Elizabeth did not see Darcy again until the evening of Bingley's ball, and the week passed with heavy rains that forced everyone indoors. Her spirits were agitated and in turmoil, and the impossibility of a long walk to work them off made her difficult to live with.
Her normal habits of novels and poetry could not keep her attention; or a romantic poem held it too well. She was forced to sew which left her mind free to contemplate Darcy.
Elizabeth prepared more carefully for the ball than she ever had before. As the maid fussed over her and Jane's hair, Elizabeth examined herself. The glow in her heart showed on her face. She grinned each time she thought of how Darcy's eyes would pop and follow her once she entered the ballroom.
Her white ball gown had a wide square neck that left a daring expanse of her chest exposed. Elizabeth wore a pretty necklace with an amber cross which disguised the contrast between the tanned skin of her neck and the pale white of her bosom. Her cheeks were red both with natural color and the carefully rubbed in rouge, and she had arranged her hair into a delicate mass of curls entwined with flowers. A few strands of hair had been arranged to fall out of the pattern and over her ears.
She had never been so beautiful.
Elizabeth hoped. Maybe her appearance would conquer his reason as well as his heart.
After the maid left Elizabeth studied Jane's appearance. She had her own glow. The sisters smiled at each other, and Elizabeth embraced Jane carefully. "Bingley will lose his head when his eyes fall upon you. I know he shall."
Jane blushed prettily and did not respond at first. Then she whispered to Elizabeth, "Darcy will too. He will not be able to turn his eyes away. I saw how his manner towards you changed. Perhaps I will be the one who must wish you happiness."
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As the early guests arrived Darcy stomped around the ballroom until Bingley called him over and demanded he stand in the greeting line. Darcy's mind had flopped many times between anticipation and guilt. But the guilt was predominant.
Elizabeth's happy smile once he agreed to dance haunted his dreams and tightened his loins. She was too happy. He must crush her hope, and he must crush his own desire.
Darcy chanted to himself: be friendly but cold. Show no appreciation for her figure and leave her once the dance ends. Leave her forever.
Forever.
The Bennets entered. She was… she was almost too beautiful to look upon. Her dress, her figure, her skin. His eyes clung to her. He looked her form up and down. And his stomach leaped at the promise in her happy smile when their eyes met. Bingley effusively spoke to the Bennets, but Darcy quietly shook their hands. When he touched Elizabeth's glove, he nearly jumped from the jolt of awareness that shot up his arm.
Her smile said: you wish to be distant, but I shall not let you.
While he was quiet, Elizabeth knew as she walked out onto the dance floor with Mr. Collins that Darcy's eyes never left her. The Netherfield ballroom was a tall room with wide windows and marble columns along the sides. It had a mirror for the ceiling and was filled with flickering candles and lights. The light made Darcy's hair gleam.
Mr. Collins stumbled through the steps of the dance and led her the wrong direction near half the time. Elizabeth did not mind. She was too happy. Her feet being stepped upon, the pedantic conversation, the annoyingly possessive manner Mr. Collins showed — none of that mattered.
He watched her. Mr. Darcy watched her. Their eyes would meet from across the crowded room, and Elizabeth's stomach would swoop. After Mr. Collins, he would dance with her.
Darcy stood on the edge of the room, sipping a glass of wine during the dance. The swish and sway of Elizabeth's gown entranced him. Her movement would make the dress wave to the side and display her pretty blue slippers and the neat ankles encased in her white stockings. Their eyes met, again and again. When the dance ended, he wished to immediately walk to her but knew he must not.
He would wait until most of the couples lined up, so as to indicate his reluctance.
The owning manner in which Mr. Collins kept Elizabeth's arm and led her to the table laden with punch and glasses annoyed Darcy. Did that foolish man think to marry his Elizabeth?
A black pit opened underneath Darcy.
If no better offer was coming, it would, from the standpoint of prudence, be a good match. Surely, Elizabeth would not marry such a fool.
