One Thread Pulled: The Dance With Mr. Darcy (42 page)

“I have it!” she suddenly cried out as the elusive answer suddenly appeared in her mind, startling Mr. Darcy and several of the couples around them.

“Do you?” Darcy seemed pleased.

Elizabeth craned her neck toward the entryway to the drawing room, but too many stood in the way, and she could not see the object she sought. “I do, I am certain of it,” Elizabeth replied. “I find that my studies of the Greek tragedies were not for naught. ’Man' is the answer to the famous
riddle of the Sphinx
!”

“So it is.” Darcy smiled again.

“Mr. Bingley has a bronze statue of the Sphinx at the threshold of this very room!” Elizabeth declared triumphantly, attempting to spot it yet again while still maintaining her part in the dance.

“Yes, Miss Bennet, he does.” Darcy said blandly. “Would it please you to examine it?”

“Very much.” Elizabeth nodded, and when the strains of the dance wound to a close, Darcy and Elizabeth went together to the entryway, where Elizabeth found, to her great amusement, that the figure of the Sphinx was adorned with a freshly made pheasant tail-feather headdress. Her dainty laughter rang out on that end of the hall, attracting the eye of all within hearing distance.

Mr. Darcy offered her his arm with gentlemanly charm, and Elizabeth took it gracefully as Darcy explained, “Now that you have had your laugh, Miss Bennet, it is time for supper.”

The young couple walked amiably together to the dining room as many eyes followed their progress. The intimacy of their attitude could not be mistaken—all who were present saw the same, and while there were some who were pleased and happy for the young couple, there were others who set it in their minds at that moment that they must be separated as quickly as possible.

Chapter Thirty-Five

The Netherfield Ball Part Three

W
alking to the supper room on Mr. Darcy's arm, Elizabeth found herself suddenly aware of the great immensity of the man and of the physical power exuded by his person. She felt a passing moment of lightheadedness, and her grip tightened in an effort to steady herself. This was answered by a slight flexing on his part, which response was unseen, of course, to others, but which served to reinforce Elizabeth's own notice of the potent effect the contact had on her.

Elizabeth was soon seated with Mr. Darcy on her right and Colonel Fitzwilliam on her left. Jane and Mr. Bingley were across the table from Elizabeth, and so evident were Mr. Bingley's besotted attentions to Jane that Elizabeth was quickly under the conviction that an engagement was imminent. Mrs. Bennet, who had concluded the same, was freely declaring her great anticipation of the nuptials to Lady Lucas.

Lady Catherine, who was seated with Anne not far from Mrs. Bennet, was openly shocked at the mercenary tendencies shown by Mrs. Bennet, who enthusiastically spouted self-gratulatory effusions of the inevitable matches of Lydia and Kitty and perhaps even Mary to other rich men they would meet through the connection of the wealthy Mr. Bingley. Elizabeth, she loudly explained, was soon to be engaged to Mr. Collins, which match was the best
 
that
 
daughter could hope for, and certainly good enough for her—she was unlikely to recommend herself to one like Mr. Bingley as Jane had.

As her mother's conversation became louder, Elizabeth's mortification grew, for it was clear that all within earshot of Mrs. Bennet, including Mr. Darcy and the colonel, were riveted by every word. Elizabeth detected with dismay an increasing gravity on the part of both gentlemen as they listened to her mother. With her hands under the table, she nervously unbuttoned the opening on her mousquetaire-style gloves and tucked the finger portions in, so that she would not soil them when she ate.
 
She fixed her eyes on her white soup and gave great attention to it, grateful that at least Mr. Bingley and Jane were oblivious to all that went on around them and therefore spared the vexation that was attached to overhearing such a speech.

The room, she noted, was a trifle warm, and consumption of the soup increased this sensation to a degree that Elizabeth soon felt a dampness on her neck. She longed to return to the cool corridor by the library. She set down her spoon and determined to wait for the soup to cool before she returned to it. With no soup to hold her attention, and unable to bear the embarrassment any longer, she engaged the colonel in conversation.

“Colonel,” said she, “I have been wondering what part you played in that great joke with the feathers, since you knew enough to point me to it.”

“Miss Elizabeth, I have spent my cousin's patience for speaking out of turn today, so you must direct your inquiry to him, lest it come to blows.” Richard chuckled. “Although I do confess to being more skilled with glue than he, in the execution of his scheme.”

“Perhaps,” Elizabeth smiled teasingly, “if you tire of a military career, you should consider millinery, or haberdashery, where your talents with the placement of feathers would do you credit.”

At this, the colonel laughed loudly, drawing the attention of Mr. Darcy to their conversation. The three conversed quietly with each other, and Elizabeth was soon enamored with the ease with which Colonel Fitzwilliam extracted amiable and pleasing dialogue from Mr. Darcy. She found herself charmed first on the right hand, and then on the left, as the two men vied for the honor of her soft laughter and witty conversation.

Lady Catherine, seated at sufficient distance that she could not overhear what they were saying, was perfectly able to observe the nature of their interaction and made no attempt to suppress her displeasure at the slight to Anne, who had not even been taken to the floor by Mr. Darcy in the course of the evening. Anne, however, was perfectly pleased to watch the pleasant discourse between her cousins and Elizabeth Bennet from her place at the table.

Lady Catherine soon found an ally in that same woman she had upbraided so thoroughly earlier in the day. Having now witnessed several instances of the favor Miss Bennet was shown by Mr. Darcy, Lady Catherine determined to engage Caroline Bingley in her task of diverting Mr. Darcy's attentions away from his charming companion.

