Chapter Two

Upon her first glimpse of their new neighbour’s guest, Elizabeth’s heart jumped. He was handsome, tall, smoothly shaven, elegantly dressed, with a noble bearing, sad eyes, and a black armband wrapped around his sombre blue coat. The marker of loss gave Elizabeth a sense of connection.

She stared at the gentleman who’d followed Mr. Bingley into the assembly hall for ten seconds.

He glanced in her direction, and Elizabeth flushed and looked down. When she looked back up, to her mild disappointment, he did not look towards her.

After this Elizabeth made a point of trying to not think about him.

It was not so difficult.

Her mind was chiefly filled with a deep melancholy.

This was the first ball since Papa’s death five months previous. Elizabeth and all her sisters, except Jane who was in Kent with her new husband, Mr. Collins, had dressed in drab dim colours. Mama had at least not permitted them to wear bombazine and crepe to a ball.

They’d received a few raised eyebrows upon their decision to attend, as it was not strictly proper for the girls to go out to a scene of gaiety like this sooner than a full six months after the death of their father. However, Mama was insistent that her girls would attend the first ball that Mr. Bingley was present at, so that they could have their “fair shot at him”.

“My girls,” she insisted to Lady Lucas, “have just as much a right to a handsome future as your children do.” Left silent until Lady Lucas left was Mama’s implied view that her children had more of a right.

After her friend had left Longbourn, Mama said to Elizabeth, “Lady Lucas just does not wish to see her Charlotte overshadowed by you. Charlotte is such a plain creature though, but it is not her fault. All my girls, even Mary, are prettier by far.”

This evening her mother had been in her ordinary nervous flutter. She had insisted strongly that the girls must pay attention to the dancing, and to not be ashamed by the fact that they would be wearing older dresses, arriving on foot, and that they would lack a footman to be sent off from the servant’s shack if they had any necessary errands.

Mama was the most insistent of all that they must feel no shame about the lack of the fine hair styles that a real lady’s maid would have produced.

One might suspect, if they were not Elizabeth, that Mama’s lengthy discourse on the number of matters that they need not be ashamed of due to their constrained financial situation following Mr. Bennet’s death reflected her own shame.

Elizabeth need not suspect, as she had heard her mother more than once rant and rail to her, to Elizabeth’s sisters, to her mother’s sister, and to the few remaining servants, upon how shameful it was that Mr. Collins did not permit them the use of a carriage. He expected Mama to make do with her own funds for clothing, food, and everything beyond the bare necessities required to keep the house in good order.

The ball was too soon. The room oppressed her.

Harsh violins, raucous tilting cellos, the trumpet and drums. Everyone sounded an octave off key. There was something in the scent of the assembly hall that Elizabeth did not like, and that she had never noticed. Everyone’s conversation was happy, and half drunk. The wine was terrible.

Elizabeth’s feet wished to stumble, not dance.

And Mama glared at her, because she did not act happy and flirted with no one.

A part of Elizabeth wished to flirt and use her womanly wiles to find an escape from present circumstances.

Elizabeth was not quite sure what she wished to escape from.

It was not the loss of status and comforts. It was not the frustration of being subject to the small and fool minded will of Mr. Collins. Even though Mr. Collins had sold off all the novels present in the house when he took possession, and then proclaimed that none would be read within his house — this following the advice of his patroness.

Well, she did wish to be free of Mr. Collins’s influence.

But it was not chiefly that. Elizabeth felt alone.

Papa died and Jane was thrown by circumstance and choice into her harsh exile in Kent, with Collins as the jailor. Charlotte’s simple approval of Jane’s marriage had almost created a rupture in their friendship, and… Elizabeth was now fully aware that their minds were not alike in matters of greatest importance. After the argument they had about Jane’s marriage to Mr. Collins, things simply could not be the same.

At least Kitty and Lydia were happy at the ball. They behaved like colts that had been kept in the barn too long, and who were finally given a chance to run. They drank, laughed, danced, flirted, and acted as though they had not a lone care in the world.

Despite her melancholy, after a dance with Charlotte’s brother, Mr. Lucas, Elizabeth found herself unable to not be strongly interested in the intelligence Mr. Harris offered to a group of the ladies of the neighbourhood about Mr. Darcy.

