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Tom Hayward had an intense dislike of balls, along with most of society’s events where he was expected to play the role of a witty man of law. He lacked Ryder’s charms, as well as the ease borne of generational wealth. Although by no means a natural, he was marginally better in the role of Ann’s intended, fetching and carrying for her, and listening to her observations on those around them. This performance mostly concealed his awkwardness in a large crowd.
Something had shifted, however, since the arrival of a certain Miss Mary Bennet upon the scene. With her, Tom found he could set aside his usual reserve in company and speak his thoughts as they arose. He now understood how others could look forward to such occasions. Setting her own anxieties at ease had brought him an unexpected calm, and learning how her unique mind moved was an endless pleasure.
That was, until he had miscalculated. He had hoped to open her eyes to the beauty of poetry in his favourite place in London. As soon as he saw her, nervous, and framed gorgeously by wisteria, he had forgotten the lines he had prepared. In their place, he found the words of Wordsworth’s Composed Upon Westminster Bridge. Seeing the tears filling her earnest blue eyes as he declared them had caused an exquisite pain in his chest. Caught up in the tenderness of the moment, he had misguidedly reached to rearrange her hair. Her sudden revelation that she was leaving London caused a twist in his heart he feared had shown on his face.
Since then, his mistake had been compounded by a series of events outside his control. First, his reintroduction to Miss Bennet as Ann’s intended. Then, witnessing her expected but impressive excellence at riddles, and Ryder’s infuriating notice of the same. Miss Bennet no longer turned her open gaze to him, no longer joked with him, or teased him in her intelligent and gentle way.
But now they were dancing together, under Ann’s instructions. After the painful distance of the last weeks, he was certain his pleasure at once again receiving her unreserved attention was visible to all present. He knew it was his duty to both Miss Bennet and Miss Baxter to conceal it. But try as he might, he could not prevent his gaze from remaining fixed on Miss Bennet as they circled each other in the complex dance of propriety and intimacy (otherwise known as the minuet).
When the music ended, he found himself abruptly back in the ballroom, astonished by the presence of so many after such focused absorption on one alone. When they bowed to each other, he sensed Miss Bennet felt the same. As Ann pulled him away for their own dance, his mind lingered on the brief moments in which their hands had touched, on the wafts of Miss Bennet’s scent as they had passed each other. He ran his hand roughly through his hair, frustrated with himself. These were not appropriate thoughts for a man who was practically engaged to another woman. And, he berated himself, Miss Bennet did not deserve these insults to her honour.
Upon retreating to the edges of the room once the dance was over, he observed Miss Bennet and Mr Ryder dancing with great spiritedness. Tom felt a shameful spear of jealousy which he told himself was simply irritation at Ryder’s thoughtless impropriety. Miss Bennet was too innocent to suspect the impure implications others would attach to their animated conduct, but Ryder could not but know better given his history. Turning away, Tom forced himself to listen to Ann, though he despaired when he gathered she was talking about how well-suited Ryder and Miss Bennet were. He steered her attention to Miss Bingley’s gown, a safer topic that occupied her until the dance finally finally came to an end. As much as he had tried to keep his attention on Ann’s words, he had found Miss Bennet’s usually delightful laugh provoking in the extreme when in response to Ryder’s foolishness rather than Tom’s own. He knew his resulting scowl must seem incongruous with Ann’s comparison of the merits of carmine versus vermillion for Miss Bingley’s complexion, but he was no longer a man in control of his expressions.
When Ann observed with glee, “It’s the onions!” he stepped away rudely, needing some time to gather himself before he could face a Miss Bennet made flushed and giggly by Ryder. When he returned, he was relieved to find William absent, and allowed himself a glance at Miss Bennet. It struck him to the core when Ann revealed they’d been speaking of the other man in his absence. When, to add insult to injury, the devil in discussion returned with ices, Tom couldn’t conceal his upset.
It was almost a relief to be pulled off to dance by Ann. Almost, but not quite, since he was loth to leave Miss Bennet unattended with Ryder. While he danced with Ann, he resolved to let Miss Bennet know that she did not need to politely endure Ryder’s impertinent attentions. He might have ruined their easy rapport with his overstep, but he could still perform this duty of a friend.