by Jann Rowland
Thus, when he was looking about, desperately seeking some means of distraction, he caught sight of another. And though it was foolhardy, he thought she just might suffice.
For the first time she could remember, Anne de Bourgh found herself enjoying a ball. There were many factors contributing to her evening, she supposed, one of which was that her mother, recognizing Darcy would dance the first with his sister, had not insisted she dance with him, though it was only a matter of time before she would. Another was Anne’s steady stream of dance partners. Never one to take pleasure in a ball, Anne found that evening was an exception, and while not all of her partners were agreeable, watching Miss Elizabeth had allowed Anne a hint of insight as to how one may lose themselves in the demands of the moment.
The third reason was the behavior of her other cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam. Though Fitzwilliam—Anthony, as she had usually called him—had always been a man difficult for her to understand, that evening he was no less than charming. The why of it she could not be certain, for Anthony had always been a man who, it seemed to Anne, enjoyed his diversions. This, coupled with a tendency toward a casual outlook toward life, rendered him the more exasperating cousin, one who could be great fun when he was not being utterly infuriating.
Tonight, however, Anthony charmed, rather than annoyed, speaking to her with clear fondness, something in his tone and manner which spoke to different intentions from his usual teasing. And Anne enjoyed herself more than she might have thought possible. Then she was interrupted, much to her surprise.
“Cousin,” intoned Darcy as he stepped close. “Might I have this dance?”
Anne regarded him with astonishment. “You wish to dance with me?” Anne reflected on how pleased she was her voice was as steady as it was.
“Yes,” was his short reply.
Given his tone of voice, Anne might have thought him discussing crop rotation with a neighbor rather than asking a young lady to dance. In the past, though Anne had suspected he was on the verge of giving into her mother’s continuous demands, he had never danced with her, except under her mother’s duress. That he had done so that evening was surprising, and Anne could not understand why. His tone did not suggest he wished to dance with her, neither did she think he wished to complete his duty to her before her mother could return and demand it of him.
Thus, when he led her to the dance floor—she had given him her assent, as to do otherwise would curtail her enjoyment of the evening—Anne attempted to discover his reason for approaching her.
“I must own to surprise, Cousin,” said Anne after almost half the dance had passed without a single syllable spilling from his lips. “The last time you danced willingly with me is an occasion I cannot recollect.”
“You are mistaken,” was his short reply. “Have I not always danced with you when we have attended the same ball?”
“Yes, you have,” replied Anne. “But always after my mother insisted, leaving you no choice. Yet tonight you have approached me with my mother absent from the room.” Anne paused and fixed him with a smirk. “Do you not know that if she does not return until after the dance has ended, she will force us into another?”
“You are mistaken,” replied Darcy, his tone and manner defensive.
“If I am, then I do not know how,” Anne shot back, all mirth replaced with annoyance.
Darcy did not respond, but his feelings were a match for hers if the clenching of his jaw was any indication. By now certain there was some other reason for his sudden departure from his usual ways, Anne was determined to discover it. And the only way it would be possible, she knew, was to confront him with it.
“You and I both know this application is unlike you,” said Anne. “I wish to know what you are about, Cousin.”
“It is nothing.”
“It is not nothing,” growled Anne.
Though it took some doing, by the end of the dance, she had pulled from her cousin’s unwilling lips his discussion with Miss Bingley. The bit about Miss Bingley’s continual insistence on rising above her station Anne dismissed without another thought—it was nothing more than Darcy’s usual annoyance with the woman. The business about Lady Anne inviting the Bennet sisters, however, revealed something more than Anne thought Darcy wished. It spoke to possibilities she had never considered. While Anne did not know precisely what to think at that moment, she pushed the thoughts to the side to concentrate on the infuriating man with whom she danced.
“I do not appreciate being used as an outlet for your annoyance with Miss Bingley, Cousin.”
“Why do you suppose I am doing so?” was his sullen query.
“There is no other explanation, given your aversion to dancing with me under normal circumstances. I know you have never been eager to marry me on my mother’s command, but I would remind you I am a woman with a woman’s feelings.”
“I have never thought you anything else,” replied Darcy.
“Then I trust you will not ask for a dance again under such circumstances.”
Darcy’s grunt was enough confirmation.
“Then I expect you to weather mother’s demand we dance if she has not witnessed us standing up together, for if you request another set, I shall refuse you, notwithstanding the effect it will have on the rest of my evening.”
Though she thought Darcy wished to say something further, in the end, he only favored her with a curt nod. When the dance ended, Darcy escorted her to the side of the room, bowed, and walked away. It was fortunate he offered no other comment, for Anne did not know how she might have responded.
It did not miss Elizabeth’s attention that Anne and Mr. Darcy had exchanged words on the dance floor that evening. However, it completely escaped Lady Catherine’s attention, for while she had noticed them, disharmony was far from her mind.
“What a charming couple you make,” said the lady as soon as she could reach her daughter. “I am certain this is a presage of greater events to follow, for Darcy cannot resist you. Of course, I knew how it would be, for you are so wonderfully matched in fortune, connections, and temperament, there was no other result possible!”