Elizabeth saw him watching her, and when their eyes met, she smiled mischievously. Darcy flushed and looked away, then glanced back. She winked at him and nodded her head towards Mr. Collins, who stood too close and ignored their byplay in favor of his speech. Elizabeth mouthed, "Rescue me."
Darcy swallowed what was left in his wine cup and handed it to a passing footman. He walked stiffly to Elizabeth.
Elizabeth was tense with anticipation. She smiled and glowed as Darcy bowed and interrupted Mr. Collins. "I apologize, but Miss Elizabeth is to be my partner for the next."
Darcy took Elizabeth's hand and kissed it. His eyes lingered on the bare skin of her chest and shoulders, and on the swell of her breasts. Elizabeth blushed and felt caressed by his gaze. She wanted him to look. She wanted to belong to him. When he looked up and smiled with a boyish apology, she squeezed his hand.
They walked onto the dance floor.
Elizabeth glowed inside. He was happy, as he should be.
His resistance was silly — she only needed to conquer what was left of his heart for him to realize it. Then he would lean in and say he loved her as much as she loved him. He would kiss her again and again and again. They would be happy together.
She would run his household and manage without enough servants. He would say clever and sweet things, and she would make him laugh and smile every day. He would always possess that happy light in his eyes. They would have children, and he would wrestle and play with his son, their son, who would grow straight and tall.
Darcy's eyes lingered on her figure, and each time he glanced down to look her over she felt an elated tightness. Butterflies played in her stomach. Their eyes mingled again and again.
Elizabeth's beauty absorbed Darcy. Her face was lively and expressive. Her eyes flashed with happiness. She showed so much white skin, from the delicate curve of her neck to the swell of her breasts pushed up by her corset. A pink ribbon pulled tight set them off from below.
The sight exerted a hypnotic pull on his gaze that drew it back repeatedly. It was not politeness, but his need to see the smile in Elizabeth's eyes again and again that kept him from staring. It was her smile that made him hard.
Their conversation died as the magic of the music controlled them. Darcy's attention was focused on Elizabeth. There was no space for speech. Their hands touched, and she would squeeze his hand each time. Then the steps of the dance made them let go. Darcy began to squeeze back.
When the set finished, Darcy and Elizabeth silently walked off the floor. They both smiled. Before either found words for conversation, a very young officer walked up and squeakily claimed Elizabeth for his previously promised dance. Darcy hated the boy's toothy grin and protruding Adam's apple. Elizabeth showed Darcy a pretty curtsy and a resigned smile before being led off. The curve of Elizabeth's backside was beautiful as she walked away.
Elizabeth glowed with happiness as she lined up across from the ensign. Darcy knew her happiness was unrelated to her partner.
Damn, damn, damn.
He had not acted as intended. She faced away from him, and the dark curls were held up by pins. Flowers were woven into her hair. The slender line of her neck pulled Darcy's eyes. With a wrench he turned himself away and stared at the wall.
He hated himself.
Her manner — there was no way Elizabeth was resigned to their parting. He had aroused some expectation in her. Honor demanded he marry her.
Yes, even though he had never wished —that was not true, he had wished for her to love him — even though he had never planned to gain her attachment, it was there. A gentleman ought to take responsibility for his actions. He should not hurt a woman. Elizabeth would be hurt if he left. Even his uncle might agree his honor had become engaged.
His father's image came to Darcy. The way he appeared the day of their argument in his expensive embroidered silk gown. That spectre that haunted him.
His father had pretended the demands of honor excused self-indulgence. He said it would dishonor the house not to gamble with friends and not to keep up enough carriages and liveried footmen and expensive entertainments.
Darcy had made an offer to Elizabeth. If she demanded he marry her as a matter of honor, he would. She had not demanded it, and she never would. Her kindness and affection were such that compulsion of that sort would be an anathema to her. His duty towards her was fulfilled. It was desire that made him wish to marry her.
It had been wrong to kiss Elizabeth.
