This is the second of two chapters for today. Probably I shouldn't be posting it yet, when so far it has been crickets on the previous chapter. But I didn't want to leave you hanging before we got to their dance and all the happened afterwards. Enjoy.
Chapter 11: Claiming a Partner
I was just on the verge of asking Miss Bingley for the next set, when my eyes saw just beyond her, Miss Elizabeth; she was far closer than she had been before. Distractedly, I told Miss Bingley, "I should be glad to dance a set with you later, but first there is something I must do." Not waiting for an answer, I walked toward Miss Elizabeth. As I walked toward her, I could hear the first lines of Samuel Coleridge's poem as I had recited it earlier, playing in my head:
And in Life's noisiest hour,
There whispers still the ceaseless Love of Thee,
The heart's Self-solace and soliloquy.
Was not a ball life's noisiest hour? Did I not still feel, despite the distractions, something deep within me, thrumming, determined? I let the next words play on:
You mould my Hopes, you fashion me within;
Then I was before her. I did not give myself time to change my mind and I was uncaring as to whether I was interrupting her conversation. "Miss Elizabeth, would you do me the honor of dancing the next with me?"
"I will." She responded and I turned away. Needing a moment to collect myself after my success (not unexpected, yet still thrilling), I walked around the room tracing the outermost rectangle with my feet but for when I had to divert against people discourteously standing close to or upon it. As I walked the counting of my steps was replaced with the next words of the poem.
And to the leading Love-throb in the Heart
Thro' all my Being, thro' my pulses beat;
I felt my heart beating faster. Why was my heart beating faster? Why were my hands damp under my gloves? I diverted to the necessary, expelled my water, cleaned my hands and spared a glance in the looking glass. I could not see much of my turmoil writ across my face. I looked in the glass a bit until my calm façade was once again in place.
I resolved to walk the outermost rectangle once more, to settle myself. I reminded myself that this room in all essentials was just as it had been when I first walked through it by myself. I had perhaps time to complete two circuits before I must claim her for the dance. As I walked the words resumed.
You lie in all my many Thoughts, like Light,
Like the fair light of Dawn, or summer Eve
On rippling Stream, or cloud-reflecting Lake.
Yes, Miss Elizabeth was in my many thoughts, she was connected to the ribbon which I ran through my hands every day before putting it back in the drawer, the ribbon which I pondered many times putting in my pocket with my own string. I did not really understand how a woman could lie in thoughts like light, but I could imagine light reflecting on a rippling stream. It made me think of the stream at Pemberley, of the loveliness of my estate and how much I wanted to share it with her.
And looking to the Heaven, that bends above you,
The heavens had bent around her, framing her, as she walked to Netherfield, as she walked through Netherfield's gardens, when she walked anywhere.
How oft! I bless the Lot, that made me love you.
I told myself that my upcoming dance with Miss Elizabeth was unimportant, that it would be almost the same as dancing with Mrs. Hurst or Miss Bingley, but my body did not believe the lie. My heart kept thumping rapidly and insistently in my chest, my throat kept swallowing the spit that overwhelmed my mouth which even now still felt dry.
I considered leaving the ballroom and not keeping my appointed set with Miss Elizabeth. It would be very uncouth, very rude, but I would remain a stern and proud figure, not the idiot I feared I would be if I danced with her. But as much as I longed to flee, I longed to dance with her more.
When I returned to Miss Elizabeth and led her to the dance, I tried to temper my expectations. I had thought so many times about dancing with Miss Elizabeth that the actual event was sure to disappoint. In my imaginings I would be everything I ought to be to be a proper Darcy, but I knew immediately that I would fall short, that I would disappoint her. I should have been grateful for our companionable silence, but though I could think of nothing to say that would not be out of place, I longed to hear her voice addressing me.
I focused my attention on the little details of her that I wanted to remember: the three freckles by her nose that formed a triangle, the soft curve of her bottom lip that was slightly too large compared to the top one, the sweep of her brows with just a few hairs rebelling from following their fellows, the pattern to her blinks, the shine of her hair in the candle light, how the shadows and the light fell upon her womanly body, the sound of her swishing skirts and light feet, the feel of her gloved hand in mine. I finally understood all the longing in The Song of Solomon: "Thou hast ravished my heart, my sister, my spouse; thou hast ravished my heart with one of thine eyes, with one chain of thy neck."
Somehow, she must have known of my longing for her conversation as she began to speak. "This is a merry dance." She paused, waiting for me, and I agreed.
"It is your turn to say something now, Mr. Darcy.-I talked about the dance, and you ought to make some kind of remark on the size of the room, or the number of couples."
I pondered Miss Elizabeth's words. She made conversations a kind of game, a puzzle to be assembled and then rearranged to form a different picture. Was she merely being witty or had someone told her all the things I had to be taught that other children simply learned on their own, and was she now instructing me? If so, it was a mean art. I decided to assume it was the former and smiled through the doubt and pain.
