Less than a half hour later, she was introduced to the two new gentlemen by Sir William Lucas, who was innocently bustling around the room, just happy that everyone was enjoying themselves, and muttering, "capital, capital!" At every opportunity.
"Ah, Miss Elizabeth!" He said, touching her arm lightly to get the young woman's attention, "May I introduce the new owner of Netherfield park, Mr. Charles Bingley!"
Mr. Bingley smiled graciously, and took her hand in a bow. Noticing his fingers were stained a deep navy, Elizabeth raised her eyebrows as he did his head. Could this carefree man be Jane's beloved Mr. Charles?
"A pleasure to meet you.. Miss…?" Mr. Bingley trailed off.
"Miss Elizabeth Bennet," she said.
"Ah, yes! Well, Miss Elizabeth, would you be so kind as to introduce me to your family? I wish to know all my neighbors before time slips away from me!"
"To be sure," Elizabeth affirmed, looking past the amiable man, to his friend, who was standing like an ominous cloud over their conversation.
"Oh, forgive me," Mr. Bingley said, remembering his manners, "This is my good friend, Mr. Darcy."
The man said nothing. He merely looked at her, his expression unreadable. Elizabeth began to feel uncomfortable in the silence, and quickly led Mr. Bingley to where Jane sat nearby. Mr. Darcy was still watching her the last she saw.
"Jane," Elizabeth said smilingly, "May I introduce Mr. Bingley of Netherfield."
"A pleasure to meet you," Jane all but whispered. Her pale blue eyes were fixed on the handsome stranger, who looked equally starstruck. Elizabeth smiled to herself. Yes, Mr. Bignley would do nicely for her sister.
Regaining his senses, Mr. Bingley blinked, and his face broke into what Elizabeth was starting to realize was his natural disposition: a huge smile.
"Miss Bennet, if I may be so forward as to ask, why is a lady as lovely as you sitting out of the dance?"
Jane blushed prettily, and replied, "Gentlemen are scarce, sir."
"Well I can remedy that," Mr. Bingley said with a blinding smile. "May I be so bold as to procure your hand for the next set?"
She smiled at him.
Mr. Bingley moved forward as if to collect her hand immediately, and her smile grew. "Sir, I believe you are too eager. There are at least 5 more minutes left in the present set."
"Oh," Mr. Bingley said, his face falling along with his gloved hand. "I apologize, Miss Bennet, I was too hasty."
He moved as if to leave, but Jane, realizing her mistake, laid a delicate hand on her arm as if to stop him. Mr. Bingley looked down wonderingly at her navy-stained fingers.
"I would be delighted to dance with you, sir," Jane said, blushing as she looked away, missing the man's face light up like a christmas tree, "but in the meantime I would.. Not be opposed to getting to know you better. We are strangers, after all."
"Of course, of course!"
After that, Elizabeth politely excused herself (not that the two blossoming lovebirds noticed), and walked back to her previous chair.
On her way, she passed by Mr. Darcy, who was looking at her with what she assumed to be disdain. His dark gaze flicked from her to Jane and Bingley, his face stony and impassible. She shuddered lightly. Something about him seemed both discouraging and.. Intriguing? Like she needed to be by him, even if she couldn't stand the sight. Not that he wasn't the most handsome man she had ever met— just his demeanor was such that she felt uncomfortable in his presence.
The night wore on, and eventually Mr. Darcy gave up even the pretense of trying to make conversation. Removing his crisp white gloves, he relieved his Inked status to the room, uncaring of who might see his obsidian hands. Elizabeth watched him with great interest as he seemed to write something on the back of his hand.
Suddenly realizing the impropriety of watching one commune with their Soulmate (albeit in a very public place), Elizabeth averted her eyes down to her lap, embarrassed.
Then she gasped. Loudly.
She could feel Mr. Darcy's catacomb eyes on her, but, with all her strength, Elizabeth managed to keep her face as inscrutable as possible. She knew, without looking, without a doubt, that her hand now bore a message from her Soulmate. From Fitzwilliam. Fitzwilliam Darcy was her Soulmate. Oh god, she was going to be sick.
"Excuse me," a deep male voice said, "Miss Bennet? Are you unwell?"
