Chapter Text
The evening as a whole passed on rather unpleasantly for Fitzwilliam Darcy. Balls in general were not his favorite occasions. Tasked with conversing with strangers he had not the faintest interest in, heaven forbid even dancing with some on occasion. He’d never been fond of dancing, but it was made all the worse by an unknown partner, or one with clumsy footwork. But he’d grown used to their tedium. At least to the assemblies in town. There his disposition was well known, few dared to approach him for a dance any longer, fewer yet introductions needed to be made. And there he was able to more easily blend into the crowd of other eligible suitors.
But this evening had been particularly vexing. A whole new range of would be suitors to avoid. Immediately upon entering the room he felt his discomfort rise. Every eye in the room was turned on himself and Mr. Bingley. He felt some immediate relief as he first saw the eyes track only Mr. Bingley around the room but within half an hour they were turned on him as well, potentially even in greater volume. He was at no loss to understand the reason, and had his suspicion confirmed only a quarter of an hour after that when he chanced to overhear a conversation—filled with many sly glances in his direction—between two mamas. The first woman had expressed a hushed inquiry into his character to which the second had informed her not only of his relation to Mr. Bingley, but also a rather inaccurate summation of his income per annum. This was not the only such instance he was certain. Many others he'd seen whispering and looking in his direction throughout the night. How he loathed being the center of such attentions.
He wondered at the propriety of a party such as this. Openly discussing a man's income when he was clearly standing within range to hear their whispers. But he came up short at that, recollecting a similar instance later in the evening where he’d done something rather similar. An event which ultimately consumed every free thought he had for the remainder of the evening. Bingley, after dancing two numbers with a famed local beauty, Miss Jane Bennet, had left the floor to entreat him to join the party.
"Come, Darcy," said he, "I must have you dance. I hate to see you standing about by yourself in this stupid manner. You had much better dance."
He recoiled at the idea, images of his most unfavorable dances in the past unwillingly flashing before his eyes as he spoke "I certainly shall not. You know how I detest it, unless I am particularly acquainted with my partner. At such an assembly as this it would be insupportable. Your sisters are engaged, and there is not another woman in the room whom it would not be a punishment to me to stand up with."
"I would not be so fastidious as you are," cried Bingley, "for a kingdom! Upon my honour, I never met with so many pleasant girls in my life as I have this evening; and there are several of them you see uncommonly pretty."
He glanced about the room, seeing nothing but common appearances and unflattering country manners. An assembly filled with many of those with so little decorum that they would talk so unguardedly about him while in his company. After a moment his eyes caught on the very partner that Bingley had just left and was indeed struck by her beauty and countenance. "You are dancing with the only handsome girl in the room,” he remarked.
"Oh! She is the most beautiful creature I ever beheld! But there is one of her sisters sitting down just behind you, who is very pretty, and I dare say very agreeable. Do let me ask my partner to introduce you."
"Which do you mean?" he said rather flatly, unconvinced he would find her so and turned to see another one of the Bennet girls. Bingley was in this instance correct, he found her somewhat handsome, with a well formed figure, an intelligent brow, and dark eyes. But she was nothing out of the common way. Certainly not eligible of the title given to her by others at the assembly as a local beauty much like her sister. He’d seen many a woman in town whose complexion and countenance were far more agreeable to society. After only a brief second she caught his eye cutting short his reflections. He had withdrawn his gaze rather quickly and turned back to Bingley, coldly replying in a tone he now worried may have been a bit too audible “She is tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me; I am in no humour at present to give consequence to young ladies who are slighted by other men. You had better return to your partner and enjoy her smiles, for you are wasting your time with me."
Bingley ascended to his request and returned to the dance floor soon after, leaving Darcy rather embarrassed. He hoped his glance at her would not be misconstrued. He feared it might have been when he chanced another glance at her and saw a smirk spreading across her face. Young women had a way to take every minor glance in their direction as certainty of a suitor's interest. He’d spoken then, perhaps a little louder than he ought, hoping that she might overhear and think nothing of his stare. He was determined to excite no such expectations among any member of the Meryton assembly. For this reason, and perhaps also for his general dislike of dancing and strangers, he stood up only with Bingley’s sisters during the whole course of the evening. He further, had made an effort to assert an air of indifference during the whole of the party.
He worried that his grave, stately, distant demeanor throughout the evening may not have reflected well on his character. But, it was for the best to deter intreaties from strangers wishing to become acquainted with him, and he convinced himself it mattered little either way. They intended to stay in Netherfield only a season, perhaps less. Bingley was only letting Netherfield, and if he took his and his own sister’s advice he would soon purchase an estate, and then Darcy might never have to see any of the party again.
