Page 92 of A Stronger Impulse

Mrs Bennet caught her daughter’s hand and kissed it.

The action caught the attention of Elizabeth’s sisters, who drew nearer. Miss Mary and Miss Kitty appeared bewildered, whilst Mrs Bingley looked sympathetic and even sorrowful.

“Mama, I hear the musicians warming their instruments,” Miss Lydia said stridently, only sounding impatient. “I am going to the ballroom. It will be such fun!”

Mrs Bennet’s head snapped up, peering at her youngest daughter as if she had only just noticed her. “I shall be watching you, Lydia Bennet. You will keep your distance from the punch bowl, and stay in my sight in the ballroom, or I shall directly lead you home by your ear. Do you hear me?”

Miss Lydia rolled her eyes but agreed easily enough. “Yes, yes, but let us go now!”

With a sigh, Mrs Bennet stood, and as she did, she met Elizabeth’s eye. “We are of a height, you and I,” she said. “I never noticed that before.”

“Yes, Mama,” Elizabeth replied, her voice still kind. “Yes, we are.”

It is true enough,Darcy thought, although he found it inconsequential. Mrs Bingley was shorter, and her other sisters were a little taller.

With a nod of something like satisfaction, she turned towards the door, the three youngest trailing after her.

Suddenly, he realised he had been standing there, oafishly staring at a private family scene, and he turned to leave too. But Bingley, having been briefly waylaid by another guest, chose that moment to return; Mrs Bingley joined him, looking a bit…tremulous. Darcy saw it then, the quick and ready concern his friend had for his wife, their unspoken communication, the way he steadied her, the strength she took from his support. A good match, he thought. He remembered Caroline approaching him in late June, begging him to intervene in Bingley’s budding romance, to quash it.

For the first time, he was grateful that he had not felt himself during his earlier visit to Netherfield. Leaving Bingley to work out his own life had been one good result of his illness. He already knew he would have made a muck of his love for Elizabeth, no matter his health, as wrong-headed as he’d been. And he would not trade the opportunity to spend his future with her for an easier path to it.

“Ho-ho!” Bingley cried, taking the few steps towards him, shaking his hand with a tight grip. “It is good to see you looking so well, my friend. Of course, you remember the former Miss Bennet and new Mrs Bingley, Darcy?”

“Mrs…Bingley,” he said, bowing. “Pleased…to meet you again. Congratulations on your marriage.”

“Thank you, Mr Darcy. We are happy to see you so recovered,” Mrs Bingley replied sweetly. “Will you not accompany us to greet our other guests?”

Without being rude, he could only nod in agreement.

“Mr Darcy!” Elizabeth’s voice interrupted, and he turned to her abruptly.

He had been mistaken, he saw, now that he was so close to her, in thinking the portrait an exact replica of Elizabeth. How could one reproduce such eyes as hers? The artist had copied the startling colour, it was true, but the sparkle, the vivacity, were impossible to capture.

“Have you seen your sister yet?” she asked.

“I…yes. Too long a greeting. Apologies…for late arrival.”

“You arrived just in time, I think.”

They stared at each other for what seemed a minute but was probably only seconds, his heart too full to speak. Will you dance with me? Will you marry me? How soon can I say the words?

“Shall we, Lizzy?” Mr Bingley interrupted, offering her his arm. “I have promised my guests the briefest receiving line in the history of receiving lines so we can get right to the dancing. You haven’t forgotten that you pledged your first set to me?”

A keen disappointment cut through Darcy, but ingrained good manners provided him words. “Mrs Bingley, is…your first set promised to another…as well?”

She accepted his invitation, and he turned towards the ballroom, only able to watch the departing back of the woman he loved.

* * *

This is Jane’s doing,Lizzy thought. It had never been the plan that she open the ball with Mr Bingley; Jane had given up the honour in what she doubtless believed was a rescue.

She followed Mr Darcy with her eyes, envied everyone to whom he spoke, had scarcely patience enough to answer Bingley’s remarks, then was enraged against herself for being so silly.

A man who has twice been refused!she reflected. How could I ever be foolish enough to expect a renewal of his love? Is there a male alive who would commend such weakness as a third proposal to the same woman?

She forced herself to attend to the steps of the dance instead, a country dance, which thankfully left little time for conversation beyond the polite. She was even happy, as Mr Gardiner led her mother down the line, happy to see Mrs Bennet’s smile returned, happy to see the reconciliation of brother and sister. Still, she could not help but watch Mr Darcy lead Jane with the perfect grace of a man born to wealth and ballrooms and grand society. It seemed, even, impossible to remember that she had seen and cared for every part of him, that she knew his body as well as she knew her own. That he had kissed her, fully and passionately. That he had wanted her, as she had wanted him.

Although she reproached herself for noticing, he sought Mrs Gardiner for the next set. Better than Miss Bingley, she thought. Still, she must prepare herself for that eventuality, for she had also seen how that lady contrived to be as near to him as was possible. Miss Bingley was in her best looks, expensively and exquisitely dressed; he must see how perfectly appropriate she would be as his bride.

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