Chapter X.

When Elizabeth entered the Entrance Hall at Netherfield, all her senses were immediately overwhelmed by a rush of distant memories. Memories that she rather had kept their distance.

The occasion which this present scene before her bore more than a passing similarity to, had been the first and last ball of her marriage, when she had been presented at Court, as the wife of the Earl of Saffron Walden. Even then, she had not known happiness in her marriage. She particularly remembered being grateful to wear long evening gloves, else she would not have been able to hide the red bruise that had encircled her wrist. He had always been careful to make sure no one else noticed the injury, save herself.

"Countess?"

Startled so suddenly, Elizabeth could not refrain from flinching, and when she had returned to the present, was sorry for the protective measure. "Forgive me, sir, I had not realised it was you."

"No, no," he replied, as if it did not matter, "I should have spoken more first. But, I see that I am disturbing you, so I shall go."

The hand that had so gently taken hold of her own, now just as gently withdrew, prompting Elizabeth to quickly reassure him. "Mr Darcy, please stay. Your interruption was by no means unwelcome."

He gracefully stepped back to her side. "Then may I be of service to you?" He held out his hand. "May I have the honour of escorting you into the ballroom?"

"You may, indeed, there is nothing that I would like better than to get out of this hallway," she confessed, placing her hand over his arm in the proper fashion.

They followed his friend into the room, for Mr Bingley, upon first sight of his angel, Miss Bennet, could do nothing else but abandon the receiving line and devote himself entirely to her. Darcy's eyes remained upon his companion as they entered, their dark pupils tinged with concern as to the possible nature of her fear at this evening.

He wished more than ever that he was of a position to her as to be a confidant, but sadly he was not. Reluctantly turning his eyes from her, he searched the room, and spied someone who would perhaps suffice.

"Lizzy!"

Elizabeth's features brightened immediately; she had not seen Charlotte for a week. "Charlotte, I have so much to acquaint you with."

Darcy reluctantly released her arm, and then bowed. "I shall leave you to your friend, Countess." He gallantly kissed her hand. "Till the first dance then."

Elizabeth merely nodded, watching him go. Her friend, as soon as he was out of earshot, turned to her with surprise. "I see many things have happened since I saw you last, Elizabeth!"

Her companion blushed. "It is not what you suppose, Charlotte."

"Is it not? Then I wager it soon will be."

Across the room, in attendance upon his sister, Darcy could do naught but rejoice at the sight of the return of the Countess' happy manners once more. Her look of intense preoccupation which he had encountered upon first seeing her, had well-nigh torn his heart. He had wanted to wipe those painful recollections away, and in their place put new, more joyful, ones. But he could not. He was not at liberty to do so. Not yet.

At least Wickham was not at this ball. His timely note to his cousin had done the trick, sending the man away to town, and enabling him to let Georgiana attend her first proper ball, even though she was not yet out. Darcy smiled as he watched her quietly answer a question from one of their companions. He had not the heart to refuse her anything, and she looked so beautiful in her new gown. So grown up. The two words frightened him. He had not thought the years to go by so fast.

The orchestra halted in their playing, and struck up a different tune. Darcy bade his sister and companions farewell, and went back to the Countess.

His choice of dance partner caused many a glance from many a person in the room. All eyes turned as he took up a place in the dancing line and bowed to begin the dance. Three in particular kept their gazes upon the pair throughout the two dances.

The first was Mr Collins. He was not in a good humour this night. Having written to his kind, gracious and most esteemed patroness of his choice for a partner in life some days ago, today he had received the reply. Her ladyship had been most displeased. Unused to incurring her ladyship's wrath, Mr Collins was at quite a loss as to how he should resolve the situation. He was also most ashamed at himself for presuming in the first place.

His most esteemed patroness had been very correct in reprimanding him. He had forgotten his station, the gratitude that he owed to his most gracious patroness. He had thought himself above those things he held most dear. Oh, how grateful he was to her ladyship! Her kindness knew no bounds. In guiding him back on the true course, she had shown that he was still preferred by her as a parson of the Hunsford parish to any other.

