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Darcy entered Lucas Lodge in a state of mild apprehension. He’d never been one for socializing, and was especially not fond of anything that could be described as an impromptu dance. He could tell immediately from the property and those gathered within that the company was beneath him. He hoped Georgiana wouldn’t be exposed to anything too vulgar. She’d already been through enough.
Following Bingley and his wife inside, he saw Georgiana settled beside Mrs. Bingley and then allowed Elizabeth to introduce him around the room. She would give him information about each individual as they approached. Not gossip, per say, but snippets of fact, for which he respected her. Most young women he was acquainted with, aside from Georgiana, gossiped incessantly.
Following Elizabeth’s advice, he danced with several young ladies. He was aware that many of their parents were concerned about him dancing with their daughters. His amusement over this unsought use for his pretend poverty provided a welcome distraction as he waded through his partners’ vapid discourse. He was happy to usher each woman off the floor at the end of the dance, as none of them were interesting enough to inspire him to spend any more time with them than needed to cement his façade. It entertained him to imagine how different the scowling mamas would behave if they knew his true worth.
As his final obligation, he forced himself to dance with Miss Mary, another of Elizabeth’s sisters. He’d been introduced to her along with Miss Kitty Bennet and Miss Lydia Bennet. Mrs. Bennet, of course, didn’t want any of her daughters to dance with him, poor as she thought him, but seemed the least concerned with Miss Mary doing it. At first, he felt a bit sorry for the plain, awkward Bennet sister, but that sympathy didn’t last even one pairing, for her discourse was unfathomably tiresome.
Georgiana ended up playing for much of the evening, seeming not to mind. He secretly envied her the excuse for relative solitude and was glad she could sit and observe without having to truly be among the people there. The worst of them, unfortunately, were the youngest Bennet girls. Even after all he’d heard of Miss Lydia, he was surprised by how revoltingly she and Miss Kitty were permitted to behave. On several occasions, he couldn’t help but glance at Elizabeth. He was reassured to see disapproval on her face.
Eventually, he did get to dance with Georgiana, for Miss Mary couldn’t be kept totally from the pianoforte. This was in spite of the fact that everyone, barring her, realized her playing was poor. Certainly, she didn’t possess anything approaching Georgiana’s technical skill, nor Elizabeth’s passion.
Dancing with Georgiana was bittersweet. While looking down on her carefully arranged curls, he thought of what her life should have been. She should have had the pleasure of dancing with someone she cared for, who wasn’t her brother. She should have had eligible men competing for each set, and a chance to get to know that special someone a little better by dancing with him. There should have been suitors who sent her flowers and called on her.
What she should not have was this dance, made awkward by her embarrassment over her advanced state of pregnancy. The reality of it stood between them, a constant reminder that she would never be a child again. She would never have a season, or know what it was to be properly courted and won by someone deserving of her. No, these things could never be, and it was all because he’d failed her.
Escorting her back to sit beside a smiling Mrs. Bingley, Darcy was about to suggest they leave. He was weighed down by his obligations to his sister, and he’d done as Elizabeth had requested, dancing with and entertaining the locals as best he could. Surly, he’d paid his dues for one evening.
“Mr. Harvey,” Elizabeth’s voice said at his shoulder. “I believe it’s almost time to leave, and you, sir, promised me a dance.”
Darcy turned to find her smiling at him. He was almost taken aback at how the sight of her rendered him instantly renewed, body and spirit. The dress she wore was nothing to look at, and of jewelry she had none. He could picture her in something much finer and more flattering. Yet, none of that mattered. Where Elizabeth was concerned, station and the trappings that went with it were irrelevant. She, herself, was all the fineness a man could ever need.
He held out his hand and she placed her gloved fingers into it, allowing him to escort her to where other couples lined up for the next dance. “I have finally earned my dance?” he said as he led her to her place.
“My yes. I counted at least half a dozen wallflowers properly danced with,” she said, her eyes alight with amusement. “And Mary.”
The dance began, drawing them apart. When next they met he asked, “Miss Mary doesn’t count as a wallflower?”
“I think one must sit by the wall to be counted as such,” Elizabeth said. “Her position on the bench of the pianoforte kept her from counting as a wallflower.”
They drew apart again and Darcy finally understood the reason for such dances. Why, a very ingenious fellow must have come up with the idea. The lengthy breaks in conversation were the ideal thing, giving him time to come up with something witty to say while providing him free license to all but ogle his partner as they executed the steps that would bring them together once more.
He put the breaks in their dialogue to good use, finding, in the broken discourse of the dance, the space to come up with what could be considered nearly witty repartee. Elizabeth bantered back, praising him for doing his duty and laughing at his witticisms. It was the only dance of the evening he actually enjoyed. Looking back over his life, he was hard pressed to come up with any dance, with any partner on any evening, that compared.
Who would have thought, Darcy mused as he and Georgiana returned to Netherfield in the barely tolerable carriage he’d purchased as part of his Mr. Harvey persona, that one would find such a woman as Elizabeth in a low, hardly civilized place like this? He would have to thank Bingley for taking Netherfield and wedding the eldest Bennet daughter, for how else would Darcy have ever come to know Elizabeth?
Seated next to him, Georgiana sighed. It was too dark for him to see her features, but remembering her wan, tired face as they left Lucas Lodge brought him back to reality. There was no time for daydreaming about dancing with Miss Bennet. He needed to decide what to do with Georgiana, how best to repair her life.
Besides, Elizabeth may have smiled and laughed, as he’d seen her do in Rosings when talking with Colonel Fitzwilliam, but was it really Darcy she smiled and laughed with? She’d told him how to behave in order to convincingly portray Mr. Harvey, and he had. Was it any wonder she approved of her own creation?
But that wasn’t him. He didn’t dance with women he barely knew, or flirt, or laugh in public. Not to mention, the more he saw of Elizabeth’s relations, aside from Mrs. Bingley, the more he realized how low her origins were. If the company at Lucas Lodge was beneath him, then so was Elizabeth Bennet, in every way except through her association with Bingley. In truth, she was totally unsuitable, no matter how lovely she was, how beguiling her eyes were, or how bright her wit.
Darcy was grateful it was too dark for his sister to see him well enough to question his wellbeing. If she could discern his expression, she would be able to see the shock on his face, for he’d realized he’d been measuring up Elizabeth. He’d been weighing her suitability for his society, for Pemberley, for...marriage.