“Oh yes,” Mr. Harris said, “A widower. His wife died in the spring a year past. The tragedy Eve brought upon all her daughters. His wife was a great heiress. I was told that the windows alone cost ten thousand pounds on the house she inherited! Ten thousand pounds! For windows!”

“And yet,” Mrs. Long said, “all that wealth helped her not at all when the grim angel came.”

“They say,” Mr. Harris added, “that he is devoted to his wife’s memory, and you can see that he has not left half mourning after all of this time.”

“Look at his eyes,” Miss Gold fluttered. “You can see the ghosts of his dead in them.”

Elizabeth looked towards Mr. Darcy, who frowned at them, as though he were aware that he was the subject of their conversation. He turned determinedly away. She saw no female ghosts in his eyes, though those eyes were as deep as a sea.

“Did the child survive?” Mrs. Long asked practically. “And was it a boy or a girl?”

“I believe the child survived.” Mr. Harris then stammered before adding, “I cannot recall whether it was a female or a male child. But Mr. Darcy is very wealthy. He is originally from Derbyshire.”

“We were already aware of that ,” Mrs. Long replied. “But in precise figures and sums how wealthy is ‘very’?”

Elizabeth did not consider Mrs. Long’s sharp reply to be wholly justified. Elizabeth at least had not been aware that he hailed from Derbyshire. That was of rather less importance to everyone of sense than the size of the fortune owned by the gentleman present with them.

Later in conversation Elizabeth heard from another guest the definite information that Darcy’s own estate of Pemberley was worth more than ten thousand a year, and that his infant daughter owned an estate outright in Kent that was worth nearly as much again.

Mr. Darcy’s standoffish manners did not destroy the fascination which he held for the inhabitants of the ballroom. A fascination particularly felt by the younger and more unmarried females. You could see in the twist of his mouth how he could not stand to witness the joys of the dance. Without a doubt the joyfulness of the crowds in this room reminded him of happier days spent lightly dancing with his beloved.

But O the heavy change now thou art gone,

Now thou art gone, and never must return!

Or perhaps one day his heart might heal, warmed by the love of a maiden honest, fair and true, who could devote herself to making the handsome and wealthy gentleman forget the terrible losses he suffered under… and also to tolerating the brat.

Such was the attitude of the room.

Beyond a doubt Mr. Darcy was more fascinating than Mr. Bingley. Mr. Bingley’s brother-in-law Mr. Hurst was particularly unworthy of remark as he was neither wealthy nor a bachelor.

But even had he been both, a man with his rotund figure and sottish love of wine could not have fascinated the romantic female.

The interest Elizabeth had in Mr. Darcy was to a great extent reduced by the general fascination he held for her sex — there was that in her which wished to be contrary whenever opportunity arose. Her immediate sensibility of him had reflected no unique perspicacity, but instead was an ordinary liking that any woman might, and would, develop.

Elizabeth began to suspect, as wended the evening course, that Mr. Darcy was in fact a rude gentleman, disinclined to mingle in the mirthful merrymaking out of a haughty belief in his superiority to those around him, and that he refused to dance with anyone who was not a member of his own party out of a disdain for the beauties of Hertfordshire, and not due to the tragic memory of that last happy dance he’d danced with his dead wife.

Midway through the night, Elizabeth suffered the disappointment of not having acquired a partner. She settled into a chair not so far from where Mr. Darcy stood, examining in minute detail a portrait of his Majesty, King George III.

She leaned back and studied the glittering chandelier. The evening had not been near so bad as she’d feared. After the early part, she had begun to even enjoy herself. Papa would have wished for her to do so.

And she had danced once with Mr. Bingley — unfortunately, though he was charming, personable, and friendly, there was no affinity of mind between them.

Elizabeth felt an aching absence. This need . She wanted someone with whom she could simply talk, someone who she could be truly herself when in the presence of.

She knew by instinct that Mr. Bingley never could be that person. Even less likely was the hope that his supercilious silken and laced sisters would meet the criteria.

A pleasant enough evening.

The music had a friendly sound. A pretty Irish jig, a tune Elizabeth knew and liked. Her foot absently tapped along. Relaxation filled her.

