That encounter had a similar impact on Elizabeth Bennet as it had on Darcy.
She noticed the tall and handsome gentleman in a way that she had not quite from overhearing his conversation with his friend — a conversation that established her as handsome enough — good, except for the "enough", — but not sufficient to tempt him to dance. Such a mixed review! Impossible to feel her vanity pierced to the quick, impossible to feel herself wholly satisfied!
His striking noble features, his disdainful countenance, the poised manner with which he carried himself, and his intense eyes.
She only noticed all this after he walked out of that balcony door, and they all stared at each other awkwardly.
He was a compelling creature, and one easy to let her attention wander to. During the remainder of the assembly, Elizabeth's fascination with Darcy was shown by how she almost never looked directly at him.
Silly and girlish. To not look at a man who fascinated you was a behavior more appropriate for a chit of Lydia's age than a full-grown woman at Elizabeth's own mature twenty years. But Elizabeth did notice from the corner of her eyes that he tended to be oriented in her direction rather considerably more often than chance alone would allow.
However, over the next two weeks, as the golden leaves of October fell, and the lovely cool days of fall permitted fine walks beneath a soft sun, Elizabeth's interest in Darcy was mostly (though by no means entirely) superseded by a different topic.
Darcy's friend and host, Mr. Bingley, had clearly formed a strong interest in Elizabeth's sister Jane.
This was in part shown by how often they saw Mr. Bingley — four times in a fortnight, including the assembly ball, was enough to suggest that Mr. Bingley rather preferred to accept invitations where he would have a chance to see the beautiful Jane Bennet. Further, each time they came together, Jane and Bingley would soon begin to speak to each other, as though pulled together by either animal magnetism, or more likely the similarity of their pliable temperaments.
And of course, in the two cases that the party broke into dance, inevitably Jane and Bingley would begin the entertainment by a set with each other.
They liked each other. And from Elizabeth's teasing, and Jane's blushes, she had perceived that Jane was well on the way to liking him very much indeed.
However, Jane was her quiet and cautious self around Bingley. She had a manner of humbleness and softness about her that made it impossible for anyone to be jealous of her for her beauty.
Elizabeth's fascination in watching the progress of this connection was more than enough to distract her from a silly partiality for a very quiet man — Mr. Darcy had never spoken that she saw when he was not first spoken to. Besides, though his recent disappointment with his sister gave Mr. Darcy an excuse in Elizabeth's mind for his relative incivility and detached behavior, Elizabeth was unable to fail to notice that he had a supercilious air in addition to a melancholic one. He was likely to have held himself as superior to her rural neighborhood no matter what the circumstances of his summer had been.
On the date of their fifth encounter with the Netherfield party, at a dinner held at Lucas Lodge, Elizabeth said to her intimate friend, Charlotte Lucas, "Bingley's humility of character is quite unlike that of his friend Mr. Darcy. If he and Jane should make a match of it, they will be well suited in that way. Neither seems to be constantly conscious of their own substantial merits."
"I had been of the opinion that you liked Mr. Darcy," was Charlotte's smiling, and a little too knowing reply.
Elizabeth waved that question away, hoping Charlotte did not see that she was quite correct. "I have no choice, as I do not believe it would appeal to him to be an object of pity."
"You must either pity him or like him? You have not exhausted the options. There remains dislike. Sly girl, making excuses of this sort."
Elizabeth flushed at Charlotte's ribbing. "In any case he is nothing to us, while Bingley has settled into the neighborhood."
"Nothing?" Charlotte laughed and twisted the stem of her wine glass around in her fingers. "Yet you have chosen to compare his friend first to him, rather than to some better-known character. I do not think that he has spoken at sufficient length for me to gain a notion of whether he is humble or not. All I know is that he is quiet."
Both looked towards Mr. Darcy. He leaned against the ornate mantle of the fireplace, decorated with a vase of chrysanthemums and a collection of porcelain figures that Lady Lucas was fond of.