I assured her, "Whatever you wish me to say, shall be said, posthaste." I waited. Would she instruct me or censure me now?
Miss Elizabeth looked at me, gave a slight tilt of her head that might be playful, smiled herself and then responded. "Very well.-That reply will do for the present.-Perhaps by and bye I may observe that private balls are much pleasanter than public ones.-But now we may be silent."
I could not read with what spirit her remarks were intended. Had George spoken to her about me? I still needed to warn her about him. But not yet, not yet. For something to say I asked, "Do you talk by rule then, while you are dancing?"
She looked at me intently. Her gaze was too strong; I focused my eyes on Bingley who was behind her, while waiting for her response. "Sometimes," she said. "One must speak a little, you know. It would look odd to be entirely silent for half an hour together, and yet for the advantage of some, conversation ought to be arranged as that they may have the trouble of saying as little as possible."
I wondered, was this a veiled reference to my early years when I still had so much trouble communicating? Or was she commenting on my near silence during her last days at Netherfield, making a point about my silence in the library when I feared that if I tried to make conversation it would drive her away?
I asked, "Are you consulting your own feelings in the present case, or do you imagine you are gratifying mine?"
"Both," she said. She was lovely, slightly flushed from the dance, her curls bouncing as much as they were able while tamed by many pins. All the distractions around me were blurred as I focused on her. She added, "for I have always seen a great similarity in the turn of our minds.-We are each of an unsocial, taciturn disposition, unwilling to speak, unless we expect to say something that will amaze the whole room, and be handed down to posterity with all the eclat of a proverb."
I took some delight in our verbal sparring, which I had also enjoyed during her stay at Netherfield, but again wondered why she was speaking this way before I responded, "This is no very striking resemblance of your own character, I am sure. How near it may be to mine, I cannot pretend to say.-You think it a faithful portrait undoubtedly."
She looked down. Was she abashed by my response? She whispered, "I must not decide on my own performance." I wondered who was to judge it if not her or me.
We went down the dance, but the enjoyment I had taken in it before had vanished. My doubts were in full force. When we could once more converse, I decided to try to discover whether she was much acquainted with George, and as a prelude asked, "Do you and your sisters often walk to Meryton?"
She answered yes, then smirked before adding, "When you met us there the other day, we had just been forming a new acquaintance."
I felt the blood rush to my face. I wanted to hit George, but settled for saying, "Mr. Wickham is blessed with the ability to feign such happy manners as may ensure his making friends where he desires-whether he may be equally capable of retaining them, is less certain."
She wrinkled her brow before responding, "He has been so unlucky as to lose your friendship and in a manner which he is likely to suffer from all of his life."
I felt my anger threatening to overwhelm me but did my best to respond calmly. I told her, "There was a time when I wished for his friendship but he never desired mine. He was happy to pretend he was my friend when it suited his purposes. My father certainly desired that we be friends and treated him as family, but we have never been friends and never shall be after all that he has done. You should be cautious in any dealings with him; he is not a good man."
My ears strained awaiting her response, but we were interrupted by Sir Lucas who made a reference to Bingley marrying Miss Bennet. I found him and her, two couples back from us. Was that prospect likely and was this a general expectation of the town? My thoughts had been so focused on Miss Elizabeth . . . I wondered, had I missed an attachment between my dear friend and her sister?
I turned my gaze from them and looked at Miss Elizabeth most earnestly. Would she respond to what I had revealed, or would the interruption silence her? Should I repeat myself or await her answer?
She looked at me and I could not decide what that look meant. Then she commented, "I remember hearing you once say, Mr. Darcy, that you hardly ever forgave, that your resentment once created was unappeasable. You are very cautious, I suppose, as to its being created."
I felt her statement was a test. I hoped I would not be found wanting.
"I am. I have tried to live by the Lord's instruction to forgive my brother's sin against me 'seventy times seven' but I confess that there are but two people to whom I cannot forgive, though the number of their offenses against me may be less than 490."
She shook her head slightly, "I am trying to make out your character, yet I hear such different accounts of you as puzzle me exceedingly."
This comment recalled to me Miss Elizabeth's discussion with Bingley about sketching his character. Bingley truly may have meant his words, that "to be so easily seen through . . . is pitiful."
However, at least Miss Elizabeth (assuming she was being honest) recognized his value when she replied, "It does not necessarily follow that a deep, intricate character is more or less estimable than such a one as yours."
Bingley has no guile, which is part of why I am so fond of him, I do not have to try to make sense of hidden layers and double meanings. He never appears to engage in sarcasm, which I can easily miss when others use it. George was particularly enamored with using sarcasm around me, but at least Bingley was kind enough to identify it for me.
