Page 2 of Transforming Mr. Darcy
Even as he walked, Darcy watched the girl—Miss Elizabeth had been her name— as she tipped her head down. Was she inspecting her slippers or the floor? He could not help but watch, intrigued in the same sort of horrified fascination Londoners possessed when rolling past an accident in the street. The woman snapped open her fan with an admittedly graceful flip of her wrist and held it up before her face. She was hiding something. He paused, leaning forward to peer at her. Was she speaking?
His heart accelerated in his chest, and he drew suddenly away. She was speaking, behind that fan, and yet there wasno one there.
Darcy glanced about. Did no one else notice her behaviour? Was she an eccentric to whom the locals had grown accustomed? What a fine society this was. He must thank Bingley for dragging him into it.
As though the very thought of his friend had summoned him, Bingley appeared at Darcy’s side.
“Bingley . . .” Darcy began but hesitated. He could not broach such a topic in public. He would speak to Bingley later.
“Darcy,” Bingley replied brightly, nodding amiably at a gentleman wandering past. When they were alone again, he leaned over, a smile still on his lips. “I must have you dance. I hate to see you standing about by yourself in this stupid manner. You had much better dance.”
Dance? Was Bingley mad? Was there something in the punch here in this hovel that lured good men to their doom? “I certainly shall not. I have done my duty to your sisters, and you know it would be a punishment to me to stand up with anyone else in the room.”
“There is one of Miss Bennet’s sisters standing just there,” Bingley said quietly, “who is very pretty, and I dare say very agreeable.” He paused. “She has something of a sparkle about her, do not you think? Do let me ask my partner to introduce you.”
Darcy could not have been more appalled, but he recalled where they were and composed himself enough to say, “She is tolerable, but not handsome enough to temptme.”Good God, Bingley, she speaks to the air!His eyes again made their way to Miss Elizabeth Bennet and widened as she winced and then held a hand up to her hair as though to protect it from the wind. Still, she stood alone. He had no doubt as to why that was. The real surprise was that she had been asked to dance at all.
A deep pink flush began to suffuse her face. It travelled down her neck to the line ofher gown, and, he suspected suddenly, beneath it.Damn. Bingley was correct. Shedidsparkle. She was almost . . . glowing, in an unsettling sort of way.
Darcy gulped, unnerved. What was the matter with her?
His face heated, as though he was being watched, but everyone seemed to be going about their business. He took out his handkerchief and turned away to wipe his brow.
What was the matter withhim?
Bingley shook his head. “I will never understand your desire to disapprove of every pleasant girl, Darcy, even the uncommonly pretty ones.”
“Bingley . . .” he began warningly.
“Not now,” Bingley said as the strains of “The Nymph” began to play. “But we shall have to talk, Darcy. I mean to make myself well-liked in this neighbourhood, and you are going to help me.”
As Bingley took the hand of Miss Bennet and led her to the dance, Darcy began to devise excuses as to why he must leave Netherfield. But he would have to convince Bingley to leave as well, for he could not bear to see his friend caught in the Bennets’ trap. As he turned this over and over, searching for the best way to go about it, he could not help but glance ather, the source of his disquiet.
Unless he was wrong—and he wasneverwrong—Miss Elizabeth Bennet was watching him with something akin to pity in her dark eyes.
Chapter 3
Elizabeth’s splendid gown was hanging in her wardrobe. Her hair had been taken down and wound into a plait. She would have been abed an hour past, but for the incensed fairy godmother pacing the length of her chamber. Mildread’s deep violet and Pomona green gown billowed behind her as though it, too, was participating in the fairy’s almost deranged agitation.
“I can assure you,” Mildread huffed at last, puncturing the air with her heavy wand, “you do not lose much by not suitinghisfancy. Disagreeable man! Not handsome enough to dance with!”
This was, nearly verbatim, the tirade Elizabeth’s mother had released when the Bennet women arrived home. At least Mamma had not resorted to cant. Elizabeth had flushed red to the roots of her hair at Mildread’s invective at the assembly, and she was sure it had been noticed by the disagreeable man himself.
Papa had whispered in her ear, “Was Mildread as affronted as your mother?”
Elizabeth had sighed. “More so.”
He had chuckled. “Oh dear. I shall have to make myself more available for social calls while he is in the neighbourhood. This is sure to be excellent sport.”
“Papa,” she had protested in a whisper of her own, “the man is allowed not to find me to his taste. If he is blind as well as conceited, what is it to us? If Mildread works her magic on him, there will be a great deal of talk.”
“Come now, Lizzy,” he had replied with an abundance of good humour. Rathertoomuch for her liking. “Mildread may humble him a bit, but she will not hurt him.” He patted her shoulder. “All will be well.”
Elizabeth watched warily as Mildread strode across the room to the wall, turned, and strode across the room to the other wall. The fairy flapped her wings angrily, knockingseveral books from a table and onto the floor.
Papa had no idea.
She might have been more irate herself had she not Mildread to take offense for her. Ought she not be allowed the pleasure of nursing the grudge herself? The insult had been toher, after all, even if she had not heard it directly.