Darcy looked towards them. No. He looked towards Elizabeth specifically.
Elizabeth's eyes met his, and then she looked away with her color suddenly high. A tremble of excitement went through her, and her heart skipped a beat. "We were speaking of Mr. Bingley."
"Ah, him. Yes. Pliable and compliant."
"That is not what I said. He is humble and unaware of his own merits."
As they spoke Mary sat down to the piano and began one of the concertos that she'd labored over and practiced at great length. Elizabeth rather wished that her sister would not play so often amongst their friends. Mary had an affected style, and a decided preference for complicated pieces that were beyond her abilities, and that were further the sort of music praised more often than liked.
"I would rather," Charlotte said as she turned away from Mary's playing, "if at least one out of the pair of Jane and her possible companion in happiness were more decisive."
"No! You cannot wish my angel Jane to be any different than she is."
"Then I would change Bingley. Look at her." Charlotte gestured sharply towards the couple. The pair talked eagerly to each other. "She smiles and is complaisant — one who did not know her at all would not realize that she was so affected by Mr. Bingley."
"Yes," Elizabeth replied with a smile. "I am quite glad to see that she shall not be the sport for the wild gossips." Like how this whole community laughs at poor Mr. Darcy.
"I meant to criticize, not to praise."
"Oh, no. Impossible. We already agreed that my Jane is perfect."
"The attachment that Bingley shows towards her may not last if she does not show all of the emotion she feels — no, Jane ought to show more than she feels if she wishes to secure him." Charlotte spoke with an unwonted seriousness. "A man likes to know that he is very well liked before he ventures upon a proposal."
"To secure him! I assure you Jane has no such notion in her head."
Charlotte lifted her wine glass to her lips and sipped a little. "She ought to have such a notion."
"We have scare known Mr. Bingley for a fortnight. They have danced four sets, dined twice, and conversed on a bare handful of occasions. Jane can hardly know her own feelings."
"When she is secure of him, there will be ample time for her to fall in love at her own leisure."
"Fie, fie. A ridiculous notion."
"They have had ample time together to allow Jane to know the essentials of his character."
"You mean that she has had a chance to ascertain that they both like Vingt-un better than Commerce, but with respect to any other leading characteristic, I do not imagine that much has been unfolded."
"I am serious, Eliza, I am wholly serious." The slow adagio of the movement that Mary was playing formed a sour accompaniment to Charlotte's tone. "I think Jane's odds of happiness were they engaged now are no worse than they would be if she'd spent a whole year in close study of Mr. Bingley's character. A man can change so much from year to year that there is little sense in depending upon your understanding of his character, no matter how detailed the study."
Elizabeth laughed, hoping to make the conversation lighter once more. "And now you have me caught, for I have often mused upon the variability in man's character, and how substantial changes can be seen from modest changes in circumstance. I still would not follow such a logic now. Neither would you act in a like manner. This plan of action would suit only if the sole intention was to find a rich husband. But not if one desires to find proper happiness."
Before Charlotte responded the two of them noticed Darcy coming closer, as though he wished to listen to their conversation.
A little squirrel in Elizabeth's stomach somersaulted.
The piano notes rose in accompaniment, and for once Mary's playing matched her nervous feeling.
Elizabeth wanted to say something, to start the conversation, and to be her usual bright and witty self. But in a gesture totally unusual in herself, Elizabeth's cheeks went pink, and she lowered her eyes to study the rich red wine in her glass. The dim reflection of the candles looked back at her.
Charlotte lifted her head high, and she said to Mr. Darcy once he was close enough to hear them easily, "Mr. Darcy, I beg your opinion — should I force Eliza to perform as soon as Miss Mary has completed her piece upon the piano."
Elizabeth flushed redder and she found that she could not quite make herself look up at him. Instead, she took a sip of the wine, in hopes that it would cover her confusion.
Mr. Darcy did not reply immediately.