But he had never intentionally led her on. He must not look at her again. The longer he allowed her to hope his reason could be overcome, the more she would hurt. He was a better man than he had been in Hertfordshire, and he would act better.
Her lips had been so very red as they danced; a few of her curls fell down over her ears. And her eyes — those brown pools filled with happiness and promised affection. Darcy's body ached with the need to turn and look upon her person. When he did not turn, it felt as though he had passed through a terrible struggle.
He wanted to pillow his face against the curve of her neck, he wanted to seize her tight by the arms and press his groin into hers, he wished to brush his fingers across the soft skin of her cheek. She wanted him. She had dressed to please him, to make him look at her. Her body desired his, like his body desperately wished to bury itself in hers.
No.
He would not let raw lust lead him astray.
He felt this way merely because it had been so many years since he had known a woman. As a youth he went with his friends to visit women who had set up their business on the edge of the town. It felt good and was what all of his peers did. But after he discovered his father's extravagance…
He had known vaguely that his father kept a mistress since the death of Lady Anne. But when he had studied the account books after the fields around Lambton were sold, he had found out how much his father spent on her. The house he kept her in was large and fully equipped with servants. His father probably spent more than one thousand pounds a year on her maintenance.
Buying women was a habit of his father's.
It was not only a desire to be with a woman. He felt more, far more, for Elizabeth. He had felt lust before, but lust never enveloped him.
It was the affection Elizabeth had for him. And her smiles. The warmth in her smile, a smile that was just there for him. He wanted to kiss her smile and tickle her until she laughed. He wanted to make her affection for him grow through shared pleasure.
He had never felt anything like this. But he would not let mere feelings rule him. He was a man, a rational man. He would conquer this.
Elizabeth realized something had gone awry.
She could see as she danced with her new partner that Darcy stared at the wall with tension in his frame. Eventually, he walked about the dance floor, but his eyes always pointed away from where she was. One time he glanced towards her, but he caught himself and walked in the opposite direction.
Her partner realized that she paid no attention to him. But Elizabeth did not care.
After the dance finished Elizabeth wanted to approach him. But she was frightened by the grimness of Darcy's manner.
Elizabeth stared longingly at him.
Miss Bingley approached her. "I told you he would not marry you. He depends upon his uncle. Lord Matlock would never approve an imprudent marriage. Never. Mr. Darcy could not marry against his wishes."
Elizabeth frowned. Her eyes flicked to Darcy; he was closely examining the design on a candleholder on the opposite end of the room. Miss Bingley smirked at her. The smirk drove away Elizabeth's desire to cry. Elizabeth said with a stiff voice, "I admire his filial piety."
Elizabeth began to walk away, heading towards Mr. Darcy. Miss Bingley seized her wrist and with glittering eyes said, "He must marry an heiress to reduce his debts. Not an ill bred piece of halfpenny baggage."
Elizabeth tried to pull her arm away from Miss Bingley; Miss Bingley squeezed it harder. The other woman hissed into Elizabeth's ear, "This is your fault. You stopped him. He would have done it. I had convinced him to marry me, but you destroyed my every hope — he shall not marry you. He still needs money. I hope to see you weep. I shall drink every ounce of your unhappiness — I shall smile at every tear you shed. You are a worthless, low —"
"Were I you, I too would think on the unhappiness of others. It must be terrible to know there is something so wrong with you, so terrible about your person and mind, that despite his need for the money, despite the desire for a closer connection to Mr. Bingley, despite every prudent consideration, he could not bring himself to marry you. Think on that."
Elizabeth ripped her arm away from Miss Bingley. The other woman snarled as Elizabeth walked away, but did not follow. Miss Bingley was right. Darcy's behavior showed he had regained a sense of his own interest. She was half dead inside when she took her next partner's hand and forced herself to smile at him.
For the next hours she did not look often at Darcy, for it hurt too much every time she saw him studiously attending to something in a direction opposite her. He knew she cared. She wanted to throw herself desperately at him, but Miss Bingley was watching, waiting for her to humiliate herself.
Elizabeth still had pride.
