“All evening, I have strived to have you… stand up with me for a set. Every attempt has been frustratingly forestalled, for one reason or another. I would ask for the honour now. But, in truth, I would… rather not.” Oh, brilliant.
“I see.”
She will not look at me. Still I know, beyond a shadow of doubt, her brow is furrowed, her lips pursed, and her opinion skewed.
“No, Miss Bennet, you do not understand. I would gladly embrace … I would be more than happy to stand up with you, and perhaps there may still be a chance to do so before the assembly concludes. For now, I would rather propose … I mean … what I would prefer … that is, would you be agreeable to sitting out this next set?”
“You are correct, sir; I do not understand. Are you actually asking me not to stand up with you?”
We have reached the main room… and the end of my rope, with which I am forming a noose, apparently with which to hang myself. Ever mindful my mouth is capable, at times, of operating independently of my brain, I compress my lips so thoughts cannot haphazardly escape. The precaution is taken not a moment too soon, as my mind immediately begins to rant. I do not want to bloody-well dance with you now, woman! I just want to get you alone, in public, so we can converse in a meaningful manner instead of resorting to pribbling, pottle-deep, piffling prattle!
An explanation of my motives is due, and I have not the smallest objection to explaining them calmly. “Miss Bennet, as much as I do not care to give credence to the opinions of a particular person of our mutual acquaintance, I must agree with her in this instance and say I should like tonight’s ball infinitely better if it was conducted differently. It would surely be much more convenient if conversation, rather than dance, was the order of this assembly.” Bloody-well right. That calmly explains everything.
Elizabeth arches a brow and says, “Much less lively as well; and it would not be near so much like a ball, nor near so enjoyable. I do dearly love to dance.”
“Yes. I noticed.” I cannot but sniff with disdain.
“Well, sir, may I persuade you to take a turn about the room? I assure you it is very refreshing after not dancing. I shall leave you now to either take my advice or continue to stand there inhaling whatever it is you find so disagreeable about our Hertfordshire air. You will excuse me, please.”
She curtly curtsies then flounces away, and I barely restrain myself from grabbing the irascible little minx by the arm. As she heads toward her sisters, who are sitting and chatting with Bingley, I trail behind in the wake of her lavender scent. I bow to Miss Bennet, Miss Mary, Miss Catherine, and nod at my friend but pay them scant consideration. As they acknowledge my arrival, Elizabeth turns around and is obviously astounded to discover I have had the audacity to follow her here.
“Please, Miss Elizabeth, may I have a moment of your time?” I gesture toward a nearby corner, trusting she will accompany me there.
She hesitates, exhales a mighty gust of frustration, paces, runs fingers through her hair, and dislodges several carefully coiffed curls.
In what I hope is an endearing manner, I smile and say, “Please?”
Please, do not make me fall to my knees and beg. It would be most undignified. Yet if she insisted, I would willingly oblige. I would crawl on hands and knees across the length of this room if Elizabeth asked. Safe in the knowledge she would never make such a ludicrous request, I wait for her compliance.
What in blue blazes is she doing? She is not even paying attention to me! Has she lost her mind? Elizabeth frantically searches the floor for something, and I am fairly certain it is not her mind. She backs away toward the wall and raises her hem slightly. I follow and am awarded a glimpse of well-turned ankles. Caught staring in appreciation, I attempt to wipe the smirk from my face.
“You appear to have lost something. May I be of assistance?”
She shakes out the skirts of her dress and, to my dismay, drops the hem down to its proper position. Elizabeth then surreptitiously glances at her bosom while I blatantly do the same. I know what I am about. What is she after?
“I am missing one of my pearl earrings. Do you happen to see it anywhere?”
Most eager to come to her aid, I say, “Can you describe it?”
Casting me an impertinent look, she answers, “My pearl earring is a pearl, one of a pair; and it looks remarkably similar to its mate… the one presently clinging to my left earlobe.”
She is a minx, and I obviously have more hair than wit. But she is not the only brazen one, and I prove it by stepping closer. A fleet survey of the room’s occupants indicates, rather surprisingly, no one is paying particular attention to my position, a singularly odd but most welcome circumstance. I inch even nearer. Standing now almost toe-to-toe with Elizabeth, I am not unaffected by our closeness. Definitely not unaffected. I plainly see the pearl on her delectable lobe; and although disguise of every sort is my abhorrence, I pretend her hair is an obstruction.
“May I?” I tentatively reach toward her. She blushes prettily but, to my amazement, nods consent. I tenderly lift a curl away from her ear and can scarcely believe the unmitigated joy I receive from such a simple but totally unnecessary and highly improper deed. Elizabeth responds with a slight gasp and higher colour on her cheeks, and my heart throbs wildly.
“Exquisite,” I whisper.
“Thank you. They were a gift from my Aunt Gardiner and are quite precious to me.”
I do not amend Elizabeth’s misunderstanding of the compliment. All the while, I am enthralled, transported beyond the room, oblivious to the noise and presence of others. There is, after all, only dearest, loveliest Elizabeth and …
“Mr. Darcy?” she murmurs.
Preoccupied by her beguilement of my senses, I absentmindedly answer, “Yes, my love?”
Her hitched breath and widened eyes slam me back into reality. Thanks to quickness of mind, I am able to salvage the slip of tongue. “Yes, my love of the hunt has been engaged; and I shall immediately run down the crafty, artful jewelry. It may be elusive, but I am resourceful.” By God, am I ever!
Elizabeth looks away, and the nervousness in her voice is evident. “I had heard you and Mr. Bingley were back in Hertfordshire in pursuit of game. You enjoy sport, do you?”
My friend and I had rather halfheartedly ventured out around nine o’clock each morning for a bit of sport, mostly to keep up our pretense. Of course, the true purpose of our return is pursuit of the two eldest Bennet sisters; and we dearly hope the ladies will be game. Bingley appears well on his way to capturing his bird, but I am still wary about Elizabeth taking flight.
“Yes, Bingley invited me to Netherfield to do some hunting.” My throat is still dry, and I long to take another draught of brandy. I audibly swallow before saying, “Birds are in season now.” The image of a little yellow one in Herne’s jaws reminds me of some unfinished business I must attend before leaving the county. “I enjoy shooting but do not much care for the new fidddle-faddle of running down foxes. I have hosted such a hunt at Pemberley, but I … “
“You were outfoxed?”
“No. Actually, I… insisted the fox be allowed to escape.” You, on the other hand, my crafty little vixen, shall not be slipping away quite so easily. “Although I thoroughly enjoyed the thrill of the two-hour chase over almost twenty miles, I found I did not care for the treeing, brushing, and capping aspect of such a lovely creature.”
Embarrassed by the admission of unmanly softheartedness, I clear my parched throat and continue. “But, rest assured, I do not sanction the escape of errant earrings. In fact, I believe I can quite effectively trace the culprit’s disappearance to a particular time and place. From there it should be a simple matter of projecting its trajectory. If you will accompany me back to your position when I requested a moment of your time, our search radius may be determined. I distinctly remember your frustration; and I suspect your earring fell away as a result of your running fingers through your hair.