Page 24 of Master of Himself

“I hope we can be friends.”

“Of course,” she said with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

This would never do. “My sister would never forgive me if she knew how I behaved that night,” Charles said, searching desperately for a way to gain her acceptance. “She’s still in the schoolroom and looks forward to attending her first assembly.” At least he assumed that much about Miss Darcy was true.

“I’m certain she’ll enjoy dancing as much as my sisters and I do.”

This sparked an idea. “Since I owe you a dance, I’ll ask my sister to play a Scottish air.”

She furrowed her brow. “Do you mean Mr Bingley’s sister?”

Charles flinched at his unintended mistake. “Yes, if that meets with your approval.”

“I shall look forward to it, Mr Darcy.”

***

Darcy watched Elizabeth dance with Charles. Hopefully this meant that she had forgiven him for his offence. If he were being honest, he couldn’t help feeling a bit jealous. He would have preferred being her partner, holding her hand, and enjoying her smiles. But even if she had forgiven him, she was a far way off from holding him in esteem. At least she no longer regarded him with cautious eyes.

After the ladies had retired for the evening, Charles suggested a nightcap.

“May I assume I was forgiven?” he inquired while his host poured the drinks.

“Yes. Miss Elizabeth was quite gracious about it, which is more than you deserve.”

“Thank you, Charles. I’m in your debt.”

“And I intend to collect,” Charles said, to which Henry chuckled.

Darcy took this to mean that he would be required to act in Charles’s stead with Miss Bennet.

“I can’t fathom what caused you to lose your temper that night,” Charles said as he passed the filled glasses to Darcy and Hurst.

He paused to sip his wine and contemplate this remark, but could find no reasonable explanation. “I suppose I was irritated at the time.”

Charles scoffed. “You were the only one. Everyone else had a grand time.”

“I hated having all eyes on me, with every matchmaking mother expecting me to favour their daughters with a dance,” he said, recalling his mood that night. “It was unnerving.”

“It’s just a dance, Darcy, not a marriage proposal,” Charles said in a mocking tone.

What Darcy didn’t say was that he had felt out of place that night. The crowd had been so loud and unruly. So unrefined in their country fashions. So unworthy of his attention.

He knew it was despicable, but there it was. A man accustomed to socialising in the highest circles, forced to mingle with his inferiors. He had made himself ridiculous by refusing all introductions and keeping only to his own party.

Yes, he was conceited, arrogant, superior and a host of other defects one might assign to him. But here he was, Pemberley’s son and an earl’s grandson, in the body of a mill owner’s son, the worst comeuppance imaginable. Besides losing his status, he had even lost his stature; Charles was at least three inches shorter than Darcy. What’s worse, he had repulsed the only woman who had ever gained his notice.

He shook off such distracting thoughts and drained his glass. Why was he wasting time thinking about women when he ought to devote his thoughts to devising a plan to return to his true self?

Charles refilled their glasses. “What shall we drink to?” he inquired.

“Let’s drink to the ladies and the dance they all lead us through,” Hurst said with a chuckle.

“What do you mean, Henry?” Charles said. “We men lead the dance.”

Henry chuckled merrily. “If that’s what you believe, then you have no real understanding of the power women hold over us. Why else would we go out of our way to do something we deplore, just to please a woman and stay in her good graces?”

Darcy couldn’t disagree. “I suppose it’s all a dance, isn’t it?”