From the corner of her eye, Elizabeth could tell that he studied her. She was suddenly aware of every mended imperfection in the arrangement of lace on her dress, in the style of her hair, and in the cut of the sleeves. It was not quite the fashion of this season.
"I can hardly venture an informed opinion upon the question, as I have never heard Miss Elizabeth play."
His voice had a rich timbre, and something clenched in Elizabeth's chest at hearing him use her name.
You are a ridiculous girl, and I demand you cease this now, and act like yourself.
To her mild surprise, Elizabeth's reproof of herself worked, and with a self-conscious smile she looked directly at Mr. Darcy and asked, "Then it will fall to me to make the determination of whether I ought to play. But do aid me, what is your opinion on Miss Mary's play at the piano?"
He had a cup of coffee in his hands, rather than a wine glass, and his knuckles whitened, and his hand tightened around it.
Piano playing was a topic he'd not stoop to?
With a laugh that was odd due to how natural it sounded in Elizabeth's own ears, she said, "Aha! Barbarian from the wilds of the East Midlands. One who despises all music. No wonder you look so sour so often in company — it is music. You only do not wish to admit how you despise music. Now I know what I must do."
"What?" Darcy blinked several times, and then he exclaimed, "No, no, there is nothing more that I admire than good music."
Elizabeth was not sure if he'd intended to emphasize good in his sentence or not. But the way he said it, and the pause in their conversation, with the sound around them filled by Mary fumbling the notes at the most difficult point in the concerto, made it seem as though he strongly meant to indicate that what he at present listened to was not good music.
What a superior condescending man!
"My poor sister." Elizabeth shook her head ruefully to break the awkward moment. "After so much diligence to practice at her accomplishments! My poor, poor sister. At least I know for certain that I shall never dare to perform in front of you."
"That is not — I certainly did not mean to say that I did not admire your sister's playing… I mean I would enjoy hearing you play, even if your performance is no better than hers." Darcy then flushed at Elizabeth's raised eyebrow. He fell silent. He frowned. He stood even taller, with an uncomfortable air, and a slight redness around his neck, but a forbidding expression on his face.
Elizabeth imagined from his change in manner that he regretted that he'd entered a conversation with her.
Oh fie, if he was not a man who could be teased, her fascination would be quite disappointed by him.
"You do not like to be the butt of any joke." Elizabeth said.
Darcy seemed to relax and sigh. "I am unused to it. It is my general practice to avoid errors that allow men to be made the sport of by others."
"Oh, that is impossible! We must never speak. Never. For I dearly love to laugh." Elizabeth laughed.
Darcy smiled at her. "I would not wish to curtail any pleasure of yours — I truly did not mean to insult your sister. Her playing is… adequate."
As Elizabeth laughed, he flushed again, but then gave her a real rueful smile. "I said it again."
Charlotte elbowed Elizabeth. "A man who can notice his own flaws."
"I seriously hope I can," Darcy said. "If I never noticed my flaws, how would I be able to avoid — so far as possible — those flaws which can make a man the just object for ridicule and censure by his peers."
Elizabeth smiled to herself. He was a self-certain man, with both the virtues and deficiencies so implied. "I do not mean to make you an object for ridicule, but we must all agree that your statements were both ill-timed, and in a humorous manner."
Darcy showed an actual smile now, and one that brought out a small dimple, and made him appear yet more handsome than before. And rather younger. Now that she had made him smile, Elizabeth determined that her future task must include bringing him to laughter.
"My scheme has been neatly defeated," Charlotte said in a friendly tone. "I'd planned to push Eliza before your notice, because she looks quite pretty and she has a feel for the music when she plays — but alas, pretty as she is, my friend is only tolerable at music."
Elizabeth shoved Charlotte. "Sly girl, you must not reveal all my flaws too quick."
Darcy grinned widely — not quite a laugh, but she thought she would eventually manage him.
He really did look as excellent in his improving mood as Elizabeth had imagined that laughter would make him look.
