Whatever the cause of his tension, she meant to alleviate it and put him at ease as soon as may be. When seemingly by accident he looked about the room and connected with her, his eyes turned bright and his mouth tugged up at one corner. His gaze stayed on her for the few moments remaining of her journey to him.
“Miss Elizabeth,” he greeted her, smile blooming in full.
Her breath caught at being on the receiving end of his full attention and that rare expression. He was more handsome than any man had any business being when he scowled, but when he smiled, truly smiled, it was a much graver offence, much more dangerous.
“Mr. Darcy,” she said, her own smile no doubt too large and too happy to have any hope of concealing her affection, which was just what she meant to do. She would have that conversation with him. But she allowed herself one more moment of that singular smile.
“Would you . . .” “Could we . . .” they began at the same time. They laughed, then each indicated the other should speak first before Darcy pressed, “Please continue.”
And she would have. Would have asked to speak with him, led him a little further along the wall where no one stood and told him not to worry, that her childish admiration and fancy had run their course. That he could be at ease with her and among their friends and family. She would not embarrass him as she must have over the years with her transparent affection. She would lie so he would not have to be nervous, not have to worry and be made uncomfortable.
With a deep breath, she began, “I want you to know . . .”
This time, it was not Darcy who spoke over her but another gentleman who appeared at her elbow. It was Frank Goulding, a nephew to the Gouldings of Haye Park, who had asked for her first dance when they met at a card party the week prior.
“Please pardon the interruption,” he said, looking from her to Darcy and back again. “But I came to claim my partner. Miss Elizabeth, I believe this is the dance you promised me.”
Elizabeth nodded in acknowledgement of the truth of this, secretly grateful for the reprieve. Mr. Darcy did not look grateful. He looked . . . something. Like his dinner might not have agreed with him. As she placed her hand in Mr. Goulding’s, she looked to Mr. Darcy, hoping he might attempt to secure her for a set, but he continued to regard her and the gentleman with a look of profound indigestion. Walking towards the dance floor where other couples had begun to form the lines, Elizabeth promised herself she would go to him as soon as the set ended and complete her task.
An opportunity presented itself after Elizabeth’s dance with Mr. Bingley. Mr. Darcy had not danced the first, but as she was being led onto the floor by Sir William Lucas, Elizabeth saw Darcy lined up with Jane for the second. He danced the next with Mary and then seemed content on the sideline. As the dancers formed themselves for the fourth set, he moved to the corner he had occupied previously. Elizabeth skirted along the edge of the room lest another of her neighbours feel inclined to ask her to dance before she reached him. By the time she came to the pillar beside which Mr. Darcy stood, Mr. Bingley had found him. Resolved to wait and not allow herself yet another escapefor a conversation she knew must take place, Elizabeth turned to watch the dancers as they spun and leapt across the floor and listened for her opening once Mr. Bingley inevitably rejoined the dancing.
“I would like to thank you for your frankness with me regarding Miss Bennet. You are right, of course, I can see her interest does not lie with me,” Bingley said.
“You are welcome,” Darcy replied. “You know you can count on me to be forthright.”
Elizabeth heard the smile in his voice.
“Might I return the favour?” There was a pause, and Elizabeth had to assume Darcy nodded since Bingley went on. “Miss Elizabeth is a fine young lady, and she would make an excellent mistress of Pemberley. Moreover, she is a great match for you.”
Elizabeth’s heart leapt, and she felt all the air leave her lungs. She strained to hear Darcy’s answer.
“ . . . said you have not known us long enough to recognise that our ease with one another is a result of our family connections.”
“It is not ease that is between you,” Bingley laughed.
Darcy’s answer was lost to the din of a musical crescendo, and Elizabeth had never wished for broken strings or even broken fingers so much as she did just then. As the music slipped back into the quieter parts of the movement, Darcy’s voice drifted over to where she waited, heart in her throat.
“I was not expecting it.”
“I suppose that is some excuse for your ineptitude, but really, how surprising is it that when the girl you treasured as a dear friend grew into a beautiful and charming young lady, you were done in?” Bingley laughed.
Elizabeth nearly stamped her foot at the delay in Darcy’s response, which, thanks to his quieter voice, she had to strain to hear.
“It is more than that, Bingley. I did not know I could feel . . . so much.”
“I am happy for you, Darcy.”
That seemed to be the end of the conversation, and Elizabeth was suddenly very conscious of her position. She hurriedly turned and, seeing a door mere steps away, hastened to it.
The small courtyard was blessedly empty. The full moon cast a dull light on the stone statues and benches which lined the rectangular space. Elizabeth moved further into the night air to catch her breath and gather her thoughts—heart pounding and stomach churning.
Just when she had at least her breathing under some regulation, the sound of a door made her jump. She spun to face it.
“Mr. Darcy.” It sounded like an accusation.
“Miss Elizabeth.” It sounded like a plea. “I am sorry I alarmed you.”
“No, it’s fine. I am not in full possession of my faculties at the moment, otherwise I would not have been so startled.”
