Mr. Darcy was aware that his entrance had caused rather a stir, and he was grateful that it was only a moment before Mr. Bennet was at his side, grumbling at him. “If you hoped to not be seen as prey, Darcy, you have a devilish poor way of going about it.”
“I could not dishonour our friendship by coming to the dance looking like a farm labourer,” Mr. Darcy protested.
“Balderdash,” Mr. Bennet replied, succinctly.
“Perhaps it is,” Mr. Darcy admitted. “But I do hope to dance with your daughters, Bennet.”
“All of them?”
It was a challenge, and Mr. Darcy accepted it. “All of them.”
He danced the second set with Miss Bennet, who was as graceful on the floor as she was off it. “You will like Charles Bingley,” he told her.
“I like most people,” she demurred, softly.
“And he will like you.”
“Will he?”
The dance separated them; when they were together again, Mr. Darcy said, “As it happens, I suspect he will like you very much indeed.”
Miss Bennet only smiled and then lowered her eyes, modestly. She was the perfect lady, Mr. Darcy thought. Bingley could do no better.
Mr. Darcy hoped to secure Miss Elizabeth for the next set of dances, but he saw her being led to the floor by an older gentleman, so he looked about and found Miss Mary on her own, sitting on a chair. “Will you dance with me, Miss Mary?”
She looked up at him in surprise. “Mr. Darcy! Me?”
“Yes, you. Unless there is another Miss Mary nearby,” he said, hoping that this mild teasing would put her at ease.
“There are a good many Marys in the room, I suspect, but none nearby,” she replied, rising to her feet and setting her reticule on her chair.
“It does seem that Mary is a very popular name,” he continued, as the dance began.
“Oh, yes, Mary and Elizabeth. Sometimes it seems half the female population of England bears one of those two names. Catherine is also quite popular; I wonder that my mother wasable to go so far afield as to choose the sobriquet of Lydia for her youngest.”
“You seem far less shy tonight, Miss Mary. In all the times your mother has set us next to one another at dinner, you have not spoken near as much,” he observed.
She was quiet for the next minute, and he worried that he had offended her. Finally, she said, “I am nervous when I am under my mother’s eye.”
“I understand,” he replied, gently.
“Do you? I suspect not.”
“I have a cousin who is so terrified of her mother that she cannot string two sentences together in front of her.”
Miss Mary laughed. “I am not quite that bad. But I am sorry for your cousin.”
“As am I,” he said, realising suddenly that it was true. He should write to Anne, making certain that her feelings had not been hurt by what he had written to Aunt Catherine.
When the set ended, he escorted Miss Mary back to her chair, and set off to find Miss Elizabeth. Ah, there she was, in the company of another young lady. He glanced briefly at the other lady, and then his eyes were drawn back to Miss Elizabeth. How lovely she looked tonight, in her pale green dress, with its full skirt, puffed sleeves, and silver embroidery on neckline and sleeves! She wore a simple silver chain about her slender neck, and he was certain that she was more beautiful, more breathtakingly magnificent, than any lady he had ever seen before, no matter how fashionably dressed!
The two ladies curtsied as he approached, and he bowed. “Charlotte, may I present Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy to you? Mr. Darcy, this is my dear friend, Charlotte Lucas.”
“I believe I know your father, Miss Lucas.”
“I am certain that you do, Mr. Darcy. He takes it upon himself to know everyone in town, and would not lose a moment in making his way to your doorstep. You are at Netherfield, I believe?”
“Yes; I am aiding Mr. Bingley.”