Now it was up to him to show that he had paid heed to her advice. The fault had been his and his alone, to think himself worthy of obtaining the Countess of Saffron Walden. She may be his cousin, but she was also, as his dear patroness had pointed out, far above him in terms of her station and rank. Lady Catherine was very particular in her opinion that the distinction of rank must be preserved for the good of the natural order of society.

No, he must choose another. But with this decision came a heavy sacrifice. It meant that he could not fulfil his promise to his late father and secure the olive branch by marrying a Bennet. For all, by relationship to the Countess, were also above him. No, he must look elsewhere.

It was then that Fate intervened once more. A young lady walked passed him, and Mr Collins could not help but be struck by the realisation of her fine looks. Would she fulfil the requirements that his most excellent patroness had instructed him to follow? True she was the daughter of a Knight of the Realm, but she was also the younger daughter, and in no way stood to inherit a fortune. Yes, he believed Miss Maria Lucas would suit his patroness' requirements excellently.

"I believe we must have some conversation, Mr Darcy. A very little will suffice."

"You talk by rule then, while you are dancing?"

"Sometimes. It would look odd to remain entirely silent throughout."

"True," he conceded, and then fell into silence once more until the next turn had brought him opposite her again. "What shall we talk of then?"

"You do not wish to begin the subject yourself?"

"No, whatever you wish me to say should be said."

"Sir, that will not do for a reply, not without doing a great disservice to your character."

"Does it not display a desire to please one's companion?"

"Yes, but it does not follow that the companion would be pleased by such a reply. It would not do for a gentleman to be so always anxious to please a lady. Especially if they had a different opinion than the one professed."

"That still does not argue for the conclusion that I should begin the subject, Madam. Propriety commands that a gentleman always accedes to a lady."

Elizabeth chuckled. "I see that we are at an impasse then, sir. Very well, it is my wish that you would chose a subject."

"I..." Darcy smiled. "You have caught me well, madam."

"Yes," she replied with a laugh, "I believe I did."

It was at this moment that the pair passed the second person who would observe their actions throughout the entirety of the two dances. Mr Bennet had the adept hearing to catch the entirety of his daughter's conversation, as well as the laugh, and the effect that they created within his mind was one of profound curiosity.

This, when taken in conjunction with the other occasion that he had had the opportunity to observe their conversation, could only lead to one conclusion. And it was a conclusion, which, at the moment, concerned him greatly.

He watched them carefully as they continued up the line of dancers, and then back down. His eyes stayed on them as the first finished and the second commenced, even though he could no longer listen to their conversation.

As the dance reached signs of its imminent end, he moved away from his previous position by Mrs Bennet, and into the path of his daughter and Mr Darcy.

"Papa," the former began. "Are you enjoying this evening?"

"Ask me when I have found the way to Mr Bingley's library," Mr Bennet replied to the amusement of all.

"I warn you now, sir," Mr Darcy remarked, "that the place does not have much in the way of books."

"Indeed? I see that we have found another adherent to our cause, Lizzy. The neglect of family libraries is a severe testament against any establishment."

"Though it does not necessarily follow sir, that if one adds to a library that it is to the enjoyment of the said person."

"Too true, too true," Mr Bennet replied. "Are you of that class, Mr Darcy?"

"No, the volumes that I add are those that I like, rather than those society would have me like."

"Such as?" Mr Bennet asked, his estimation of Mr Darcy rising. The gentlemen named those volumes that he had lately added, causing Mr Bennet to raise his eyebrow at the varied nature, quantity and expense. Clearly, the upkeep of a library was very important to this gentleman.

Choosing one from among the many, he asked for his view on the author's latest work. Mr Darcy replied with a succinct but sound judgement, and they continued on the same vein until his daughter parted from them to talk Jane. This event evoked a change in his companion.

"Sir," began Mr Darcy, when he had answered the last question, "I believe you have now successfully sought out all my opinions on the latest authors, those of ages past, and those whose works are considered timeless. May I ask as to where these questions tend?"

"Very good, Mr Darcy," Mr Bennet replied with a smile, "you have seen through my disguise. In short, they tend in a quest to establish your character."

"You believe one's character can be defined by one's library?"

"Without fail. One will not read books where there is no character that one cannot identify with at some point. They define so very well the reader's sense of morals, values and character."

"And have you achieved success?"

"I believe I have only one more question to ask. What are your intentions to my daughter Elizabeth?"