“Must have you dance.” A loud cheerful voice to her side drew Elizabeth’s eye to Mr. Bingley. He stood next to Darcy, while Kitty, who was his partner for this dance, stood behind him, watching helplessly. Bingley continued, “I hate to see you standing about by yourself in this stupid manner. You had much better dance.”

Darcy’s reply was spoken firmly, but quietly enough that Elizabeth could not catch any word from it but punishment .

Bingley replied quietly, but with a rising tone. His first words were inaudible, but he ended with shouting, “As you for a kingdom! Upon my honour.”

Elizabeth did not catch the rest of Bingley’s sentence, but Mr. Darcy’s reply of “There is not a single handsome girl in the room” was sufficient to establish his character wholly and completely.

He was the rude person she’d imagined him to be, not the heartbroken and romantic widower that was imagined by the rest of the room.

“Oh, my current partner is perfectly pretty, and one of her sisters sits just behind you, who is also very pretty, and I dare say, very agreeable. Do let me and my partner introduce you.”

“Which do you mean?” Mr. Darcy then turned around and looked directly at her.

Their eyes caught, and Elizabeth felt something jump in her chest.

He withdrew his eyes and coldly said, in a voice that she could distinctly hear, “She is tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me .”

The rest of the speech was lost to Elizabeth’s ears.

She felt a cold flush of hurt, this followed by a roaring anger in her ears, and then she began to laugh at both herself and Mr. Darcy.

Before this speech, she had deduced that Mr. Darcy was an awful, vain, rude man. Intolerably proud. And now Bingley had pushed him to dance with her — contrary to his clear and general will?

Nothing else could have been anticipated.

Elizabeth only rather wished that Kitty had not also clearly been able to hear. Both her sister and Bingley had returned to their dance. And Mama would be sure to hear about the story, and she’d not hear the end of it for two weeks at least.

Despite this, Elizabeth’s own hurt and sense of seething resentment towards him was ridiculous — though the ridiculousness was no reason not to cultivate it. She would happily swear to despise him forever.

The gentleman himself was of course absurd.

What sort of man would say such a thing to a woman he had never been introduced to? Or to one after he had been introduced? And yet Mr. Darcy clearly believed himself to be the greatest exemplar of good breeding.

She rose from her seat to find Charlotte to share the tale. Perhaps when she returned home, she could—

Papa was not at home to tell the story to.

Papa never would be home again.

He’d have chuckled at the tale. His eyes would have twinkled as he said something like, “I still do not imagine though that Mr. Darcy is so much worse than any other rich man.” And then he would turn to her with serious concern, and say, “I hope, Lizzy, you did not take what he said at all to heart.”

It always snuck up on her.

Even during the first days. She had not cried when they carried Papa home from where he’d been thrown from his horse and bashed his head in. Though the sight of the body had been shocking.

She had been too busy. Managing the servants, seeing to it that Mama was given space to wail, and that Jane had the freedom to comfortingly sit next to Mama, ensuring that the well-wishers who'd come to grieve her father were kept refreshed and in ample coffee, chocolate, tea, and toast.

And then, the next day, she’d seen a miniature of Papa sitting on the mantelpiece, and she’d heard the tone of his voice in her head, and she had to run to her room so she would not make a spectacle before everyone as she sobbed and sobbed.

It was like that now. Elizabeth cried softly, unable to stop it, even though she did not wish to make a spectacle of herself amongst the crowd. Pressing a hand to her eyes she hurried out through the nearest balcony door into the chilled night air.

Hiding on the side where no one could see her from inside the rooms, she let herself cry it out. She thought of Papa, about how he’d never hear this story, and about how he would have liked it.

When she wiped her eyes and turned back to re-enter the assembly rooms, Elizabeth found to her surprise that Mr. Darcy now stood with her on the balcony, possessing quite an awkward air.

The two stared at each other. Despite the sun having fallen, his features were clear enough in the ample light shining out from the assembly rooms, aided by the nearly full moon.

Mr. Darcy inclined his head in a small bow and said, “Madam, I must apologize to you, I had not meant to be heard by you, or to upset you so.”

Elizabeth blankly looked at the gentleman. For a long second she possessed no notion of what he spoke about.

The gentleman grimaced and rubbed at the back of his neck. “I ought not have rudely made comments disparaging your appearance, when I knew you might hear what I said.” Mr. Darcy paused for a second, as though expecting her to say something, and then he added, “I behaved in an ungentlemanly manner, and I must beg your forgiveness.”

