But was Mr Wickham’s interest in Charlotte anything more than the amusement of the evening? Elizabeth doubted it. He was undeniably charming, but… well, Mr Wickham could enjoy the company of any lady he liked. And gentlemen who were popular with the ladies usually did not request Charlotte’s company. She couldn’t see him offering marriage, and a marriage was probably her friend’s best hope for happiness. Mr Collins, though pompous and absurd at times, offered stability and security—things Charlotte desperately needed.
Elizabeth sighed and tried to twist her thoughts away from Charlotte and back to the other conversations around her, for her own dinner partner was still stubbornly silent. Jane was speaking softly with Mr Bingley, their heads close together in a private exchange. Across the table, Lydia and Kitty were giggling with their partners over some jest, while Mary, who had no partner, sat with a group of other girls, her fingers drumming lightly on the tablecloth as she ignored their chatter. And then, there was Mama, seated at the foot of the table and holding court with her friends… Elizabeth groaned. Perhaps that was enough looking around the room.
She stole another glance at Darcy. He sat rigid and silent, picking at his food without interest. Vexed as she was at him at the moment, she would rather talk to him than dwell on her frustrations with everything else in the room. She could at least extend him some sympathy, some sign that she understood his discomfort, but the crowded dining room offered little privacy.
Elizabeth took a deep breath and leaned slightly towards him, her voice low to avoid drawing attention. “Mr Darcy, I trust the evening is not too taxing on you.”
Darcy’s eyes flicked to hers, and for a moment, something softened in his gaze. But then he looked away, his expression hardening. “I appreciate your concern, Miss Elizabeth. One manages as best one can.”
She studied his profile, noting the intermittent clenching of his jaw, the unsteady flickering of his eyelids. “It must be challenging to navigate such an evening when one is not at one’s best.”
He glanced at her again, his brow furrowing slightly. “Indeed. But I find that expectations are rarely considerate of one’s personal discomfort.”
“I can imagine. Such occasions demand much of us, even when we feel we have little to give.”
Darcy’s lips pressed into a thin line, and he seemed to struggle with his thoughts as his eyes skipped across the room to rest vaguely near the head of the table, where Charlotte sat with Mr Wickham. “Yes, well, those who think happiness is within their grasp often find themselves disappointed.”
Elizabeth blinked as the back of her neck prickled. “You speak as if from experience.”
Darcy hesitated, his gaze searching hers. “Perhaps I do. Or perhaps it is merely an observation.”
Elizabeth frowned, trying to understand his meaning. Given the direction of his gaze a moment ago, it seemed like another dig at Mr Wickham. Was he suggesting that Wickham had ruined his happiness, or perhaps that the man was leading Charlotte on? Either way, it annoyed her. She had her own frustrations with Mr Wickham’s choice, but it didn’t give Darcy the right to insult her friend in the process.
“Happiness is not freely given, Mr Darcy. One must seek after it.”
He looked at her for a long moment, his eyes dark and unreadable. “Not everyone is deserving of happiness.”
She blinked, taken aback by his candour. “I suppose it is not a matter of deserving but of striving for it.”
Darcy’s gaze remained intense, as if he were trying to discern her very thoughts. “Even those who strive may find it elusive, Miss Elizabeth. We cannot control… all our days, can we?”
Elizabeth hesitated, sensing a deeper meaning behind his words but unsure of what to say. She looked at him, trying to bridge the gap between their mutual misunderstandings. “It is true that life often thwarts our efforts,” she began, choosing her words carefully. “But perhaps it is our response to these challenges that defines us.”
“And what if our response is not enough? What if the choices we make, even with the best intentions, bring nothing but pain?”
“Then…” She cleared her throat. “While I cannot speak from deep experience, I can say that in principle, true happiness is a thing that does not derive from our circumstances, but rather in spite of them.”
He stifled a bitter chuckle. “How charmingly naive. Some people have not the character to surmount troubles. And some troubles, Miss Elizabeth, are dark enough to overshadow any pursuit of happiness.”
Her chest tightened at his earnestness, conflicting with the irritation she felt. “And some people believe they are entitled to it—that it is owed to them, regardless of the cost to others.”
Darcy’s eyes narrowed slightly, his expression unreadable as his eyes twitched toward the head of the table once more. “Yes, therearethose who think only of their own desires.”
Oh, good heavens, were they back on Mr Wickham again? How tiresome. Elizabeth glanced around the room, seeking a distraction, but found none. When she turned back to Darcy, his gaze was still fixed on her, intense and searching.
He took a breath, seeming to gather himself. “Miss Elizabeth, I—”
“Mr Darcy,” she interrupted, her frustration spilling over, “it seems we are destined to misunderstand each other. Perhaps it is best if we leave our conversation here.”
Darcy’s face tightened, and he gave a curt nod. “As you wish, Miss Elizabeth.”
The silence that followed was heavy, and Elizabeth felt a pang of regret. But before she could say anything more, Darcy stood abruptly, excusing himself from the table. She stared after him as he left, but within seconds, his figure was swallowed by the swirl of the room.
The rest of themeal passed in a blur. Elizabeth ate mechanically, barely tasting the food. Her thoughts kept drifting back to Darcy, to the look in his eyes when he spoke of disappointment and happiness. Was he speaking of Anne de Bourgh? Was the engagement not to his liking, perhaps? The phrase “sowing wild oats” came suddenly to her mind, and the idea left a bitter taste in her mouth. She couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to his words, something he was not saying.
And then there was Mr Wickham. Elizabeth couldn’t ignore the nagging doubt Darcy had planted. Could there be truth in his warnings? Was she being blinded by Wickham’s charm? But he had shown nothing but kindness and respect since his arrival. Surely, Darcy was mistaken—or worse, deliberately trying to mislead her.
After what felt like an eternity, the meal ended, and the guests began to disperse. She wanted to join them, to lose herself in the movement and forget her worries, if only for a little while. But she felt rooted to her seat, the weight of her thoughts holding her back. Eventually, the need for fresh air and a quiet space to calm her thoughts pulled her out of the dining room after the others. She made her way to the terrace, longing for just a moment or two to herself before plunging back into the ballroom.
