“I thank you, but no,” came the curt reply in a voice that brooked no argument. “I have little interest in dancing, and even less in country assemblies’ provincial offerings.”
Marcella’s face drained of colour, her bright smile faltered, and Elizabeth watched her friend’s romantic dreams crumble in the space of a heartbeat. The casual cruelty of the dismissal, delivered with such calculated indifference, stirred Elizabeth’s protective instincts to immediate fury.
“Come, Marcella,” she said gently, taking her friend’s trembling arm. “Let us refresh ourselves with some punch.”
As they moved away from the mortifying scene, Elizabeth caught fragments of further conversation that only deepened her outrage. Mr Bingley’s attempts at persuasion met with increasingly dismissive responses, culminating in a pronouncement that reached Elizabeth’s ears with perfect, devastating clarity.
“You are wasting your time, Bingley.” Mr Darcy’s cold gaze swept the room before settling directly upon Elizabeth with unmistakable intent. “Miss Elizabeth Bennet is tolerable, I suppose, but not handsome enough to tempt me. I shall content myself with observing your charitable efforts from a safe distance rather than dancing with such provincial offerings.”
The arrogant assessment, delivered in tones of supreme condescension, confirmed Elizabeth’s worst impressions. She had encountered proud men before, but rarely one whocombined such wealth with such thorough disagreeableness. Poor Marcella’s hopes had been crushed beneath the heel of unmitigated conceit.
“Do not regard him, dear friend,” Elizabeth murmured as she pressed a cup of punch into Marcella’s unsteady hands. “A gentleman who cannot appreciate your evident charms hardly deserves consideration.”
“But he is so very distinguished,” Marcella whispered, tears threatening to spill. “Perhaps if I had worn the blue silk instead, or arranged my hair differently…”
“Nonsense. You look perfectly lovely, and his opinion reflects poorly on his judgement, not your appearance.” Elizabeth’s voice carried a steel that surprised even herself. “A true gentleman would never deliver such public slights, regardless of his private preferences.”
The evening proceeded with Elizabeth maintaining careful distance from the offensive Mr Darcy, though she remained acutely aware of his presence like a storm cloud threatening rain. She danced with several partners, engaged in pleasant conversation with neighbours, and gradually restored Marcella’s spirits through determined cheerfulness. Yet the sting of his casual insults lingered, poisoning what should have been an enjoyable evening.
During a brief respite between sets, Georgiana approached with obvious concern. “Miss Bennet, I hope my brother’s manner has not given offence. He can be rather reserved in unfamiliar company.”
Elizabeth chose her words carefully, unwilling to burden the kind girl with her brother’s shortcomings. “I confess myself curious about his relationship with young Ambrose.Guardianship suggests a capacity for affection that his public demeanour does not readily display.”
“Oh, Fitzwilliam adores Ambrose,” Georgiana replied. “The arrangement began as duty, I suspect, but has become real devotion. He worries constantly about the boy’s welfare and future prospects.”
This revelation surprised Elizabeth considerably. The man she had observed tonight seemed incapable of such tender concern, yet Georgiana’s sincerity was unmistakable. Perhaps Mr Darcy possessed hidden depths, though she remained sceptical about their accessibility.
“Do you play the pianoforte?” Georgiana enquired, clearly hoping to steer conversation towards safer ground.
“Indifferently, I fear, though I enjoy music greatly. My sister Mary is our family’s accomplished performer.”
“I should love to hear her play. Music has always provided me great comfort, particularly during difficult periods.”
Something in Georgiana’s tone suggested painful memories, though Elizabeth respected her privacy too much to pry. Instead, she offered gentle encouragement. “Music does possess a remarkable ability to soothe the spirit. Do you have particular composers you favour?”
“Mozart, especially,” Georgiana replied, her expression brightening. “His sonatas remind me of happier times when my father was alive. He used to sit beside the pianoforte and turn pages for me, even when his estate business was pressing.”
Elizabeth felt a pang of sympathy for the young woman’s loss. “How lovely that you have such cherished memories. My father also appreciates music, though he claims his ears are better suited to the rustle of book pages than musical notes.”
Georgiana laughed. “My father used to say something similar, yet he possessed a remarkable appreciation for all forms of beauty—whether in music, art, or literature.”
“How wonderful to have such encouragement. Many gentlemen consider artistic pursuits suitable only for ladies.”
“Papa believed that culture and refinement were essential for any true gentleman or lady,” Georgiana said with obvious pride. “He ensured I received the finest musical instruction, though I confess I sometimes struggle with confidence in my performances.”
Elizabeth leaned closer with interest. “Your accomplishments are clearly considerable. Do you find that your musical studies inspire creativity in other ways as well?”
“Indeed, I confess I sometimes attempt to compose my own musical pieces,” Georgiana replied. “They are simple melodies, really, nothing worthy of performance. I find inspiration in the changing seasons, particularly the way morning light filters through the music room windows at Pemberley.”
“I should very much like to hear them someday, if you would not think me presumptuous,” Elizabeth said. “I find that those who create music or poetry, however modestly, often possess the truest appreciation for such arts.”
Georgiana’s cheeks flushed with pleasure. “You are very kind, Miss Bennet. I have so few friends with whom I can discuss such matters. Most young ladies seem more interested in fashion and gossip than literature or music.”
“Then I am doubly grateful for our acquaintance,” Elizabeth responded. “There is such pleasure in discovering a kindred spirit who values the same pursuits.”
The evening’s final dance found Elizabeth partnered with a pleasant young officer who possessed neither wit nor fortune but demonstrated admirable enthusiasm for the steps. As they moved through the familiar patterns, she caught sight of Mr Darcy maintaining his solitary post, his expression suggesting he had tasted something bitter.
Let him remain there, she thought with satisfaction. A man so thoroughly convinced of his own superiority deserved the isolation he seemed to prefer.
