Page 56 of Miss Bingley’s Return

“Do not despair, Miss Elizabeth,” replied Mr. Darcy as he drew close again. “By the time we have completed a set, she will have convinced herself that I requested your first sets for some other reason than admiration.”

“Then why did you request them?” asked Elizabeth.

“That will become clear in time.”

With a nod, knowing that he was serious, Elizabeth concentrated on the steps and put Miss Bingley from her mind. Unlike the last occasion at Netherfield Park, they did not speak of objectionable subjects. Their conversation was natural, easy, and interesting, and it was not long before Elizabeth understood the danger he represented. When he put his mind to it, Mr. Darcy could be a perilous man, indeed.

Darcy enjoyed his dance with Miss Elizabeth. The musicians played, the strains floating, carrying Miss Elizabeth around him as if she were an angel whose feet never touched the floor. Had he concentrated on watching her instead of deflecting her criticisms about George Wickham, he might have found himself snared long before! As it was, Darcy had no cause to repine—they had found each other in the way that suited them both.

When the dance sets ended, Darcy guided Miss Elizabeth to the side of the floor near her sister. That was when Darcy’s prediction came true. The woman had been speaking to her brother, trying to induce him to request Miss Bennet’s next set, Darcy supposed, when she paused for a moment, her gaze finding Darcy.

“What a good joke, Mr. Darcy,” said she, not looking at Miss Elizabeth. “You masterfully turned Charles’s jest about your behavior back on him.”

“Well,” said Darcy, his eyes on Miss Elizabeth, “my partner was some inducement.”

“Oh, to be certain,” replied Miss Bingley. “I am excessively fond of Eliza. Why, someday soon, I might be so fortunate as to call her a close relation.”

Bingley frowned, though Miss Bennet and Miss Whitcombe remained stoic. Then Darcy conceived of a way to help his friend and put a spoke in Miss Bingley’s wheel at the same time.

“That is fortunate for you, to be certain, Miss Bingley—the Bennet sisters are excellent ladies.” Darcy turned to Miss Bennet. “If you are not otherwise engaged, Miss Bennet, will you dance the next with me?”

Though Miss Bingley was too controlled to scowl, Darcy could see that she was not happy with him. The answer did not come from Miss Bennet—Harrington spoke first.

“You are a moment too late, Darcy, though I wonder at your apparent intention to keep two of the handsomest women in attendance tonight to yourself. I have just secured Miss Bennet’s next sets.”

“Not at all, Harrington,” replied Darcy.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Bingley sidle close to Miss Whitcombe. Certain he knew what his friend was about, he spoke again to distract Miss Bingley and accomplish his purpose.

“Then perhaps the next two?”

Miss Bennet offered him a secret smile, one that told Darcy that her powers of observation were quite capable of discerning his purpose. “Of course, Mr. Darcy. I shall be happy to dance with you.”

An objection hovered on Miss Bingley’s lips, and Darcy saw the instant she thought better of it. This evening must be rattling her—she was rarely caught on the back foot.

“It seems others have put themselves forward before me,” said Mr. Bingley, appearing quite pleased. “If you would reserve your fourth sets for me, I should be happy to dance with you, Miss Bennet. And Miss Elizabeth, I shall have your third, if you please.”

The Bennet sisters agreed. Thereafter, Darcy secured Miss Whitcombe’s third and Miss Bingley’s fifth, and other men approached, receiving dances for the various sets, leaving the ladies’ early dance cards quite full.

Nothing of note passed during those sets. Darcy did not dance the second sets, but during the third with Miss Whitcombe, he discovered she was a pleasant, unassuming young lady. Then in the fourth, he danced with Miss Bennet, which provided an excellent opportunity to compare the two women. Miss Whitcombe was, he decided, of a similar disposition to Miss Bennet, though she was not so reticent.

When the fifth set came, Darcy stood up with Miss Bingley as promised, though by this time he was doing it out of habit and a desire to compliment his friend. Darcy might have expected Miss Bingley to comment on her brother and Miss Bennet, Miss Whitcombe, or even to insinuate that Darcy should support her efforts. However, Miss Bingley remained silent during those dances, appearing neither reproachful nor pleading.

After the fifth set, Darcy decided he had done his duty. Unlike most such occasions, however, his occupation, rather than being bored with the proceedings, consisted of watching Miss Elizabeth dance as she floated through a succession of men. Having moved in society for years, Darcy knew most, understood their characters. There were some he knew were excellent men, some proud or haughty, a few that were little more than rakes. Miss Elizabeth moved through them all, disarming with a smile or pushing back with a jest. Darcy fancied she had half the men in the room wrapped around her little finger long before dinner.

Darcy also watched Miss Bingley, though not with the same pleasure he experienced when watching Miss Elizabeth. By the floor as he was, he had the perfect position to notice the shift in the atmosphere. It was not overt, and it was not universal—the lady in question did not possess the influence to affect everyone in the room. Yet Darcy felt a difference all the same, and when he began paying attention, it made sense.

In short, Miss Bingley was doing everything she could to create a sense of expectation in the room. She was always subtle, always deniable, but her comments, when one took them in their entirety, left no room for interpretation.

“Oh, I understood the connection within moments,” said she during one dance when she was passing near enough for Darcy to overhear.

After that, Darcy paid more attention, drifting closer between dances when she was speaking with other ladies, or following her progression as she moved down the dance floor. A few times, she noticed him watching her, and her satisfied smile suggested she had misinterpreted his interest. Poor Miss Bingley, indeed!

“It is shared history that makes it inevitable,” said Miss Bingley not long after the dance to two acquaintances.

Darcy had walked nearby, ostensibly watching something across the room.

“You were only in Hertfordshire for two months,” said one of the ladies. “Has your brother not known Miss Whitcombe all his life?”