One Thread Pulled: The Dance With Mr. Darcy by Diana J Oaks

Author:Diana J Oaks [Oaks, Diana J]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 1475149611
Amazon: B008XUGIRS
Publisher: Diana J. Oaks
Published: 2012-08-14T14:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirty-Five

The Netherfield Ball Part Three

Walking to the supper room on Mr. Darcy's arm, Elizabeth found herself suddenly aware of the great immensity of the man and of the physical power exuded by his person. She felt a passing moment of lightheadedness, and her grip tightened in an effort to steady herself. This was answered by a slight flexing on his part, which response was unseen, of course, to others, but which served to reinforce Elizabeth's own notice of the potent effect the contact had on her.

Elizabeth was soon seated with Mr. Darcy on her right and Colonel Fitzwilliam on her left. Jane and Mr. Bingley were across the table from Elizabeth, and so evident were Mr. Bingley's besotted attentions to Jane that Elizabeth was quickly under the conviction that an engagement was imminent. Mrs. Bennet, who had concluded the same, was freely declaring her great anticipation of the nuptials to Lady Lucas.

Lady Catherine, who was seated with Anne not far from Mrs. Bennet, was openly shocked at the mercenary tendencies shown by Mrs. Bennet, who enthusiastically spouted self-gratulatory effusions of the inevitable matches of Lydia and Kitty and perhaps even Mary to other rich men they would meet through the connection of the wealthy Mr. Bingley. Elizabeth, she loudly explained, was soon to be engaged to Mr. Collins, which match was the best that daughter could hope for, and certainly good enough for her—she was unlikely to recommend herself to one like Mr. Bingley as Jane had.

As her mother's conversation became louder, Elizabeth's mortification grew, for it was clear that all within earshot of Mrs. Bennet, including Mr. Darcy and the colonel, were riveted by every word. Elizabeth detected with dismay an increasing gravity on the part of both gentlemen as they listened to her mother. With her hands under the table, she nervously unbuttoned the opening on her mousquetaire-style gloves and tucked the finger portions in, so that she would not soil them when she ate. She fixed her eyes on her white soup and gave great attention to it, grateful that at least Mr. Bingley and Jane were oblivious to all that went on around them and therefore spared the vexation that was attached to overhearing such a speech.

The room, she noted, was a trifle warm, and consumption of the soup increased this sensation to a degree that Elizabeth soon felt a dampness on her neck. She longed to return to the cool corridor by the library. She set down her spoon and determined to wait for the soup to cool before she returned to it. With no soup to hold her attention, and unable to bear the embarrassment any longer, she engaged the colonel in conversation.

“Colonel,” said she, “I have been wondering what part you played in that great joke with the feathers, since you knew enough to point me to it.”

“Miss Elizabeth, I have spent my cousin's patience for speaking out of turn today, so you must direct your inquiry to him, lest it come to blows.

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