The Long Stare, part three
The heavy final note of music, played by an overzealous cellist, infused the ballroom with a note of expectation. A charged moment of silence settled across the crowd before the room erupted in sudden applause.
It was jarring. And it awoke Elizabeth from the realization that she was openly staring at Darcy, and even more alarming, that he was staring at her. A cluttered background strewn with side tables, and candelabras, and chinking glassware was blurred at the edges as they momentarily took stock of each other. She was deaf to the rowdy conversations of the officers and the twittering accompaniment of laughter from the ladies. In truth, Darcy's final words to her were still bouncing around in her head, echoing almost, in much the same way that the cello note could not be silenced. 'Perhaps I merely enjoy the conversation of a particularly bold and irksome young woman...' Under his shrewd gaze a whirlwind of emotion fluttered to life in her belly in much the same way that a sheet on a line of wash is suddenly whipped into a frenzy when one of its corners is torn from the safety of a peg. She had thought him a known entity, and but now she wasn't so certain...
What could he have meant by that? She clapped politely, steeling herself to look away, perceiving that she was not as indifferent to her dance partner, as she cared to think.
The truth was she found him handsome. The first night she'd laid eyes on him, she'd been disheartened to learn that reports on his character said he was haughty and proud; she'd been even more disappointed to find out they were true. And now, despite only having had a few polite exchanges and only one or two true discussions between them that might have qualified as conversation, a queer kinship had developed.
She willfully tried to douse it, but to no avail. She didn't like this. The shift in her emotions left her feeling untethered, completely unprotected and worst of all she wondered if her emotions were on her face, like the unpegged sheet; on display and flapping in the breeze. This would not do!
The dancers were gradually dispersing and despite her better judgement, Elizabeth stole one more look at Mr. Darcy before departing her line. She thought she detected an indecisiveness about the way he stood, as if he too had been jarred by the sudden loss of the crashing notes and now found himself adrift. Then his dark eyes shifted back to her and she realized she was mistaken. Mr. Darcy looked very much to be grounded and assured of his position, looking down upon his subjects with his customary indifference.
He nodded slightly with an air of preoccupation, and Elizabeth felt her spine straighten while she lifted her chin.
So is this what he means to do? She thought shakily. Toy with me, make unsettling ungentlemanly remarks that one might interpret to have ulterior meaning, but not necessarily so? How clever, she thought. He has found an intriguing way to amuse himself. She rather thought him a bit too principled to engage in flirtatious games, if that was in fact what he was doing, but on the other hand, what did they really know of him? Once he was discovered to be wealthy, there were very little questions asked about his personal interests and character. Indeed, perhaps he was an unprincipled rake who delighted in shaking up the subtle hierarchies at a country dance? He certainly had the power to do so, to amuse himself at the expense of all the hopeful single ladies and even more hopeful mothers of said ladies. Certainly he must have toyed with Caroline Bingley's emotions, or did her brother's close friendship with Darcy, embolden her to presume a more intimate acquaintance? Elizabeth, much to her own chagrin, had overheard and pondered their brief exchanges during Jane's brief illness at Longbourne and could not decide what Darcy thought of her. She had easily detected Caroline's cunning attempts to present herself in the best possible light, while drawing subtle stokes of criticism upon everyone else, Elizabeth's family members in particular. It had been difficult to maintain a pleasant expression and tone during some of Caroline's helpful ministrations, whispering into Darcy's ear, poisoning his already austere attitude with a line of conversation that just reflected their sense of entitlement and innate snobbery. Goodness knew what kinds of things she might say.
Elizabeth rushed to the patio to get some air on her hot cheeks. The harvest air was bracing. She took in as deep of breaths as her stays would allow and smelled the fresh cut hay on the field, as her mind began to quiet again.
Was he really the type of man who gathered admirers?
Elizabeth did not sense that intention in him. Instead he seemed tired of it all. Bored with the many introductions that were leveled at his head, and already wary of the many ambitious mothers who view him like sharks circling. No wonder he was ill-humoured, Elizabeth mused to herself, the poor man probably rarely got a moment's peace. Perhaps it was not so surprising that he would avoid the eligible young ladies at the ball and seek her out instead; a woman with no fortune, barely decent family connections, but apparently a decent enough wit to make her other offences tolerable.
Perhaps he'd simply meant that he had underestimated her; perhaps she thought more kindly, it was a subtle attempt at an apology.
No. He did not strike her as a man too eager to apologize.
She simply didn't know how to interpret Mr. Darcy's comment, in much the same way
that she didn't know how to interpret the man. He was indecipherable.