Elizabeth arched an eyebrow. “How charmingly archaic. I feel rather like prize livestock being paraded for inspection.”
“Elizabeth!” Georgiana scolded.
“Besides,” Elizabeth added more quietly, “I’m not exactly… unmarried.”
“But my brother doesn’t know that,” Georgiana whispered back. “And wouldn’t you rather he choose you than Miss Appleby from the village, who has been practicing her simpers all week?”
All eyes turned toward Darcy as he made his way to the center of the cleared space.
“Friends and neighbors,” he began, his voice carrying easily through the barn, “it is my privilege to welcome you to Bellfield Grange for this celebration of another successful harvest. Your labor, your dedication, and your partnership have made this abundance possible.”
Murmurs of appreciation rippled through the crowd, and Elizabeth noticed how the tenants straightened with pride at his acknowledgment of their contributions.
“Tradition dictates,” Darcy continued, his gaze finding Elizabeth’s across the space, “that I open our festivities by dancing with the fairest lady present. This year, that choice is both simple and pleasant.”
“Ah, so my brother has changed tradition,” Georgiana murmured. “No longer fairest unmarried lady.”
He approached the center of the selection circle and greeted each lady with a bow. Elizabeth watched, transfixed, as Darcy moved from woman to woman with an easy grace and warm attentiveness that surprised her. He complimented Mrs. Thompson’s daughter on her embroidery, inquired after Miss Wilson’s grandmother with genuine concern, and made young Miss Appleby blush with pleasure at his comment on her ribbon.
This was not the stiff, forbidding man who had refused to dance at the Meryton assembly—the one who had found her merely “tolerable.” This Darcy smiled, his eyes crinkled at the corners, and he leaned in slightly when listening as though each response truly mattered. He possessed a natural charm she had never witnessed inHertfordshire, where his reserve had been mistaken for pride and his reticence for disdain.
Elizabeth wondered briefly whether his injury had somehow altered his personality, or if this warmth had always existed beneath the surface, hidden behind protective walls that circumstances had now dismantled. Perhaps this was the true Darcy—the man his sister and closest friends had always known.
Only after he had greeted each lady, including Mary and Georgiana, did he turn his attention to Elizabeth. Her breath caught in her throat, heart fluttering as his dark-eyed gaze drank her in.
“Mrs. Darcy,” he said formally, offering his hand with a bow that managed to be both respectful and intimate. “Would you do me the honor?”
The title hung in the air between them, acknowledged publicly for the first time since their arrival at Bellfield Grange. Elizabeth met his gaze steadily, seeing the question and the hope that lay beneath his formal request.
“The honor would be mine, sir,” she replied, placing her hand in his with a sense of reliving the few times he’d stood to dance with her. Yet this was different. As they took their places at the head of the set, Elizabeth saw not the proud, aloof man who had dismissed her as “tolerable,” but the Darcy who had held her through a storm-lashed night, who had played with her son with genuine enjoyment, who had kissed her with a tenderness that belied the passion beneath.
The musicians struck up a country dance as Darcy led Elizabeth onto the cleared floor, their joined hands creating a circuit of warmth that seemed to flow between them. Other couples began to form sets around them, but Elizabeth was aware only of the man whose touch sent fire racing through her veins.
“You look beautiful tonight,” Darcy murmured as they took their positions, his voice pitched low enough that only she could hear.
“You flatter me, sir,” Elizabeth replied, though she could not suppress the smile that curved her lips at his praise.
“I speak only truth,” he replied seriously. “Though I confess my motivation may not be entirely altruistic.”
“Whatever do you mean, Mr. Darcy? I had not taken you to be so devastatingly charming.”
The familiar steps of the country dance separated them before reuniting them in patterns that seemed to mirror the complex choreography of their acquaintance. When the movement brought them together, Darcy’s touch lingered longer than strictly necessary. When they were apart, his gaze never left her face.
“The tenants seem pleased by your choice of partner,” Elizabeth observed during a brief moment when the dance allowed for conversation.
“Their approval matters far less than yours,” Darcy replied, his thumb brushing across her knuckles in a caress disguised as adjustment of their grip. “I find myself increasingly convinced that the standards of London society has nothing to offer that can compare to the pleasures of your company.”
The loaded compliment sent heat spiraling through Elizabeth’s body, intensified by the memory of his lips on hers. It was madness to encourage this—whatever was developing between them was built on a foundation of misunderstanding and half-truths. Yet she could not bring herself to withdraw, to maintain the safe distance of polite acquaintance.
That particular ship had sailed a long time ago.
The lively opening dance ended, though convention dictated they remain partners for the second. This was a slower, more stately affair that allowed for conversation as they moved through the figures.
“William appears to have found entertainment,” Darcy observed, nodding toward where their son was watching the dancing with wide-eyed fascination from Mrs. Honywood’s lap.
“He rarely sits still for so long,” Elizabeth agreed. “Though I suspect his patience will soon be exhausted.”
“A common affliction among gentlemen hisage,” Darcy said with a small smile. “I recall Georgiana at similar gatherings, demanding to join the dancing long before her legs could manage the steps.”
