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Chapter 4: Wrong Footed
Given all the regret I had in not getting to dance with her on those previous two occasions, it seems ridiculous to even me that I did not dance with Miss Elizabeth at the assembly. But I knew precisely why I had not.
When we first arrived at the assembly, I immediately realized that I had made a grave error in consenting to attend. I had been too complacent in trying to please my hosts.
Miss Bingley made clear her expectation that I would partner both her and her sister, telling me, "It is grand that at least there shall be Mr. Hurst but most especially you, Darcy, with whom to dance; I suppose I can take a turn with my brother also . . . ." Her lips turned down.
"I should prefer resting," I told her, "over dancing. We just came down from London after all, and I am still tired from the journey." Really, though, it was not so much that I was tired as that I needed to regain my equilibrium, settle myself in a new place.
Bingley intervened then, encouraging me to attend, also. "Darcy, how would it look if my guest chose to absent himself from mixing with the neighborhood? Even so, though, I will not insist on your attendance."
Bingley so seldom asks anything from me. What could I do but go?
Everything at the assembly was much too overwhelming to my senses especially after the ride and suddenly residing somewhere new. I saw a riot of color and texture swirling before me from the dancing couples, movement hemming me in from every side as others strode around idly, seeking conversation, many shadows falling across the floor from the candelabras. I heard the cacophony of music mixed with men's hard soled shoes, loud voices struggling to be heard over the music, annoying and unpredictable laughter, the swish of women's skirts. I smelled the odor of sweating bodies, perfume meant to mask such odors, and a bit of spilled spirits. I felt hemmed in, surrounded, the room closing in on me. And all this occurred upon our first arrival even when I stayed near the other members of our party.
After having done my duty by dancing once each with Bingley's sisters, I retreated to the edge of the room, a place of relative safety. In taking a seat there, I hoped to be left unmolested from further interactions until I felt more at ease (assuming that might eventually happen).
From this position I saw women take their seats when no partner was to be had. From these self-same seats, I also saw such women who were earlier spurned be sought out as partners. I particularly noticed one young woman as she walked rather near me and took a seat on a sofa a few feet to one side of me (I had selected an armchair that was set a bit more away from the next closest seat for the sole purpose of avoiding conversation with any potential seat neighbors and then scooted it back the two feet three inches it required to be resting against the wall).
The woman who caught my eye had dark hair and eyes and was rather small but well-proportioned in her womanly attributes, though her face lacked perfect symmetry, her nose curving ever so slightly to one side. I noticed she seemed to walk confidently, with a stride that was longer than expected from someone of her size and caused the toes of her slippers to emerge from beneath the skirt of her cream-colored dress. It was not the mincing walk that Miss Bingley and indeed many society women seem to have adopted, in which a woman is meant to appear to float (Georgiana explained its purpose to me) by taking tinier quick steps so that her feet will never be revealed, an affectation that I find troubling. The woman smiled at something as she sat down, prompting a quick wish to flash through my mind, oh how glorious it would be if she were smiling at me!
However, any wish I might have had to look at her longer (unobserved hopefully from my position nearer to the wall), was interrupted by a doddering lady who made her way over to me and took the seat nearest to me, turning her body as much as she could so she could face me. While I tried to pretend that I had not observed her, she insisted on intruding on my peace by shouting at me, "Young man, you must be Mr. Darcy of Pemberley. I am Mrs. Long. Perhaps you have been introduced to my two nieces, the Miss Gouldings?"
I shook my head, "No."
"Oh no matter, I shall be happy to introduce you myself. They are charming ladies, both single and oh so accomplished. My own Jane is lately married. By and by I shall certainly call them over for you to meet, but they are dancing just now. How are you liking our little ball and staying at Netherfield?"
My tutor firmly drilled into me that I need to answer questions, that it is the height of rudeness to ignore people when they address you, but I admit to a sudden surging annoyance, perhaps even anger, that she would speak to me without us ever having been introduced, force unwanted conversation on me and seek to make me make additional acquaintances. I wished to say something rude that would silence her but knew I could not. I let my response do double duty by saying, "It is fine."
She kept trying to extend our exchange with a series of questions which I did my best to answer each time with only one or two words to discourage any further exchange. I was just on the verge of getting up, walking about, and then finding another seat, when finally, mercifully, she fell silent.
