Page 3 of Knowing Mr. Darcy
“Yes, and she’s over there,” said Elizabeth, turning to point across the room at Jane, and realizing that Mr. Darcy was there, sitting next to her sister.
“Oh, quite!” said Mr. Bingley, looking in that direction. “That’s right. She’s Jennifer, isn’t she?”
“Jane.”
“Jane, yes,” said Mr. Bingley. “She sprained her ankle this morning, though, and isn’t dancing.”
“That’s right.”
“And look at Mr. Darcy over there,” said Mr. Bingley, shaking his head. “Just like him, really, coming up with any excuse not to dance. Now, he can claim he was chivalrously entertaining your sister, I see.”
“Mr. Darcy does not like dancing?” said Elizabeth.
“He says it’s an activity for savages,” said Mr. Bingley. He turned back to her, grinning. “Call me savage, then, I suppose.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Has anyone claimed the next spot on your dance card, Miss Elizabeth?”
“Oh, I thought you might dance again with Miss Lucas,” said Elizabeth.
“I should like to dance with you,” said Mr. Bingley, smiling at her.
Elizabeth had no choice, really. She could recuse herself from dancing entirely or say yes. “I am honored, sir,” she said.
“Excellent news,” said Mr. Bingley.
“Well, I shall see you by and by, then,” said Elizabeth, trying to get away from him so that she could explain this to Charlotte, who couldn’t be upset about it, not really, could she? She fretted about that. Certainly, there could be no real attachment on Charlotte’s part from one dance. On the other hand, she had not rescued her friend either, and Charlotte was likely forced now to dance with the lecherous Mr. Thane. Elizabeth wished she’d been a bit quicker getting to her friend.
“I cannot think it will be long,” said Mr. Bingley. “We shall hear the music striking up again any moment.”
And the lemonade! She’d utterly forgotten that, hadn’t she? “I need to bring my sister some lemonade quickly, then,” said Elizabeth.
“Looks as though Mr. Darcy is doing that,” said Mr.Bingley.
He was right. The man was striding across the room for the refreshments. He’d have lemonade in a moment and would be bringing it back to her sister.
Mr. Bingley offered her his arm. “Tell me every little thing about yourself, Miss Elizabeth.”
“Every little thing,” she echoed.
“Yes,” said Mr. Bingley. “Do you like porridge, for instance? Would you rather tea or chocolate in the morning? How many times have you readRobinson Crusoe?You have read it, haven’t you?”
Despite everything, Elizabeth found herself smiling. “Oh, everyone has readRobinson Crusoe,Mr. Bingley.”
“Yes,” he said gravely. “Just so. But did you like it when you read it, that is the real question?”
“Didn’t you like it?” she said, still smiling.
“Oh, no, I found it dreadfully ridiculous,” said Mr. Bingley. “I highly doubt that half of the things that occur in that book could all have happened to one person. It all became rather ludicrous the longer it went on.”
She considered. “I suppose there is some truth to that. But itispretend.”
The music started.
“I don’t hold with it, you see,” said Mr. Bingley, leading her onto the dance floor.
“With what, sir?” she said.
“With believing in preposterous things,” said Mr. Bingley. “I like things one can count on. I’d much rather something solid than something exciting, you see?
“So, you’d rather not be shipwrecked on a desert island?”
