Darcy regretted his decision immediately.
This ball was nightmarish. The Bishop reigned supreme over a boisterous crowd. There was not enough space and too much alcohol. He felt himself being touched, prodded, and grabbed. People bellowed and cackled around him. The air was sour and damp. Every aspect of this cursed dance grated on his senses.
The Bishop had Elizabeth in a dance. She was closed and stoic, though they both moved gracefully. Jane and her Charles swirled alongside them, moving through the crowd. Darcy leaned back against the wall, watching them in the throng. The air was stale, and the echoes of the great hall were annoying.
He thought about how to distract the Bishop. At least then perhaps Elizabeth could have some time to relax—if anyone could relax here. He felt himself being touched by strangers. He hated being touched, as he heard someone vomiting just outside.
Soon the song began its ending notes, and he put his plan into action. He placed himself in the path of the Bishop and Elizabeth. As soon as they were close, he began badgering the Bishop about the state of taxes. The Bishop's eyes betrayed his intense irritation, and Jane glided up, stole Elizabeth, and disappeared. As if they three had worked together.
Darcy held the Bishop's attention for over twenty minutes, trying and failing to keep Elizabeth in his line of sight. She slipped through and around the crowd as easily as a cat. She spared him a glance or two but mostly kept an eye on the Bishop and whoever was her partner. She never laughed, only smiled.
He could make her laugh. He had done it plenty of times outside of the city walls. He wanted to be her partner. Fitzwilliam must have talked to her by now. Darcy wanted to act now and get it over with.
"Is that all, Captain Darcy? We are at a ball after all," the Bishop said. "Have you been to a ball before?"
"No," Darcy said, stepping away from the man and moving through the crowd. Darcy was headed to Jane, as he noted Charles dancing with Elizabeth. She would come back to Jane, and he could catch her then.
"Captain Darcy," Jane said with a nod and a smirk. She knew why he was here. It seemed everyone could see right through him. It was embarrassing. He nodded to her, speech evading him for a moment.
Charles and Elizabeth returned. Darcy saw the Bishop striding through the crowd. So, he quickly offered his hand to Elizabeth, who took it with a crooked grin. Darcy led them into a rudimentary step away from the Bishop.
Once they were in the relative safety of the dance floor, Darcy looked down at her. She gave him a smile that made him think she was laughing at him and wondering how he would act next.
"This is one of my favorite dances, sir, energetic enough without leaving one breathless," Elizabeth said into his silence. He still felt a little overwhelmed, but he appreciated her trying. She had the advantage as she moved through the steps as gracefully as a bird. He felt like a lumbering pup with much too big paws.
"I'm glad you approve," he said, and he fell back into silence. She did as well, but the animation of her face did not cease. She could hardly be called stoic now, and he was grateful for it.
"It is your turn, Captain Darcy, to say something. I've commented on the dance, and you ought to remark on the room or the number of couples," she grinned, arching an eyebrow as she grinned at him. He smiled at her and said whatever she wished to be said would be said.
"Very well," she said with a laugh in her voice, "that reply will do for now. Perhaps later I can comment on how city balls are so different from country dances, but for now we may be silent."
"Do you talk as a rule while dancing?" He said with another smile. He loved their conversations.
"Of course! It would be odd to spend the entirety of it in silence. We can arrange things so that we can say as little as possible," she teased him.
"Do you say this for yourself? Or are you just gratifying me?" He struggled to contain himself with just a smile.
"Both!" She said archly, "We have a similar turn of mind. Unsociable, taciturn, and great unwillingness to speak." Darcy felt surprised at the twinge in her voice with that statement. What could she mean by it?
"That is by no means your character," he said, "but how close it is to mine I cannot say. You think it's very true."
"I can't tell you how faithful it is to your true character, sir," she chirped with a soothing smile. "You have to tell me."
They fell silent once more as he fell into thought. "Fitzwilliam said he had spoken with her? I guess we didn't speak of what he had said."
He saw Elizabeth glare from the corner of his eye. When they spun around, he saw the Bishop keeping pace with them, almost ignoring his partner to eavesdrop on their conversation. There might be something to arranging conversation to a script of saying as little as possible.
Darcy felt righteous indignation glare up within him. His cherished, chosen companion being hunted like this? It was not to be borne!
"I'd like to speak to you in private, if I may," Darcy whispered to her.
"Oh?" She asked, "Have you found a solution to our stalking issue?" He smiled at her attempt to tease.
"Of a sort," he tried to tease back. After all, the stalking would surely, naturally stop once they were married.
She nodded and glanced towards the doors. But Darcy already knew about the guards, all of whom were the Bishop's men. Darcy could force their way through; they were supposed to answer to him directly. However, it would cause enough commotion that the Bishop would be able to intervene and take Elizabeth back for a dance or walk her back home. How would they get through–?
"I have an idea," she whispered, cutting them through the dancing over to Jane to tell her that Darcy was escorting her home. The Bishop could not follow such an abrupt cut through the crowd. Jane arched an eyebrow as she smiled up at him. Bingley also looked particularly amused at this. Darcy felt a blush cover his face.
