Page 65 of A Most Favourable Match

“He is already dancing with Miss Darcy, Mother,”Elizabeth laughed, standing up and stretching herself as Jane sat down with a contented smile on her face. “You really ought to —”

“May I have this dance, Miss Elizabeth?” a deep, even voice intervened, and Elizabeth turned to find Mr Darcy at her side.

His jaw was set and his dark blue eyes were intense, as if he had steeled himself to ask her a difficult question. Mrs Bennet seemed agog at this development, and Elizabeth was inclined to accept the offer at least partly to tease her mother out of her fixation of matchmaking her with Mr Bingley.

She certainly did not suppose that she was likely to enjoy dancing with Mr Darcy, nor he with her. Still, perhaps he was trying to make amends for the ill-feeling and harsh words that had passed between them. Given her own admitted errors of judgement over the past few months, Elizabeth supposed she owed him something on that account, too.

“You may, Mr Darcy,” she answered gravely, laying a gloved hand on his proffered arm and feeling a sense of deep familiarity in the gesture, beyond what she would have expected, given only their walking together yesterday, and the slightest physical contacts of the past.

The next dance was a waltz, which was possibly the worst option for a couple with their uncomfortable history. Regardless, Mr Darcy led the dance with an understated elegance and assurance Elizabeth could not have anticipated. They moved easily together as they swirled and bent among the other couples, and shecould not help smiling at her partner and hoping that the dance would be a long one.

“I thought you did not care for dancing, Mr Darcy,” she observed as they waltzed. “I see now that I was wrong. You dance so well that you must surely enjoy it.”

“Pleasure in dancing depends entirely upon one’s partner,” Mr Darcy complimented her in return, his eyes not quite meeting hers with that reserve that she had taken for arrogance in the early months of their acquaintance and now perceived more as self-consciousness and imperfect social facility.

“It does,” she agreed, and then laughed. “I have been wrong in so many things about you, Mr Darcy, but you must admit you do not make yourself an easy man to know.”

Her partner smiled back at her, seeming to relax in her company. Whether or not he liked her, Elizabeth supposed he must trust her to some extent, or he would never have confided the story of his sister and Mr Wickham.

“I have never had the knack of endearing myself to strangers as certain other men can,” Mr Darcy conceded with a modesty Elizabeth could never have expected from him earlier in their acquaintance. “It is not in my nature.”

How hard it was becoming to persist in any level of anger against the man, especially in the light of Jane’s marvellous recovery. It was pointless to be angry too, since Mr Darcy would soon leave for Derbyshire, andthere was no reason to expect that they would meet again. That was a saddening thought, and Elizabeth determined they should at least part as friends.

“Not every man can be Charles Bingley,” she remarked with a smile as they continued to whirl and spin together. “We all have our own strengths and virtues. Mr Bingley does have the talent for being universally liked, do not you think?”

“Yes, although I sometimes fear his ability to discriminate among those who wish to be his friend for good reasons and those for ill. It is possible to get along with people too easily.”

Mr Darcy’s statement fit with Elizabeth’s own fears for Charles Bingley, and she nodded. “He has something in common with Jane, I think,” she observed. “My sister was born set on believing the best of everyone.”

“May I ask, Miss Elizabeth, if your sister likes Charles Bingley?” Mr Darcy asked her then, in his customary direct manner.

“Why, of course, she does,” Elizabeth returned with amusement, turning her answer into a joke. “We all like him. He has been at Longbourn so often recently that I think my father may end up adopting him. He has always wanted a son.”

“But Miss Bennet likes him particularly, I think?” Mr Darcy persisted, his real meaning finally dawning on Elizabeth. “I hope so. For he likes her very much indeed, and from what I have seen tonight, they may be well matched.”

“But surely it is too soon,” she whispered, toherself as much as to Mr Darcy. All at once, Elizabeth could see the truth. “Surely, they cannot be in love…”

Jane really did like Mr Bingley, just as much as Mr Bingley liked Jane. Until the end of her engagement, likely her sister had not been able to admit this even to herself. Now, it seemed blindingly obvious to Elizabeth.

“We are neither of us expert in such matters, as you have pointed out to me before,” Mr Darcy reminded her. “I can only speak the truth as I see it.”

Elizabeth nodded again. To her dismay, she could hear that the music was coming to its end. Even given the turn of their conversation, she felt strangely sorry to know their dance would soon be over.

“May I fetch you a glass of lemonade, Miss Elizabeth?” Mr Darcy asked as he led her from the dance floor.

Wildly, Elizabeth wondered if perhaps he too wished to prolong their final encounter. But that was surely too much to hope.

“Yes, thank you,” she said, retaking a seat. All her family seemed to have vanished, perhaps to the retiring rooms to fix some dress mishap, dry some tears, or both. “That would be very kind, Mr Darcy.”

While waiting, she scanned the room again and was briefly diverted to see George Wickham apparently captured by the garrulous Mr Collins. What could such disparate men find to talk about with such animation?

Moving on, Elizabeth’s eyes sought Darcy again and found him waylaid by Caroline Bingley. He lookednone too pleased to be detained, even darting pleading glances towards the oblivious Mr Bingley, who was presently engaged in conversation with Miss Darcy some feet away. Rising, Elizabeth strolled towards the group, catching some of their conversation as she went.

“I am so glad that I came down from London, Mr Darcy,” Miss Bingley sighed, fluttering her eyelashes pointedly at him. “I stayed until the end of the Season as my sister wished, but there was something missing. Someone missing…”

“I am sure that your brother is very pleased to have you with him again, Miss Bingley,” Mr Darcy said dryly. “Now, I must —”

“Oh, I do not mean Charles. Dearest Charles!” she laughed, and would have set a hand on Mr Darcy’s arm if he had not stepped smartly back from her. “Oh, you must be teasing me, Mr Darcy. You must know perfectly well what I mean —”