I wondered whether Miss Elizabeth had any inkling what my character is like and whether she would consider it intricate with its layers of what I pretend to be, rather than who I am under this carefully constructed facade. In truth, I think I am a simple man when once you know me.
Having already been bold, I decided to trust her. "I will tell you anything you wish to know, but I cannot here where anyone might hear. Then, perhaps, you can properly sketch my character."
She did not respond while we went down the other dance and we parted in silence, but for me saying, "Thank you" and her nodding in acknowledgment.
I was dissatisfied but blamed not her but him. George is certainly better than I at charming people. In this, he, Bingley and my cousin Edwin have a similar gift, but there the similarities end. George charms to use other people for his own ends. Bingley charms because he has a genuine interest in other people and their concerns; he has no guile, which is part of why I am so fond of him, I do not have to try to make sense of hidden layers and double meanings. My cousin Edwin is somewhere in between the two of them, but I want to believe he has a good heart and means well.
I distractedly walked a few feet away and stood with my back to the wall. I knew from my previous perusal of the ballroom that I was situated well away from any doors.
I saw Miss Bingley talking to Miss Elizabeth but knew not of what they spoke. I did notice, though, that Miss Bingley did most of the talking and Miss Elizabeth seemed angry.
I hoped Miss Elizabeth might seek me out when their conversation concluded, but instead a few minutes later Miss Bingley approached me. She told me, "Eliza has made a favorite of Mr. Wickham and became angry at me when I questioned the wisdom of that decision. She asked me about him and naturally I told her you have always been kind to him, though he treated you in an infamous manner. I tried to explain to her that given his breeding, nothing better should be expected. If you shall trust me with the particulars, I could inform her further."
She waited expectantly but having no desire to confide in her I merely said, "I appreciate you defense." I feared, however, that she may have made Miss Elizabeth doubt my motives further.
"I will always stand by you," she told me, "but enough of this nonsense. You should expect no better than this from people in this backwater; it would be well if we should repair to London and leave all of them behind. Now, let us talk of more pleasant things. I have the next free if that is when you would like to claim your dances."
I nodded distractedly. I knew it would be good manners to say something back to her, but I could think of nothing. Although I appreciated her support, I would have rather had Miss Elizabeth's.
Miss Bingley began questioning me, "Did I not hear from my brother that you have an aunt living within a day's journey of here?"
I found myself telling her about Lady Catherine and Miss de Bourgh as I watched Bingley approach the Miss Bennets. When he began to converse with Miss Bennet, Miss Elizabeth walked over to Miss Lucas and began talking to her. I felt despair; would she never deign to come and talk to me, and ask me about Mr. Wickham?
As my interaction with Miss Bingley dragged on, I wished that the next set would start soon so that I could do my duty by her and then be done, but the musicians appeared to be taking a longish break. I considered whether after our set I might in fact go take myself off to bed.
My mood was black and resentful when Miss Elizabeth's first dance partner approached me. He bowed very deeply, almost as one might for the king, and said, "Mr. William Collins, rector at Hunsford under the patronage of the right honorable Lady Catherine de Bourgh at your service. I declare, I must abjectly apologize for not realizing you were Lady Catherine's nephew. I am delighted to inform you that Lady Catherine and Miss de Bourgh were in good health when I last saw them, yesterday sennight."
He droned on and on about what an honor it was for him to make my acquaintance, and how fortunate it was that he was visiting his cousins while I happened to be a guest at Netherfield. My mood became blacker still when he informed me, "Lady Catherine has suggested I find a bride at Longbourn among my cousins."
Having seen Mr. Collins dance the first with Miss Elizabeth, before I yet knew who he was, I feared he had selected Miss Elizabeth for this position. I felt a deeply disquieted at the image of her on his arm, beneath his body, his cloying scent overcoming hers, the ugly children he would father surrounding her.
Could I save her from such a fate? Be an alternative husband for her? Surely, she would prefer me to him! But did I want to have her for my future bride and would she consider me to be a superior choice if she really understood my character? Such thoughts still occupied my mind as I danced with Miss Bingley.
After our set was completed, I resolved to dance no more this night. It was far more pleasant to recall dancing with Miss Elizabeth than to dance with anyone else.
I decided to sit near Miss Elizabeth during supper, in the hope that I might speak further with her. I felt truly fortunate when I managed to gain a placement opposite her, even though it meant I was at a distance from Bingley. I imagined Miss Elizabeth and I pleasantly conversing (we certainly could not talk about Mr. Wickham before her mother and Lady Lucas), perhaps feeling her skirt brush my legs, perhaps even helping to fill her plate.