After two or three dances, she stood near Mr. Collins and tried to converse with him, so that other gentlemen would be less likely to approach.
Darcy felt trapped. Despite almost never looking at her, he was always aware where Elizabeth was. He hated how she danced with other men, giving them opportunity to touch her hands and watch her body jump up and down with the rapid motions of the dance. She was melancholy. The tiny brief glances he could not stop showed that she moved without vibrancy, almost stumbling through the motions.
There was something empty in the manner in which she allowed her cousin to speak to her. He felt her pain. It was worse because he only looked at her a half-dozen times during the course of the evening. This was his fault.
He would leave Netherfield tomorrow morning. Had he behaved as he ought, he would have left on Tuesday. After dinner he would make his apologies to Bingley and go upstairs. He should go upstairs immediately, without apologizing, so he could avoid looking at her ever again.
That thought made it impossible to leave before dinner. Darcy knew his seat was quite near Elizabeth's, and while he would not allow himself to converse with her, at least he would be able to hear her voice as she spoke to others. It would give him something he could remember in the cold future.
Elizabeth wearily sat next to her mother for dinner. Mr. Collins's conversation had grown to grate on her to the point that she gratefully passed him off to Charlotte for the hour of dinner. The foods were brought in: a dozen types of bird, roasts, a tall pudding in the shape of the castle, unwholesome sugar confections, white soup.
Elizabeth enjoyed none of it. Darcy sat at the same table, less than five feet away. But he refused to meet her eyes. He looked vaguely in the distance or concentrated on his food. Miss Bingley sat at the other end of their table, with her nose high as she quietly talked to her sister. Mr. Bingley sat next to Jane, Elizabeth could smile at them.
Jane was overjoyed. The universe was not entirely dark and empty.
Since he would not look upon her, Elizabeth looked at Darcy and tried to imprint his features on her mind. This might be the last time she saw him. And the night had started so well. She had been so happy for a half hour. Perhaps it had always been destined to end in tears, but couldn't she have had one evening of perfect happiness?
Darcy looked so unhappy.
She felt sick watching the slow manner in which he stirred his soup. He looked at it as though eating was something that ought to be done but which gave no pleasure. Even though he did not look at her once, his attention was upon her.
Could he not look up, look up one time, and smile again?
Elizabeth tightened a fist under the table, driving her fingernails into the palm of her hand and forced herself to sit as straight as possible to control tears.
She had hoped affection could be enough. Affection should be enough. She was a fool. How had she been so stupid?
Mrs. Bennet chattered to Lady Lucas. The conversation turned towards the likelihood that Mr. Bingley would propose to Jane. "Heavens! It is certain to happen — it will be so good to have a daughter settled at Netherfield. So near to me. And with so much money. Mr. Bingley will settle a great deal on her in pin money. And think of the jewels and carriages Jane shall have. And she will throw my other girls in the path of rich men."
During the speech Mr. Darcy's gaze snapped to Mrs. Bennet, and then he looked down again, with a cold frown. With her hawk-like study of Mr. Darcy, Elizabeth saw his awareness of the impropriety of her mother. She felt ashamed. This was the worst evening of her life.
Even if Darcy had the money to marry as he would, he would run away after listening to Mama.
Could not Mrs. Bennet see how much she loved Darcy? Must she be shamed on the unhappiest night of her life?
"Mama, please — Mr. Darcy listens to you. You should not speak so in front of him. I beg you stop."
"I owe him no such civility." Mrs. Bennet looked at Mr. Darcy and said coldly, "He is an impoverished gentleman too arrogant to speak to us, despite his scandalous circumstances. Even if he is the nephew of an earl, I owe him no consideration. None of you would act like his sister did. They say he raised the girl like a daughter after her father's death. I'm shocked a gentleman as good as Mr. Bingley tolerates a friend such as him. I shall have Jane tell Mr. Bingley to distance himself."
Elizabeth wanted to die.