"I would sincerely wish to hear you play, Miss Elizabeth." Darcy smiled at her. "I promise not to judge you with undue harshness."
She laughed in reply. "It is the fully due harshness that I wish to avoid."
"Then I promise not to judge you at all."
"Ah, but can you promise that?" Elizabeth grinned at him, enjoying the way his eyes seemed to follow her as she fluttered about, feeling lighter and more like a butterfly than she usually did. "I have tended to find my own judgements to be an instinctive gesture of the mind, which can only be denied and proclaimed unworthy of my soul after they have already been stated in my mind."
"I assure you, you have nothing to fear from me," Darcy replied with his serious eyes holding hers. "I am always determined to be fully in control of my feelings and judgements."
"You must be used to hearing the very best performers," Elizabeth replied. Her face felt hot and flushed, and she knew it was not just because they stood a little too close to the fire. "I can hardly be surprised if you find the quality of our play inferior."
"I do not… I suppose I was used to hearing a superior performer." And then Darcy sighed. There was something in his eyes like what she'd seen in them when Mr. Bingley had tried to force him to dance at the assembly ball.
Mary's piece had entered a sad, somber tune. The tempo was just a little off. Elizabeth recognized that this passage was near the end of Mary's concerto from the experience of having heard it stumbled through many times.
"Your sister!" Elizabeth exclaimed as the theory went through her mind. "She liked to play the piano, did she not?"
And then as both Darcy and Charlotte looked at Elizabeth, she felt her cheeks go very red. Ooops. Now it had been her turn to misspeak.
"I mean," Elizabeth stuttered. "I did not mean to say anything upon such a tender topic. Please, let me apologize. In the usual case my tongue is more guarded."
"What need for apology? You guessed aright." Darcy sighed. "She was — no she is. She still is, even though she is lost to me — my sister is a true proficient. She would play the whole day, often playing, practicing more than three hours a day. It was… it is one of her chief joys."
The gentleman let out a shuddering breath, and he pressed his fist against his mouth.
"Oh, I should have said nothing. I do not wish to make you feel sad."
"To have a conversation of this sort was my due after I spoke so thoughtlessly about your excellent sister's play."
"You do not deserve to be made to speak upon any subject that pains you. No one does. Certainly not here amongst this society — I hope we will one day be friends, but we have merely begun to trot down that boulevard."
Darcy nodded to her and offered a polite smile.
Then by some mutual agreement the two of them stepped back from each other. She noted that they had come too close to each other in the previous speech, and Elizabeth hoped that her mother had not noticed — it would be quite annoying if Mama filled her head with fantasies about her and Mr. Darcy, as well as those she already had about Jane and Mr. Bingley.
The added distance was good for the digestion and the lungs — which is to say that Elizabeth breathed easier, and that the squirming in her stomach began to ease.
The silence reached the point when it was awkward, and with a smile, Elizabeth said as she looked down, "And I am quite proud of myself when I practice for three hours in a week — usually I do not."
She looked up to see the effect that this speech had on Mr. Darcy. He observed her closely.
That handsome young smile was gone. In its place was the severe and noble master of Pemberley, a man who had suffered disappointments, yet who was firm and stiff in his resolve to face the world, and full of his sense of his own importance and grandeur within it.
Elizabeth missed the smile. And she already missed those few minutes of rapport that she had felt with Mr. Darcy. She had a real fear that after this he would never deign to speak to her or Charlotte again. At least not beyond the customary chilly polite mouthings that she had seen Mr. Darcy punctiliously observe.
Their eyes held again, though they were not standing so closely together as they had before. He then said seriously, "Miss Elizabeth, I would enjoy it if you played. But do not play something sad, I beg you. I—"
He cut off his speech and pressed that hand against his mouth once more.
Mary's piece ended, and she stood and bowed to the polite, mostly insincere smattering of claps. Before she could take the notion to her head to play another piece, Charlotte hurried Elizabeth over to the piano stand, and after a consultation, it was determined that Elizabeth would play next, even though Mary had a piano sonata that she had also meant to play.
