennet looked as lovely as always in pale blue, but it was Miss Elizabeth who caught his eye once again. She was attired in a light yellow and glowed like a candle flame, with yellow lace pinned becomingly in her dark hair. Miss Mary, right behind her, looked startlingly well. She was dressed in a green gown that flattered her complexion, and fashionable ringlets framed her face charmingly.

Then Mr. Collins puffed in behind the ladies, and Darcy beat a strategic retreat back down to the ballroom. He had no desire to converse with his aunt's buffoon of a parson, and should Mr. Collins see him, it would undoubtedly lead to wearisome conversation.

/

Netherfield

Jane Bennet's white-gloved hand sat lightly in Darcy's as he led her out onto the floor to join the forming set of the first dance. Her dress was of a celestial blue that made her look even lovelier than usual, but her smile was placid and habitual, and her movements as she curtseyed and met Darcy in the middle of the set were courteous but not enthusiastic

Miss Bennet was a gifted dancer, and she smiled politely when their eyes met, but did not speak a word throughout the entire dance. When their hands touched during the dance, she did not cling to him as did the ladies in Town, or the way Caroline Bingley was wont to do. Darcy was not remotely offended. Indeed, he was rather impressed with the lady's silent graciousness that so plainly conveyed polite disinterest.

When they had completed their final figure and the music ended, he clapped along with everyone else in the line, and he noted how Miss Bennet's eyes, now noticeably softened, had shifted to where Bingley was standing across from Anne de Bourgh.

He held out his arm, and she took it, and he guided her over to Bingley, who was promised Miss Bennet's second set.

"Miss Bennet," Bingley said with a slight bow, "I hope that you enjoyed your dance with my friend?"

"Very much," the lady said graciously. "Miss de Bourgh, I hope you are well tonight?"

"I am," Anne replied, "but I will definitely sit out the next dance. I am not vigorous enough to dance for hours."

"Shall I fetch you a lemonade?" Darcy asked, eying his cousin with concern.

"Yes, after you escort me over to that chair next to Mrs. Bennet. I would like to speak with her more."

Darcy obediently did as ordered, and by the time Anne had been settled and Darcy had found lemonade and carried it to her, the next dance had started. He did not mind that in the least. He would have to dance with Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst in order to be polite, and he was committed to dancing with Miss Elizabeth Bennet, but he had no interest in dancing every set.

Darcy lingered a moment to watch his cousin as she sipped her drink and started a conversation with Mrs. Bennet. The two ladies quickly fell into discussion, and he drifted to a blank patch of wall to watch the currently ongoing dance. Miss Bennet and Bingley were conversing as they moved with practiced ease through the motions of the dance, and the lady's face was bright and animated, her hand lingering for just an extra second in Bingley's before she let go.

Darcy watched with approval for some minutes before his gaze drifted to Miss Elizabeth, next in line beside her sister. She was bright and piquant and held his attention, her eyes flashing with laughter above a wide smile. She was dancing with a young man who, after a moment's thought, Darcy placed as the oldest Lucas boy, Sir William's heir. The young man was a competent enough dancer, but not the equal of his partner, who was elegant and graceful and light on her feet.

Darcy's heart twisted in his chest. Miss Elizabeth was undeniably appealing, and he would be a fool to not admit it. She was not, regrettably, a worthy bride, but as she smiled again, her bright laughter rising above the music, he could not help but think how utterly enchanting she was.

"I can guess the subject of your reverie," a painfully familiar voice announced from behind him.

Darcy did not turn toward Miss Bingley and kept his arms clasped in front of him, the better to prevent her from grasping him.

"I should imagine not," he stated.

"Oh yes," Miss Bingley continued, "You are considering how insupportable it would be to pass many evenings in this manner, in such society, and indeed, I am quite of your opinion. I was never more annoyed! The insipidity and yet the noise, the nothingness and the self-importance of all these people! What would I give to hear your strictures on them!"

