an hour of opening the doors, the ball would have been deemed a success by anyone’s standard.
Mrs. Darcy’s eyes were lively and her cheeks rosy with pleasure. Even her husband (so often out of humour) responded favourably when asked of his children’s progress. It did not go without notice that Mr. Darcy looked upon Mrs. Darcy with easy affection. Their happiness was a joy to their friends and a bane to the few who were not.
———
Although Jane suspected, Elizabeth had told no one of the coming child. That secret was behind her only true regret of the evening—her husband had not taken her on the dance floor as much as she would have liked. When Bingley bid her to take a turn, Darcy did the unthinkable—he shook his head (granted, almost imperceptibly). Bingley was not one to take offence, he was a bit surprised. A word from Jane and he smiled agreeably and withdrew. Everyone was pleased save Elizabeth.
Although her husband stood as if wholly consumed by watching the others dance, Elizabeth was not deceived. She knew he was standing guard lest another gentleman ask her to dance.
Upon her tiptoes (the only way she could whisper in his ear), she said, “If you come between me and another turn, I shall pout.”
He pretended to ignore her, but leaned over and said, “I am most happy for you dance. If you please, pray, not with Bingley.”
“Why, pray, do you deny me Mr. Bingley as a partner? Save for you, dear husband, there is not a more admirable man in the room.”
He said, “He is far too lively. He all but lifts Jane off her feet. It is my opinion that if you must dance, let it be a less frolicsome number....”
“Or a less frolicsome partner—say, one in his dotage?” she retorted.
“He can be of any age so long as he does not bound about. Mr. McNeely or Master Squires both appear to be in want of a partner,” he replied.
She replied, “Mr. McNeely lost a leg last year. Master Squires is all of fourteen and much in want of dancing with Miss Amelia McGreevy, who is but twelve. To make the poor boy stand up with a woman twice his age would be a torture for him. It might ruin his love life for all his days....”
“I surrender,” Darcy whispered, “Dance with whoever pleases you, but do not look to me to rub your... feet at the night’s end.”
At his capitulation, they shared a gaze. From the discrete caresses his hand gifted hers throughout the evening, Elizabeth suspected that he had other misgivings—most likely over their assignation in her dressing room just prior to the ball. Granted, he had left her breathless. She recovered with remarkable haste. He had yet to understand that she was not depleted by his attentions—quite the reverse. Time would come soon enough when caution would rule them, but not yet.
With a saucy glint in her eye, she took his arm reassuringly.
“Do not trouble yourself, sir,” she said. Then in a low voice, she teased, “I am a strapping wench, happy for you to make free with my person at any opportunity.”
Her protestations notwithstanding, to be looked after by her husband pleased her in a way she could not explain. Perhaps it was because he had been away during her last confinement. Regardless, he felt the need to cosset her and she enjoyed his guardianship—so long as he did not mean to keep her from dancing.
When the music stopped, the Bingleys returned to their spot next to the Darcys. After a moment, Darcy made a surprising announcement.
Bowing to his company, he said, “I am to do my duty.”
He then disappeared. As the music began, Elizabeth saw that her reticent husband’s partner was a stout widow of reduced circumstances. Seeming a bit flustered, the lady beamed once he led her onto the floor.
Full of pride, Elizabeth watched him as he betook the woman about the floor. Darcy’s dancing was not particular, but he moved with enough grace to be a pleasure to watch. As she did, Elizabeth was reminded how few men had the leg for
Mrs. Darcy’s eyes were lively and her cheeks rosy with pleasure. Even her husband (so often out of humour) responded favourably when asked of his children’s progress. It did not go without notice that Mr. Darcy looked upon Mrs. Darcy with easy affection. Their happiness was a joy to their friends and a bane to the few who were not.
———
Although Jane suspected, Elizabeth had told no one of the coming child. That secret was behind her only true regret of the evening—her husband had not taken her on the dance floor as much as she would have liked. When Bingley bid her to take a turn, Darcy did the unthinkable—he shook his head (granted, almost imperceptibly). Bingley was not one to take offence, he was a bit surprised. A word from Jane and he smiled agreeably and withdrew. Everyone was pleased save Elizabeth.
Although her husband stood as if wholly consumed by watching the others dance, Elizabeth was not deceived. She knew he was standing guard lest another gentleman ask her to dance.
Upon her tiptoes (the only way she could whisper in his ear), she said, “If you come between me and another turn, I shall pout.”
He pretended to ignore her, but leaned over and said, “I am most happy for you dance. If you please, pray, not with Bingley.”
“Why, pray, do you deny me Mr. Bingley as a partner? Save for you, dear husband, there is not a more admirable man in the room.”
He said, “He is far too lively. He all but lifts Jane off her feet. It is my opinion that if you must dance, let it be a less frolicsome number....”
“Or a less frolicsome partner—say, one in his dotage?” she retorted.
“He can be of any age so long as he does not bound about. Mr. McNeely or Master Squires both appear to be in want of a partner,” he replied.
She replied, “Mr. McNeely lost a leg last year. Master Squires is all of fourteen and much in want of dancing with Miss Amelia McGreevy, who is but twelve. To make the poor boy stand up with a woman twice his age would be a torture for him. It might ruin his love life for all his days....”
“I surrender,” Darcy whispered, “Dance with whoever pleases you, but do not look to me to rub your... feet at the night’s end.”
At his capitulation, they shared a gaze. From the discrete caresses his hand gifted hers throughout the evening, Elizabeth suspected that he had other misgivings—most likely over their assignation in her dressing room just prior to the ball. Granted, he had left her breathless. She recovered with remarkable haste. He had yet to understand that she was not depleted by his attentions—quite the reverse. Time would come soon enough when caution would rule them, but not yet.
With a saucy glint in her eye, she took his arm reassuringly.
“Do not trouble yourself, sir,” she said. Then in a low voice, she teased, “I am a strapping wench, happy for you to make free with my person at any opportunity.”
Her protestations notwithstanding, to be looked after by her husband pleased her in a way she could not explain. Perhaps it was because he had been away during her last confinement. Regardless, he felt the need to cosset her and she enjoyed his guardianship—so long as he did not mean to keep her from dancing.
When the music stopped, the Bingleys returned to their spot next to the Darcys. After a moment, Darcy made a surprising announcement.
Bowing to his company, he said, “I am to do my duty.”
He then disappeared. As the music began, Elizabeth saw that her reticent husband’s partner was a stout widow of reduced circumstances. Seeming a bit flustered, the lady beamed once he led her onto the floor.
Full of pride, Elizabeth watched him as he betook the woman about the floor. Darcy’s dancing was not particular, but he moved with enough grace to be a pleasure to watch. As she did, Elizabeth was reminded how few men had the leg for
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