Page 42 of Wickham Likes 'Em Young
21 — 26 November 1811
Elizabeth enjoyed dancing as much as she ever had, but it became harder and harder for her to enjoy smiling at and speaking to her dance partners, because she felt as if an invisible thread stretched from her to Darcy.
He stood against the wall, not dancing, barely talking even when approached. His face was not fixed in a scowl, nor even in an impassive mask; he smiled, but his eyes followed Elizabeth, and most people seemed to be reluctant to interrupt his silent vigil.
Finally, it was time for the final dance. Mr Bingley stepped up to the dais again, and he said, “I myself will not be dancing this last dance. As a matter of fact, I am not certain if many of you will, either. I have been so interested in the reports of the waltz coming to our shores; it is controversial enough that I call on only married or engaged couples to participate, if they wish. I have it on good authority that our guests of honour will dance.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I reintroduce you to Miss Elizabeth Bennet and Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy, and I introduce to you the waltz!”
Elizabeth looked at Darcy with some measure of shock. “You know the waltz?”
He chuckled. “I can see that you are all astonishment. But remember, Georgiana has a dance master, and I am the person she learns and practices with.”
“I do not know it!” Elizabeth protested.
He bent to her ear. “Relax and allow me to lead you. I believe that you will enjoy it, dearest.”
Elizabeth and Darcy did not merely feel alone on the dance floor; they were, in fact, the only ones out there. But when he guided her into an amazingly close stance—in which one of his hands was at her waist, the other holding her hand—she felt as if she had been transported to some other place or time. This was like no other dance she had ever experienced. The first strains of music sounded, and Darcy led her into smooth movements that carried her around the dance floor. The music and the movements were wonderful, but the opportunity to be so close to one another, to touch one another, was…delightful.
When the music ended, she found the applause around them to be another sort of shock, awakening her to others’ eyes. She blushed violently but was soon surrounded by people who had always been her friends. “You both looked so lovely out there!” “What a beautiful dance!” “You seemed so happy; I wish that you will always continue with that happiness.”
“I am certain you are longing for home, Elizabeth,” Darcy murmured as the congratulatory crowd finally began to disperse. “Let us thank our host and be on our way.”
They thanked Mr Bingley briefly but fervently, and then Darcy whisked her to his carriage. She was surprised that it was already waiting—but her betrothed was quite the forward-thinker, and by having it at the ready, they were able to depart with nobody seeing the two of them alone in his carriage.
“The scandal, Mr Darcy!” she whispered.
“With Georgiana here, it has been even harder to have privacy. I have been longing to kiss you and shall not be able to wait another fortnight to do so!”
Fourteen days was, indeed, too long to wait, and Elizabeth eagerly nestled into his arms. He pushed the hood of her cloak down, and his fingers “accidentally” sprung hairpins out from her elaborate hairstyle. But she was too wrapped up with the sensations coursing through her body—some body parts untouched by his lips or hands seemed to be getting involved, in some mysterious way—and Elizabeth trusted her betrothed during his kisses as she had during the waltz.
When they reached Longbourn, much too soon for them both, he allowed the footman to help her out of the carriage while he remained inside. Of course, her hood was up, and Elizabeth had even managed to scoop up a handful of hairpins to stuff into her reticule. She noticed that the carriage remained still until she had entered the house. She leant back against the door, listening to the carriage move away again. Then she went upstairs to go to bed.
She changed into her nightgown by herself, which took quite a while, but she did not wish to sleep in the bed with Jane. What if she had not sickened on the food or drink? Nobody else had suffered, it seemed. Could Jane have an illness that she herself could succumb to if she remained near her sister?
She felt quite selfish, but with a mere fortnight before her wedding, and with her betrothed and his sister in residence a mere three miles away, she would not wish to be confined to her bed.
Elizabeth lightly tapped on Mary’s door and, when her sister woke, asked if she could sleep with her that night. Mary readily agreed, but it was so late, neither seemed inclined to whisper more than good night wishes.
She was certain that she would be thinking all night long about Darcy’s kisses and the confusing sensations that his tongue on hers could somehow arouse deep in her core…. But Elizabeth barely had time to form the single thought before she fell asleep.
The next day began in a most unpleasant, if not wholly unexpected, way, with Jane retching before the sun was even up. Mary and Elizabeth hurried to her and saw that this time she had cast up no food—she had not eaten since she had emptied her stomach the night before. Mary moistened a clean cloth with water from the pitcher, giving it to Jane to wipe her face and mouth. Elizabeth poured water into a glass, and her sister sipped but then instantly retched again.
Still worried about the possibility of falling ill, herself, and still feeling quite guilty for her selfish thoughts, Elizabeth was happy when her mother ran into the bedroom to care for Jane and shooed Elizabeth away. “You must stay healthy, Lizzy. You can room with Mary until Jane is well again,” Mrs Bennet said.
“Thank you, Mama,” Elizabeth said.
When Mr Goulding arrived after luncheon, that day, he was concerned to hear that Jane was still ill. He promptly left and promised to call the next day.
Elizabeth asked several times for reports on the invalid—she was not allowed to go into her own bedroom to check on Jane—and she was always informed that Jane was better and would hopefully be entirely well in short order. She never heard additional retching that day, and although she felt sorry that Jane felt poorly, she felt confident that rest and fluids would soon win the day over the illness.
That night, Elizabeth realised that her mother had ordered all of her clothes and even her books out of the room she shared with Jane, and had had them installed in the smaller room she now shared with Mary. That night the two girls whispered confidences long into the night, and Elizabeth felt glad to have the chance to get to know her next younger sister better before she left home forever.
“Oh, dear!” Elizabeth heard the next morning. It was Mary’s voice, and Elizabeth focused on what she was upset about—poor Jane was retching every bit as much this morning as she had the previous day.
“Oh, no!” Elizabeth said. “Poor Jane!”
Again, only their mother tended to the invalid. She said confusingly contradictory things about Jane being better and, moments later, Jane being much too ill to get out of bed; Jane being quite hungry but, not an hour later, Jane needing to be far away from even the smell of their dinner roasting in the kitchen.