“Oh, yes,” she replied distantly, and slowly let go of her thoughts of Papa. “You did insult me.”

She still could not get a read on his character, but his decision to awkwardly embarrass himself by apologizing added a new wrinkle to it.

This addition to the tale would have delighted Papa more than the rest, and at this moment that thought gave Elizabeth a glow of nostalgic memory and friendliness to the world, rather than an urge to cry once more. After all, Papa had always encouraged her to be happy and to find the amusing and diverting in every situation.

She wiped at her eyes again, and with a sudden smile she could not repress, Elizabeth made her own curtsey, “I accept your apology, and it was graciously given.”

They two looked at each other, and Mr. Darcy inclined his head again, but he still seemed dissatisfied.

Elizabeth added impishly, “I feel it worthwhile to acknowledge that it was not the abominable insult to my vanity — one which I fear cannot be undone by your apology, since the knowledge that I am not one who can tempt you can never be forgotten—”

“I did not mean that—”

“Mr. Darcy, please allow me to finish my speech. I beg you. You have already had ample opportunity to speak.”

He seemed to flush, but Elizabeth could not be certain in the dark.

“It was not the insult to my vanity that brought me to tears, but rather a different memory and line of thought that was prompted by your words, but not chiefly about them. I still thank you for the apology, and I do accept it.”

“Ah.” He looked rather unconvinced. “I am glad to hear then that it was not my words that precipitated your tears. But I still spoke wrongly, and I feel a certain responsibility to…” He shrugged, a little helplessly. “Is there any way that I might rectify matters? Do you wish to… dance?”

He could not keep the distaste from his tone at the word dance .

Elizabeth could not stop the helpless laughter that bubbled out, she was still unsettled, and the gentleman’s concern was ridiculous.

Seeing the offense on his face she hurriedly said, “I do apologize. It merely was clear from your tone of voice that you dislike dancing on general, not particular grounds, and that you considered it a burden to make the offer — I appreciate the sentiment, and the effort you made to go against your inclinations by offering to subject yourself to such a fate as dancing . If you might forgive me for laughing at your offer, then I shall truly, from my heart, forgive you for the high crime and treason of not seeing me as tempting enough to abandon your principled and contrary opposition to dancing.”

And really Elizabeth’s actual resentment had now faded away.

She realized more clearly than before that he had not said anything in particular about her appearance when he proclaimed her not tempting enough, but that what he had said had chiefly been a testament to his disinclination for dancing.

Ridiculous man. What was he doing in a ballroom if he did not wish to dance?

Mr. Darcy studied her seriously, dark eyes intent on her.

Elizabeth wiped at her eyes once more, feeling enormously more cheerful, and she smiled at him. “Mr. Darcy, I foresee two paths: We shall either be enemies, or we both must accept that the other has his peculiarities and progress from that point.”

His study continued for what seemed a long minute. Elizabeth more than half expected him to bow stiffly, and then leave in a huff, having been fatally offended by her literally laughing at his apology.

Then he shrugged and smiled ruefully. The gesture made him look both younger and more friendly than before. “I have in fact been standing about in a stupid manner the whole night. It was a mistake to attend, but it seemed awkward to not do so, especially as Mr. Bingley had hoped to bring a larger party to the ball. Besides…” He shrugged.

“You thought you ought to go?” Elizabeth spoke a little heedlessly from her current high spirits, the more unchecked because she had been in tears a few minutes before. “You thought that you ought to delight in scenes of gaiety and light heartedness, to put aside, for a night, the unending grief over your losses? If I speak too lightly, forgive me, the real reason for my tears is that I had been reminded of my father who died not half a year past, and he delighted in laughing at everything.”

That confession visibly relaxed Mr. Darcy.

As she looked at him, it was impossible not to notice once more that he was quite attractive.

“My disgruntlement comes from a different source than my unending grief — I confess,” he added in a tone of actual annoyance, “to having heard spoken in a half whisper as I walked past groups of chattering persons ‘miserable widower’ while I was pointed at least a half dozen times this evening.”

“Fie, fie! And to then tell me I am not tempting in a manner in which I would overhear, simply because you had heard so much commentary on your own fine self this evening. Fie, fie.”