Elizabeth looked up into Mr. Darcy's face, her green eyes glazed over; seeing everything, seeing nothing. His cold, hard features were softened and pinched with concern. Elizabeth blinked, and, with some difficulty, schooled her face into a serene, untroubled expression.
"I am perfectly well, I thank you."
Mr. Darcy looked unconvinced, but had the good manners not to press the matter. Before he could say anything else however, Elizabeth took her leave before she could lose any more of her composure. She could still feel those dark, handsome eyes boring into as she walked away.
Once she made sure his back was turned however, Elizabeth ducked behind a column, where she could see him, but she remained out of view. She peeked around the column, and watched her Soulmate straighten his lapels with a sense of.. Giddy unease pooling in her stomach.
Fitzwilliam was here. In Hertfordshire. And he was Mr. Darcy, the most unsociable man in the room. Elizabeth almost giggled. How like Fitzwilliam that sounded- to sit out of every dance and glare at all the young ladies, coming across as a pig-headed snob when, in fact, he must be in inner turmoil about how to make smalltalk.
Mr. Darcy wasn't a snob, she thought. He was probably just uncomfortable! She wondered idly how he would react when he realized SHE was here. She hoped she would be able to make him smile. Before she could do anything foolish, she checked herself. This was it. The night that changed her life. She couldn't wait to tell Fitzwilliam.
Instead of approaching him immediately, she elected to send him a discrete message, supposing it would be both more romantic and somewhat lessen the shock. Before she did however, Elizabeth looked over what her newly discovered Soulmate had written on her hand.
'Remind me again— why do you enjoy balls?'
Elizabeth smiled. Hopefully he would find this particular ball VERY enjoyable. She didn't write that though. She simply replied,
'The dancing. Especially when one finds a.. special partner.'
Fitzwilliam's response was immediate.
'I do not know what sort of balls you attend, but I assure you, there is no one 'special' here.'
Elizabeth frowned, writing, 'Oh love, I am CERTAIN there is.. SOMEONE you would particularly want to dance with.'
Across the ball room, Elizabeth saw Mr. Darcy shake his head, his mouth twitching up into an insincere-looking smile. New words appeared on her wrist. These words made her heart feel like it was being squeezed in a steel trap. Oh, Fitzwilliam.
The words read: 'I highly doubt that, Elizabeth. THIS ball is all country bumpkins (pardon my language, but it is true). They are all either uncouth or uneducated; or some combination of the two. Even those.. with commendable qualities are tainted by association. I am sorry to offend your admirable kindness, but I can state with complete certainty that NO ONE here is special. I'm sure you would feel the same.'
Tears stung Elizabeth's green eyes. Surely not. Surely this could not be. Such a speech would have normally made Elizabeth cluck her tongue at Fitzwilliam's unfriendly attitude, but laugh at the description. She felt rather ill. To hear her Soulmate's sharp tongue lash out at her own friends —her own family!— felt like a thousand rotten apples were boiling inside her.
As she was regaining the ability to breathe properly, Fitzwilliam Darcy had the AUDACITY to look her way, frown, and write out the final, short-sighted straw.
'For example, there is a young woman currently staring at me. She is barely handsome, and even if she were a beauty, it would be negated by her improper behavior. She all but fainted when she saw I was Inked! No doubt it ruined the "lady's" mercenary hopes to compromise me in some way. It has been attempted before. Elizabeth, I am so grateful you aren't here with me. I'm sure you could not stand a person, and she is one of the better ones at this event. I am not sure if I am missing you or simply missing abject solitude.'
That. That was what did it. Fitzwilliam Darcy had just lost all good favors from his Soulmate, even if he didn't realize it.
In fact, his Soulmate was debating whether or not to slap him across the face for insulting her such. Before she did anything rash however, a loud shriek from across the ballroom stopped her.
"A MATCH! IT'S A MATCH!"
Just like everyone else in the room, Elizabeth's eyes were drawn to where her sister and Mr. Bingley stood, staring at each other. He had Jane's hand in his own (presumably leading her to dance) with a blushing, starstruck look on his face. Jane's smile was brighter than the sun. His was brighter than a supernova.
Elizabeth smiled, despite the sick feeling in her stomach and the flurry of thoughts racing around her head. Maybe tonight wasn't the worst night of her life after all.
Her sister had just found her Soulmate.