Page 78 of When Elizabeth's Cat Chose Darcy
“And will you dance tonight, sir? The fiddlers are in excellent form.”
“I intend to, yes.”
Sir William nearly lost his waistcoat buttons to joy. “Capital! Capital! Well then, the ladies will not want for partners tonight, that is certain.”
Darcy’s gaze traveled to me, a promise of our dance, and it was as if we were the only two in the room. Charlotte’s breath caught, and she squeezed my arm, encouraging. But Darcy was surrounded by the Hursts, each commenting to him with disparaging tones, and he made no move toward my direction.
Sir William clapped his hands and turned to address the room, his voice swelling for attention. “Ladies and gentlemen! If I may have your attention, we shall open the first set. Mr. Bingley of Netherfield Park, will you do us the honor of leading the dance?”
“Delighted!” Bingley stepped forward with the easy confidence of a man who had never once dreaded a dance floor. “Absolutely delighted, Sir William.”
“And Miss Darcy, of course, will stand up with her host.”Caroline guided Georgiana forward with a hand at the small of her back. “Miss Darcy’s first assembly. What better way to begin than with her brother’s dearest friend?”
Bingley blinked. I saw the fraction of a second where his gaze travelled past Georgiana toward the place where Jane stood, the smallest check in his forward motion, and then it was gone, replaced by that inexhaustible warmth, because Bingley could no more refuse a lady standing before him than he could refuse to breathe.
“Miss Darcy.” He bowed. “Would you do me the honor?”
Georgiana curtsied. Her cheeks were pink, and her fingers trembled slightly as she placed her hand in his, but she met his eye, and the meeting was brave, and the bravery was mine.
The fiddlers struck up, and they took the floor.
I watched Jane standing beside Mary. She was looking at Bingley, her smile unwavering. That unchanging expression was the most disturbing part, because Jane’s way of dealing with heartbreak was to compose her features so perfectly that the one causing the pain never even realized it.
“Oh, Lizzy.” Charlotte squeezed my arm, acknowledging the hurt.
The couples began to form for the first set. The Gouldings' eldest son was with Mary King, Mr. Chester with Mrs. Long's niece, and a few neighborhood pairs who always danced together.
Bingley and Georgiana stood at the front of the line. I forced myself to watch, knowing that to look away would be cowardly, and I’d vowed long ago not to shy away from things that caused pain.
Georgiana’s movements were perfect. Her posture was impeccable, and she danced with the grace of someone taught by London’s finest masters. She was beautiful and refined, and I should be proud of her performance, but I couldn’t when it destroyed the happiness of a beloved sister.
“She dances beautifully,” Charlotte observed. “Whoever prepared her, prepared her well.”
Darcy stood with Caroline and Mrs. Hurst, withCaroline’s arm linked through his—a casual, possessive gesture, the kind a woman makes when she wants the room to draw certain conclusions. She whispered something in his ear, but he wasn’t paying attention. His gaze swept over the floor, past the dancers and the chairs where the matrons sat, until it landed on me with the sure aim of a man who had already spotted me upon entering and was waiting for an opportune moment to approach.
Caroline seemed to suggest something to him, and he shook his head, gently freeing his arm. Without glancing around, Caroline deployed her fan with the composure of a woman who had been dismissed before and had learned to hide the sting.
Averting my gaze, I remarked about the musicians to Charlotte and waited for Darcy to approach. We would miss the first set, and I was glad of it, because Jane stood against the wall while the Darcys snubbed my sisters.
Mrs. Goulding leaned toward Mrs. Long. “Look at Mr. Bingley and Miss Darcy. They make quite a pair, don’t they?”
“Indeed,” Mrs. Long agreed. “An heiress with her brother’s best friend. A match made in felicity, and she with a dowry of thirty-thousand pounds.”
“But didn’t Mr. Bingley dance two sets with Jane Bennet at the last assembly?”
“Hush,” Mrs. Long said, glancing at me briefly.
I turned away from my neighbors, my heart aching for my sister. Bingley had expressed his hopes for the first set with Jane. The look he gave her was almost apologetic. This had to be Caroline’s doing, and I blamed myself for being absent from Netherfield.
Mrs. Hurst stepped into Darcy’s path with a murmured word and a tilt of her head toward the dance floor where Georgiana was completing a turn. Darcy nodded, said something in return, and moved past her. He was crossing the room now with the long, unhurried stride—toward me to claim our dance.
I gave Charlotte an apologetic look. She understood, and I left her to intercept Darcy at the edge of thedance floor. Before I danced with him, I had to clarify his position regarding Mr. Bingley. He could not have failed to notice my sister’s discomfort.
“Mr. Darcy, might I have a word?”
His features changed from expectation to something more guarded, and that meant I had departed from the expected script. “Of course. Is something?—”
“Not here.”