Mr. Darcy’s reply was a grin. “Had that been my motivation, it would have been both petty and unkind.”

“You deny my speculation?”

“As it is merely speculation,” Mr. Darcy replied, “you ought to feel free to judge its own merits without interference from me.”

“No, no — but enough on that subject. What is your real reason for despising our ballroom — Besides the deficiencies of the band, the buffet, and the company, of course.”

“Are those not sufficient?” A pause. His head cocked questioningly.

Elizabeth stifled a giggle at his dry manner.

Then Mr. Darcy added, “You ought to judge me if I say so much. But I do not know anyone here. I never enjoy a party when I am not closely acquainted with the majority of those who attend.”

“You have confirmed my speculation that you think very well of your own merits in comparison to ours. But do not worry, everyone else in the room believes that you are grief-stricken, and I shall not lay bare your vanity to the crowd.”

“I am proud, not vain. And pride, where there is real superiority of mind, pride will always be under good regulation.”

Elizabeth could not stop the laugh that bubbled out of her. She ought to have merely smiled and turned away to hide it.

To her surprise, after a pause, Mr. Darcy exclaimed with a smile, “By George, I must sound conceited — and you can have no basis for knowing if I have any of the good qualities I attribute to myself or not.”

“Except, of course, for that conceited speech, and your disinclination to conversation. And while I forgive you for what you said upon how tempting I am, it still does inform my portrait of your character.”

“Jove!” Darcy shook his head and then leaned his elbows on the balustrade and looked out at the moon and the houses of the town around them. “I would excuse myself by saying I am out of practice in company, but I do not believe that such an excuse is sufficient.”

Elizabeth did not think there was much that she could add to that. She leaned her elbows on the stone balustrade next to Darcy, and looked out at the dark street, lit by the candles from within the houses and the lamps swinging from the few persons walking about.

She was delighted with this conversation and that Mr. Darcy had been so far off balance, probably due to the awkwardness of having determined to make an apology, that he revealed as much of himself to her as he did.

Papa would have grinned so widely when he heard her describe this conversation.

“It is our second night here,” Darcy said after a delay, “and I do not like to leave Emily to be put to sleep by the nurse, and I cannot cease to wonder how she does.”

“Your daughter?”

Mr. Darcy nodded.

“Likely she does delightedly well, and she has received more pastries than she ever does under the caring and watchful eye of her father.”

He looked over towards her and grinned in reply. The happier look on his face made him look younger, more approachable, and, surprisingly, more handsome. “I do not believe that Nell will feed Emily to an excess without my knowledge. And in any case my daughter is chiefly obsessed with fruit of every sort, and beyond that, anything sour, such as pickles, preserved cabbage, or herring stored in vinegar.”

“A preference for pickled herring to sweets?” That drew a laugh from Elizabeth.

“I know,” Mr. Darcy agreed cheerfully. “She is a wholly exceptional and unusual creature. A remarkable girl.”

“No false modesty from you about your child. Though you have already proven to have no false modesty about yourself either.”

He laughed aloud in reply.

At that moment Elizabeth decided that she liked Mr. Darcy.

“You shall never cease to tease me upon what I have said tonight, not though we remain acquainted for twenty years.”

Elizabeth grinned back.

He added, “‘Tis an odd thought to me. Other parents think and feel about their children in a similar manner to how I feel about my little Em-Em. It is not a universally accepted fact that she is the most remarkable small child ever. She is, in fact, likely quite average and ordinary in many ways. I speak from the point of view of an imagined and erroneous philosopher when I say that. For myself, I do have no doubts about her being wholly superior to every other child in the world.”

“No unbiased judge could ever disagree,” Elizabeth agreed, agreeably.

Mr. Darcy grinned at her once more. “I worry that she is not sleeping. Nell would have read her a book, and walked her around, but it cannot be the same, and this is an unfamiliar place.”

“Are you perhaps also worried that she fell asleep all too easily, without any disturbance due to your absence?”

To her surprise Mr. Darcy grinned once more. She did not wish to be an ordinary female easily impressed by a pretty smile, but Lord! It made him handsome. “You have caught me out! I am a little jealous of her affections, and I do like to be her favourite in all the world. However, I am confident that my place as first in her affections cannot be so easily disturbed as that. Even if she fell asleep easily without me, she will be thrilled to see me when she wakes on the ‘morrow.”

