Author's Note: The Netherfield... um, I mean, the Torchwood ball! This event is so pivotal; I agonized over it a bit, and I hope I did it justice. Please review!
I don't own Pride and Prejudice or Doctor Who; I just play here. Much love to my terrific beta, lastincurableromantic, for curbing my rambling sentences and reminding me that we live in the 21st century (and that a little explanation goes a long way). : )
Rose's heart nearly beat out of her chest with excitement. The night of the ball had finally arrived, and the Torchwood estate was a delightful harmony of candlelight and elegant dresses and soft music. She had chosen her prettiest dress, a fine ivory muslin with delicate blue embroidery, and her blonde hair was curled and swept up softly, dotted with tiny pearls.
Her eyes tripped across the room, searching for one face in particular. Rose hoped to spend most of the evening in the company of Mr. Saxon, positive that he had felt the attraction and camaraderie between them. While she did not see him at first glance, she was not too concerned; it was a large estate and she herself had only just arrived. Noticing the large number of officers already scattered throughout the room, however, a niggling thought began to trouble her. What if, for Mr. Smith's sake, Mr. Saxon had simply not been invited?
With his usual self-assurance and cocky smile, Mr. Adam Mitchell made his way towards the Tyler family. Lucy wasted no time in asking after Mr. Saxon, to which Adam replied that personal business had taken him into town. Under his breath he added, "Honestly, I think it wasn't really that urgent, but it gave him an excuse not to face a certain gentleman again."
While they were all disappointed by his absence, Rose felt fairly certain that none of the others had caught Adam's quiet implication. Her heart sank. Regardless of the reason, the effect was the same: the hopes she'd indulged for this evening had vanished. Her disappointment only sharpened her anger with Mr. Smith. Feeling a hand softly laid on her arm, she peered up into Donna's sympathetic gaze and felt her resentment abate just a little.
Rose could never remain angry or bitter for long; it went against her joyful nature. She shook off her foul mood, determined to enjoy the novelty of the evening. Spotting Martha nearby, she quickly made her way to her friend. They hadn't seen each other for several days, and soon Martha was peppering her with questions about both Mr. Saxon and Mr. Collins. Keeping it light, Rose quickly related what she'd learned from Mr. Saxon, ignoring the speculative look on Martha's face which clearly said 'I'll let it go for now, but I know there's more.' Just as she had begun to share more about Mr. Collins' sudden appearance and peculiar personality, the man himself approached them. Rose could see his nervousness as he bowed stiffly, and taking pity on him, she smiled warmly and introduced him to her friend.
Moments later couples began moving into position for the first dance. Her compassion warred with her humiliation as it became clear that, despite his support of it, Mickey had had little practice in the actual art of dancing. Rose helped him on as best she could with quiet words and gestures, but it was still awkward and halting. Rose could feel her cheeks growing warm. She couldn't help the relief that flooded through her as their second dance drew to a close. He obviously felt it, too, and she kindly reassured him that he'd done fine as he stammered out an apology. She felt an almost sisterly affection for this odd, somewhat silly man. Part of her knew that she should be more reserved with him, that he was probably misconstruing her natural kindness and compassion as something more, but she just couldn't.
Luckily another officer asked her to dance, excusing her from her awkward predicament for the moment. He was a fair dancer, and Rose relaxed a bit, taking in the beauty of the grand room and the elegant flow of the dance around her. The officer had met the newcomer, Mr. Saxon, and declared he was a born leader and already well-liked by everyone. Rose smiled, not surprised in the least. At the end of the dance she returned to Martha's side with renewed spirits.
"I think it's almost impossible not to enjoy oneself at a ball," Rose declared with a grin, forgetting her earlier embarrassment.
Martha looked at her with amusement shining in her dark brown eyes. "I tend to agree, though there are those who manage it," she replied, nodding her head subtly towards Mr. Smith, who stood nearby, aloof and disinterested.
Rose, already quite sure whom Martha was referring to, cast a quick glance in that direction only to find a pair of intense brown eyes staring right back at her. Rose shivered. How did he do that? And why did he always seem to be observing her? She looked back at Martha, who had been watching her closely, and laughed, trying to regain her composure. "I'm rather surprised he permits such 'frivolity,' though it is his friend's house, I suppose. Don't be too hard on him, though, Martha. Some people just don't dan-"
Mr. Smith suddenly stood before them bowing gracefully, tall and gorgeous in his dark blue waistcoat and fitted black jacket and trousers. Realizing her mouth was still hanging open, Rose quickly snapped it shut.
