Mr. Darcy shook himself a bit, but as she explained the steps of the dance she wished him to learn, that stare of his was still on her mind. What was it? And why did it have such power over her?
“You must, you know,” Jane said mildly, before being led off to the first dance at the assembly. “He is comfortable with you. He needs you to help ease his way.”
Elizabeth sighed and wondered how she had been appointed as Mr. Darcy’s keeper. She liked the man, and she began to think he could tolerate her, but his obstinate refusal to stand up with any of the ladies in attendance was rather frustrating.
He was almost as stubborn about not wishing to dance as she was herself.
Papa had ushered both his guests off to the card room to meet the local gentlemen, sparing Mr. Darcy from dancing the first, but promised he would bring them back in time for the second. Then Papa had winked at her! As if shewantedto dance—as though she wanted to dance with Mr. Darcy!
It was all becoming rather ridiculous.
Her friend Charlotte Lucas, who had not been partnered for the first dance either, soon joined her where she stood on the far side of the room.
To Elizabeth’s surprise, Mr. Fitzwilliam had escaped Sir William, for he was dancing with one of the Miss Longs.
“Mr. Fitzwilliam dances well,” Charlotte said mildly, after they had greeted one another. “Have Mr. Darcy’s lessons been helpful?”
Elizabeth was ashamed to admit she had been so busy with Mr. Darcy that she had not visited with Charlotte in an age. “We shall see. I am being required to serve as his partner for the second dance.” She scolded herself further when she spied the longing in Charlotte’s eyes. It was Elizabeth’s choice not to dance, but Charlotte, at twenty-seven years of age, was rarely asked. They had formed their friendship here, standing to the side whilst everyone else paired off.
“Oh my goodness,” Charlotte whispered. “Is that him?”
Elizabeth heard the rumbling of the crowd before she turned to see her father walking towards them with Mr. Darcy.
“How tall do you suppose he is?” Charlotte squeaked.
Her friend’s surprise made Elizabeth chuckle. “Papa is about five foot ten, and he must be near a half a foot taller.”
“Indeed,” Charlotte breathed. “Will you introduce us?”
Elizabeth was surprised. Charlotte’s remarks had implied more fright than fancy. “I will, of course,” was all she said.
Charlotte’s expression was thoughtful. “Was he highly ranked?”
“He was.”
“Then he must have enough to live on.”
“Is that all you require from a husband?” Elizabeth joked.
Charlotte smiled sadly. “I have not the privilege of preference.” She glanced back at Miss Long and Mr. Fitzwilliam as the first dance concluded.
Elizabeth understood. Charlotte might wish for the attentions of another, but she would accept any that came her way. The easy way Mr. Fitzwilliam flirted with each woman as they were introduced had given even Elizabeth pause. Charlotte might be wise to resist any hopes in that quarter. Yet Mr. Fitzwilliam had attracted Charlotte’s interest, something Elizabeth had not seen happen before.
The musicians indicated the beginning of the second set, and Mr. Darcy had not yet made his way across the room. With a great deal of amusement, Elizabeth observed as a half-dozen matchmaking mamas lined his path, almost demanding introductions from both Papa and Sir William before nearly throwing their unwilling daughters at him. The way each girl paled at the sight of him was quite delicious—a scene from a gothic novel come to life, with the girls playing distressed heroines and Mr. Darcy the dark, destructive villain.
Because he stood taller than anyone in the hall, he could see over everyone’s head to view Elizabeth’s smirk. His eyes narrowed. Then, as yet another clucking mama approached with her reluctant chicks, his expression turned baleful and imploring.
She really ought to help extract him. “Pardon me, Charlotte,” she told her friend. “If I do not retrieve Mr. Darcy, we shall miss the dance entirely.”
“Enjoy yourself, Elizabeth,” Charlotte said warmly. “Perhaps it will be the first of many dances for you.”
For just a moment, Elizabeth met Charlotte’s gaze. Even though Charlotte was disappointed not to be asked to dance, she could and did sincerely wish Elizabeth happy. Her heart ached for both Charlotte and herself—she had been officially out for two years, and was about to dance at an assembly with an unrelated man for the very first time. It did not feel wrong, precisely; she and Mr. Darcy had been dancing together for weeks. But she did feel a pang of guilt. She had wished to dance with Harry, and it felt disloyal somehow to stand up in public with someone else. “Thank you, my friend,” she replied sincerely. “And you shall have your introduction if you wish it. You never know where such a connection may lead.”
Elizabeth turned to slip into the crowd surrounding Mr. Darcy. Elizabeth never danced, so she was not considered a threat. No one even noticed her.
No one, that is, but Mr. Darcy, who was following her approach with his dark, soulful gaze. Elizabeth grumbled a bit in discontent. It was not her fault Papa and Jane insisted. It was not her fault that the man needed her.
“Mr. Darcy,” she said sweetly once she arrived before him. “You have a promise to fulfil.”