Chapter Text
Mr Darcy prowled around the ballroom at Netherfield. He had been agitated and restless ever since his dance with Miss Elizabeth Bennet. They had argued about Wickham, ruining the dance he had so anticipated, but what actually had him in such a state right now was Sir William Lucas's hint of an upcoming marriage between Miss Jane Bennet and Bingley. Darcy had had no idea it was coming to that. These small neighbourhoods of only four-and-twenty families did not know how things worked in town. A few dances and some half-hour conversations at parties did not equal an engagement, in their circles, and Bingley likely had no awareness of the expectation being generally formed about himself.
It was not that he thought Bingley unattached. His friend was clearly infatuated. But Bingley was often falling in love and just as quickly moving on. Jane, though lovely on her own, was wholly unsuitable and did not even appear to return his affection. After spending the last few hours watching her smile at everyone the same way she smiled at her supposed lover, watching nearly all her family make fools of themselves, by this point in the evening he was certain he ought to do something to detach Bingley before it was too late.
That should have been final. The ball was nearing its end and he did not feel he had anything else to learn through observation. And yet, something nagged at him. It was the break before the last dance and he looked over to where Jane was standing with her mother and one of her other sisters. His conscience told him his observations were not complete. He had watched her, but had not spoken with her directly. He wondered, had he ever had a proper conversation with Jane Bennet at all, beyond obligatory pleasantries? He believed not. He settled with himself that he would ask her to dance the last set with him, speak with her, observe how she treated him precisely the same as she did Bingley, and then he would be satisfied. He walked over to do exactly that.
He approached the three ladies and gave his greetings. When that was completed he turned to her and said, “Miss Bennet, may I have the honour of dancing this set with you?” He heard a light gasp of surprise from her mother and awaited the acceptance.
“Mr Darcy,” said Jane, “I am honoured that you have asked me, but I am already engaged for the set, and I believe it will be the last of the night. I would be pleased to dance with you on another occasion.”
Darcy hardly had time to register his surprise at being refused when Mrs Bennet cried, “Oh, Jane! Surely whoever asked you first would step aside for Mr Darcy.”
“Mamma,” Jane replied gently yet firmly, “I have made a promise.” Turning back to him she added, “I am terribly sorry that I must refuse.”
“Not at all,” Darcy returned hastily. “I understand completely. I should not have waited until the end of the night to ask.” He mentally cursed at himself for hesitating so long and losing his chance to speak with Jane this evening.
“Mary here is not engaged, if you are inclined to dance, sir,” Mrs Bennet said.
She and Jane moved as one, turning their gazes to the other sister, and Darcy was struck by how alike they looked in that moment. Then he saw how Mary's eyes widened in alarm and she shook her head minutely.
“Remember, mamma, Mary was just telling us before Mr Darcy approached, how tired she was feeling, and how she was looking forward to sitting down to watch the last dance,” Jane jumped in.
Subtle, these Bennet women.
“Mary, surely you can dance one more set,” Mrs Bennet huffed. “After all, your only other dance was with Mr Collins; it is not as though you are tired from being on your feet all night.”
Mary looked again to Jane, who answered for her, “She is indeed too weary. Mr Darcy, I hope you have a pleasant rest of your evening.”
Leaping at this opportunity to exit such an irksome conversation—Mrs Bennet, so repellent and coarse!—Darcy responded in kind and made his escape. He did walk away slowly, however, in the hopes of overhearing anything useful, and his effort was rewarded.
“Jane,” Mrs Bennet hissed, “what do you mean by putting him off in such a way? Both of you? Now he might ask Charlotte Lucas, and Lady Lucas will boast for weeks that a man of ten thousand a year stood up with one of her daughters and not mine.”
Darcy dreaded the moment her information was corrected, that he had already danced with Elizabeth to her apparent ignorance, but Jane had either not noticed either or had chosen to forestall her mother's raptures.
“Mamma,” she instead admonished in her gentle way, “fortune is no consideration to me. Captain Carter asked first. I could not in good conscience renege for someone else, no matter who.”
Darcy was now out of hearing and missed Mrs Bennet's response, but then Jane's last words caught up with him. Not only had she declined a dance for someone else, she would have done so for anyone else. She never even considered choosing Darcy over a lowly soldier in the militia. Although somewhat offended, he still found it exceedingly interesting.
He stood by and watched Jane as she lined up with Captain Carter and they danced together for the last half-hour of the ball. Darcy scarcely took his eyes off her. The longer he stood there in contemplation of her, the more he was intrigued.
