She gave a small nod toward the musicians. The quartet began.
As the first figures of the dance were formed, Lady Catherine resumed her seat, already surveying the floor with the keen interest she would never have admitted to possessing. The assembly had been set in motion; the pattern was established. Whether it would unfold as she expected remained, for the moment, an open question—but one she believed she had already answered.
Lady Catherine surveyed the room with a look of settled satisfaction, noting the alignment of couples, the exactness of the steps, and—most particularly—the position of her niece beside Mr. George Henry Dashwood.
Mr. Darcy remained standing a little apart, where he could observe both the floor and the circle beyond it. His attention followed Georgiana’s movements—not with anxiety, but with the vigilant calm of one long accustomed to guarding her interests.She danced with composure, executing each turn and change with precision, her manner attentive and civil, yet carefully restrained.
Mr. Dashwood’s conduct was equally correct: he spoke when required, bowed when prompted by the figure, and offered nothing that could be mistaken for presumption. If Lady Catherine hoped for more, she did not show it—at least not yet.
When the first figure concluded and the dancers returned to their places upon the set, Lady Catherine leaned slightly forward, her gaze narrowing with intent.
“You see, Darcy,” she said, her voice low but confident, “how naturally they suit one another. A well-matched pair is evident at once—there is no need for haste when propriety guides the choice.”
Darcy did not look away from the floor. “They conduct themselves with civility,” he replied. “That is all that can be said at present.”
Lady Catherine turned her head toward him, her brows lifting. “You are cautious, Fitzwilliam. Caution is admirable in its place, but one must not allow it to impede what is plainly advantageous.”
Darcy met her look calmly. “Advantage is a consideration, ma’am. Consent is another.”
She smiled, thinly. “You speak as though the two were in opposition.”
“I speak,” Darcy said evenly, “as Georgiana’s guardian—and, if you will allow the term, her tutor in society. I will not permit her to be pressed into attentions she has not freely chosen, however suitable they may appear.”
Lady Catherine’s smile held, but its warmth diminished. “Pressed?” she repeated. “I merely arrange introductions. A young woman cannot be expected to govern her own prospects without guidance.”
“Guidance,” Darcy replied, “does not require enforcement.”
On the floor, the dancers crossed again. Georgiana executed the turn with graceful exactness, her expression unchanged, and Lady Catherine followed the movement closely, as though willing animation into being by the force of her attention alone.
“She is enjoying herself,” Lady Catherine said at last. “Observe her composure. Observe how readily she meets her partner’s eye.”
Darcy inclined his head slightly. “My sister is well taught. She will always meet civility with civility.”
“And nothing more?” Lady Catherine asked.
“And nothing less,” he answered.
The music carried them through the final figure, the quartet concluding with a restrained cadence that marked the end of the dance without inviting display. Polite applause followed—measured, approving, and entirely proper to the company assembled.
When the figures dissolved with practised composure, the ordered movement of the floor gave way to a pause governed by custom rather than convenience. Couples separated without haste, some retreating to the edges of the room, others lingering in attentive expectation, while the quartet remained poised with lowered bows, instruments at rest, awaiting further direction. Conversation resumed in subdued currents, carefully moderated, as though no one wished to presume upon a silence that had not yet been formally released.
Georgiana curtsied; Mr. Dashwood bowed; and then, with unexceptionable correctness, he offered her his arm and conducted his partner directly to Lady Catherine.
The lady of the house rose to receive them, her movement measured and assured, acknowledging both the courtesy offered and the attention of the room.
“Your ladyship,” Mr. Dashwood said, inclining himself with respectful ease, “I am grateful for the honour you have done me in permitting me to open the assembly with your niece. Miss Darcy has obliged me greatly.”
Lady Catherine received the acknowledgment with visible satisfaction. “It was entirely proper,” she replied. “I trust you found the arrangement agreeable.”
“Perfectly so,” Mr. Dashwood answered, before bowing again and withdrawing, as etiquette required.
Only then did Darcy’s presence make itself felt—not by movement nor by claim, but by proximity. He stood where Georgiana could see him if she chose, and she did. For a brief instant, her expression softened, not in appeal but in assurance. He returned the look with calm composure, offering neither instruction nor interference.
Lady Catherine, observing the exchange, appeared content to interpret it as nothing more than familial attentiveness.
“I am glad, Fitzwilliam,” Lady Catherine continued, resuming her elevated chair near the hearth, “that we are agreed upon the value of this evening.”
Darcy answered with a formality that was neither yielding nor defiant. “I am glad, ma’am, that Georgiana is permitted to value it in her own way.”