Elizabeth then danced them close to a pair of couples. All four were rowdy and red-faced from the drink. When all were distracted, she shoved one of the men and twirled with Darcy away. Shouting started from that group, and the women started name-calling. Eventually one man shoved the other, and a fight broke out. Some of the Bishop's men had to intervene.
Darcy nearly intervened, but for Elizabeth's hands pulling him towards an empty doorway. He shook off the weight of his duty and followed her, though he could feel the Bishop's eyes on him.
"Hurry," she breathed, "we got past the guards, but he'll show soon." He knew she meant the Bishop. Darcy tried to lead her home, but she instead led him deeper into the cathedral. She flew through the halls, swift and silent as a hawk, and he tried to keep his boots from thundering across the ground and echoing around them.
Eventually they emerged in an open courtyard. The sounds of running water from the fountain calmed his nerves. The grass and flowers gave off a sweet scent. The air felt cool and clean here, and he felt himself relax as he fell to sit on the fountain edge with a sigh that betrayed his age. She landed next to him, and they began to watch the stars above them. It was calm and quiet.
"I love you. Please marry me." Darcy whispered into the night air quickly, all his plans of a long oration lost in his sudden contentment. She turned to look at him with great confusion.
"What?" She asked in disbelief. Of course, she wouldn't think he would ask her. And he felt himself open to her in a rare show of vulnerability.
"I know I shouldn't love or marry you," he said. "You're practically an orphan living on the charity of your relatives. From what you tell me, I should even be glad to never see your mother or her husband. Then there's the matter of my position here and my family obligations. I'm not sure you would be able to handle the stress of it. It would require us to remain in the city for more than you're accustomed to. And that's not to say anything about your little problem with the Bishop. It goes against all my reason and better judgment to allow myself to like you. But even with all this, I love you just as ardently," he said earnestly, turning to look at her.
He was surprised to see her frown and glare at him. What did he say?
"I see," she said, her voice eerily smooth, "typically these proposals go a little differently. Thank you for your help with my charitable relations with my little problem with the Bishop. Your sense of duty runs very strong. It seems like your affections towards me were unwillingly felt. I'm sorry if I've caused you grief; it was unconsciously done. But surely the myriad of obstacles you've listed will help you overcome whatever affliction you had."
Darcy could hardly comprehend the words she said. She threw almost every word of his proposal out and twisted it! He mind replayed her response.
The words lacerated his heart. It had been left open in his vulnerability. He stood up from the fountain quickly and furiously. He turned away from her when she stood up to fight him, it seemed. How could he have been so wrong? He was rather certain she would have agreed.
"Is this the only answer I can hope for?" he said, turning to her. His temples throbbed, and he could barely open his jaw for grinding it so hard. Her eyes were drawn to her face like a magnet. Her amber eyes nearly crackled in indignation, drawing him a little closer in.
"I only wonder why you decided to lay out all my faults and say you liked me against your better judgment," she said heatedly. He turned his head as if slapped. "And beyond this, I'm sure you don't know how to love anyone when you're already married to your position!"
He turned back to her, surprised he hadn't broken a tooth yet. She looked beautiful, though. She was completely animated and fierce. Her lips parted as she awaited his response. He didn't know if he wanted to kiss her senseless or shout at her. He couldn't decide which and so only stood over her and glared.
"Father Fitzwilliam told me how unrelenting you are in your job," she said to his silence. "You think only of your position! You only see me in terms of my little problem with the Bishop."
"No!" Darcy disagreed quickly, cutting her off by grabbing her by the shoulders. She struck his hands away with enough force to surprise him. He dropped her like a brand. "No, I love you! If you don't love me, then use me. Tell me what you need me to do so that I can stay with you. But don't think I'm so blinded by duty that I can't love you!"
She seemed stunned into silence. Her eyes were extinguished but surprised. But her lips were still parted, and he still stood close over her. Suddenly, his blood went from heated to unbearable. He wanted to grab her and clutch her to him. He wanted to kiss her till he could see the passion shine on her face.
"Forgive me," he broke. "I'll escort you home." She shook her head, took a step away, and turned around. She pressed her fingers to her temples as if her head throbbed as hard as his. He would certainly suffer a migraine tonight.
"It's alright, Captain," she said with a thick voice, not turning to face him. "Besides, you'll thank me for this denial. The Bishop would murder you if he hears about this conversation."
He choked on his own disillusion and blinked over much. He crossed his arms.
"I am going home," Elizabeth said, angling her head to speak to him.
"Let me escort you," Darcy stated, much too sternly in his effort to break through the knot of tears in his throat.
"I don't think that's wise, Captain," she whispered. He felt his shoulders try to slump, but he couldn't be so emotional in the open. She strode forward into the darkness and melted into the night. After a moment's hesitation, Darcy followed.
She ducked through alleys, climbed over walls, and circumvented any guards walking about. He made sure she got home and then watched over her window from across the street.
He would not break. He didn't break when his father died or when his mother left him. Twenty years of solitude and corroding pressure to be the best knight in the city hadn't broken him.
He wouldn't break. He just pressed a hand over his mouth and let the tears silently roll down his face.