Chapter Text
Darcy had been acquainted with the Metcalfes, a prominent family in the area, for many years. The late Mr. Darcy had preferred the comparatively humble side of the Metcalfe family, an opinion Darcy himself shared. Mr. Lewis Metcalfe was a respectable gentleman, a good friend of his father’s, and Mr. Metcalfe’s son, Jonathan, a sweet-natured and quiet young man around Bingley’s age, had become something of an occasional protege of Darcy’s.
His mother’s family, the Fitzwilliams, had been particularly intimate with the more affluent Metcalfes; there had been talk, if Lady Catherine was to be believed, of marrying his mother off to Sir Philip Metcalfe, but the baronet had lacked the wealth of Mr. George Darcy, and so the honor of becoming Lady Metcalfe had gone to another. This woman had been a close friend to both his mother and his aunt; Lady Catherine still meddled shamelessly in her affairs.
Sir Philip had died the year before, and the current baronet, his son, Sir Edgar Metcalfe, was to be their host this evening.
The ball at Fairview, the Metcalfes’ estate, was a bit of an annual event; these grander Metcalfes only ever stayed in the county for a month or two every year, preferring their larger house in the south, and there was always a self-created fanfare whenever they were to leave Derbyshire again. They could never go without giving everyone the chance to see them off. It was not a tradition that Darcy was overly fond of. It was Georgiana’s first time attending the Fairview Ball and she looked similarly uncomfortable. Elizabeth, of course, was totally at her ease.
Fairview was, from the outside, a handsome house, smaller and newer than Pemberley, but the Metcalfes’ taste left much to be desired. It made Rosings look understated by comparison.
“Who would have thought that Sir Philip would be considered the member of the family with the most restraint?” he whispered to Elizabeth as they looked around the changes that had been made since their last visit. The place had always been ornate, but now it was positively garish.
Elizabeth widened her eyes at him and squeezed his arm, but he could tell that she was biting back a laugh.
“Quite a horror, from top to bottom. I was not aware that one could gild an entire house.”
Another squeeze.
“What is the betting that the baronet is overdressed to the point of absurdity?”
“Do not make me laugh, Fitzwilliam,” said Elizabeth. “It will look most undignified, and all of these people already think me beneath them.”
“Further proof of their want of taste.” He glanced around at the particularly unattractive ballroom. “Though it is not as if that were ever in doubt.”
Very unfortunately for Elizabeth, they caught their first glance of Sir Edgar, whose cravat was tied very high and in a ludicrously complicated fashion, and whose coat they could see, even at this distance, was ostentatiously embroidered in gold.
Darcy raised a triumphant eyebrow and Elizabeth let out an involuntary giggle, provoking a glare of disapproval from a haughty-looking woman near them.
“If you persist in this way, Fitzwilliam, I will refuse to dance with you,” Elizabeth hissed, but her eyes were sparkling and she could not entirely hide her smile.
Darcy gave her a tiny wink and turned to his sister.
He had deliberately excluded Georgiana from the conversation until now; she had looked overwhelmed as they entered the house and had needed a moment to compose herself. He had not wanted her to have to attempt it with an audience.
“How are you feeling?” he whispered.
“Quite well,” she said, and though her voice shook slightly, she appeared much calmer than she had just a few minutes before.
He gave her an encouraging sort of smile. “If you feel that you have to escape at any point this evening, you need only say the word. I know all of the good hiding spots.”
She let out a breath, quavery with both nerves and amusement, and nodded.
“And you can always stay near us if you are uncomfortable.”
She nodded again, beginning to look more cheerful.
“Elizabeth has already threatened that she will not dance with me, so I may be free as a potential partner for the whole evening.”
Elizabeth, overhearing this last sentence, pinched him.
Georgiana smiled; he had successfully distracted her from her discomfort. He would keep an eye on her, of course, and his work for the evening might not be entirely finished, but it was going reasonably well so far.
***
As tempting as it was to stay near Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam, Georgiana was very unlikely to find a partner in their company. Her brother was often intimidating without meaning to be (he could be downright menacing to anyone he considered a danger to her), and he tended to scare away all but the most intrepid of young men.
Feeling excessively anxious, but trying to emulate all of Elizabeth’s courage and ease, Georgiana looked around the room for someone - anyone - she was acquainted with. There were not many faces here that she knew, but there were more than she had expected. If even half of them asked her to dance, she would have a successful evening indeed.
She had just worked up the nerve to position herself at a better angle to be seen by Mr. Sanderson, a young man she knew from church, when she spotted a familiar blond head.
Oh, no.
She turned quickly, but Mr. Fanshawe had already seen her.
"Miss Darcy!" he exclaimed. "I had hoped you would be here!"
Georgiana responded civilly but looked around for Fitzwilliam. She was not above using him to subdue this particular threat. He and Elizabeth were speaking with Sir Edgar; his back was to her, but she could see enough of Elizabeth's profile to tell that her sister was greatly amused by something.
Georgiana tried to catch her eye - Elizabeth would always help her too - but it was useless. They were too far away, too preoccupied, and Georgiana was quite on her own.
How did you discourage a young man's attentions? she wondered. She would have to remember to ask Elizabeth.
Mr. Fanshawe was talking about himself again, and his new dog, and his new coat, and some money he had won at a card party; perhaps he would never get around to asking her to dance.
As if the very hope had reminded him, Mr. Fanshawe held out his hand to her.
“Well, Miss Darcy, shall we?”
“I am afraid she has already promised these dances to me,” said a voice from over Mr. Fanshawe’s shoulder.
Georgiana, who had been staring at the floor, looked up quickly to see Jonathan Metcalfe.