They smiled and a peaceful silence came over them again.

Darcy looked away from her and leaned his elbows again on the balustrade. “Your father died recently?”

“This is the first ball I have attended since I left mourning.” Elizabeth rubbed over her face. “I did not expect to think about him. But the memory snuck up on me… we always laughed at odd and ridiculous characters. And—”

Mr. Darcy laughed again.

When Elizabeth looked at him quizzically, he said, “I apologize. I apologize.” But he continued to chuckle. “And now I—” He pressed his lips tightly together. “You need to say no more. I can deduce easily enough how my words led you to think of him.”

Elizabeth laughed with him.

Laughter was a good look on Mr. Darcy.

“And to think, I have made it my study to avoid those weaknesses which often expose a strong understanding to ridicule. But I failed tonight.”

“Oh certainly,” Elizabeth agreed in a cheerful voice which made Darcy grin at her again. “But it is best to admit one’s failure when it arrives, rather than hide oneself from an unhappy truth, which remains true, no matter how hard you hide.”

“You are still amusing yourself at my expense,” Darcy replied to her.

“If I cannot dance, I must find another way to pass the time.”

“Do you mean to hint that you now would accept such a dance?”

“Only if you now find me tempting enough.”

“It is not that — I do not like to dance unless I am particularly acquainted with my partner beforehand.”

“I understand. It is impossible to become acquainted on a dance floor,” Elizabeth replied seriously.

“It is odd that I do not mind being made sport of by you so much as I would expect.”

“You are not to be teased?” Elizabeth asked.

“I must always maintain my dignity, my position… what I owe to my family name, and my proud ancestors. I am out of practice. I have been very little in company of late.”

“Perhaps you are lonely?” Elizabeth rather spoke of herself, she realized, though that was not in her tone.

“No, not that… perhaps? — it is so odd. I think I have never been so happy as this past year, and yet at the same time I am often anxious, stressed, and frequently without sufficient sleep when she is sick or teething.”

That unthinking declaration of happiness did not correspond with the general belief in the room that he wore the black armband because he could not forget the love he had always held for his now dead wife. “Do you take so much joy in being a father?”

“It is the most wonderful thing I have ever done — the most important. I experience an endless fascination, a delight, in watching how she gains abilities, how she advances in terms of capacities, in terms of knowledge and understanding of the world, her ability to use speech. Every fortnight she gains new capabilities, can walk more capably, can utilize more sounds. She understands additional things. And her curiosity! The insistence on doing things herself. I can watch her for hours without becoming bored. And she does always wish to be held and carried — but I will soon tire you. I speak too easily on the topic of my child.”

“I do not believe I have ever encountered a father who was so dedicated to his child, especially at the young age your Emily must be.” Elizabeth smiled warmly at him. Her sense that she liked him was strengthening.

And what he said made her think warmly about her own father.

“She was only born during the previous summer — and since then… I do not wish to bore you with tales of my child. You said your father died recently. I am sorry to hear that.”

Elizabeth shrugged. “Not so recently that I have much excuse for sudden bursts of tears.”

“There is not a time when you should wholly forget the man who shaped you.”

His serious tone made Elizabeth swallow back near tears once more. She nodded quietly. “My mother wished us to attend this ball, and so we perhaps are a little premature.” Elizabeth smiled slyly. “My mother had heard that a single gentleman of fortune had settled in the neighbourhood, and she wished us to have our fair opportunity to meet him — our fair shot, she said — though her worry upon our fates was somewhat assuaged when my sister married Papa’s heir when he came to Longbourn to take possession.”

“The estate was entailed?” Darcy asked. “It was fortunate for you that the heir was happy to marry a daughter of the house. Is he present? I do not believe we have met.”

Elizabeth shook her head. “He kept his position as a clergyman. He had only been bestowed the rectory shortly before my father’s death, and my cousin is desperately devoted to his patroness. I think…” Elizabeth said slowly, “It speaks a little well of his character that even after his fortune was made, he wished to maintain his profession and his attachment to one who had favoured him when he required employment and patronage.”

“You do not like him,” Darcy surmised.

“Am I so transparent?” Elizabeth laughed. “Do not say that aloud! Especially not where my mother might hear. She is wholly devoted to him — though she wishes he would settle here, as the allowance we are given to maintain the estate is far inferior to what she was used to in my father’s life.”

