The two unmarried gentlemen from Netherfield were prevented from meeting with the two eldest Miss Bennets until the very evening of the Netherfield ball. In addition to a seemingly endless succession of cold rain, which had lasted a full four days, both households were thrown into somewhat of an uproar—Netherfield with final preparations for food and flowers, decorations and dancing; and Longbourn with the preoccupation of gowns and gloves, slippers and silk.
Darcy, who had long been in the habit of riding out nearly every morning for the sheer enjoyment of the exercise and, lately, to meet with Elizabeth—to say nothing of the added means of escaping Caroline Bingley’s effusive attentions—instead found himself imprisoned by the inclement weather. Unable to take any pleasure while indoors at Netherfield so long as Elizabeth was, likewise, confined to Longbourn, he spent the bulk of his time avoiding his friend’s shamefully persistent sister, seeking refuge in the library or the billiard room, where he was able to commiserate with Bingley in relative safety.
Elizabeth had never derived enjoyment from remaining indoors for prolonged periods of time, particularly in the trying company of her mother and younger sisters, and found herself longing for the solitude and opportunity for quiet reflection her early morning rambles often afforded her. She sighed with frustration every time her mother scolded her for hiding herself away in her room, insisting, instead, she spend her time more productively by sitting with Mr. Collins and encouraging his unwanted attentions.
At times like these, Elizabeth could not help but think wistfully of Darcy, with his soft lips, his penetrating eyes, and his intelligent discourse, knowing full well she would much rather be encouraging his attentions. With no hope of escape, she endured her confinement with such forbearance as she could manage under the circumstances, though her patience was certainly pushed beyond its limits when a simpering Mr. Collins solicited the honor of her hand for the first two dances the following evening.
Happily, the morning of the Netherfield Ball dawned clear and crisp, promising an evening very much the same. Carriage after carriage rolled up to Netherfield’s front entrance, which had been illuminated by torchlight, to deposit several hundred elegantly attired guests with great efficiency. Nearly the last of the parties to arrive, the Bennets were greeted graciously by Bingley and less so by his sisters. Positively beaming, their host wasted no time offering one arm to Jane and the other to Elizabeth. Without further ceremony, he ushered them into the ballroom.
As a guest in Bingley’s home, Darcy felt it would have been inappropriate to stand with the members of the family as they greeted each of their arrivals in turn, and so chose instead to await Elizabeth’s arrival in the ballroom. Though he had been learning to mix more agreeably in the somewhat smaller drawing rooms of Hertfordshire Society, he still found it difficult to move easily among larger crowds. Darcy had never felt completely at ease in a ballroom, and as such, he reverted, however unconsciously, back into his more reserved and haughty self, taking up a station in the farthest recesses of the room, where he hoped he might garner the least amount of notice.
When Darcy saw Elizabeth finally enter on Bingley’s arm, he froze. Wearing a low-cut gown of creamy silk that seemed to cling to her inviting curves in a most flattering manner, Elizabeth was breathtaking. Her hair was arranged in a far more elaborate style than she usually wore, and intertwined throughout the mass of dark curls piled high upon her head, there were silk roses that had obviously been fashioned with great care to complement her gown.
Darcy felt he would be content simply to gaze upon her all night, but as Bingley approached and presented her to him, he somehow managed to shake off his stupor and step forward to receive her, applying a gentle pressure to her gloved hand as he raised it to his lips.
“Good evening, Mr. Darcy,” she said quietly, with a small, enigmatic smile.
“Miss Bennet,” he murmured, unable to tear his gaze from the vision of loveliness she presented, “you look absolutely stunning this evening.”
Elizabeth felt a familiar pull deep within as she returned his admiring gaze with equal feeling. “Thank you. You look very handsome, as well.” She spoke the words softly, her throat suddenly dry.
Bingley, grinning with satisfaction, left Elizabeth staring at his friend while he escorted Jane to the middle of the room to open the ball.
