"They are come Lizzy!" exclaimed Jane to her sister from a slightly shadowed corner of the Hertforshire assembly rooms.
"And is the party as full of ladies as all the town fears?" asked Elizabeth, a hint of humor in her voice.
"Not at all," informed Jane. "Mr. Bingley brought but two ladies, both his sisters, one married."
"And tell me, is the brooding Hamlet returned with him or no?"
"Who, Lizzy?" Jane wished her sister did not so often talk in riddles. "I see no possible connection to Shakespeare. What could you be talking about?"
"Why, Mr. Darcy of course." Elizabeth's best friend Charlotte Lucas made her presence known. She had been the sister's sole conspirator and keeper of the truth of what had happened on that rainy day Mr. Bingley first came to town. "She has been rather vocal about her dislike of the man. Really Lizzy, he could not have so completely offended you in the short span of time you were in each others company!"
"It was not so much that he offended me, but that he is simply an unlikable being; all heavy dark looks and imperious, serious opinions," replied Elizabeth, looking over the heads of the dancers in the small ballroom to the doorway where Mr. Bingley and his small party stood. Mr. Bingley's look was one of utter delight while his entire entourage seemed to be attempting not to touch anything or anyone. Elizabeth sniffed indignantly, but could not keep at bay the amusement she found in their disdainful gazes.
Bingley's first object of order as he entered the ball, was to seek out a proper introduction to the Bennet sisters. His eyes fought through the groups of girls, soldiers, excited mamas, and bored looking papas, seeking a glimpse of the blonde beauty. She was not hard to find, and he found that by attaching himself to Sir William Lucas (whom he had met before his trip to London) he was soon able to meet, very quickly, anyone of any importance in the small country town. The Bennets, apparently, were of much importance. The Bennet girls were known as local beauties, making them both admired and despised. They were the first family on Sir William's list for introductions. Before even Mr. Hurst (Bingley's over imbibing brother in law) could swig his first glass of port, Bingley was shaking Mr. Bennet's hand.
Mr. Bennet, thinking of his wife's pleasure and his own pleasure when she was not suffering an attack of nerves, was quick to suggest an introduction to his two most sensible and beautiful daughters.
He did not notice the mirth in Lizzy's countenance as he introduced a man she already knew, nor did he notice the guilt in Jane's.
"Come," confided Mr. Bingley as Mr. Bennet took his leave of the young people, "We must find Darcy and make all formalities complete."
Jane and Elizabeth waited as Bingley set out to find and deliver Mr. Darcy to their corner for proper introductions. When Bingley did not quickly return, they decided (or rather Jane did) to follow in his wake. Jane spotted Mr. Bingley's fair head across the room, close to the fireplace, and directed her steps toward it.
"Is not she beautiful, Darcy?" Bingley asked. Mr. Darcy leaned against the mantle of the fireplace; his head resting in his open palm, a bored yet faintly amused expressing dressing his face.
"Would you have me speak the truth; or would you have me speak after my custom, as being a professed tyrant to all females?" Darcy's sarcasm completely eluded his friend, who had not a clue to what he referred. For Darcy, however, the memory was blazed into his mind.
Elizabeth Bennet had been beautiful sitting in front of the roaring fire of the very empty Netherfield Hall. She had also been intelligent, witty, and her eyes practically danced with merriment. The dancing eyes had not been a trick of the fire, as Darcy had at first surmised. No, he had studied them long and hard, and their sparkling quality owed no thanks to any outside entity. Because of his prolonged ruminations on the subject of her eyes, Darcy did not completely understand the hostility she quickly gained toward him. He had thought to win her over by evoking her obviously sharp intellect, but his choice of topic did nothing to help his situation. Literature, it seemed, was an area in which he and the lady did not agree. He preferred sober, more dramatic works, while she was delighted to read anything with a happy ending.