Despite having expected such a inquiry, Darcy was nonetheless surprised by its occurrence at this time. Mr Bennet was obviously a very astute man, to have figured him out so early on. Solemnly he faced his companion, and replied in tones of the greatest gravity. "Only those of the most honourable nature, sir."

Mr Bennet revealed nothing of a reaction in his features. "You'll do, you'll do," was all he remarked.

"I need not ask how you are enjoying this evening so far, dear Jane; it is clearly answered by the sweet complacency and happy glow that I see within your expression. Dare I presume to determine the source?"

Jane blushed as she saw her sister's gaze turn in the direction of Mr Bingley. "Indeed," she confessed, "he has been very attentive all evening."

"And why would he be otherwise," Elizabeth remarked, determined to raise her sister's modest hopes a little higher. "Perhaps he is imagining how his next ball might be, and who might be beside him?"

"Lizzy! Surely..."

"No indeed, Jane, you may believe me. I have said it before, and I shall say it again. No one who has seen you and Bingley together can doubt his affections."

"Miss Bennet, Countess," cried a different voice at that moment, as the orange figure of Miss Bingley swept into the place where they were standing. "I have not spoken to you at all this evening. I must rectify such neglect immediately."

"I'm sure your brother has already done that, Miss Bingley," Elizabeth replied while her sister blushed again.

"Humph," was all that Miss Bingley muttered to that. "Charles has been so generous with his invitations. Did you know that he gave an open one for all of the officers in Colonel Forster's militia?"

"No, I did not," Elizabeth replied. "But then I have not been much in their company since their arrival."

"Oh," Miss Bingley answered, most displeased with that reply. She had been hoping for a quite a different response. "Do excuse me," she added, "I must check that enough white soup has been laid out."

Caroline walked away, with disgust barely held in check from her features. She was the third person who had watched Mr Darcy dance with the Countess, a move which had caused her afterwards more than a little ill humour. She had thought everything to be going according to plan.

The groundwork of her attack had been so carefully mapped out, so meticulously timed. How it had gone so completely wrong she knew not. She was sure that Mr Wickham, with his background in Darcy family history, would be successful in parting the Countess from him, leaving Caroline free to continue her quest of becoming the next mistress of Pemberley.

Instead, however, as she had just learnt, not only had the Countess not become Mr Wickham's staunch defender, but the man had not even attended the ball! Caroline could not account as to how this could be. She had insured that her brother would leave an open invitation to the officers. What was the man's excuse?

Well, there was only one way to find out, even though she loathed to sink to such a level. Quickly, she sought out Captain Denny.

Five minutes of conversation later, and she had ascertained her answer. Mr Wickham had been obliged to pay a call on a Colonel in town, and carry a message back to Meryton for his commanding officer. And the name of that Colonel was Richard Fitzwilliam.

Caroline Bingley was no fool. She knew perfectly well now who had initiated Mr Wickham's absence from the ball. And his identity annoyed her no end! How dare Mr Darcy choose to foil her plans so excellently! He was supposed to be of the same mind as her about the Countess!

She stood in a corner of the room and fumed. It was something she was most talented in, and therefore her fuming lasted a very long time. Eventually, she was obliged to sit down and return to the supper. Still fuming, she ate the white soup in chilling silence. The footmen who came to move the empty bowls away, shied rapidly from her thunderous glare, which did nothing to compliment the shade of her gown.

At the end of the second course however, Caroline realised that all was not lost. She still had two methods of attack which had yet to be attempted. And now was the perfect occasion to put them into action. Raising her glass to her lips, she murmured, "Shall we not have some music?"

As if on cue Mr Bingley rose from his chair and announced to the room at large; "shall we not have some music? Caroline, can we persuade you?"

Miss Bingley lingered in her chair. Normally she would have been most happy to accede to her brother's request, but at this moment, she wished for someone else to play. And that someone was seating herself at the piano right now. A minute later, and Caroline smiled. Miss Mary Bennet was exactly who she had wished for. Dramatically, she swept out of her chair and walked to the end of the room.

Halfway down, she stopped, alighting upon her other prey. "Miss Lydia," she began in tones of the most saccharine, "your wine glass is empty. Let me get you another."