In reviews of the past chapter, several people asked why we did not see more of Darcy's interactions with Elizabeth at Netherfield prior to Ch. 9 and wondered if a chapter was skipped. There was no skipped chapter. Chapter 1 was the present, which was after the Miss Bennets had departed Netherfield and included some remembrances of that time; everything that came after that was catching us up to that, so I did not feel a big need to discuss what occurred at Netherfield. Based on your comments I may change that, but you will also see more remembrances of those events in this chapter. Also, expect the next chapter soon as I was editing what was a single chapter that ended up becoming two chapters.

Chapter 10: Poetry, Vacillation and Preparation

The day after the assembly during our evening's entertainment, Miss Bingley said, "I have no wish to play tonight. Darcy, you have a very fine voice, could you not read some poetry to us? I have just the book." In the past a time or two I had read aloud as part of an evening's entertainment. I agreed and she passed me a book. I examined the cover and found that it was Coleridge.

"Would you please start on page seventy-three?" she asked. I flipped the pages, expecting to find the "Rime of the Ancient Mariner" perhaps, or "Kubla Khan," but instead when I turned as she directed, I found a short poem entitled "The Presence of Love."

I stood in order to project my voice better, and Miss Bingley took the seat closest to me and stared at me as I read until I fixed my eyes over her head and toward the window beyond, letting the words flow through me, with more sound than sense. It seemed wrong otherwise to be the speaker addressing an unnamed "you" who must be the one he loved.

Miss Bingley praised my performance and immediately demanded I read another poem, but Bingley intervened and said, "Darcy, I must talk with you about the estate."

I went with him to the library, that sad room that was mostly bereft of books. He closed and locked the door, which was odd behavior from him. I asked, "What is so urgent?"

He paced a bit and then stopped before me. "I fibbed. I do have something important to talk to you about, but it has nothing to do with Netherfield."

My curiosity raised, I gave him my full attention.

"I do not expect that you meant anything in reading such a poem to Caroline as she was the one who suggested it, but I must ask you to refrain from reading such poetry to her. She already fancies herself in love with you, and in this she must be mistaken, but when you read such a poem expressing such words, even though you did not pen them, well, she is making her feelings clear in suggesting such a reading. She may feel there is hope yet that you will ask for her hand when you indulge her by reading said words . . . well, no good can come of it."

"I was just trying to be polite," I told him. "And the poem is a good one."

"I know you meant no harm, truly I do. Just, do not read something like that to her again."

I gave my assurances, of course, and that was the end of it.

The following morning, when I was walking side by side with Bingley back from the stables after a ride, Bingley said, "Darcy, I have been meaning to talk to you about how you acted at the assembly towards Miss Bennet's sister. I do not understand why you were so rude to Miss Elizabeth. It reflects poorly upon me as your host when you are insulting to others."

"It was all too much," I told him looking straight ahead rather than at him. I then explaining a little bit about what I had felt that night before adding, "I was in no mind to spend time with any woman and have her see the worst in me."

"I hardly think you avoided that," he told me, "when you insulted her appearance."

"You may think that, and perhaps you are correct," I acknowledged, but countered, "however, I would rather her think me rude than know the truth about me."

He stopped then and turned toward me. "The truth is not nearly so awful as you seem to imagine it to be. So, you have difficulties. So, we all do."

I faced him, hands on my hips, posture straight. "You have difficulties Bingley? You do? You who have never met a stranger, who are pleased with everyone and please everyone? You have no idea of what I struggle with. How hard it is to be me."

"I thought you had shared enough that I have some idea. But if there is more I need to know, let me have it." He responded evenly, calmly. I wish he had responded in anger and then I could have answered likewise.

I resolutely looked ahead. I could not bear to look into his eyes and see how he might be looking at me. I thought a while. I had shared bits and pieces, but very little about my early childhood or about what my father truly thought of me. But there were some things that I did not want anyone to know. They made me feel poorly; they made me sad; they made me feel other things that I had have no words for, or rather the words existed but I was not sure which words matched up with how I was feeling.

I thought about how hard my father had tried to shape me with the tool that was Governess Hayes. I felt angry in thinking of her, and though I knew Bingley's actions were very different from hers, was he not also trying to shape me? I let my lasting anger towards Governess Hayes out in my next words.