But instead of having an opportunity to speak with her once more, or to have any interaction whatsoever, I heard Mrs. Bennet's loud whisper to Lady Lucas: "Oh my, what good fortune for my family that soon I shall be able to call Mr. Bingley 'son' when Jane and he wed! Fortune has smiled on us Bennets with this brilliant match. Mr. Bingley is such a charming young man, and so rich, quite a better sort of man than his friend to be sure, even if Mr. Darcy is richer. It would not do to have the favor of such a miserable man."
I did not like that Mrs. Bennet had such a poor opinion of me, for as I had barely exchanged a word with her before, her impressions of me must come entirely from her daughters, mostly Miss Elizabeth. However, I had no time to ponder this further as when Mrs. Bennet paused slightly, her daughter hissed, a blush beginning to suffuse her face, "Mama, be quiet! Mr. Bingley's friend is right here! Can you not keep your voice down?"
Her mother ignored her and continued slightly louder, "And to think, my Jane shall be so well settled within three miles of us, and his sisters are already so fond of Jane. I have no doubt that they will be very pleased when the match is formalized."
"Please, Mama, desist! Mr. Darcy can hear you." Miss Elizabeth's blush grew; she ignored me, focusing on her mother who was only separated from her by Lady Lucas.
"And what do I care what Mr. Darcy thinks?" said her mother crossly. "He is not the one who will be marrying your sister."
She turned back to Lady Lucas. "And what a blessing for my other daughters," Mrs. Bennet continued on, pointedly ignoring her daughter who continued to quietly protest, speaking over her, "for as Mrs. Bingley, Jane will be able to throw her other sisters in the paths of rich men, not that Elizabeth shall need that for I have the expectation that she is about to be settled herself. At this time in my life, I can only imagine how grand it shall be that Jane will become a suitable chaperone for her sisters."
"Mama, please!" I thought I would be powerless to resist granting Miss Elizabeth anything she might she would ever ask of me, if she asked me with even half of her current fervor.
"Oh, Lady Lucas, if only you could be so fortunate with Charlotte and Maria, it would make my happiness complete. I wish this for you and your daughters. Fate will smile on your family soon enough."
Mrs. Bennet, from what I know of her, seems to always speak whatever it is that is on her mind. There was something refreshing about hearing Mrs. Bennet bluntly share her opinions about Miss Lucas previously when Mrs. Bennet and her younger daughters visited Netherfield when Miss Bennet was ill. I, too, like to speak my mind, unencumbered by societal expectations for polite discourse, but know I need to do my best to avoid doing so, for it would not be proper. Apparently, Mrs. Bennet has no such compunctions.
But at least, while I was not able to converse with Miss Elizabeth, I could look upon her, see new expressions on her face, hear new tones in her voice and observe how well she handled her utensils (much better than either Mrs. Bennet or Lady Lucas). When we had dined together at Netherfield, I was always seated between Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley, with Mr. Hurst across from me and Miss Elizabeth a rather far diagonal away from me.
I considered a time or two trying to converse with Miss Elizabeth again as I noticed that she had stopped dancing. I stood where I could easily watch her. However, her cousin Mr. Collins was almost always beside her along with Miss Lucas. I was envious that he could claim her in conversation, make her listen to him. While it was too far away to hear their conversation (although I could sometimes hear her tones), I could see the play of emotions across her face, her smiles, her frowns. I stored them all up, the sight of her was delightful in my eyes. I had the sense that she did not enjoy conversing with Mr. Collins who was standing rather close to her, as she was always turned more toward Miss Lucas than him.
Later, I came a bit nearer to Miss Elizabeth, hoping she would give some hint that I should join her. But such a hint never came and often her back was towards me. It reminded me of nothing so much as seeing the backside of Nurse Storey the last time she left, nevermore to return.
When the dancing was at an end and Bingley's guests were departing, I stood closer to Miss Elizabeth still, hoping she would give some hint that I should join her. Perhaps it was cowardly that I did not attempt to engage her in conversation. But when I looked over at her, she avoided my gaze. Her family remained the longest after the ball concluded, but in vain I waited for a sign that never came.
That night in my bed, although my body felt heavy, my legs ponderous from the long hours I had stood upon them (Bingley had pointed out to me that only ladies sat between dances unless a gentleman was elderly or infirm, or in the cardroom), my thoughts continued to come rapidly and sleep still refused to claim me. For some time I pondered whether Miss Elizabeth might approach me another day, and if so, whether I should reveal all. I had many imaginary conversations with her in my mind.
Then as the first light of dawn began to lighten my room, I thought about Coleridge's poem, hearing each line play for me as I recalled every look Miss Elizabeth had given me that evening. Suddenly I sat up in bed, startled by a revelation that struck me like lightning flashing through me: Thinking of Miss Elizabeth in conjunction with the poem had only strengthened my regard; according to her own pronouncements, this must mean that already I loved her.