If their literary disagreement had not been enough, the topic soon turned an even more dangerous corner when they began to discuss the role of women in literature, specifically Shakespearean drama. Darcy, having just had a monstrous experience with a country party, a blushing debutante of sixteen, and a mama so determined to secure a wealthy match for her daughter that she was quite adept at maneuvering compromising situations, was not keen at all on the subject of womanhood, a fact that Miss. Elizabeth Bennet found rather offensive. The dreadful conversation, however, ended with an agreement. Neither Mr. Darcy, nor Miss. Bennet was inclined to wed. Ever.
Darcy was jogged from his reverie by Bingley's insistent demands. "Please Darcy, nothing but the truth."
Darcy sighed. "Well, she is too pretty to be called ugly, but not pretty enough to be beautiful."
"Do not joke with me, Darcy. I am deadly serious you know."
"Why is it so important, Bingley?" As if Darcy had not seen his friend fall heavily time after time.
"She is the sweetest angel I have ever seen."
Darcy scoffed. "My sight has not yet faded and I see no such thing. Now her sister, she is spring to your Miss. Bennet's winter. If Miss. Elizabeth Bennet were not so… disdainful, she would be quite lovely."
"Oh really, Mr. Darcy? Perhaps I would not be so disdainful without you here to inspire me to new heights."
Darcy lifted his head abruptly and found himself peering into the scorching eyes of the very topic of his musings.
"Elizabeth!" hissed Jane, appalled at her sister's daring.
"Oh, Miss. Bennet, Miss. Bennet!" exclaimed Bingley, swinging around to face the two ladies behind him. "Let me have the great honor of introducing you to my dearest friend. Mr. Darcy, meet Miss. Jane Bennet and Miss. Elizabeth Bennet." Bingley attempted to use a playful grin to lighten the pressing tension that hung in the air between his friend and the dark haired Bennet sister. It did not work.
"Yes," replied Elizabeth, "I know him of old."
Bingley colored at her words, aghast that she would make such public mention of their secret introduction a month ago. Looking around, he sighed a sigh of relief; no one had seemed to hear her.
Darcy did naught but stare stonily at Elizabeth.
Disconcerted, Elizabeth spoke. "Tis a wonder you came tonight, sir. Balls are usually prime places for matchmaking, and I understood you were not agreeable to this at all. It truly would be no loss if you did not make an appearance." She hesitated, shocked at her own words. Why did this man evoke the worst in her? Opening her mouth to speak once more, she found nothing but stutters on her tongue. His steady, dark eyed gaze disarmed her. Forcing her stutters downward, she determined he should not stare at her so any longer. "Surely no lady is attracted to a man who glares so gloomily at all surrounding him."
Darcy had been trying to keep his silence and his temper. But as one grew stronger, it became quite clear that the other one would disappear all together. He did not know what he spoke before he spoke it. "It is certain I am loved of all ladies, only you excepted." He almost flinched at the arrogance her heard in his own voice. When would he ever have made such a comment before? Never! But he just had. Damn the bewitching and befuddling woman! "I wish I could say my heart was not so hardened towards the fairer sex, Miss. Bennet. For truly, I love none."
"A dear happiness to women! They would else be troubled by a pernicious suitor." Elizabeth was now as lost in the fierce argument as Darcy was. "I thank God I am of your humor for that. I wish never to hear a man swear he loves me."
Bingley and Jane, who had been standing dumbly by, shocked by the words flying from their companions' lips, blushed furiously. "Jane," asked Mr. Bingley loudly, "would you dance?"
"Yes, I would," she replied softly, grateful for the escape he offered her.
Darcy and Elizabeth glared equally at each other for several heated seconds before each turned swiftly and neatly on their heels and stomped in the opposite direction.
A considerable amount of dialogue (some paraphrase, some not) is taken from Much Ado About Nothing in this chapter. I could never hope to aspire to such witty depths as Mr. Shakespeare or Mrs. Austen.