"Stop pushing me to be around people and to try to act as you all do!" I heard myself yell. I forced my next words to be quieter. "You have seen what happens when you do."

"Yes, I have. You attack like a wounded animal." He reached out toward me with a hand that I suppose was meant to be comforting, but I flinched away. He drew his hand back.

In a soft tone he told me, "Darcy, you know I have only tried to help, to make it easier for you. You have done so well with my sisters in London that I truly thought you were ready for more. Perhaps I did err in urging you to come stay with us at Netherfield, in requesting your attendance at the assembly and trying to get you to dance."

Bingley gave a little sigh, removed his hat and moved his hands along the edges while he thought. His light hair reflected the sun on one side as it was early yet, while the other side of his face was in shadow. He continued, "I have learned my lesson. If you wish to return to London, I will not try to stop you. If you stay, I will not accept any invitations on your behalf. You may contain yourself to the house if that is what you desire. If I have any guests, you may hide yourself away in your chambers. While I am already obligated by honor to give a ball at Netherfield, you may leave before it is held, or make yourself scarce."

"Thank you," I told him evenly.

We silently finished our walk, or rather without further conversation, for there was still the crunching sound of our riding boots which left impressions in the frost-coated grass as we strode over it. I also heard the scrabbling claws on the bark of a tree before I saw two red squirrels chasing each other round and round. It was a loud sound for squirrels, perhaps because they were running as fast as they could. I paused for a few minutes to watch them, and I knew that Bingley paused likewise as I could no longer hear him walk.

I could not decide what the squirrels were to each other: Were they friends and playing (perhaps taking turns in chasing the other, it was hard to tell them apart); were they enemies with the chasing squirrel trying to run the other off (that seemed less likely as they chased up one tree, lept to another, scrabbled down the other and then the lead squirrel jumped to the ground, crunching on a pile of leaves before running back up the first tree); were they perhaps a male and a female engaging in some form of courtship, the rules of which I did not know (which I supposed would mean that the male was pursuing the female as she ran from him, but she must not have been completely opposed to him as she had returned to the first tree)? I envied them their speed, the freedom they had to act and not talk, to resolve whatever was between them. I watched until they disappeared high into one tree and I could no longer see or hear them.

It did not happen that day, but as I considered further the options Bingley had proffered, including his permission to abstain from all further interactions, I realized that I did not wish to leave or to hide myself away. I wished to be with people even if I never felt like I knew what to say. Thus, I attended a gathering at Lucas Lodge, rode through town, and dined with the officers. But Netherfield remained my refuge, until it was invaded by the Bennets. I do not think it was accidental that Miss Bennet was invited to dine while we were away. Likely Bingley discouraged his sisters from having guests while I was present.

Still, I had largely forgotten about Bingley's decision to host a ball until more Bennets invaded to visit Miss Bennet. One of the younger Bennets raised the matter instead of leaving once the purpose of their visit concluded. She was somewhat like Miss Elizabeth in appearance but I could not imagine Miss Elizabeth spending the whole of a visit prior, whispering and giggling with her sister.

Bingley declared, "I am perfectly ready, I assure you, to keep my engagement," declaring that it only needed to be delayed until Miss Bennet was well.

Thus, when two days later after our separation from the women after dinner, we rejoined them and saw that Miss Bennet was among them in the parlor, it did not come as much surprise to me that Bingley would speak to her about his intention to throw a ball. I had been trying to examine some maps in my book but had already mostly given it up as a lost cause, as Miss Bingley kept interrupting me. Whom but she would presumptuously pick up a volume concerning a subject in which she seemed to have no interest, Maps of North America, Volume II, without even asking me its owner for permission, and then ask inane questions about the subject that showed all her ignorance and lack of willingness to learn anything? As if that were not enough, Mrs. Hurst was making a terrible racket by playing with her bracelets, the jingle, jangle of them sapping whatever concentration I had remaining.

I heard Bingley say, "Miss Bennet, after you are truly well again, I hope to have the pleasure of your company at Netherfield again when we have our ball."