While the lady continued to speak in such a manner at great length, it was clear to Elizabeth’s eyes that Anne, though she did not reply, was not of the same opinion. Anne’s manner was serenity itself, eschewing any response to Lady Catherine’s crowing. Given what she was seeing about her, Elizabeth thought the other dancers were well aware of the lady’s wishes, and not at all as confident as she was to the outcome. It was not until later that Elizabeth learned her daughter, for one, was of a much different opinion.
“What fun this evening has been!” exclaimed Anne after two more sets had passed, in which she had danced both, and seemed to enjoy herself without reservation. “I cannot remember a night I have enjoyed so much.”
Elizabeth cast a wary eye about the room, wondering what Anne’s mother would see in her daughter’s emphatic declaration, but Lady Catherine was on the other side of the room speaking with some acquaintance. Confident she would not make a scene at present, Elizabeth turned back to her friend.
“You usually dance at these events, do you not?”
“I do, Elizabeth,” replied Anne. “But I find that I feel freer than I ever have before, and it has resulted in my enjoyment being increased.”
“Oh?” asked Elizabeth. “And what has caused such an alteration?”
Anne turned and directed a pleased look at Elizabeth. “Because, I have decided once and for all that I will not marry my cousin, despite what mother might say. I should have resolved to decide my own future many years ago, for if I had, I know I would have been happier.”
“Has some other man caught your eye?”
It was subtle, not more than a glance to another side of the room, but Elizabeth saw it nonetheless, though it was not clear to whom Anne had directed that glance. “No,” said Anne, denying the evidence Elizabeth had already witnessed, “but I know for a fact that Darcy and I would not suit. My moth
er will bluster and demand, but should Darcy ever attempt to offer for me—and I am convinced he will not—he will receive my refusal.”
The way Anne regarded her, Elizabeth wondered if she expected some reaction or another from Elizabeth, but at that moment the subject of their discussion approached and bowed to them both. Elizabeth curtseyed in return, but she noted that Anne’s was rather careless.
“Might I ask for your next dance, Miss Elizabeth?”
After their last dance, Elizabeth wondered if it might be better to refuse him. But there was no good reason to do so, which prompted her to give her assent. Anne seemed amused, for she gave Elizabeth a smirk and excused herself. If Anne had thought to leave them so they could speak in privacy, however, she was mistaken, for the few moments in which Elizabeth stood with Mr. Darcy, he did not utter a word.
The dance seemed to Elizabeth to proceed as Anne’s had. Why Mr. Darcy requested her hand was a mystery she could not fathom, for he did not seem to take any pleasure in her company, instead dancing in silence, looking for all the world like he little wished to be there. It was, in some ways, a disappointment for Elizabeth, for she had begun to think better of him than she had in Hertfordshire. Moreover, the dance was not at all like the one at the Netherfield ball, for then he had regarded her in earnest contemplation, not at all like the feel of annoyance which hovered about him now. The memory of that dance welled up within her, and Elizabeth felt a hint of mischievous amusement.
“Well, Mr. Darcy,” said she, peering at him, feeling the corners of her mouth rise along with her amusement, “it seems we are doing no better now than we did the last time we danced together.”
The gentleman fixed her with a frown. “To what do you refer?”
“Why, that we have become no better at conversing while dancing than we were then. I still maintain it is odd for two people to spend an entire half hour together and yet remain as silent as the grave.”
Mr. Darcy’s gaze bored into her, sending the corners of her mouth down in response. “Why should it be odd?” demanded he. “By my account, half of those around us have not spoken two words to each other.”
Resisting the instinct to glance about, Elizabeth regarded him, uncertain whether she should take offense to his tone. “Perhaps some of them have not. But we are well acquainted by now, are we not? Surely we can find something of which to speak which will interest us both.”
A snort was Mr. Darcy’s response, followed by an acerbic: “Ah, yes—I remember your penchant for saying something which will be handed down to posterity with all the éclat of a proverb.” Mr. Darcy’s growl was even more unpleasant. “Perhaps, however, there are those who do not consider rattling away to be the mark of good manners.”
Elizabeth gasped at the rudeness of his words. “So, you believe I am nothing but a vapid female, continually speaking of matters of which I know nothing for no other reason than the love of my own voice?”
“You said it, Miss Bennet—not I.”
Fury churned in Elizabeth’s stomach as she considered what this poor excuse for a gentleman had just said to her. “It seems, Mr. Darcy, that you have developed the habit of insulting me in a ballroom. While I might have thought you would know me well enough to know that I am not some mindless chit babbling about anything and everything, it seems I was mistaken. Then again, it does not seem to me you have ever taken the time to know me.”
With an imperious glare, Elizabeth turned and stalked away from the gentleman in high dudgeon. The music had just come to a stop, which prevented Elizabeth from making a scene. However, not allowing him to escort her to the side of the floor was still bound to attract attention and cause whispers among those present. Elizabeth caught sight of Miss Bingley, watching her, glee flowing from her sardonic grin in waves. But Elizabeth ignored the woman, as she ignored everyone else who regarded her, looks ranging from curious to contemptuous.
