Darcy counted seven before he had crossed the entrance hall. A minefield of botanical hazards. For once, Darcy found he did not mind.
If Caroline's scheming placed him beneath mistletoe with Miss Elizabeth again, he would not complain. Not after this morning. Not afteryes.
Bingley found him in the drawing room, vibrating with nervous energy.
“Darcy! Thank God you are here. I have changed my cravat three times and I still cannot decide if it is correct. Does this one say 'respectable gentleman preparing to announce his engagement' or 'nervous fool who cannot dress himself'?”
Darcy examined the cravat. It was perfectly tied. “The former.”
“You are certain? Because I thought perhaps the blue might be?—”
“Bingley. You look fine. Miss Bennet will not refuse you based on your neckwear.”
“No. No, of course not.” Bingley took a breath, then another. “She has already accepted me. This is merely the formal announcement. There is nothing to fear.”
“Nothing at all.”
“I am terrified.”
“I know.”
Bingley laughed—a slightly hysterical sound—and clapped Darcy on the shoulder. “At least you understand. Caroline keeps telling me to stop fidgeting, but she does not comprehend the magnitude of the moment. Tonight, everything changes. Tonight, I become the happiest man in England, publicly and officially.”
Darcy smiled—a real smile, warm with anticipation. “You may have competition for that title.”
Bingley's eyebrows shot up. “Competition? Darcy, what—” His eyes widened. “Miss Elizabeth? Did something happen? On your walk this morning?”
“Perhaps.”
“Perhaps! He says perhaps!” Bingley seized Darcy's arm with enthusiasm that bordered on assault. “Tell me everything. Did you speak? Did she?—”
“Tonight, Bingley.” Darcy extracted himself gently. “All will be revealed tonight.”
Bingley looked as though he might explode from curiosity, but he managed to restrain himself. Barely.
“Have you prepared your speech?” Darcy asked, redirecting the conversation to safer ground.
“Speech?” Bingley went pale. “I need a speech?”
“You might want to say something when you make the announcement. A few words of gratitude, perhaps. An expression of joy.”
“Oh God.” Bingley began pacing. “What do I say? How do I possibly put into words?—”
“Something simple. Something sincere. Miss Bennet will appreciate sincerity above eloquence.”
“Simple. Sincere. Yes.” Bingley nodded rapidly. “I can manage that. I think. Possibly.”
Darcy let him pace, his own thoughts drifting to what lay ahead.
He knew what he wanted to say. Had rehearsed it a hundred times during the endless hours since their walk. The words came easily now—not polished or perfect, but true. He would tell her of his admiration. His regard. His hope that she might consent to be his wife.
Guests began arriving as the afternoon light faded into evening.
Darcy positioned himself near the entrance hall, making no pretense about why. He nodded to neighbors, made brief conversation with acquaintances, endured Caroline's pointed comments about London society—but his attention never wavered from the door.
The Bennets arrived in a flurry of noise and color.
Mrs. Bennet entered first, her voice raised in admiration of the decorations. Lydia and Kitty came after her, shrieking about something. Mary was quieter. Mr. Bennet drifted in their wake, then Jane, lovely in pale blue. Her eyes immediately found Bingley across the crowded hall.