Finally, something had diverted Miss Bingley's attention from me. My eyes still fixed on the map before me, tracing the lines of the rivers and how they intersected on their path towards the ocean, I heard her say, "By the bye, Charles, are you really serious in mediating a dance at Netherfield? I would advise you, before you determine on it, to consult the wishes of the present party." She paused and feeling her eyes on me I looked up. "I am much mistaken if there are not some among us," she continued staring at me with unblinking eyes through this discourse, before turning back to look at Bingley, "to whom a ball would be rather a punishment than a pleasure."

Bingley looked at me for a moment and then replied, "If you mean Darcy, he may go to bed if he chooses, before it begins—but as for the ball, it is quite a settled thing; and as soon as Nicholls has made white soup enough I shall send round my cards."

I returned to looking at my book while Miss Bingley blathered on. I would give her no encouragement if I could help it. My mind was not on my book, but on the image in my head of dancing with Miss Elizabeth, us drawing near for one part, only to draw apart again as the dance required, but both seeing and feeling her beside me.

Just then I heard Miss Bingley inviting Miss Elizabeth to take a turn around the room; when she joined Miss Bingley, it was a most arresting image when juxtaposed with my prior thoughts about dancing with Miss Elizabeth. I thought about this event quite a lot afterwards, sometimes just focusing on the image of Miss Elizabeth moving back and forth before me (omitting as much as possible the image of Miss Bingley against her), sometimes focusing on the conversation that took place then. That conversation and the one that followed it was an example of how I felt I had excelled in conversing with Miss Elizabeth.

Miss Bingley asked, "Will you not join us, Mr. Darcy?" She tucked a strand of her orange hair (in my mind it is always orange, I do not understand why people insist on calling such hair "red" when this is obviously incorrect, a misnomer) behind her ear before lightly running her thumb along her jawline. I wondered why she was doing that.

I replied, "I shall have to decline; it would not suit as I can only imagine two motives for your choosing to walk up and down the room together, and in either circumstance my joining to stride with you, one of each arm, could only interfere."

Miss Bingley loudly asked Miss Elizabeth to interpret my meaning, which I found rather odd as Miss Bingley should understand me much better than Miss Elizabeth with all the time we have spent in each other's company, but Miss Elizabeth soundly rebuffed her while looking toward me, her eyes holding my own for a moment, with more boldness than I had observed prior. In the direction they were striding, having just turned to walk back towards me, Miss Elizabeth was nearer to me, so Miss Bingley craned around her to address me, thrusting her bosom out.

Miss Bingley asked, "Whatever do you mean, Mr. Darcy?" but I did not immediately respond as I was once again enchanted by Miss Elizabeth, not just her fine eyes this time but her gently swaying figure as illuminated by the fire. "Shall you enlighten us as to these two motives or do you mean to keep it a secret?"

I realized I was staring, seeing her womanly curves cupped by the firelight, and did my best to pull my gaze away from Miss Elizabeth as I responded to Miss Bingley, "I have not the smallest objection to explaining them."

I would have gone on to do so had Miss Bingley not added, "Please enlighten us, I am so eager to know of your motivations, truly I am!"

And then to Miss Elizabeth, "Darcy always has good reasons for everything he does, but sometimes they are too complicated for the rest of us to understand."

And then to me, again, "Can I still not persuade you to join us?"

When Miss Bingley finally paused for a moment, I explained, "You either choose this method of passing the evening because you are in each other's confidence and have secret affairs to discuss, or because you are conscious that your figures appear to the greatest advantage in walking—if the first, I should be completely in your way; and if the second, I can admire you much better as I sit by the fire."

Miss Bingley smiled then as if I was expressing a great admiration for her, but I hardly noticed. In truth my gaze was focused on Miss Elizabeth as illuminated by the fire and it was she who I was admiring, who I would think upon long into the night.

While I felt I had acquitted myself well on that occasion, had almost been witty in explaining why I would not join them, sometimes in reflecting back on that evening, I regretted that I had not accepted. If I had I could have felt Miss Elizabeth's hand on my arm even if Miss "Annoying Distraction" was on the other side. But it was this interaction more than any other that finally determined for me that I must put aside my fears and pursue what I desired.