Darcy stared at Mrs. Bennet with a tight jaw. He gripped his spoon with white knuckles. The room was stuffy with the smell of sweat and food. Elizabeth desperately tried to keep from crying. She concentrated on the shape of Darcy's nose.
Her stomach hurt so.
A half choked sob forced its way out of Elizabeth's throat. The only reason she did not flee in shame was because she might never see him again. Elizabeth held her hand over her mouth and nose trying to force back the need to cry.
At last Darcy looked at her, and he smiled at her.
Mrs. Bennet described the dress she hoped to make Jane order for her wedding. Mr. Darcy sharply spoke over her, "Lady Lucas, tell me about your presentation at court. Your husband has told the story, but I would dearly wish to hear how it seemed to you."
The choked, distressed sound from Elizabeth had brought his eyes up at last. Her eyebrows had crumpled together, and she had a red nose. An impassioned warmth uncontrollably tore through his chest and into the nerves and muscles of his face. He had never felt so tender, not even with Georgiana. He had been embarrassed by family. He knew how it felt.
He needed Elizabeth to feel less awful.
As Lady Lucas spoke, Darcy looked at Elizabeth again and smiled at her. He could not stop himself. The dam was gone; he no longer wanted to stop himself. She smiled back at him and wiped away the tears. Her smile was thin.
When Lady Lucas paused in her narrative, Mrs. Bennet spoke, "We've all heard this story — it amazes how some girls ignore their family's wishes when they marry. My daughters —"
Darcy spoke over her again, making no pretense of politeness: "Lady Lucas, I wonder, do you recall the details of the dress you wore for your presentation?"
Anytime Mrs. Bennet began to speak, Darcy interrupted with another question for Lady Lucas. Otherwise, he watched Elizabeth. Her mood steadily improved, and at last she showed a real smile. She was amused by the manner in which he treated her mother. Her lips were delightful. Her eyebrows arched, and her eyes smiled at him.
Elizabeth thought that maybe she would hurt even worse the next day. But the evening was perfect again. It was not that he was handsome, it was not that he was wondrous, it was not that he made her heart skip and beat fast.
She loved him. Wholly and completely.
Her hope from earlier flared as he stayed near her after dinner ended. He must love her as much as she loved him. He could not leave when she loved him so. No doubt was permissible. Not tonight.
Darcy could not even try to leave her side. They talked and talked. They danced once more. She was beautiful and lovely. They could be like this forever. He only needed to marry her.
Miss Bingley stared angrily at them but did not dare to approach. Charlotte Lucas kept Mr. Collins's attention.
The evening neared its end; Elizabeth knew they would part soon. He stood only a foot away from her; his evening coat fit tight, though it was five seasons out of date. The candles burned low and a few of them had gone out. In the dim light his eyes looked wide and deep. She sank into them.
She should speak. She should tell him everything of how she felt. She should argue and beg him to marry her. He would listen. She cared nothing for fortune or future problems. They would be happy; they would find a way to save his estate. She did not need servants or new dresses — affection and companionship was all that mattered. Even with his debts, they would be happy.
She stood so close to him. She could brush her breast against his arm, and lean up and breathe some whisper of love into his ear. She ought to. She ought to do anything that might convince him not to leave.
The two had fallen silent, enjoying the music and each other's closeness. Elizabeth gazed into his eyes and tried to speak but could not. She looked away again; he would reject her. He already had. The strength of her feelings did not matter. It would be best to say nothing.
A proper girl, a moral girl, would not touch him as she wished to. A lady would not beg for a gentleman's attention. It was the place of the man to make his choice, and he had chosen. As soon as he left her presence, his reason would return. He stayed next to her but made no promises. It would be wrong to do more than smile prettily. Elizabeth could not force herself to speak.
The moment passed.
After an evening, a perfect evening, they separated. Darcy and Bingley followed them to the carriage. Darcy kissed her hand goodbye one last time. She smiled at his figure, lit from behind by the torches set up on Netherfield's portico. She loved him. It was the most painfully bittersweet moment in her life.