Chapter Twenty-One
Calls to Longbourn continued. Sometimes Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst attended; sometimes they did not. Darcy always accompanied Bingley. He felt it prudent to guard his friend from any undue encouragement.
Miss Bennet remained unfailingly polite—always calm, always correct. To Darcy’s eye, it was evident she enjoyed Bingley’s conversation but felt nothing deeper.
Despite his earlier resolutions, Darcy continued to seek conversation with Miss Elizabeth. She never failed to surprise him. Her wit was quick, her intelligence keen, and her knowledge broad. She spoke several languages fluently, understood mathematics and science, and possessed a genuine interest in botany. Her guardians had clearly invested in her education, and the results were unmistakable.
Their debates were lively and engaging. Darcy often left them feeling as though he had been bested by her superior reasoning.
And yet I do not resent it.
On that particular afternoon, they had scarcely settled in the Bennets’ drawing room before Bingley declared, with evident enthusiasm, “I have been considering a ball at Netherfield.”
Darcy watched the effect ripple through the room.
Mrs. Bennet looked momentarily stunned—then delighted. Jane’s needle paused mid-stitch. Elizabeth’s brows lifted with amused interest. Mary glanced up from the pianoforte in quiet anticipation.
Across the room, Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst reacted quite differently. Their expressions—twin flashes of horror—appeared before either could conceal them. Miss Bingley quickly composed herself; Mrs. Hurst’s smile was so rigid it could hardly be genuine.
Darcy felt a familiar tightening in his chest.
Here we go.
“A ball?” Mrs. Bennet exclaimed. “How exceedingly agreeable! Such an event would be talked of for years.”
“I thought so,” Bingley replied cheerfully. “There are many pleasant people here, and Netherfield is well suited to it.”
Darcy noticed Miss Bingley’s fingers curl against the arm of her chair.
Jane looked up at Bingley then, her expression warm but composed.
Again, Darcy noted that she encouraged him no more than courtesy required.
Bingley leaned toward her. “Miss Bennet, may I claim the first set?”
Jane blushed softly. “You may, sir.”
Darcy felt something shift within him—an unwelcome sensation he refused to examine.
Elizabeth glanced toward her sister, her smile quick and genuine—simply pleased for Jane.
She feels things deeply,he thought,but never demands to be noticed for it.The realization unsettled him.
As Mrs. Bennet began speculating about refreshments and Mary mentioned suitable musicians, Darcy’s attention drifted once more toward Elizabeth.
If there is a ball, I shall be expected to dance.
The notion both tempted and unsettled him. Prudence dictated distance. Familiarity bred attachment, and attachment—under present circumstances—could lead nowhere desirable.
Yet he could not help imagining her in a ballroom.
She would not merely be handsome—she would be remarkable.
He pictured her moving through a set with the same assurance she brought to every conversation.
I must not. I cannot.
The call soon concluded, and the Netherfield party departed. No sooner had the carriage begun moving than Miss Bingley spoke sharply.