The first half of the evening, save for Elizabeth’s obligatory dance with an incompetent and overzealous Mr. Collins, afforded the couples much pleasure.
Bingley, who was far more captivated by Jane than he was by his role as host, threw caution to the wind by dancing as many dances with his angel as the space of one evening would allow, while trying not to cause overt offense to any of the other young ladies in attendance.
Darcy, who was not normally inclined to dance, found immense pleasure in the act so long as Elizabeth was his partner. He found himself soliciting her hand repeatedly just to be close to her until, after their third dance partnered together, which had caused many a curious eye to turn upon them, Elizabeth finally laughed and teasingly chided him for his total disregard for ballroom propriety.
He reluctantly danced the next set with Jane while Elizabeth partnered with an attractive officer who clearly admired her. Darcy found himself watching them with increasing displeasure until his jealous glare was met by Elizabeth, whose sparkling eyes gave him such a look of chastisement that he actually blushed. Jane, apparently far from offended by Darcy’s preoccupation with her most beloved sister, smiled gently at his contrition and engaged him in conversation. To the relief of all, Wickham was reported to have been sent to London on business for Colonel Forster and, therefore, was not in attendance.
When supper was announced, Darcy steered Elizabeth past a perspiring and genuflecting Mr. Collins, taking care to settle her between Jane and himself, and at some distance from the rest of her family. The two sisters were flushed from the exertion of having danced every dance, but the exercise only succeeded in brightening their eyes and adding a healthy glow to their complexions, which the gentlemen greatly admired.
During the first course, the buzz of constant conversation filled the room, but to Elizabeth’s mortification, she was able to distinguish her mother’s shrill voice as she spoke loudly to one of their neighbors of Mr. Collins. “Ah, yes! He is a most agreeable young man! He first admired Jane, you know, but Bingley was there before him. He has since taken quite a fancy to Lizzy, though, and has been excessively attentive to her, paying her every courtesy.” She then leaned closer to her companion and said smugly, “We are expecting him to make her an offer of marriage any day now! Of course, Mr. Collins does not have five thousand a year like Bingley, but I must say his income shall do well enough for Lizzy, for you know she is not half so handsome as Jane, nor such a favorite among the officers as my dearest Lydia!”
Catching the entirety of this conversation and having just taken a mouthful of wine, Darcy nearly choked himself. He recovered quickly, however, and wasted no time turning his gaze severely upon Mrs. Bennet.
Bingley, as well, could not help but stare, his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open in shock.
Jane sat stiffly at his side, conversing with Charlotte Lucas while struggling to maintain her serene composure.
Elizabeth was beyond mortified. In fact, she wanted nothing more than to escape. Darcy’s reaction to her mother’s ill-bred comments had not been lost on her. With a sudden stab of alarm, she wondered how enthusiastic he would be to continue their courtship after bearing witness to such a display of vulgarity. At the thought of the possibility of Darcy withdrawing his suit after the enjoyable fortnight they had shared, Elizabeth felt a sudden, insurmountable pang of regret. She felt her eyes suddenly grow moist, and while his attention was still fixed firmly upon her mother, she silently slipped away.
Shivering on the balcony just off the ballroom, Elizabeth stood alone as silent tears rolled down her cheeks. She chided herself for not having thought to bring her wrap, when she heard the soft click of the French doors. She looked up in surprise to see Darcy striding purposefully toward her, holding the very article she had been wanting just moments before. As he draped it across her shoulders, she noticed how his hands seemed to linger over the act. Surely he must be thinking this will be the last time he will touch me so, she thought with no small degree of bitterness and a heavy heart, for how could he ever willingly seek my society after such an outrageous display? She murmured her thanks and quickly turned away to blink back a fresh set of tears that threatened to fall. How would she be able to bear it when he finally withdrew his affection? For it was now becoming frighteningly clear to her that her heart was no longer untouched.
