“Bingley’s courage in admiring what pleases him has never been doubtful,” Darcy answered. “His constancy in continuing to admire it is perhaps the more important question.”
Elizabeth glanced toward Jane, who was then taking her place with Bingley in the first set. “On that point, sir, I believe Hertfordshire may have little cause for anxiety.”
Mr. Darcy followed the direction of her gaze, and his expression softened with that particular mixture of affectionand resignation which Mr. Bingley’s openness often seemed to inspire in him. “No,” he said quietly. “I believe not.”
The first dance began, and with it the whole room appeared to brighten. Bingley danced with the ease of a man who considered his partner the chief recommendation of the evening and the music merely a fortunate accompaniment. Jane, though serene, could not wholly conceal the pleasure his attentions gave her; and their harmony, so evident without being ostentatious, furnished Mrs. Bennet with more happiness than she could safely express without alarming the neighbourhood into premature congratulations. Kitty and Lydia, less restrained by expectation and more animated by the presence of militia officers, soon found partners enough to occupy them, while Mary, after declining one gentleman with great seriousness and accepting another with a sense of duty, entered upon the dance as though moral perseverance might compensate for lack of pleasure.
Rather surprisingly, Mr. Darcy did not immediately ask Elizabeth to dance. Whether from consideration, restraint, or a desire not to render his attention too instantly conspicuous, he remained for some minutes in conversation with Mr. Bennet and Sir William Lucas, whose delight in discovering a gentleman of such consequence willing to stand within reach of his compliments was extreme. Elizabeth, observing this, could not determine whether she was relieved or disappointed; and the uncertainty itself provoked her, for she had not previously considered herself a woman likely to be discomposed by the timing of a gentleman’s invitation.
At length, when the first dance had concluded and Bingley returned Jane to her family with an expression that made his immediate request for the next set almost unnecessary, Darcyapproached Elizabeth with that mixture of gravity and intention which, in him, rendered even ordinary civilities consequential.
“Miss Bennet,” he said, “may I have the honour of your hand for the next dance?”
The request was perfectly proper, the tone unexceptionable, and yet Elizabeth felt, as she accepted, that the room had altered again. It was not that every eye turned toward them; many did not. It was not that their dancing together was extraordinary; it could easily be accounted for by acquaintance, by Darcy’s connection to Bingley, by recent visits, by common civility. Yet to those who had watched with interest, and to those disposed by nature to interpret interest into certainty, the invitation possessed a significance which neither could wholly ignore.
“I thank you, Mr. Darcy,” she replied. “I shall be happy to dance.”
They took their places with a composure which, had it been complete, might have deceived even themselves. The music began; the movement of the set separated and returned them; and for a little while the forms of the dance supplied what conversation might have rendered too direct. Elizabeth was conscious of his presence in a manner wholly unlike their earlier meetings. At Rosings, his gravity had provoked her curiosity; at Longbourn, his sincerity had unsettled and touched her; but here, in the public brightness of the assembly, with the eyes of Hertfordshire dispersed around them and the music imposing its cheerful order upon the room, she felt the full peculiarity of being both observed and privately understood.
“You find our assembly tolerably conducted, I hope,” she said when the dance brought them together again. “We cannot boast the splendour of Rosings, nor the elegance of London; but wepossess noise, zeal, and very little restraint, which must surely count for something.”
“I find it more agreeable than either Rosings or London has lately been,” Darcy replied.
“That is a dangerous compliment, sir. Meryton may not know how to bear such distinction.”
“I did not intend it for Meryton generally.”
Elizabeth was obliged to look away for a moment, though the movement of the dance gave her sufficient excuse. When she returned, her eyes held more brightness than composure.
“Then I must warn you, Mr. Darcy, that particular compliments are much more difficult to manage than general ones. General admiration may be divided among a whole neighbourhood, but particular admiration leaves one person responsible for answering it.”
“I should not wish to burden you beyond what you are willing to bear,” he said, with a seriousness softened by the faintest suggestion of amusement.
“Then you improve in consideration, sir,” Elizabeth answered promptly.
“I have had reason to value instruction.”
The words recalled too much of their walk at Longbourn to be received lightly. Elizabeth felt again the delicate danger of an understanding not yet declared, and for several turns of the dance she said little, while Darcy, who seemed to perceive that silence had become safer than speech, did not immediately press her. Yet there was pleasure in that silence too; for it was no longer the silence of distance or pride, but of a feeling sufficiently present to require care.
When the dance ended, Mr. Darcy led Elizabeth back toward her mother and sisters with every propriety; but before releasing her hand, he bowed with a gravity which gave the civility more meaning than the form required.
“I am honoured by your kindness, Miss Bennet.”
“You must not overvalue it,” Elizabeth replied, smiling despite herself. “I am known to dance where the music is tolerable and the partner does not tread upon me.”
“Then I shall endeavour to preserve both advantages.”
Mrs. Bennet, who had witnessed enough to nourish expectation for a month, received Elizabeth with a look of such triumphant significance that her daughter immediately wished Darcy had returned her to any other part of the room. Yet before Mrs. Bennet could say more than “Well, Lizzy,” in a tone laden with dangerous prophecy, Sir William Lucas approached with renewed compliments upon the beauty of the set, the elegance of the dancers, and the very great pleasure of seeing such harmony between old families and new neighbours.
The evening continued with increasing animation. Mr. Bingley danced again with Jane and when he was obliged to stand up with another young lady, his attention remained so evidently divided that even that lady’s mother could hardly be offended, since the spectacle of so much honest partiality had already become a general entertainment. Mr. Darcy danced only once more before supper, and not with Elizabeth; yet his attention returned to her often enough to be observed by those who noticed everything and discussed more than they noticed.
Elizabeth, meanwhile, was not permitted to remain long in quiet reflection. She was claimed by one partner, then another; she was addressed by Charlotte Lucas with affectionatecuriosity, teased by Lydia, congratulated indirectly by her mother without any clear subject being named, and watched by her father with an expression which suggested he was collecting material for private amusement. Through all this, she endeavoured to maintain a composure equal to the occasion, though the consciousness of Mr. Darcy’s presence, and of the room’s gradual awareness of it, followed her more faithfully than any partner.
It was near the conclusion of the next set, when the assembly had reached that pleasant height of warmth and confidence at which conversation grows bolder and observation less disguised, that a slight disturbance became perceptible near the entrance. It was not loud enough to interrupt the music, nor sudden enough to command the entire room; yet a movement passed through the cluster nearest the door, a turning of heads, a murmur of recognition, and then a quickened exchange among several officers who had gathered there.
Elizabeth, who had just returned from the dance and stood beside Jane, saw Lydia’s expression change first from ordinary merriment to eager surprise. Kitty immediately caught her sister’s arm, while Mrs. Phillips, at a little distance, lifted both hands toward her nieces with delighted astonishment, as though some particularly welcome arrival had unexpectedly appeared for the entertainment of the evening.
Then the gentleman at the centre of this renewed attention stepped fully into view.