"May I request the honor of your hand for the next dance, Miss Tyler?" he asked, the picture of poise and gentility. Still stunned, Rose could only manage a barely audible "yes." She swore she glimpsed a hint of humor in his eyes as he walked away. Her spirit rallied at that, and once her breath returned, she began upbraiding herself for her lack of composure.
"How could I say yes, Martha? I can't believe I agreed to dance with that man!" she fumed quietly, pacing a few steps before turning sharply back.
Martha grabbed her arm to stop her mid-stride. "Rose, calm down. It's just a dance. Relax and enjoy it," she chided, shaking her head. Rose's stubborn prejudice was distracting her from the honor Mr. Smith had shown her in singling her out as a partner. She loved Rose dearly, but any girl in the county would gladly trade places with her in that moment; she was crazy to risk insulting such an important and handsome man, and Martha told her so.
"And what would that say about me? If I allowed myself to enjoy the company of one I am determined to hate?" she replied with feeling.
The next minute, as Mr. Smith came to lead her away, Martha shot her a stern parting look. Rose rolled her eyes. She couldn't ignore the impression they made as they stood up together, however. It felt as though every pair of eyes in the room was on them, filled with surprise and admiration. She wasn't quite sure how she felt about that and so tried her best to ignore it.
They remained quiet for several minutes, performing the steps with ease and grace. Rose had resolved not to talk to him at all, when suddenly it occurred to her that she might punish him more by forcing him to speak.
"It's quite a treat, having an orchestra to dance to," Rose commented.
"I think so, too," he replied, falling silent again.
"I've never seen you dance before. Thought perhaps the universe might implode," Rose teased, the words slipping out before she could stop them. This man elicited such unexpected reactions from her. She watched him closely, curious to see how he'd respond.
"And yet, here we stand," Mr. Smith countered, the corners of his lips quirking up slightly.
Several minutes passed before Rose addressed him again. "I believe it is your turn to say something, Mr. Smith," she suggested.
"You usually talk while dancing, then?"
"Yeah, I guess so, though it needn't be much. Just enough to show mild interest." She paused a moment, considering her next words. "We are a lot alike, you know. Only willing to speak if we have something clever or insightful to say that will impress all those around us."
Mr. Smith studied her a moment before replying. "I don't believe that's you at all, though I am quite convinced of your cleverness. I couldn't say how true it might be of myself. It's quite obvious you think it is." Brown eyes met brown, locked in a silent battle, her face slightly flushed at his unexpected compliment.
Silence once again fell between them, but Mr. Smith chose to break it this time. "Do you and your sisters often walk into town?" he asked casually.
"Yes, quite often," Rose answered. Unable to resist the opening he'd provided, she added, "We had just made a new acquaintance when you came upon us the other day."
She could see, could almost feel the change come over him as he drew himself up even straighter, closing himself off, suddenly cold and imposing. All except for his eyes, which blazed with anger and something else she couldn't name. Rose felt a strange urge to flee, but of course she didn't, instead wisely choosing not to push him any further.
"Mr. Saxon has a great deal of charm and wit, allowing him to make friends quite easily," Mr. Smith managed to grate out, his voice just hinting at the emotions swirling beneath the surface. "However, I find he is not always able to keep them."
"Like the way he lost your friendship, you mean, and will pay for it the rest of his life," Rose retorted, struggling to keep her own emotions in check.
His only answer was a sharp glance before his face went blank, the impenetrable mask sliding back into place. At that moment Mr. Jones approached them, his joviality at odds with the tension simmering between them.
"You two do make a lovely picture, just as I knew you would! I hope we will have the pleasure of seeing you dance again, especially with such a happy event on the horizon, eh, Miss Rose?" he beamed, casting a meaningful look at Donna and Jack, who were dancing gaily a short distance from them. Rose stared at him in shock, cringing inwardly at his lack of propriety. While that 'happy event' was Rose's dearest hope, it was far from settled, even between the couple in question; announcing it so casually just felt wrong, 'putting the horse before the carriage,' so to speak. "But don't look at me so, my dear! Mr. Smith, I do apologize. I won't keep you any longer from your captivating partner." And with a hasty bow he was gone.
John's attention, however, was still focused on the couple before them, concern evident in his solemn features. Feeling her eyes on him, he snapped himself back into the moment. "Pardon me. I seem to have forgotten what we were talking about."
"Nothing. I think we had run out of things to say," Rose declared, her earlier irritation returning, trying to move past the embarrassing encounter.
"What about books, then?" he asked, seeming intent on being pleasant.
Well, he can try all he likes. Rose would not allow him to draw her out. "I'm sure we don't share the same taste in books, and that our opinions on them would in no way be similar."