But despite maintaining this mask of disinterestedness for the whole evening, he grew ever more embarrassed of his choice to speak so loudly of his disinterest in Elizabeth Bennet—as he later learned her name to be. He wondered, now, as he did for much of the evening, if he had made a similar blunder in propriety as he’d internally scolded the unseemly mamas of making. After this dialogue with Bingely he’d found his eyes turned on Miss Bennet rather more often than he would have liked. Trying to discern in her behaviour any peculiar actions toward himself, curious if she’d heard him. Her smile seemed to show that she hadn't but her actions left him in doubt.
Soon after he’d spoken he’d tracked her across the room as she moved to meet with another young woman—a Miss Charlotte Lucas, who he’d been introduced to earlier in the evening. Miss Bennet had leaned into her and whispered something causing them to both burst into uproarious laughter. He turned away in shame, certain he was the object of their jest but not before he’d happened to notice the uncommonly intelligent expression that marked her features. He cursed himself for speaking so loudly, and further for bothering to take notice of her beauty when she was so obviously mocking him. He reasoned with himself though that most women would not find a rejection from his quarter to be quite so hilarious. She must then have not heard him, and was rather relating some unrelated tale.
Later in the evening he’d watched her as she went up and down the dance. He’d felt quite secure at this distance to observe her. During the dance he’d convinced himself she could not have heard him or she wouldn’t have then been continuing on so merrily with her evening. Though perhaps he contested, she might simply have not cared for his affection. Rather refreshing in an evening where he’d been endlessly accosted by women hoping to court him.
But his observations did not end there. His mind turned on the idea trying to discern if she'd heard him, and if he'd been in the wrong to speak so in the first place. He tracked her movements across the room all night. So out of sorts that he scarcely spoke to anyone. He recollected that at one point a Mrs. Long sat rather close to him for quite some time and he failed to utter a single word. At that moment he recollected that he found himself increasingly fixated on her expressions, her dark eyes. After what must have been a quarter of an hour, perhaps longer, Mrs. Long had raised him from his quiet contemplation to make some simple inquiries. He scolded himself then for his want of proprietary, he thought he must appear conceited. He reasoned with himself that he must remain composed and free his mind from these incessant circles. But once the conversation was concluded his mind quickly returned to Elizabeth where it remained for almost the whole of the night. Every effort to remove her from it seemingly placed her there in greater force.
After the tedious night out they’d returned to Netherfield with the party and Caroline had asked him how he’d enjoyed the evening, a mocking smirk misshaping her face. He failed to reply for a moment, recollecting the similar smirk that had crept across Miss Bennet’s face after he’d spoken so ill of her. It was the very thing that had plagued him all evening. He’d assumed at first the smirk emerged from seeing him looking at her, but he then recollected that perhaps she did so because she’d heard him. He wondered at a woman who would smile upon hearing herself called ‘not handsome enough’. But before he’d had much more time to reflect he was recalled from his thoughts by a further entreaty from Caroline about “famous local beauties” and their inability to please him.
Caroline then further pressed that she’d heard Eliza Bennet described as a famous local beauty and solicited him for his opinion. His heart began to race at her mention. He rather irrationally worried for a moment that Caroline could somehow read his thoughts, and knew that he’d thought of almost nothing else for the whole of the evening. After a other moment, he worried, a bit more rationally that she may have seen him frequently looking in Miss Bennet’s direction. He steadied himself. How foolish of him to suppose so much, Caroline had not the least suspicion of the sort. “I should as soon call her mother a witt” he quipped hoping to cover his discomfort, eliciting a rather mean spirited laugh from Caroline. He'd hoped that an escape from Miss Bennet's eyes at the ball would clear his mind but Caroline's comment made certain his thoughts would remain immovable for the rest of the night.
Even now, as he laid in bed, trying to search for sleep. His body doubtlessly exhausted from the evening, his mind was unyielding to sleep, circling with fear that he may have appeared rather foolish in proclaiming his indifference to Miss Elizabeth Bennet imagining over and over every expression that crossed her face which might give him some compression of her mind. He assured himself once again of the certainty that at the very least his acquaintance with her would be of short duration. If he had offended her then it would be of little consequence.
He wondered at the discomposure he’d exhibited the whole of the evening. Was he to descend so low as to believe, even for an instant, that another person could read his thoughts. Was he so out of sorts that he couldn’t have composed himself for a moment to not speak so loudly of his disinterest in Miss Bennet. Oh how he wished at that moment to have Bingley’s easy temper.
He comforted himself yet again with the notion that their stay in the country would be necessarily limited and before he was sensible of it, they would be gone and he would never have to think of his behaviour that evening again. At long last he felt the grips of sleep pulling him down.