“Miss Bennet, will you not look at me?” he asked, his voice soft and full of concern. To Elizabeth, his tenderness only served to make their imminent parting all the more painful, and she walked several paces from him to stand by the railing, struggling for the ability to project some small semblance of composure.
Darcy was confused by her withdrawal, and it was not long before a sinking sensation began to invade his body. He forced his suddenly leaden legs to move in her direction so he could stand behind her. When he spoke, his voice betrayed his anxiety. “Miss Bennet—Elizabeth—have I done something tonight to cause you offense?”
Elizabeth gave a soft, rueful laugh and answered him. “No, Mr. Darcy. Not at all. You have been a perfect gentleman and a delightful companion all evening. As a matter of fact, I have very much enjoyed your company, sir, though I cannot help but wonder whether you might still find my society quite so acceptable?”
He was surprised. “Of course. Why ever would you think otherwise?”
She took a deep breath and said with some bitterness, “I am certain it has not escaped your notice, sir, that my mother is not the most tactful, nor the most discreet conversationalist.”
A small smile of comprehension turned up the corners of Darcy’s mouth. “Ah. No. I must agree with you that she is most decidedly not. Nor, may I add, is she the most observant.” He paused to press himself closer, and she felt his warm breath upon her neck and shivered. “I was actually rather offended by one comment she made in particular.”
“Only one, sir?” she asked, feeling slightly overwhelmed by his proximity.
His voice was soft and caressing. “Yes, only one. Can you not guess, Elizabeth, which remark might have caused me such offense as to prevent my acknowledging any others?” Elizabeth shook her head, not trusting herself to speak, and Darcy continued: “It was when your mother voiced her opinion that you are not half so handsome as your sister Jane. In this she is gravely in error, because anyone with eyes can clearly see, my loveliest Elizabeth, you are ten times more beautiful than any of your sisters. As a matter of fact, I have long since considered you to be the handsomest woman of my acquaintance.”
He placed his hands upon her shoulders and turned her around so she faced him. He was startled to see her tears and the look of absolute surprise upon her face. Gently, he raised his thumb to dry her cheek. Is it possible she doubts my steadfastness, my utter devotion to her? he wondered with incredulity. Darcy searched her eyes and soon found his answer. Quietly, he said, “I have been in agony for many weeks over the strength of my feelings for you, Elizabeth—feelings that run so deep I can honestly say I have never before experienced anything even remotely similar for any other woman. You have seen me at my very worst, yet in spite of my reprehensible actions, you have found it in your heart to give me a chance to hope. It is you, and you alone, who have been responsible for any happiness I now have. After bearing witness to such, how can you come to doubt the depth of my attachment? Do you have so little faith in me as to believe my most fervent emotions and desires so alterable, and over some ridiculous blunder of your mother’s?”
She opened her mouth with the intention of speaking, but Darcy raised two fingers to her lips in an effort to silence her. “Two weeks ago I asked you to become my wife, Elizabeth, and I would gladly drop to my knees before you now and ask again if I thought there was any possibility you would say yes. You have no idea, no idea at all, what you do to me. I will never change my mind about my feelings for you… never.” Darcy tilted her chin so he could search her eyes, which were still glistening with emotion. “But I do fervently pray every day I will soon be able to change your mind about becoming my wife.”
His eyes were so deep and expressive, and Elizabeth found herself wondering how she ever could have once mistaken such an ardent look of love and longing for one of cold disdain and indifference. She reached out to him, moved by his words and his devotion to her, and found herself questioning what she had ever done to deserve such admiration from an exceptional man. How could he, even after bearing witness to her mother’s disgusting declarations, continue to want her? Yet, somehow, he did. Elizabeth’s heart flooded with warmth at such a realization.