"Really?" He looked so disappointed by her response, and she almost relented. Fortunately he forged on. "Weelll, then we could have a lively discussion at the very least. After all, life wouldn't be very interesting if we all had exactly the same thoughts, now, would it?"
"No, I guess not..." Oh, how this man confounded her! Unpredictable and moody, and now, when she wanted most to be angry, he was being chatty and agreeable, almost friendly. She simply wouldn't have it, and decided to come right to the point. "Before, you said that you don't give second chances, that once someone lost your respect it could not be redeemed. I suppose you are most careful, then, in your judgment of others."
"I am," he said with conviction, holding her gaze.
"Not swayed by prejudice or petty feelings, but always holding to what is fair and just?"
"I sincerely hope so," he replied, looking at her intently, his brow furrowed. "Why do you ask?"
"You are a puzzle to me," she admitted honestly, trying to dispel her somber mood, "and I am merely trying to illuminate your character."
"And how do you get on?"
"Not well at all," Rose said, laughing lightly as she shook her head. "I hear such different accounts of you as to leave me exactly where I started."
"I can easily imagine the variety of opinions you've heard, Miss Tyler," he answered, his voice low and entreating, "but I wish you would not attempt to sort my character at the present moment."
"If I don't do so now, I may never get another chance," was Rose's surprised reply.
"As you wish," he said, cold and remote once more. They finished their dance in silence.
Mr. Smith felt restless. He knew he had taken a great risk in asking Rose Tyler to dance. While he could not indulge the powerful feelings for her that had been building inside of him, her pull was undeniable. And now it had backfired dramatically. She seemed almost to hate him. All the better, a small voice in the back of his mind piped up. The separation between her world and yours is too great. Impossible. You can't have her.
Frustrated and angered by the turn their conversation had taken, he quickly exited the room, his hand tugging at his hair as his mind whirled. He thought of her lovely face, of the quick brown eyes that missed nothing, the pink that tinged her cheeks, betraying her feelings, and that delighted smile that had, regrettably, never yet been directed at him.
No, he could not be angry with her. He could not allow himself to harbor any feelings for her, good or bad. Yet it still rankled within him, the disappointment he'd seen in her eyes, believing the lies that cad had fed her. The fury within him burned even stronger than before.
Frustrated and confused, Rose was making her way to the doors, hoping to get some fresh air and a little perspective, when she was intercepted by Miss Harkness.
"Donna tells me you've become quite friendly with Mr. Saxon," Reinette ventured, and while her tone was friendly, she could not hide the disdain in her pretty blue eyes. "I feel obligated to tell you that he is merely the son of the late Mr. Smith's steward, and that you should not place too much faith in his stories. Mr. Smith has only ever been kind to him, and has been treated most abominably in return! I don't know the details of it, but of course Mr. Smith is blameless. He hates even hearing the name of Harold Saxon. My brother had to invite him, but we were all rather relieved that he couldn't make it. How very unlucky to meet him here at all! I'm sorry to share such ill tidings of your new friend, dear girl, although considering his position, perhaps it is not that surprising," she concluded with a smirk.
Rose had met her breaking point. "What surprises me," she retorted angrily, her hands fisted in her dress, "is the ease with which you condemn someone, simply based on his birth! His guilt and his descent, which he has shared with me himself, to you are the same! You have nothing else with which to accuse him."
A bit stunned, it took Reinette a moment to reply. "My apologies! I only meant to warn you. Please pardon me. I was trying to be kind," she replied haughtily before turning away.
Rose made her escape through one of the adjoining rooms and out onto the enclosed veranda. Reinette's accusation had only further convinced her of that woman's ignorance and prejudice and of Mr. Smith's guilt. She gratefully filled her lungs with the cool night air, feeling herself relax as she peered up into the darkening sky. When she felt her composure had returned, she sought out Donna. The joyful glow lighting her sister's face quickly chased away what was left of Rose's ire.
"I'm so sorry Mr. Saxon couldn't come, Rose. I know you like him and were looking forward to the chance to enjoy his company again," Donna said, clasping her sister's hand.
"I do like him. He is so friendly and open, and determined to be happy despite all that he's endured. And while I am curious what you might have learned about him," Rose admitted with a smile, "perhaps you have been too happily engaged with Mr. Harkness to think of anything else."
Though still beaming, Donna sounded almost apologetic. "I did ask, Rose, but I don't have much to share. Mr. Harkness does not know Mr. Saxon or any of the details of their falling out. He does honestly believe Mr. Smith to be the best kind of man; I think he would defend him with his last breath," she said, a tender look crossing her face. Her eyes naturally sought him out where he stood in the far corner, deep in conversation with Mr. Smith. "Both he and his sister fear Mr. Saxon is much less respectable than he seems to be, and that any loss he's experienced has been of his own doing. I'm sorry." She squeezed Rose's hand in hers, her kind heart obviously hurting to be the bearer of such unwelcome news.
