After a short break, the violins started up and the introductory bars of a familiar court dance began. The girls bid each other farewell and went to line up across from their respective partners. Elizabeth stole a glance across at Mr. Darcy noting impersonally that he cut quite an impressive figure in his dark coat. Despite his personal failings, she was aware that dancing with such a man was a significant honour indeed; though as usual he looked bored, so she tried not to feel too appreciative of the kind attention.
As the first cello sounded low and thunderous across the room, the whole room stopped to watch the couples dance.
Elizabeth watched him take her outstretched hand in his own and felt a curious tremble to discover it was not the soft, unused hand of an aristocrat at all, but was in fact warm, large and somewhat callused.
After a couple turns Elizabeth learned that Mr. Darcy was a superior dancer. He moved confidently through the steps so that dancing with him she had to admit was a pleasure for her, rather than a study of footwork and rhythm. It also helped her to forget some of his transgressions and the lack of cordial manners that bred her prejudice against him. That, and the glass of Captain Lucas' Raspberry wine she'd imbibed earlier.
"For someone who does not like dancing, you do an admirable job of it," she couldn't help observing after a long turn down the room for she was determined to have fun from the onset even with an impossible cretin like Darcy. The backs of their shoulders brushed as they executed the turn before facing each other.
"That sounded suspiciously like a compliment?"
Gazing up at him she detected a twinge of irony in the question, and was it possible? A faint hint of flirtation? He did not look away but continued to study her while she said nothing, struck dumb by the possibility her pesky intuition had invoked. After a moment he gallantly filled the silence.
"Who said I didn't like dancing?" he inquired.
"That is what people assume when you are rarely seen doing it." she answered.
"I rarely trouble myself, for want of a good partner."
She shot him a look, "And yet, you relented this time around. I wonder what could have possibly inspired you?"
"Perhaps I enjoy the conversation of a particularly irksome and bold young woman."
Elizabeth denied the tremor of fascination his comment elicited, "I can't imagine you appreciating anything that doesn't somehow assuage your own interpretation of things."
They met at the centre of the room and as she passed under his arm he remarked, "Then your horizons need broadening. I like to think that I am very much interested in the opinions of others-"
"-So long as they don't differ from your own."
"There you go again, Miss Bennett. Being deliberately argumentative. Do you always profess your opinions like they are fact."
His charge silenced her, for in this case, he was very nearly right. She was quiet for a time but saw as they passed each other once more that he was waiting for her reply. When they came down the room again she grew aware of her hand resting intimately in his.
"I can only report on what I see. You cannot deny that you don't trouble yourself to appreciate or understand other people's experiences. Especially those whom you consider far below your set."
They turned towards each other and their eyes clashed once more. The intensity with which he looked at her made it seem as if every other person in the room faded away until no one existed but themselves. He was really quite handsome she allowed such soulful and arresting eyes, and a strong jaw with quirky, but passionately drawn lips that might have hinted at a more humorous nature, if she wasn't already fully informed of his temperament.
He caught the direction of her gaze and said, "A person of my position must employ a more discerning eye when selecting those with whom to associate."
She might have taken offense if it weren't for the slightest hint of self-mockery in his reply coupled with a lingering look at her own soft mouth. It's intimacy so surprising and unexpected that she was hard pressed to discern its meaning. Certainly, he didn't appear to not be serious, but something about the modest way he'd answered the rest of her inquiries made her credit him with greater sense of justice than his previous statement would allow.
"I suppose you are laughing at me now?"
"Never." His surprisingly adamant reply held a trace of self-mockery.
"Never? Surely Mr. Darcy now you've given me far too much credit."
"Oh I doubt it. My fear is that I haven't given you enough."
There was no mistaking his loaded comment. But what could he
mean? Before she had time to respond adequately, the music swelled to an end and his hand dropped away and once again they were on opposite sides of a dance floor.