Darcy spun to regard Miss Bingley with a cold eye. "That is hardly a positive reflection on yourself, given that you were responsible for the arrangements of this ball."

"My dear sir, I am confident that the ball itself is as well organized as it could possibly be, and the food and drink and music quite beyond what any of these yokels have ever seen. It is the company which is the problem, not the environment."

Darcy gritted his teeth and forced himself to breathe in and out. Thanks to the music and general noise, he did not think any of those attending could overhear Miss Bingley's insults, but it was certainly most improper for the lady to denigrate her guests in such a way.

"Your conjecture is totally wrong, I assure you," he stated, turning back to gaze at Elizabeth Bennet again. "My mind was more agreeably engaged. I have been meditating on the very great pleasure which a pair of fine eyes in the face of a pretty woman can bestow."

Miss Bingley gasped aloud and immediately fixed her gaze on him. "What woman are you speaking of?"

"Miss Elizabeth Bennet."

"Miss Elizabeth Bennet?" Miss Bingley repeated in an appalled tone. "Surely you cannot be serious? She is hardly worthy of your attention, Mr. Darcy. She is but the daughter of an impecunious country gentleman."

"Miss Bingley, I beg you to lower your voice," Darcy said irascibly, and then, at the startled look on the lady's face, continued more gently, "A lady's imagination is very rapid. It jumps from admiration to love, from love to matrimony, in a moment. I merely spoke of admiration, not marriage."

Miss Bingley nodded once but did not speak, and Darcy's heart sank. He really ought not to have said such a thing about Miss Elizabeth. His friend's sister was already inclined to chase him around and flatter him endlessly, and he did not wish for her to become more direct in her pursuit, if that was even possible.

But it was too late now.

/

"Elizabeth!" Charlotte Lucas exclaimed as the two ladies met up between dances. "My dear, you have never looked more handsome."

"Why thank you!" Elizabeth replied. "I enjoy dancing very much, as you know, and I believe that enjoying one's activities can add a certain luster to one's appearance."

"I suppose it does," Miss Lucas agreed and turned her gaze on Mr. Collins and Mary, who were some twenty feet away. The chattering of the crowd made it impossible to hear their discussion, but Mr. Collins was obviously speaking at length, and Mary was gazing up with a smile on her face.

"Mary looks well today," Charlotte remarked.

"Yes, she does," Elizabeth agreed. Indeed, Mary had never looked better, and Elizabeth felt a stab of sorrow that the girl usually dressed plainly in order to avoid Mr. Bennet's cruel teasing, with ‘one cannot make a silk purse out of a sow's ear' being one of their father's favorite remarks regarding his third child.

"I hope that she is able to win an offer from Mr. Collins," Charlotte continued, and Elizabeth directed an amazed look on her friend.

"How did you know that Mary…?"

"Is it not perfectly obvious? Mary generally does not dress so finely, and she is hanging on Mr. Collins's every word."

Elizabeth turned to stare into Charlotte's face, her brow wrinkled. "And you approve of my sister's determination to marry a man whom she does not yet know well at all and who is, in my view, ludicrous?"

"My dear friend, I believe that happiness in marriage is entirely a matter of chance. It does no good for a couple to know one another well, or to ensure that they have matching personalities when they wed. A man and his wife will always continue to grow sufficiently unlike afterwards to have their share of vexation. It is better to know as little as possible of the defects of the person with whom you are to pass your life."

"I do not think that sound at all, Charlotte," Elizabeth protested, and then, with a sigh, continued, "However, I understand Mary's great desire to move away from Longbourn and have a home of her own, so I will, of course, support her."

"Miss Elizabeth?"

The two ladies turned and inhaled similar breaths of admiration as Mr. Darcy came to a halt beside them, his handsome face gentled by a soft smile.

"Mr. Darcy," Elizabeth replied, curtseying.

"I believe that the music will be starting shortly for our dance."

"Of course. Thank you, sir. Until later, Charlotte."