Mr. Metcalfe was a tall young man (not as tall as Fitzwilliam, but few men were; he was taller than Georgiana, at any rate), with auburn hair and hazel eyes. He was not quite handsome, but his expression was always so pleasant that it hardly mattered. Georgiana had known him for years; his family was a good one and he and Fitzwilliam were friendly.
Mr. Metcalfe gave her a quick, small smile, which she returned. This claiming of dances was an uncharacteristically bold move from him, but one she appreciated. Mr. Fanshawe, looking very put out, bowed slightly and walked away.
“I apologize for my presumption, Miss Darcy,” said Mr. Metcalfe immediately. “It is just that you looked so horrified and I could not think what else to do.”
“Oh, no,” said Georgiana. “I am very much obliged to you. I did not want to dance with Mr. Fanshawe.”
Perhaps she should not have said so, but she really was feeling almost dizzy with relief.
“You know that I am no great dancer, but I hope I will not be a disagreeable partner,” said Mr. Metcalfe. “We have danced together before, at least, and so you already know what is in store for you.”
“You will not be a disagreeable partner at all,” she said, taking his hand.
Georgiana had danced with Mr. Metcalfe before, at her very first ball at the Bingleys’ last year. He had been a great help to her then, too, when she had been scared that she would be sitting down the whole night.
He was a very good man, Mr. Metcalfe; a sort of quieter, more thoughtful Mr. Bingley. Or, rather, he was not like Bingley at all, but Georgiana always seemed to think of them in the same way, as they were both so brotherly to her. This was becoming a pattern, she saw: every young man she knew was either disagreeable, married, a brother figure, or her actual brother.
Still, she liked Mr. Metcalfe, and dancing with him was certainly better than dancing with Mr. Fanshawe.
"This is your first ball at Fairview, is it not?" asked Mr. Metcalfe as they took their place in the set.
Georgiana confirmed that it was.
"It is an event to be borne with rather than enjoyed, unfortunately."
Georgiana thought it might be rude to laugh, but she could not help smiling.
"But do not let me ruin the night for you," Mr. Metcalfe continued hastily. “This is my own prejudice, as I do not enjoy a ball in general. I have already told you that I am no great dancer; your brother and I used to stand off to the side and avoid everyone."
Georgiana did laugh now; Fitzwilliam’s disinclination towards dancing was infamous.
"He seems perfectly happy to join in now though, since he has married."
"My brother enjoys everything more since he has married. But he and Mrs. Darcy are particularly well-suited."
She glanced over at them. Elizabeth was laughing at something Fitzwilliam had said. They were leaning towards each other, their faces very close together. Georgiana felt a pang of jealousy, followed quickly by guilt. She could not help it; she dearly wished for someone to look at her the way Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth looked at each other.
But she could not stay melancholy for long. Mr. Metcalfe was an amiable man, attentive and good-natured if not a particularly skilled dancer, and he soon had her smiling once more.
***
It had been a harrowing few minutes with Sir Edgar; Fitzwilliam had said nothing outwardly impolite, but every word had been chosen to make Elizabeth laugh and she had had several close calls.
"You seem to think, Fitzwilliam, that I will not make good on my promise not to dance with you."
"You could not make good on that promise even when you hated me," he teased.
Unfortunately, he had a point.
"Very well. I will dance with you, but only because you find it a punishment."
"Not with you, I do not."
She couldn't keep up her play-acting when he became so sweetly earnest, and she looked at him fondly as they took their places.
"Should I remark on the size of the room or the number of couples?"
"Fitzwilliam, I had just decided not to quarrel with you."
But she had undermined herself by laughing.
He grinned at her, eyes sparkling, and then made a bit of a show of looking around them as they waited for their turn.
“You are the most beautiful woman in this room,” he announced decisively.
“You always say that,” she smiled.
“It is always true.”
“Or you know that I am particularly susceptible to flattery and you shamelessly use that knowledge to your own advantage.”
“I can assure you that I am merely making an observation.”
“Entirely unbiased, of course.”
“Naturally.”
“I do recall being in several rooms, early in our acquaintance, where your observations were rather less favorable.”
“I was in a particularly foul mood at the Meryton Assembly. And the lighting was bad.”
“Was it? This is the first I am hearing of it.”
“Very, very bad indeed.”
“I always think I look best in low lighting.”
Fitzwilliam murmured something rather indecorous into her ear, unusual for him, and she burst into laughter. The disapproving woman from earlier was again nearby to hear it; she looked equally reproachful now.
Elizabeth was quite sure that she did not care.
***
How odd, Darcy thought, to be standing off to one side at a ball, but with Elizabeth by him. They had chosen not to dance the next two dances, and though neither of them said it, they both knew it was in order to carefully observe how Georgiana was faring.
She was dancing now with Mr. Sanderson, her face a little flushed and her smile a little nervous, but she was clearly not suffering.
"She looks happy," said Elizabeth.
"She does."
He felt a strange mix of emotions: pleased for Georgiana, of course, that she was having a pleasant ball, but there was a sense of loss, too. He had a suspicion that his sister would not need him for much longer.
He felt Elizabeth’s gaze; she had been watching him closely. He smiled reassuringly at her, but there was a knowing look in her eye.
"Fitzwilliam, I do not believe that I have ever seen Sir Edgar's library. I think we should go find it."
He allowed himself to be led away.
***
It had not started out promisingly, but Georgiana found that, upon the whole, she had enjoyed the evening. She had avoided Mr. Fanshawe and had danced every dance - including, startlingly, two dances with Sir Edgar - and though she had not been particularly interested in any of the young men she saw, she had found most of them pleasant company.
Perhaps there was hope for her after all.