“Metaphorically speaking,” he added.
“Oh, I understood you—and am inclined to agree, for if it were any larger, you might have avoided my mother.”
The mention of Mrs Bennet so soon after the reminder of Bingley momentarily disconcerted Darcy, and before he could think how to answer, Elizabeth winced.
“I would have done better not to remind you of that encounter, would I not?”
“Think nothing of it.”
She nodded and gave him a highly unconvincing smile, which dropped away instantly. “Would that I could,” she muttered.
“Is something the matter? Has something happened concerning your mother?”
She winced again, and mis-stepped. Darcy tensed his arms, keeping their frame solid whilst guiding her gently back into the correct pattern, turning them both smoothly between the other dancers until she regained her rhythm. She whispered her thanks, which he would have enjoyed considerably more were henot preoccupied with the apprehension that she had discovered her mother’s indiscretion.
“You must not feel obliged to tell me, of course, but I hope you know you may depend on my secrecy.”
She held his gaze, and there was real gratitude in her countenance. “She is refusing to go home,” she whispered.
Darcy was at once relieved that Elizabeth did not know the truth and dismayed to perceive the extent of her distress. He pressed his hand more firmly into her shoulder in the hope that it would offer some of the same comfort as if he were able to embrace her properly. “I am sorry for you. I regret that I cannot be of more help.”
Her eyes seemed to soften as she regarded him, and a warm smile, this one lasting longer than the blink of an eye, played gently across her lips. He imagined kissing her—and was shocked by the intensity of the immediate desire to enact his reverie.
“I did not expect that you would be able to help, sir. Indeed, I cannot quite believe I have told you, for I know you can have no flattering opinion on the subject. But I confess, it is a relief to say it aloud. I have been obliged to conceal it from the rest of my family. You are kind to lend an ear.”
“Have I acquitted myself better in this dance than our last, then?”
She looked fleetingly surprised, then laughed with such open delight that it made him chuckle too.
“Much better,” she declared. “And you have certainly succeeded in amazing the whole room.”
“No, Miss Elizabeth, that was indisputably your doing.”
“I am not sure either of us can truly take credit for it. They seem to have taken it upon themselves to be amazed by us regardless of what we do. This had certainly better be our only dance. We ought not to fan the flames any further.”
Darcy did not answer her. She was undoubtedly right, but the longer he held her in his arms, the longer he watched her smiling and laughing, the more reluctant he grew to ever give her up. He would happily dance again with her—and more than happily do a good deal more than the waltz. The temptation to pull her all the way into his arms and kiss her until she understood exactly what she did to him was a constant torment. There were no two ways about it. He wanted this. He wanted Elizabeth.
20
A DISAGREEABLE DISCOVERY
Elizabeth could have kicked herself when she fudged her song. She had been practising the piece incessantly since Lady Staunton engaged her to play, for it was the one she felt most confident performing without fault. She had managed to avoid any rum notes, but remembering the words had proved altogether more difficult, and she had made the same mistake as she had a hundred times in practice, here, in front of what felt like the whole of London.
The problem was that her thoughts could not have been farther from the instrument. It had been such a strange and unexpectedly wonderful evening thus far, it scarcely felt real. She had spent most of it being introduced to and questioned by Lady Staunton’s guests. Some of them had asked about her acquaintance with Mr Darcy, or at least insinuated that they knew something about it, but most of them had genuinely seemed to wish to know her better. Jane had not been without attention—which was no surprise, for she never went anywhere that she was not admired—but it was Elizabeth Bennet in whom people were really interested.
Mr and Mrs Gardiner had been baffled until somebody enlightened them as to the rumours circulating thetonregarding society’s new ‘favourite couple’. Thereafter, her uncle had not ceased teasing her, and her aunt had been bent on establishing whether there was any truth to the reports. Elizabeth was sure she had given more denials in that quarter than to the rest of the gathering combined.
She looked up from the instrument to judge whether anyone had noticed her mistake. As ill fortune would have it, she looked directly into Mr Darcy’s eyes, and that only flustered her more, for it reminded her of their dance, which had been in every conceivable way a revelation.
She had only ever danced the waltz with Lydia and Kitty before—they had been desperate to learn it—but there was a chasm of difference between her slender and giggling younger sisters and Mr Darcy’s broad, muscular frame, gentle strength, and large, hot hands. The skin on her shoulder still burnt with the feel of him—faith, the whole of her still burnt with the feel of him! She thought her heart would never regain its proper rhythm after withstanding his dark, penetrating gaze and secret half-smile for so long. He smiled at her in the same way now—fixedly, unembarrassed, discomposingly handsome—and she looked away before she fudged her playing as well as her song.
It was not just his physical presence that had amazed her; his condolences regarding her mother had felt like a balm to her recent worries. Towards her aunt and uncle, when he delivered her back to them at the end of their set, he had shown the sort of condescension of which she had always believed him wholly incapable. His coup de grâce had been to accept her uncle’s invitation to dine with them.
She was unsure why her uncle had thought it necessary and had baulked when the invitation was given, convinced that Mr Darcy would refuse. She had been unable to disguise herastonishment when he replied that he would be delighted—though, in truth, a good deal of her astonishment had been at herself, for the prospect of dining with him had unexpectedly delighted her too.
That delight lasted precisely as long as it took for the evening to come to an end, their carriage to take them home, and Jane and her to climb into their beds and blow out the candles.
“Well, that was a night quite like no other!”