"But all he knows of it has come from Mr. Smith, right?" At Donna's nod, Rose continued. "Don't worry, Donna. I find no fault with your Mr. Harkness. He has a good heart and is a loyal friend. However, I hope you will forgive me for not being swayed by his opinion, as he was not directly involved and cannot be objective concerning his friend. I will have to hold to the same opinion I did before."
Rose then quickly changed the topic to a much happier one, encouraging the humble yet growing hopes Donna held for their devoted host. When Jack himself joined them, Rose shot him a friendly grin before slipping away into the crowd.
Mr. Collins noticed her crossing the room and met her with a triumphant smile. "Dear cousin, you'll never guess what I've discovered! A relative of Lady Yvonne Hartman, here in this very house! That noble gentleman there, Mr. John Smith, is her nephew. What a lucky coincidence! I must, of course, introduce myself and apologize for not greeting him earlier."
Rose stood still in shock for a moment before hastily assuring him that there was no need for such an introduction. Indeed, for him to take such a liberty, to speak to someone of Mr. Smith's consequence without being formally introduced, would be quite improper. But Mickey would not be dissuaded, claiming that while he greatly appreciated her opinion, he knew much better than she the "duties of a clergyman." Unable to look away, she watched as he addressed Mr. Smith, who indeed seemed quite surprised at the intrusion. Rose felt her cheeks grow warm at Mr. Collins' undoubtedly effusive praise of his aunt, unaware that he was embarrassing not only himself, but his relations as well. Mr. Smith's look quickly changed from one of detached wonder to annoyance, and he finally escaped her cousin with a curt bow.
Mickey returned to her side, quite satisfied with his one-sided conversation, praising Mr. Smith's civility and gracious manners. "He seemed glad to hear of his aunt's good health, though he did forget my name. Mr. Rollins, he said, but that's an easy mistake. I feel quite honored to have met him."
He stayed by her side for the remainder of the evening with single-minded devotion, and, while Rose refused to dance with him again, his constant presence kept her from dancing with anyone else as well. Her only relief stemmed from her friend's kindness. Seeing Rose's predicament, Martha made an effort to join them often, drawing Mickey's attention away from Rose for short periods of time and thus preserving her sanity.
The rest of her family seemed almost equally bent on humiliating themselves. Mostly out of habit, Joan eventually found her way to the piano, where her modest skills were usually welcomed. At such a grand event, however, her halting tempo and weak voice were almost jarringly out-of-place. In vain Rose tried to catch her eye and hint that she should let someone else play. Eventually her father stepped in to stop her, rather bluntly, and Rose ached at the hurt on Joan's face as she complied.
As expected, Lucy and Lynda spent the entire night dancing gleefully. They grew sillier as the night wore on, however, calling undue attention to themselves and their childish behavior.
Rose's chief joy and comfort this night, when so many things had gone awry, lay in witnessing the budding relationship between her sister and Mr. Harkness. However, it soon became quite apparent that her mother felt the same and seemed determined to share her feelings with the entire room.
"He is quite a catch for our Donna," she enthused loudly to Mrs. Jones, who was sitting right beside her. "Rich and handsome and amiable, and with a house so close by! And of course their marriage will throw the girls into the path of other rich men!"
Though many undoubtedly heard her exclamations, Rose noticed with alarm that Mr. Smith was stationed quite close by. Earnestly she begged Jackie to lower her voice, which of course only made her defensive, and thus louder. "Why should I care what himself over there hears?" Rose blushed, and oh, she was doing that rather often tonight. Her eyes flitted repeatedly, almost involuntarily to Mr. Smith, who seemed to be firmly ignoring her mother. He quite obviously heard, however, as his look of indignation and distaste slowly evolved into one of calm and severe resolve. Several times Rose caught him staring at her, his expression unreadable.
Luckily, Jack and Donna seemed oblivious to all the nonsense going on around them. Rose watched them with fondness, warming even more towards this man who brought out Donna's vivacity and self-assurance. Later that evening as they prepared to leave, Jackie and Mr. Collins took turns declaring their satisfaction with the evening. Mr. Smith remained silent and somber, and Jack's sisters likewise said little, making it quite obvious that they were eager to be rid of them.
Mr. Harkness, of course, was a most gracious host, thanking them for coming and bringing so much joy to the party, though his eyes hardly left Donna's as he spoke. Jackie insisted that he come over for dinner soon, and he agreed readily. While he had business in London tomorrow, he promised to visit as soon as he returned, and Jackie left feeling quite satisfied about the future.