Lydia came up, laughing, bouncing, tall and well formed, even at only fifteen. She demanded that Elizabeth play a dance. And Elizabeth said she would play one as soon as she'd first sung a cheerful song.
Lydia exclaimed, "'The Roast Beef of Old England!' That would be a joke on Lady Lucas who had such a bad ragout to serve at dinner today."
Elizabeth noted Charlotte's wince, and recalled that with rather less money for servants, and a father who still made it a practice to set aside a little money each year, it was not unknown for the Lucas girls to involve themselves in cooking when there was a substantial party. It was not merely possible, but likely that Lydia had not merely insulted the hospitality of Charlotte's family, but also Charlotte's direct efforts in the kitchen.
"I think not. I believe there are people here who do not wish to be reminded that they do not have the stomach for the roast beef of old England."
Lydia declaimed in a booming fake tenor, "But since we have learnt from all-vaporing France to eat their ragouts as well as to dance — oh, you must play a dance. I do not care if it is a French dance, but I'd rather an Irish reel."
Charlotte said, "Perhaps the Lincolnshire poacher?"
Elizabeth grimaced. She first suspected that Mr. Darcy would rather disapprove of any song praising a man for illicitly getting the better of a game keeper, and second it was hardly the way she wanted to display herself before him. In the end Elizabeth selected a light love song in Italian that she was familiar with from a collection of Mozart's operas that Maria Lucas had acquired the previous year.
She generally preferred to play pieces where she could sing, since while her voice was by no means superior, it was not as deficient as her keyboard pounding, and she knew that she appeared to good effect while singing.
Those virtues might patch up, at least for a little while, the bad impression that her piano skills would otherwise inevitably give.
She had to put her trust in Darcy though: He had promised that he would enjoy her play.
So thus, she must not allow herself to think as she played that he was a man certainly capable of enjoying her song, while remaining aware of every fumbled fingering, missed note, and fudged passage.
The entire time that Elizabeth played, she was aware of Darcy's eyes on her.
It was intimidating.
But Elizabeth rose to every challenge, and she felt high, full of emotion, and full of some sense of beauty in the world.
She only played for ten minutes, but she was conscious during her play that she had never performed so well, nor so self-consciously, and never had her voice sounded so good and pure in her own ears. She noticed, in a way that did not break the force of her concentration upon the play, that as the minutes went by during her song, more and more of the guests chattering about the other corners of the Lucas's low ceilinged drawing rooms turned to observe her and listen, until by the time she finished, nearly the entire crowd had ceased to speak, and there was actual enthusiasm in the clapping that followed — which while not unknown to Elizabeth, was a thing she considered rare.
There was a call from Bingley for her to play another piece.
But she shook her head and stood away from the piano. Her armpits were soaked with sweat. She had been nervous the entire song. "No, no. I cannot — besides, I believe Mrs. Gould intended to play a reel so we might dance."
Elizabeth stood away from the piano and she looked towards where Darcy had stood the entire time watching her, but he was no longer there. Her eyes searched for him and found him listening to Sir William chat inanely at him.
She felt an odd and ridiculous sense of crushing failure. As though the whole song had not mattered if his instant reaction was to cease to attend to her upon its completion. But then he looked away from the genial bald gentleman, and his eyes immediately searched towards the corner of the room with the piano, and then they darted from there to her.
Their eyes met across the room.
Elizabeth could not keep her gaze on him, and she stared at the ground, feeling hot. Darcy returned his attention to Sir William.
For the rest of the night Elizabeth could hardly settle herself, and when she went to bed that night, she was so agitated that she tossed and turned for an hour, her mind filled with pictures of Darcy's eyes, and half fragments of ridiculous fantasies about gaining his preference and affection. She dreamed of him passionately declaring his love to her, and woke to feel an intense sense of her own ridiculous notions.