Page 107 of A Question of Character

Elizabeth laughed despite herself. “That sounds a very serious offense.”

“She believes me her property.”

“Does she?”

“She has given the impression.”

“And are you?”

“No.”

The word came so swiftly that Elizabeth’s amusement deepened.

Darcy’s voice lowered. “Her attachment is entirely one-sided. I have told Bingley as much, and he has promised to make the matter plain if necessary.”

“That was kindly done.”

“It was necessary.”

“Those are sometimes the same thing.”

He considered her, something warmer than amusement in his face. “May I call at Longbourn tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

She did not delay. She did not pretend uncertainty. His relief pleased her too much.

“I shall come in the morning, if that is agreeable.”

“It is.”

Miss Bingley’s fan made another sharp sound behind them.

Elizabeth almost felt sorry for it.

The evening continued with more success than Mrs. Bennet could reasonably have demanded and less disorder than anyone who knew her family might have feared. Mr. Bingley danced twice with Jane and appeared, after the second, in danger of forgetting every other lady in the room. Charlotte, having danced with him once, declared him amiable, lively, and too easily delighted to be dangerous. Kitty danced enough to forgive Lydia for arranging her first partner. Mary, encouraged by one tolerable set and by Mr. Ellis’s solemnity, played later in the evening with moderate insistence upon improving the company.

Lydia did not dance much. She might have, had she wished it; she received offers enough. Instead, she conducted her little campaign of pairing neglected ladies with available gentlemen, occasionally accepting a set herself when propriety required it and then returning to her work with renewed purpose. More than once Elizabeth caught her standing near the door, watching as if Mr. Wickham might arrive after all.

He did not.

Still, Lydia’s spirits did not collapse. That alone was a victory.

Darcy claimed Elizabeth for the final set as promised. By then the candles had burned lower, the room had grown warmer, and the excitement surrounding Netherfield had become less sharp through repetition. They spoke little during that dance. Conversation had ceased to be necessary for every interval. When he did speak, it was to ask whether she tired. When she answered that she was not, he said, “Good,” with such satisfaction that she smiled all through the next figure.

At Longbourn, Mrs. Bennet gave Mr. Bennet the account of the evening with all the vigor of a woman who had personally arranged every success.

“Jane danced twice with Mr. Bingley, Mr. Bennet. Twice! And he is very handsome, though not in the same way as Mr. Wickham, and certainly not so handsome as Mr. Darcy if one likes a tall, serious gentleman, which Lizzy apparently does, for he asked her for two sets and is coming tomorrow.”

Mr. Bennet winked. “Tomorrow? Then I must prepare my most serious face.”

“Papa,” Elizabeth protested.

“I cannot receive a tall, serious gentleman with an unserious face. It would be inhospitable.”

Jane laughed. Lydia, kicking off one slipper in the most unladylike fashion possible, declared Mr. Darcy looked as though he could frighten tax collectors. Kitty wanted to know whether Miss Bingley’s gown had been trimmed in real lace. Mary observed that excessive attention to dress often betrayed a poverty of mind, though she had admired the lace as much as anyone.

Mr. Bennet listened with far more interest than he pretended to feel. When Mrs. Bennet finally paused for breath, he spoke to Elizabeth.