Resting her gloved hands on either side of his face, she began to trace her fingers over the line of his jaw and the curve of his lips. Darcy closed his eyes and sighed, his breathing becoming shallow. At that moment, she finally realized how extremely fortunate she was—far more fortunate even than Jane. Perhaps, she thought with a sudden revelation, the risks of surrendering my heart to the keeping of such a worthy man would be well worth the rewards to be gained from knowing—and accepting—such an unfathomable love.
Slowly, Darcy opened his eyes and placed a kiss upon her gloved fingers.
“What is your Christian name, Mr. Darcy?” Elizabeth asked.
His mouth felt suddenly dry. “Fitzwilliam,” he said in a hoarse whisper as he looked at her with undisguised longing.
“Fitzwilliam,” she murmured. “May I call you Fitzwilliam when we are alone together?”
Swallowing, he said, “You could call me anything you wish, Elizabeth, and I would think it wonderful so long as it came from your lips.” In a seemingly unconscious gesture, she ran her tongue lightly along her own lips as he watched, utterly transfixed. “May I?” he whispered.
She had barely nodded her acquiescence when he leaned in to capture her mouth in a slow, seductive kiss, his arms slipping around her waist to draw her body firmly against his as he caressed the small of her back with soothing strokes. Her hands, still lingering upon his face, soon coiled themselves into his dark curls, brushing the skin of his scalp with her gloved fingertips. She sighed against his lips, once again marveling at the way Darcy was able to take control of her body and awaken such delicious sensations of pleasure within her. She felt surprisingly complete, as though she had been waiting her entire lifetime for his touch. Elizabeth shivered from more than just the cold.
Darcy, though well on his way to losing himself in her expressive mouth, felt it acutely as an extension of his own body. His hands wandered to caress her hips, and a moan rose from Elizabeth’s throat. With concern, he suddenly recalled their somewhat prominent location on Bingley’s balcony and reluctantly broke the kiss. He touched his forehead to hers and held her close for a brief moment before once more brushing her lips and releasing her. Their hands immediately joined, and they held on for a few moments longer as their breathing evened.
“Though it is by no means what I would rather do, I am afraid we ought to return. I would not wish to risk your reputation, though, now that I come to think of it”—he smiled—“it would, undoubtedly, prove to be invaluable in my endeavor to convince you to accept me.”
She flashed him an arch smile filled with warmth and amusement. “I believe you are correct, Fitzwilliam, as well as incorrigible. But, by all means, let us return now to the house.”
Darcy’s pleasure upon hearing Elizabeth speak his name as she teased him could only be described as transparent. He raised both her hands to his lips and lingered over them while his gaze caressed her, touching her inner core with a flood of warmth she hardly knew how she contained.
As he tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and covered it, she heard his voice, low and soothing, say, “Come. I will take you back to your sister before I find myself tempted to do something—nay, several things—which I ought not.”
Contrary to popular opinion, Mr. Collins was not an ignorant man. It is true he did think rather well of himself, for how could he not, having had the exquisite good fortune of finding himself, at the age of five and twenty, on the receiving end of a valuable living from the illustrious Lady Catherine de Bourgh?
To say he merely worshiped her ladyship would be a gross injustice, for there was nothing in the world the obsequious clergyman would not do to pay her the proper respect and reverence he believed was her due as his esteemed patroness, and it was this, and only this, that had kept him from stepping in and tearing his fair cousin Elizabeth from Darcy’s side throughout the course of the evening.
With no small degree of pride, Mr. Collins had enjoyed the dubious distinction of opening the ball with a woman as handsome as Elizabeth, which, in his opinion, should have been enough to ensure an animated evening of dancing, wholesome conversation, and perhaps, if he was truly fortunate, at the end of the evening, a stolen kiss with his coveted future partner. He was effusive in his admiration of his cousin’s feminine charms and smugly congratulated himself for having selected for his intended bride a woman who was, undoubtedly, held in the highest regard by Lady Catherine’s own nephew.