“She ought to feel gratitude that she can maintain her position and continue to live in her house. Many widows enjoy far less,” he replied in a solemn voice.

Elizabeth grinned at him. “Well spoken. I see you are a man who has never needed to worry upon the matter of seeing his consequence lowered.”

Mr. Darcy nodded his head to acknowledge her point.

With a smile, Elizabeth added, “It is the general nature of people to have reasons for dissatisfaction. You shall always be dissatisfied if you expect them to not find sources for dissatisfaction in their own lives.”

Her quip made Mr. Darcy smile. He then said, “I prefer to be amongst those who endeavour to look for the good and pleasant — do not tell me again that this is a matter easily said by one such as me who has simply enjoyed an easy life. I have suffered from the deaths of those I love. And no one in this room lives a life really cursed by poverty.”

“Do you complain?” Elizabeth asked, “Even to yourself?”

“Seldom. And do you?”

“At times. It would be unreasonable to expect myself to never complain, even to myself. But I try not to do so to an excess. Jane never complains, and I worry for her. I worry more because I know she will not complain — she is the sister who married Mr. Collins. I know my circumstances are not difficult… sometimes I am melancholy. It is because I miss my father.”

“You try to remember him with happiness.” Mr. Darcy’s voice was serious.

What an odd conversation this had become. “Whenever I laugh, I am honouring his memory.”

“I have already deduced that you like to laugh.” He then flushed. “Though I cannot be glad that it was my foibles which offered you ample opportunity this evening.”

“You ought to become a philosopher about the matter. When one creates a chance for another to laugh, one earns the right to laugh themselves. And a world with more laughter is better than one with less.”

Mr. Darcy frowned. It was a profoundly serious and thoughtful expression. He at last slowly said, “That cannot be the only consideration in such a case.”

“When the matter is not serious, when it is not a question of fundamental character or honour, or a matter of the utmost importance, I think in those cases what creates the greatest happiness should be paramount.”

“You consider yourself to be a happy woman?”

“Oh, certainly.”

“And from whence does this happiness come? Do you think it is a matter of your fundamental character, or a matter of how you were raised? — I ask as a father who often wonders how he might raise his daughter to be happy. It was nearly the last thing that Anne said to me, she begged for me to raise Emily so that she might be happy. But real happiness is not a matter of momentary pleasures, but of enduring sources of satisfaction and the ability to face the vicissitudes of life properly. And I do not know… how.”

“I can hardly answer. But I think teaching her to laugh freely, and to find humour in the details of daily life, cannot go amiss.”

“I hope so. But it must be more — and so little of what I read upon the art of rearing children cares about their happiness . The consideration is always to teach them to be disciplined, capable, independent, to avoid vice and pursue virtue. And that is how I was raised. And those are considerations of the utmost importance. But happiness itself is seldom considered.”

Elizabeth smiled. “You are an unusual man.”

Darcy pressed his lips together in a way that showed he wished to smile. His eyes were bright.

“I must also tell you, sir, that I have decided I rather like you. I dare say I have never had a conversation upon such subjects in a ballroom. Your only defect, I think, beyond occasional rudeness, is your disinclination to dance.”

Mr. Darcy laughed, and Elizabeth liked to see that from him. “I now owe you a dance, and I will happily offer it whenever you will do me the honour of accepting my hand.”

He then yawned widely.

Elizabeth laughed. “My vanity punctured once more.”

“I am not used to ball hours any longer.” Darcy rubbed at the back of his neck. “I fear I must lay the blame upon my daughter. She wakes with the sun, like a proper farmer, and I have asked to be woken with her, so we might take an early morning walk — would you dance with me? Afterwards I believe I shall retire for the night.”

Elizabeth laughed. “I cannot. I have promised this next to Mr. Gould. And after that with your host’s brother, Mr. Hurst. But for the next opportunity when we both are at liberty to dance, I am at your disposal.”

As it happened the two of them did not dance that night, since by the time Elizabeth’s two next dances had completed, Mr. Darcy had progressed from yawning and rubbing his eyes, to napping on a sofa in the card room, and she had neither the bravery, nor the heart, to wake him from his presumably well-earned sleep.