Page 9 of Her Affections and Wishes

This was why he did not ask single women he was not well acquainted with to dance. To him, it was a social nicety, and one he should do more often because it was rude of him to attend and just stand there. However, some ladies thought it was the first step to falling in love.

“I am pleased to have this chance to know you better,” Julia said as they went down the dance. “What luck we will be inmates of the same house for a week.”

Darcy tore his eyes from watching Elizabeth dance with Sir John. He seemed to talk a great deal, but he could not tell from this distance if her smiles were civil or genuine. “The races will occupy me, Miss Metcalfe, so you must forgive me if we do not become well acquainted.”

She squeezed his hand a little as they danced, ignoring his hint. “Mr Darcy,” she said with a soft laugh and a long look into his eyes, “the races only occupy the days. We will be quite at our liberty at night.”

Darcy made her no answer. Julia was not a young woman first entering society. She had the manner of someone who knew how to entice a man. He would be sure not to be alone with her, and was not sorry to see their dance end.

He could not find Lady Metcalfe in the crowd. Where had she gone so early in the evening? There were thirty couples dancing, and he was certain an Epsom assembly was not typically this crowded, but the races began Wednesday. Every room within ten miles was already let and every mansion would have guests. Giving up on finding Lady Metcalfe, Darcy brought Julia to the bejewelled and talkative Mrs Tessier.

“Will you dance, madam?” he asked the widow.

“Me! Oh, no, I would get you a better partner than myself,” she said, tapping him on the arm with her fan in mock outrage. “Here is Henry, and he can introduce you to any young lady.”

“I was about to go to the card room, Mamma.”

Darcy said, not quite meaning it, “I had hoped you would find me a partner.”

Henry’s mother ordered him to introduce his partner to Mr Darcy, and then to ask Julia Metcalfe to dance. This routine repeated itself, with Darcy dancing with a lady and then immediately being introduced to another when he returned the first lady to her companion. And during every dance, Elizabeth was partnered with someone due to the efforts of Mrs Tessier and Henry’s friends. They often passed one another or crossed hands, but Elizabeth never raised her eyes to him, let alone spoke.

More than anything, he wanted to dance with Elizabeth, if only to show that he did not resent her, and assure her he would not force any unwanted attention on her. Unless his asking her to dance was unwanted attention and she found him intolerable company? What was the proper way to interact with the woman you respected more for having refused you?

After the fifth dance, he acted. The only way he could survive this week was to know if she loathed him or not. He may not deserve her pardon, but he would ask if he could earn it. He escaped his company as politely as he could and approached her in a rush. “May I have your hand for the next dance, Miss Bennet?”

She appeared as shocked as she had been when she saw him in the entrance hall. In that moment of waiting, he was certain she would refuse. But then Elizabeth nodded, and he led her into the set. Of course she would be stunned he asked. Why would a man talk to a woman who rejected him, let alone ask her to dance? Because she was right about him, and she was influenced by a scheming seducer, and because he regretted treating her and her family poorly.

And he asked her because he was still in love with her.

For a while, he did not know what to say, and he hoped his asking her to dance would be enough to show that he did not hate her. But after so many misunderstandings, he could assume nothing. His own judgment could scarcely be trusted. He would have to make himself sensible. Besides, if he did not speak, she might only goad him into it like she had at the Netherfield ball.

“Is your family in good health? All your sisters are well?”

That was the dullest question he could ask. And had she not been away from her family for months?

“They are, although I have not seen them since March,” she answered. “I hear, however, that Mr Bingley is a frequent visitor to Longbourn.”

She did not say it as a challenge, but he hurried to say how glad he was. “My friend was eager to return to the neighbourhood when I saw him in April. I hope in particular that he resumes his acquaintance with Miss Bennet.”

There, that had to show he regretted his interference and hoped the two young people could be united. Darcy searched to see any approval in her eyes, but she just looked self-conscious. The reference to Bingley must bring to mind the last time his name was mentioned between them. This was going all wrong, and any chance she did not hate him was too much to hope for.

When the dance brought them together again, she said, “I must tell you, I did not know you were invited to Woodcote Park. Your aunt thought she was doing me a favour by sending me along with Lady Metcalfe.”

“A favour?” he repeated. Lady Catherine did like to be of use, and be thanked for it, but Elizabeth did not know Lady Metcalfe or Mrs Tessier.

Elizabeth turned pink. “She hoped I would benefit from a wider acquaintance with the sort of people who attend the races, given how narrow my circle is and how many sisters I have.”

Lady Catherine wanted her to find a husband, and what better opportunity than at a place where thousands of men would spend a week? There was some irony in their being at the same place, of course, given how lately he wanted to marry Elizabeth and how his aunt wanted him married to Anne—and how Elizabeth wanted to be married to anyone but him.

“In any event,” she said in a flustered tone whilst he mused in silence, “I would not have come if I had known you were invited. I would not wish to distress you.”

“I am not sorry to find you here,” he breathed.

They were now at the bottom, and the air between them felt heavy as she searched his eyes. “I must thank you for asking me to dance,” she finally said. “I know you are not fond of dancing at assemblies.”

There was a hint of archness in her voice that caught his notice. Did she know he had not wanted to be introduced to her in Meryton? She had said at Hunsford that from the first moment of their acquaintance that he had been arrogant, selfish, and conceited. The remembrance of his slight seemed to amuse her, but how could it not also have wounded her?

“I am not fond of dancing with strangers, but I am now taking the trouble to practise. However, you are no longer a stranger.”