Perhaps it was best not to attempt any further sketch of Mr. Darcy’s character, for the man was ever-changing. At the very least, Elizabeth did not intend to ever allow him the opportunity to insult her in a ballroom again!
Chapter XII
Whether there was something in her face or manners, or whether Lady Anne had noticed the nonexistent greeting Elizabeth had given her son the following morning, it was clear the lady knew something had happened. Elizabeth could not call Lady Anne forthright—that appellation more correctly belonged to her sister—but she was also not one to allow matters to fester. Thus, some time after breakfast the following morning, she found Elizabeth in the library, trying—and failing—to read. Upon spying her, Lady Anne closed the door behind her and approached, sitting near Elizabeth and fixing her with a look which spoke to her determination to obtain answers to her questions.
“Though I have often noted your forced cordial manners with my son,” said the lady without preamble, “it has seemed to me you were warming to him. And yet, this morning your greetings were as cold as I have ever seen.”
Elizabeth snorted with some disdain. “Was there a greeting in our interaction this morning?”
It was a rhetorical question, and one Lady Anne seemed to understand did not demand a response. “Exactly,” said she, concentrating on her statement rather than Elizabeth’s reply. “If I have learned one thing about you, Elizabeth, it is that you do not become spiteful on a whim. Did something happen between you and William last night?”
By now Elizabeth knew this woman would not take her son’s side regardless of where the fault lay. However, it was not Elizabeth’s wish to speak ill of her family even knowing that. Therefore, she attempted to obfuscate.
“Not every disagreement is one which should be dissected, Lady Anne.”
“But there was a disagreement between you,” said Lady Anne, fixing on that one word.
“There was,” said Elizabeth with a sigh. “Despite that, I have little desire to speak of it, and less to enumerate your son’s faults as I see them.”
It was Lady Anne’s turn to laugh. “You say that as if you think I am not aware of his faults.” Lady Anne raised her hand and began ticking the points off on her fingers. “Fitzwilliam is taciturn, thinks entirely too well of himself, can be harsh when he puts his mind to it, and possesses a distressful habit of forcing his foot into his mouth. There, have I left anything out?”
Elizabeth could not help the laugh escaping her lips, though she did her best to stifle it. Then she directed a mock glare at the other woman. “I should not dare attempt to add to that prodigious list, Lady Anne. I will, however, say that he is also handsome, seems firm in his friendships, is very intelligent when one can slip past his defenses, and is a conscientious man, not only in his care of you and Georgiana but in the management of his duties. Would that I could say as much about my father!”
“There!” said Lady Anne with a grin. “Even given his insult—which is what I suspect happened last night—you are capable of seeing his good qualities. It is much more than many women would allow, and if they did, they would no doubt mention his position in society, connection to my brother’s family, and great estate and wealth.”
“Those are matters to consider,” replied Elizabeth, “but I am not foolish enough to suppose happiness can be purchased.”
“Which is one of the reasons I believe you are perfect for him.” When Elizabeth frowned and opened her mouth, Lady Anne waved her off. “Yes, I know, Elizabeth. I have agreed not to push you in this matter, and I will keep my promise. More and more, however, my conviction of your suitability is turning to certainty. That you still can credit him with a measure of good regardless of his attempt to push you away only firms my opinion.”
A thought which had been niggling at the back of Elizabeth’s mind for some time worked its way to her conscious thought, and she asked: “And what of Anne?”
Lady Anne smiled and grasped Elizabeth’s hand, squeezing it, showing her affection. “Not only are you perfect for him, but you are also perceptive. William would be required t
o work to keep up with you, should he ever succeed in winning your hand.”
When Elizabeth glared at her hostess, Lady Anne chuckled and said: “Yes, Elizabeth, the thought of preventing William from marrying Anne is a part of my thinking.”
“Do you think so little of your namesake?”
“No, Anne is a good girl,” replied Lady Anne. “What she is not, however, is lively. Should a reticent man such as my son pair himself with a woman his equal in quietude, I doubt they would exchange more than two words a day. William would gain Rosings in the bargain, and his wealth and power would grow accordingly, but unlike my sister, I have always thought there is more to happiness in life than great wealth.
“I have always loved Anne, for in some ways she reminds me of myself. But I would wish more in marriage for my son and for my niece. Should William choose another, Anne would be free to search for a man who would suit her.” Lady Anne’s eyes twinkled. “In fact, I believe she has already found such a man, and it is not her cousin.”
The amusement with which Lady Anne stated her belief suggested there was some joke inherent in her words, but Elizabeth was too busy considering her own situation to give it much heed. Lady Anne had already given her word not to interfere, reinforced with what she had said today. But good intentions were sometimes superseded by other considerations, especially, the desire to see a beloved son happy in life.
Before Elizabeth could voice this concern, however, the lady continued. “Georgiana and I have enjoyed your presence here, Elizabeth, along with that of your sister. I would have invited you to stay with us, even if I had not thought you the perfect woman for my son. However, I hope you understand I would have said nothing, made no attempt to push you together if I thought you did not suit.”