Though more than willing to relinquish Elizabeth’s hand for a few inconsequential dances, save for the opening set, for the express purpose of indulging and flattering Darcy, suffice to say by the time the guests had been called in to supper, Mr. Collins was no longer feeling quite so honored by that gentleman’s particular attentions to the object of his own future happiness.
He had been extremely gratified to hear Mrs. Bennet’s enthusiastic though wholly improper compliments to himself, not finding it offensive in the least when she stated her expectations of an impending marriage between her second-eldest daughter and him. To be perfectly honest, Mr. Collins had viewed the entire situation as a blessing in disguise, for, surely, after hearing his intentions being thus spoken of in so favorable a light by her own dear mother and in such a public forum, Darcy could not possibly continue his marked attentions to Elizabeth in any honorable way. Therefore, it was with shocked indignation he later watched the gentleman in question escort his fair cousin back into the ballroom from the balcony, where they had been alone together for some time.
When he observed Darcy standing close to Elizabeth and reaching around from behind her slender figure to unclasp the closures of her wrap, Mr. Collins’s jaw nearly fell to the floor. The manner in which Darcy eased the garment from Elizabeth’s shoulders and then handed it to a waiting servant while he whispered intimately in Elizabeth’s ear, all the while keeping his eyes fixed upon the bewitching woman in front of him, was almost indecent to see—and seen it was by several in attendance, including both of her parents.
So intoxicated was Darcy by Elizabeth’s presence, and so overwhelmed was he by the intimacy of the words they had exchanged on the balcony, he did not even realize the liberties he was taking with her—and in full view of Bingley’s guests, no less. Indeed, he could think of nothing beyond the beautiful woman in front of him, of how she had looked at him only moments before with such heartfelt delight and tenderness in her eyes, and of how very much he longed to be alone with her once more so he could continue to reassure her, in a most ardent fashion, of his devotion. With such sentiments, Darcy could no more stop himself at that moment from reaching around to unclasp her wrap and whisper words of adoration to her than he could stop the rise of the sun in the east.
Mrs. Bennet was the first to reach them, nearly tripping herself in her efforts to remove Elizabeth from the overly solicitous company of the wrong man before steering her toward the correct one, leaving Darcy gaping after her in shock as he found himself suddenly jolted back to reality. Unsurprisingly, her voice carried to half the room.
“What do you think you are doing, Miss Lizzy, leaving Mr. Collins alone while you scamper about? Why, if I were Mr. Collins, I would begin to think you did not care for me at all, and I would be quite put out by your ungenerous, unfeeling behavior, no matter how rich and disagreeable a man Mr. Darcy has shown himself to be!”
“Mama, please,” Elizabeth murmured most uncomfortably. “He is not at all disagreeable, and he will hear you.”
“And what should you care if he does?” her mother replied with indignation. “Mark my words; there is nothing for you in that quarter, so you had better concentrate your efforts for the rest of the night on securing Mr. Collins. Oh, selfish child! You have no compassion for my poor nerves!”
Elizabeth could do nothing but allow her mother to hand her over to the keeping of Mr. Collins and look miserably at Darcy from across the room as her father approached him.
“Well, well, Mr. Darcy, you look exactly like a young boy who has just had his favorite toy taken away from him.”
Darcy had no idea how to respond to such a statement by Elizabeth’s father, and so he wisely chose to remain silent.
“I have noticed your admiration for my daughter on several occasions, sir, but I must confess I was rather startled by your marked attentions to Elizabeth in such a public setting as this. I trust you have not failed to realize you were observed in your attentions by others, as well?” he asked.
Darcy swallowed. “No, sir. It has, by no means, escaped my notice.”
“I also trust I have been in company with you often enough to understand you are not the kind of man to trifle with a gentleman’s daughter, so I can only assume your intentions toward Elizabeth are honorable.”
“Yes, they are. You have my word, Mr. Bennet, as a gentleman.”
“Come see me tomorrow morning, Mr. Darcy, and we shall continue this discussion in a more appropriate environment.”