The First to Admit to Love, Loses.
September 19, 1812. Fitzwilliam Darcy is suspicious about this group, wondering what they want from him. When the shadows move, he notices a woman in the opposite corner, one “left behind.” Then, she turns, and her beauty hits Darcy, full blast. Its freshness disarms him.
He drifted away from the dancing legs, music, and merriment back to the shadows of his corner. Every person was interchangeable with everyone else. In any village, there were a set of characters: the village mouthpiece (sometimes a mayor, sometimes a talkative busybody), the beauty, the peacock or swain, the mothers, and the self-important men who viewed themselves at the top.
He saw it all here, including the young women like chicks in a barnyard not paying attention to their mother hen but running wild. Often, he liked the tradesmen best. They were predictable and the bedrock of a village. The more time a person had on their hands, the more empty-headed he found them. This included most people in his class who hated any sort of study or instruction or even intelligent conversation.
The shadows in the corner across from him moved, and a female figure stirred. She stared at the dancing figures, enthralled by the movement.
‘No doubt left behind by the scarcity of gentlemen or she’s been slighted.’ Darcy stared at her profile searching for flaws to pick apart as he had no other employment.
“Darcy!” said Charles, appearing unexpectedly at his side. His friend had left the dance. “You must come dance. I hate to see you standing by yourself in this stupid manner, come dance!”
“Your sisters are engaged, and I’ve not met another woman I feel inclined to dance with,” he answered, still staring at the woman.
“You are the most critical man! Tonight is for dancing and there are several uncommonly pretty girls here.”
“Your partner is handsome,” Darcy conceded, looking at the patient blond who waited for Charles.
“She is the most beautiful creature! But I believe that is one of her sisters over there, who is also very pretty. Let me ask my partner to introduce you.”
Bingley stared at his shadowy creature. Darcy warred with Charles labeling her ‘pretty’ as he gazed more keenly at her profile. Dark brows lay over smooth porcelain cheeks; her long straight nose sat over lips that presided over a strong chin. Her ebony hair was pinned up and a small earring hung on a beautiful shell-like ear. He stared at the ear in wonderment.
Then he recalled his other assumptions about this creature being passed over because fewer men danced, and her being slighted. Darcy felt no need to inflate her ego by stooping to dance with her. He turned to say something caustic, but his eye caught the movements of a young man holding two glasses of wine as he skirted the dancers.
The man approached the lone figure, made the tiniest of bows, and held out one of the glasses. She reached up to take it, her lips widening in pleasure. The man, a rather ordinary one, swept his coattails back to sit next to her.
The woman turned, watching him, and Darcy was hit, full blast, with the vision of her beauty. Its freshness disarmed him in a way he couldn’t describe. Teeth showed between her lips as she had eyes only for the ugly man. Her eyes laughed as she sipped her drink.
“I fear she is occupied, and there is no one available. You had best return to your partner and enjoy her smiles. There is nothing else for me,” said Darcy, not taking his eyes off the sister.
Charles took his direction and returned to the dance. Darcy remained in the shadows and watched the pair in the better-lit corner, as the sister looked with what he thought was rapt attention at her companion without saying a single word as the young man talked. Though the man had turned his back to Darcy, he could tell that he spoke as his drink remained untouched; occasionally he leaned forward conspiratorially.
‘Is she only humoring him? Is this an attempt at sympathy with this ugly man so he will ask her to dance? If she begged me, I might dance with her.’
Giggles drifted across the space, and Darcy refocused on the woman. Her skin was smooth, flawless, her smile wide. However, her bright eyes stared not at Darcy but this nobody of a man. Something turned over inside his gut at that man receiving the focus of such beauty.
‘She obviously must be interested in him, this menial. He’s not even that handsome young peacock I saw earlier, strutting around as if he had been imbued with God-given gifts.’ Darcy shuffled his feet, widening his stance without breaking contact.
‘I must discover who these two are. It will give me a focus while I’m in the area. It’s only a matter of time.’
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