I knew that Bingley would understand if I abstained from attending his ball as he had already given me permission to do so, at least twice. I had no idea if Miss Elizabeth had any expectation of me, but I hope she wanted me to attend, wanted me to ask her for a dance.

When I finally decided that I would, must, attend the ball, I decided to take a methodical approach in preparing. Unlike another man, who might be occupied in deciding on which waist coat he would wear, or considering who he would solicit for a dance, I knew that I needed to familiarize myself with the ballroom. I waited until Bingley and his sisters were out on calls, to open the double doors and walk inside.

The ballroom was an elongated rectangle with a half circle added to one end which was ringed with two sets of windows, one set beginning at about four feet above the ground, and a second set perhaps eight feet off the ground. The first set consisted of four rectangles on either side of the double doors in the middle and the second set had ten rectangles above the first set, the middle two over the doors.. The double doors had smaller square glazings set into them and led out to the garden. The windows cast irregular quadrilaterals of light onto the wooden floor, but for one which was almost an isosceles trapezium. The floor was inlayed in dark and light wood to form designs. There was an elaborate half sunburst design to frame the half circle end. The rest of the room had a much larger elongated sunburst design contained in the center of two inset rectangles.

I paced the length and width of the ballroom to fix its dimensions in my mind, noting when I reached each rectangle. The edge of the outermost inset rectangle was set two yards in from the door and a foot in width, the next rectangle was two yards in from its inner edge and also a foot in width. I imagined that the rectangles were to frame the dance. I walked around each rectangle, once, twice, three times. It was pleasant to do so. The outermost rectangle was approximately eighty feet on its long side and sixty feet on its short side; it felt pleasing that the architecture was so regular in this room, so well planned out and so well executed. It occurred to me then that it was very unlike the assembly hall which had an irregular shape which was noticeably narrower at one end; undoubtedly this was one additional factor which had made the assembly so unpleasant.

Then I walked the entire perimeter of the ballroom, finding each door and discovering where each led. I was pleased to find that there were only four ways in and out to the rest of the house, only one per side: the main doors, the doors out to the garden, a single door which led into the kitchen, and a door into a room that might be used as a cardroom. The other doors only led to rooms attached solely to the ballroom: two necessaries (a his and her) with long hinged benches with inset chamber pots (with the women's necessary affixed with several looking glasses compared to only one in the men's necessary), two closets, and a fainting room for the ladies.

As the ball approached, Miss Bingley used to regularly apprise us of her progress and even insisted on showing us the room as arrangements were made. I willingly came with the party to view the set up of the room, even though she talked about all the wrong things, the color of the curtains she had affixed over the windows (what a pity to shade the light of day from making those warm patches on light on the floor and block out the stars on the night of the ball), her frustration that there was no time to re-cover the cushions of the chairs that now ringed the outer edge of the room so that they might match each other, her addition of additional sconces for candles which was staggered oddly compared to those which had been previously mounted in perfect symmetry. But still, it was helpful to know the room; it would help to ground me.

Tuesday finally arrived and with it our ball. Miss Bingley commandeered the servants all day with her fussing and everything was ready far earlier then required. Miss Bingley was clothed in her debut ballgown, her hair arranged just so and wearing her evening gloves and jewelry before I had even stirred from my book. I was reading Coleridge, the very volume that Miss Bingley had me read aloud from before.

I myself did not require much time to dress, but Miss Bingley occupied much of my remaining leisure time talking with me, forcing me to hold my place in my book. She was much more pleasant when there was no rival for my attention, but the conversation was dull. She was not Miss Elizabeth.

I pondered once again whether I should go to bed early as Bingley suggested I might. It would certainly be easier to avoid Miss Elizabeth than to be near her. Still, I felt I acquitted myself tolerably while Miss Elizabeth was at Netherfield tending to her sister. I managed to speak to her and not exhibit most conspicuous odd behaviors around her. I even thought myself witty on occasion. It was more enjoyable to speak with Miss Elizabeth as compared with Bingley's sisters as she had a way of making any conversation lively, in giving me many things to turn over in my mind afterwards, to examine from other angles.

