The air was laden with the scent of sweat and spilled wine. The strings of the light Scottish reel grated after several hours of listening to similar music.
Darcy hated balls.
Miss Bennet was a graceful dancer. Darcy watched her with a heavy frown, determined to see fault, despite his initial impression of her attractiveness. He had excellent eyesight, and he could see that she smiled readily, with rosy blooming cheeks and dark flashing eyes. She had a light, easy step and she danced both with greater energy and elegance than her partner. The yellow dress fit her perfectly, showing off the neat curves of her figure while not being at all immodest.
Damn. There was nothing of the old maid in her appearance to despise. He might look for fault, but could find none, besides a few failures of perfect symmetry in her face.
She was twenty-four. In a few years that — exceptional — beauty would desert her. She must be desperate to find a husband. But he could not imagine Miss Bennet ever acting like the young misses desperate for his attention, who oriented all their behavior towards attempting to please and impress.
She never simpers.
When the next set ended Darcy leapt from his cramped chair to approach Miss Bennet. He felt distantly annoyed by his own eagerness to speak to the young lady and how hopeful he felt that she would yet have a set free tonight to dance with him, when he asked as part of his apology.
“Miss Bennet—” Darcy spoke as he stepped up next to her and the gentleman she spoke to, but he stumbled to a halt when she looked him directly in the eyes. Her eyes were really delightful.
She smiled at him cherubically when he did not speak. “Mr. Darcy.”
He stiffened himself to look more solemn and made a modest bow. “Miss Bennet, I am most sincerely apologetic for my faux pas, and I beg you to forgive me.”
“Does he look sincerely apologetic?” Miss Bennet turned to her companion. “That is a very disapproving expression.”
The young man shrugged and held his hands open. “I have not been introduced to the gentleman, so I hardly would dare venture an opinion — hedoeslook disapproving.”
“Of course!” Miss Bennet slammed her hands together with enthusiasm. “Mr. Lucas, this is Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy of a giant house with a delightful park in Derbyshire. Mr. Darcy, Mr. John Lucas of Lucas Lodge a mere half mile from here.”
Darcy frowned. “Is your father Sir William? Who called upon us this morning?”
“Do not judge Mr. Lucas byhim,” Miss Bennet replied. “He is the less inoffensive son of his inoffensive father.”
Sir Williamhadoffended Mr. Darcy. But the two gentlemen bowed to each other and said what was appropriate. Miss Bennet’s reference to Pemberley reminded him that Mrs. Bingley had said her sister had visited Pemberley some years ago. An event he vaguely recalled, not because he met the party, but because his under steward of the time, a promising young man of about twenty named Peake, had been a cousin of the Bennet's aunt, and had been convinced to leave service with him and join the firm of their uncle.
Since she’d seen Pemberley, ofcourseshe was desperate to capture him. No woman could ignore the charm of such an estate.
Once the introductions were complete Miss Bennet asked again, “Now that you have been introduced to Mr. Darcy, you have no reason to hide your true opinion — do you think Mr. Darcy looks sincerely apologetic?”
Mr. Lucas smiled.“Youare the one who prides herself on excellent judgment of character.”
Darcy frowned. “I assure you, I know I ought not have said that. It was a thoughtless and unconsidered statement.”
“Pray tell” — Mr. Lucas had a very interested expression — “I fear I am missing the most significant element of the conversation, what statement does Mr. Darcy feel a need to apologize for?”
“He only turned into words what every gentleman must think upon meeting me for the first time — why, look at that woman, she must be thirty and five. A spinster and desperate for a husband. I do believe she will attempt to flatter and ingratiate herself with every gentlemen.”
Mr. Lucas laughed. “Are you blind? Our Lizzy doesn’t look a day over thirty.”
Miss Bennet laughed and pushed Mr. Lucas's arm, and though Darcy thought she looked pretty as she laughed, he felt more than a little offended that she laughed at him. “I have apologized. You are still quite attractive, Miss Bennet, and nobody would think you look like an old maidyet, and I’m certain your advancing age has not made you desperate. You still have a few years.”
That had not come out precisely right.
Mr. Lucas’s mouth fell open, and Miss Bennet’s eyes snapped to him. Her lips shaped a delighted smile. “I knew you would be worth knowing! A man who says what he thinks always. But I worry for you; my age is not near so advanced asyours. Are you desperate for a wife? For if this is how you choose to flirt, you are likely to remain desperate for some time.”
“I can marry near any woman I choose whenever I desire her, my fortune ensures that, and it shall not diminish with age.” Darcy’s mouth twisted with a little annoyance. “Even were I quite old, I would never become desperate for a wife. You, naturally, ought to understand that your charms are of a more limited duration.”
“Pardon me—" Mr. Lucas spoke as Miss Bennet drew herself up with flashing eyes, “do you attempt to apologize, or explain why your statement was true in the first place?”
“My apology was refused.”
“I daresay,” Miss Bennet spoke, “there are many stupid women. You shall always be able to marry one of them. But never a clever one. However, stupid men like stupid women. So, you have nothing to fear.”