Caroline had to but whisper in Charles' ear to encourage her brother to open the night's entertainments, for many a young lady had come prepared to exhibit their talents on the pianoforte should the opportunity arise. The first to rise to the occasion was Mary Bennet, who, having brought several pieces of music, which she conveniently had with her at dinner, leapt to her feet and hastened to the instrument as soon as Mr. Bingley made the invitation.

Elizabeth braced herself for the worst. Mary, whose skill on the pianoforte was admirable, was not blessed with an equal gift for song. The air she chose to perform was, however, remarkably suited to her voice, and when she was done, the applause, although not exactly enthusiastic, was sufficient encouragement for Mary to launch into a second number. Elizabeth stiffened and tried to catch her father's eye, hoping for some intervention before Mary exposed herself to ridicule. Her father smiled at her and winked when she saw it, and Elizabeth took her napkin into her lap and wrung it desperately, to relieve her anxiety over Mary's display. Suddenly, she felt a warm hand lightly touch her fingers, and she immediately knew it to be Mr. Darcy who had reached out to still her—under the table and unseen by anyone. She glanced up at him, and he pressed his lips together in such a way as to resemble a smile without actually being one. It was, however, the unwavering warmth in his eyes that reassured her, and she was able to endure the remaining part of the number quite well. When Mary was finished, the hand withdrew, the moment passed, and Elizabeth, who had been astonished at the boldness of the gesture at first, keenly felt the loss of his comforting touch when it was gone.

Mr. Bingley promptly suggested that Mrs. Hurst play while Miss Bingley sang. Their performance was so superior to the one that had preceded it that the discrepancy could not be missed by anyone. Elizabeth could not help but notice that the operatic song Caroline sang with great affectation was also bold and flirtatious. Miss Bingley unabashedly looked at Mr. Darcy with great intent as she sang, and Elizabeth was forced to turn away in vicarious mortification at the spectacle.

She once again noted the warmth of the room, and felt a trickle of dampness form on her brow. She drew out her handkerchief and discretely swabbed the droplet away. Mr. Darcy smiled at the appearance of the lace-trimmed cloth, but the smile soon faded as he realized that in the hour they had been seated, the color in Elizabeth's cheeks had deepened while the rest of her complexion seemed to have paled. Several of the wispy curls that had escaped from her hairstyle were clinging to her glistening forehead, held there by a thin, dewy film of moisture.

As Caroline finished, Charles turned to Elizabeth and invited her to perform next. Although Elizabeth had not prepared for such an opportunity, she felt bound to repair the damage done to the Bennet name by Mary. As there were several of her favorite numbers which she had committed to memory, she nodded and rose from her seat.

As she stood, she wondered that she had not noticed the peculiar effect of the lighting in the room before, for there were several peculiar spots that seemed to float in the air—they were dark, almost black. They expanded rapidly in her view and as they did, Elizabeth felt a strange recurrence of the lightheadedness she had encountered when entering the supper room. That same unsteadiness which had afflicted her in that moment caused her to sway as she took her first step from her chair. The blackness came before she knew that her legs had failed her, and she fainted like a rock into the arms of Mr. Darcy.

Chapter Thirty-Six

The End of the Ball

M
r. Darcy relived the moment a thousand times in the hours that followed, when Elizabeth had swayed and then dropped, nearly to the floor. It was instinct that he had reached for her, and in the fleeting moment that her fallen form had lain, limp and lifeless in his arms, he knew a moment of desperation that penetrated him to the core. Time had seemed suspended as an unnatural silence enveloped the room. Those who were near to them gathered around, looming over them in a tight circle. Chaos then ensued in a cacophony of voices that surrounded them on every side.

Mrs. Bennet wailed—her unrestrained declarations of Elizabeth's imminent demise were the first sound to be heard in what rapidly became a chorus of conflicting reactions. Mr. Bennet was clamoring to make his way around the table, calling loudly to Mr. Darcy to unhand his daughter as he pushed past people and tripped on chairs. Mr. Collins began a stern diatribe on the evils of overindulgence in wine by the gentle-born young lady in social settings such as a ball. Lady Catherine's strident voice could be heard above the din, accusing Elizabeth of shamelessly swooning as a willful bid for Darcy's attention. Jane stood, looking over the table at her sister as she cried out helplessly, “Lizzy! Lizzy!” Mr. Bingley was instructing the footmen to bring a chaise to the adjoining salon, while Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst were indiscreetly proclaiming their shock at Elizabeth's wanton display. Mr. Hurst complained loudly about the disruption to his dinner, and Anne de Bourgh began softly crying. Mary quietly asked whether it was advisable that she should perform again, since Lizzy was not able to do it.

It was at this moment that a slightly drunken Lydia skipped into the room, holding some indiscernible item aloft. She was trailed by Kitty. Three officers pursued them, including Mr. Denny, who was calling out in a temper, “Give that back!” Lydia stopped suddenly, having nearly tripped over her fallen sister. “Whatever is Lizzy doing on the floor?” she asked incredulously, as the parties behind her collided into her back, nearly knocking her down on top of Elizabeth. When no one answered her directly, she said, “La! What a joke! I wonder that I did not think of it first. I imagine I would have a dozen officers coming to my aid should I have swooned!” She giggled, and turned around to run the way she had come, crashing into the others briefly before she twirled and danced out of the room, calling “If you want it back, Denny, you must catch me first!”

To all of this commotion, Darcy was nearly oblivious as he clung to Elizabeth. His lips were nearly in her hair as he attempted to shift her weight so he could raise her from the near-prone position with no harm to her, and no one but the unconscious maiden in his arms was near enough to hear the whispered endearments he used as he called her to awaken. At what seemed to him an interminable length of time, (but was in fact no more than a moment) Elizabeth's lashes fluttered, and he felt her stiffen as consciousness returned. She drew in a deep breath, nearly gasping for air to fill her lungs.