She took his hand eagerly. “Yes!” Her father could not object to the colonel. He had nothing to do with his precious painting.
Colonel Fitzwilliam patted her hand protectively, leaning closer to her as they walked to the end of the lined dancers. “Poor Darcy. He wishes it were him standing here with you, but families must take care of their own.”
Elizabeth’s heart soared. Mr. Darcy wanted to dance with her! Feeling much improved, she noticed him dancing once again with his sister when the colonel had yet to dance with her, a detail the circumstances allowed Elizabeth to notice. She teased, “You do not feel the same responsibility?”
He shrugged and chuckled. “I looked forward to dancing with Georgie. She, however, threatened me with my own sword if I did not ask you in her stead.”
Elizabeth laughed. “I do not know if I ought to feel the compliment of having such kind-hearted friends to save me from my predicament or if I should take offense that it took such a threat to get you to dance with me.”
His smile faded. “I do not know what has happened, but I wish for you to know that it is a pleasure for me to dance with you, not an obligation. Any gentleman worth the word would feel the same.”
“Thank you, Colonel.” Her voice cracked. The evening had been dreadful, but Mr. Darcy’s thoughtfulness and Colonel Fitzwilliam’s gesture made it bearable.
He bowed, and they fell into step with the rest. “I am delighted to oblige.”
Feeling the need for more levity, she brought up asubject she had long been meaning to inquire about. “You mentioned your sword. I sense there is a story there, and I would love to hear it if you are inclined to continue obliging me.”
He grinned. “Are you certain? Darcy teases me relentlessly about Connie.”
“Any sword with such a name must have a story worth telling.”
Over the next few minutes, she was glad she had asked about the scimitar. Not only did the colonel tell her about its origins aboard a pirate ship, but he regaled her with tales of how Constance had come to his aid over the years, including how he had scared off a band of thieves at Seven Dials shortly before he and Mr. Darcy arrived at Netherfield Park. To hear that Mr. Darcy had ventured into such a place dressed as a dockworker doused in rum to retrieve the Rembrandt filled her with as much alarm as it did mirth.
“I would have liked to see that,” she said.
“Aye, he was a sight! Although you did see the remnants of our excursion.” He brushed his eye and winked.
“Of course! His bruised eye was from the street brawl!” How exciting and how utterly terrifying! Elizabeth would have loved to see Mr. Darcy fending off the dozen scrappy fighters Colonel Fitzwilliam detailed to her?a slight exaggeration in number, she suspected. However, she was equally inclined to march over to Mr. Darcy and insist that he never do something so dangerous ever again.
So much did she enjoy herself that she hardly knew the music had changed into another dance until Mr. Darcy tapped on his cousin’s shoulder. Elizabeth was elated to have him near, but her father was undoubtedly on his way to remove her from his company. She met his gaze boldly, drinking in every detail of his face, knowing she would soon be pulled away from him.
The colonel jabbed him in the ribs. “I told Miss Elizabeth about our little adventure at Seven Dials.”
Mr. Darcy’s eyes caressed Elizabeth’s skin, sending a shiver all the way to her toes. The gentleness in his voice made her heart melt. “I apologize for not dancing with you sooner. I had to request permission from your father.”
“He agreed to speak to you?” She looked at where her father had been standing. He was not there.
“It was a process. He refused more times than I care to admit to, but he finally relented.”
What Mr. Darcy must have promised to get her father to agree, Elizabeth could not imagine, but she was thankful. The lengths he had gone to in order to secure this dance meant everything to her.
“I told her about the twenty ruffians who attacked us, and how Connie saved our lives.”
Elizabeth grinned, her eyes still locked with Mr. Darcy’s. “Oh, so there were twenty men now? Will there be fifty next time?”
“There were five,” Mr. Darcy said, taking her hand and tucking it in the crook of his arm.
Elizabeth’s heart soared, and though her slippershad pinched her toes only moments before, she hardly felt her feet touch the floor.
“It is a grand story and therefore must become grander with every telling,” the colonel said jovially, standing aside to allow them to pass.
“Cousin Elizabeth!” Mr. Collins burst like a thundercloud into their path, startlingly loud and dressed in black.
Mr. Darcy pulled her closer, and she clutched his arm tighter. “What is the meaning of this?” he demanded calmly in a tone which did not encourage the curious to listen in.
Mr. Collins, however, only had one volume: loud. The puff in his chest deflated ever so slightly and he huffed and stuttered to form a reply. Bowing deeply, as though he were addressing royalty, he said, “Pray forgive my cousin’s impertinence, Mr. Darcy. As the rector of your esteemed aunt Lady Catherine de Bourgh, I regret that I must inform you of my connection to this young lady when I have only just learned the depths of her depravity.”
Elizabeth gasped. He made her sound like a fallen woman!