Perhaps because of the book in my lap, I thought about her opinion that poetry, rather than being the food of love, had the efficacy of driving love away. And yet Miss Elizabeth had conceded, that poetry could be food for "a fine, stout, healthy love" as contrasted with "slight, thin sort of inclination" for which "one good sonnet will starve it entirely away.

Of course, there was a difference between writing a love poem to a woman and merely reading one. In reflecting on Miss Elizabeth's pronouncement, I wondered if reading that love poem to Miss Bingley fed whatever feelings she had for me. The poem had certainly not made me think of her, but rather informed me that Miss Bingley was not anyone who I desired because I felt nothing that the speaker of the poem expressed.

When I retired to dress (or rather to let my valet dress me), I flipped through the pages of the book again, seeking the poem that Miss Bingley had me read to her. When I found "The Presence of Love," I read it aloud with new eyes. I desired to memorize it as the words now took on a different meaning to me now that I had an object for my affection. What I felt for Miss Elizabeth could not be love, at least not yet, but I could not imagine addressing another woman with words like those.

I felt half hope and half dread about what might occur if I asked Miss Elizabeth to dance. I had no fear that she would decline to dance at a proper ball (my very status in society all but guaranteed her acceptance and she would not miss to wish out on the dancing), but feared instead that I would make a fool of myself; be found out as I was at university. If only she could be like Bingley and make the effort to know me and care about me for myself!

I still felt all the same anxieties as I had at the assembly when I waited in the ballroom with the rest of our party for the guests to arrive. The musicians were assembled in the half circle portion of the room, tuning their stringed instruments and practicing a few phrases together; it was a disconcerting assembly of sounds. I felt the press on my senses as before as the room gradually filled (although now the musicians were silent), but now I had the distraction of waiting to see Miss Elizabeth.

When I first saw her, next to Miss Bennet, just behind her parents, I felt my mouth go dry and had a sudden urge to visit the necessary, to be away. I resisted this impulse, but also did not go toward her, though she moved toward me to pass through the receiving line of which, naturally, I was not a part of. I was alone, save for Hurst, who was talking to me (or rather mostly to himself as I gave him hardly any reply) about when the cardroom would be open, how little he desired to dance, and about his expectations for the supper.

I did not dance the first with anyone, although Miss Bingley had hinted several times about wishing to open the ball with me. I stayed back, well back from that outermost rectangle, watching. I watched as Miss Elizabeth danced with a heavy-set man who moved wrong and trod upon her feet. I could see that she was trying to maintain a pleasant demeanor.

During the second set, I did my duty and danced with Mrs. Hurst. But I was distracted while dancing with her as I saw Miss Elizabeth moving in the dance several places down from me, dancing with an officer in his regimentals.

I resolved to ask Miss Elizabeth for a dance when once I was free, but when I was returning Mrs. Hurst to her husband, I lost track of Miss Elizabeth. It did not help that Miss Bingley (who must have been dancing with Mr. Hurst prior), immediately started talking to me.

After a few pleasantries, Miss Bingley asked me, "Are you engaged for this set? I have not yet filled my dance card." Then she waited in silence right near me. I said nothing, using this time to scan the room, trying to find Miss Elizabeth again through the crush.

I saw other Bennets before I saw her. There were her youngest sisters by a cluster of soldiers, Bingley talking to Miss Bennet, and Mrs. Bennet talking to Mrs. Long (fortunately I was too far away to hear what they were saying). Finally, I saw Miss Elizabeth and debated whether I should approach her. My stomach felt sour, my mouth was still dry even though I had drunk some punch during the first set.

I heard Miss Bingley clear her throat and then tap her foot, but she remained silent. Finally, she asked, "Well?" and waited.

I looked back toward the sisters, making no reply. Mrs. Hurst, catching my eye, said, "Darcy, I will be direct as my sister will not be. Charles has long told us that you prefer for people to say what they mean rather than assume you understand what is implied. Is that indeed what you want even if it might be uncouth?"

I nodded.

Mrs. Hurst grabbed her sister's hand and then said, "Would you please ask Caroline for a set? She has been trying to hint to you that she wants you to ask. Please do this to spare me, she will be insufferable if you do not."

Miss Bingley by this time was blushing and trying to pull away, but she was being held tight by her sister.