I was beginning to feel a bit better when Bingley left the dance (it was between two songs of a set and there was a brief pause) and sought me out as I knew at some point he would. He summoned me from the edge of the dance floor with a beckoning hand, so I got up and each of us closed the distance. As we did so, I knew I was now standing quite close to the brunette I had noticed earlier. Not far from Bingley was a lovely willowy blonde woman. It was Miss Bennet (whose name at the time I did not know) waiting for him to return.
He entreated me, "Come, Darcy, I must have you dance. I hate to see you standing about by yourself in this stupid manner. You had much rather dance." I knew that Bingley meant well but he had obviously misspoken; I had been sitting about by myself and not standing about until he summoned me, and I certainly did not think it was stupid to do so, it was self-preservation. Bingley always encourages me to be more social, but seldom calls me out about it in front of other people and I will admit I was annoyed about it, more annoyed than I would have been had that Mrs. Long just left me alone.
I cannot imagine him to have been surprised by my rejection, though perhaps he was surprised by the way I gave it. I told Bingley, "I certainly shall not. You know how I detest it, unless I am particularly acquainted with my partner. At such an assembly as this, it would be insupportable. Your sisters are engaged, and there is not another woman in the room whom it would not be a punishment to me to stand up with."
My reasons sounded sensible enough to my ear and it seemed to me that I had signaled my distress in an appropriate manner (in such a setting I could hardly speak to him about what was truly bothering me without appearing odd indeed). But Bingley was not dissuaded, probably because he knows that it is not unusual for me to oppose any scheme until I have thought it over for a time.
He declared, "I would not be so fastidious as you are for a kingdom! Upon my honor, I never met with so many pleasant girls in my life as I have this evening, and there are several of them you see uncommonly pretty."
"You are dancing with the only handsome girl in the room," I told him, glancing at the woman waiting for him. It was another excuse to be sure, though Bingley can always be counted upon to locate the most beautiful blonde at any event.
"Oh! she is the most beautiful creature I ever beheld! But there is one of her sisters sitting down just behind you," he gestured, "who is very pretty, and I dare say, very agreeable. Do let me ask my partner to introduce you."
"Which do you mean?" I turned, though I already knew; naturally it would be the woman I had earlier been admiring.
Bingley's choice of a potential partner for me was not accidental. Bingley knows I favor brunettes, especially if they are clever. While he likely had only exchanged niceties with this woman of unknown name, she looked intelligent (no vapid express on her face).
Perhaps I should favor more simple women, for clever women are more dangerous. Trying to correctly follow brilliant repartee can be risky with all its layered meaning. But still, I like what I like and there is no changing it.
When I caught Miss Elizabeth's eye (though naturally enough I did not know her name then either), I felt almost stung. There is sometimes an intensity in exchanging a gaze which almost seems to burn me. I knew then that I could never risk dancing with her and being forced to engage in all the niceties a dance requires, most especially idle conversation. If I could have just danced with her in silence, I might have heeded Bingley's request.
I determined I needed to dissuade him for once and for all, for he was pushing me too hard and I had no tolerance for it at that moment. I happened upon the excuse that was the most obvious, though least polite one and declared in my most icy tone, "She is tolerable; but not handsome enough to tempt me; and I am in no humor at present to give consequence to young ladies who are slighted by other men. You had better return to your partner and enjoy her smiles, for you are wasting your time with me."
Even as I said those first words, I knew there was nothing much the matter with her appearance. No one could have been handsome enough to tempt me in that moment. To my dismay, I heard myself speak far too loudly, but when I am most uncomfortable, I tend to have the least control over the volume of my voice. I was embarrassed and angry at myself and angry at Bingley for putting me in this position, but how could he truly understand?
Bingley never knows a stranger and always seems to know how to speak with anyone in a manner guaranteed to set them at ease. Me, I need to rehearse what I will say, have some certainty in what the exchange will demand of me.
With speaking comes risk. I would have been placed at a decided disadvantage in suddenly facing the prospect of having to talk to Miss Elizabeth when she was yet a stranger, with no way to determine what the topic might be in advance.
I did not want her to see me as awkward, stiff and bumbling, or far worse, odd, defective, diseased, simple-minded. I prefer to be judged as proud and unsociable. It is my duty to protect my family name and reputation, after all.