He had assumed her mother had ordered her to try and capture Bingley. Her arrival at Netherfield on horseback in the rain, leading to a cold that forced her to stay for five days, all but confirmed it. Perhaps that was still true, but he had seen with his own eyes this night that Jane was willing to disobey her mother when her conscience drove her to. Would she be willing to disobey about marriage to a wealthy man as readily as she just did for a mere dance? Darcy did not know, but the possibility of it was now open to him. That in itself made up for the fact that he could not converse with her himself.
Jane spoke with her dance partner pleasantly and smiled at him serenely. Although Bingley was further up the line, Jane was not distracted stealing glances at him the way he was with her. Bingley's feelings were certainly clear—and possibly strong enough to lead him to propose. If only Jane would give some sign it was returned. However low her fortune and connections were, however improper most of her family was, it would not be so great an evil to Bingley as it would have been to himself. Indeed, it would be nothing to Bingley at all if he had a beautiful and kind wife who loved him sincerely and wholeheartedly.
Darcy may not have spent half-an-hour dancing with her, but that likely would not have been enough time to discover the contents of her heart. She was clearly a more complex character than he had previously assumed. As he saw her welcome Bingley to converse while awaiting her family carriage, he resolved to call at Longbourn the next day.
Darcy was once again surprised by the outcome of his second foray into socialising with Jane Bennet. He followed the butler into the morning parlour at Longbourn only to find the entire family absent. He waited alone, hearing footsteps here and there, doors slamming, the occasional raised voice. He began to wonder if he had been entirely forgotten.
After some ten minutes, the door finally opened and Jane came towards him, looking rather harried. He peered over her shoulder and felt much too disappointed by not seeing Elizabeth there. He really needed to deal with his fascination with that sister, as soon as he dealt with his concern about this one.
“Good morning, Mr Darcy,” Jane said with a curtsey. “I apologise for keeping you waiting.” She quickly glanced around the rest of the empty room, then looked back at him with studied politeness. An interesting similarity to his own behaviour only a moment before.
“Please, be easy,” he replied once they had sat down. “Bingley is on his way to town for business and his sisters are recovering from the ball. I am quite at leisure this morning.”
She smiled. “He must not expect to be gone long—leaving his guests behind, as he has done.”
“A few days, perhaps a week,” Darcy returned. He was about to say something else when more shouting and thundering footsteps distracted him. “I am sorry, Miss Bennet, I seem to have come at a bad time.”
“Of course not, sir, you are always welcome.”
At that moment Elizabeth hurried past the open door. She glanced in as she passed, locking eyes with Darcy for the briefest moment before she was gone, but before he could again feel disappointed at missing her she stopped and walked backwards the couple of steps to the doorway. She looked at Darcy, at Jane, at Darcy again, and then resumed her rapid pace the rest of the way out of the house. At that point he was simply confused, bordering on alarm. Moments later, Mrs Bennet rushed after her, thankfully without looking in the parlour, shouting, “Lizzy, you come back here this instant!”
Darcy stood up. “I had better go. I am clearly interrupting family business. Your sister likely needs you.”
More footsteps. Lydia burst into the room. “Jane, there you are!” she cried. “You are missing everything!”
“Lydia,” Jane said, nodding at Darcy as she stood, “we have company. Please calm yourself.”
Before Darcy could even finish his bow Lydia was saying, “Oh Mr Darcy, you are here just in time! We are all in an uproar. Mr Collins has proposed to Lizzy and she has refused him! Can you believe it?”
“Lydia!” Jane hissed, the closest to anger he had ever seen her. “I will thank you not to spread gossip.”
“Lydia, where did you—oh.” And there was Catherine, yet another sister in this wretchedly large family, but at least this one had the sense to stop talking after noticing him standing there. She stared wide-eyed as Lydia laughed.
“I was just leaving,” Darcy said decisively. He bowed to each sister in turn. “Miss Bennet—Miss Catherine—Miss Lydia. Please accept my apology for such a brief visit and give my compliments to the rest of your family.”
“I will see you out, sir,” Jane offered, and silently preceded him from the room. Although she bid him good day at the door, she actually walked out of the house after him, without any bonnet or pelisse, in the direction of a copse where he assumed she would find Elizabeth. The last of an endless stream of surprises in the span of under half-an-hour.
He made his way back to Netherfield slowly on his horse, in contemplation of Jane and Elizabeth Bennet, and their refused dance and marriage proposals.