The figures carried them forward again, the conversation suspended only by the necessities of the dance. When it resumed, Georgiana’s questions followed naturally, as though one thought led to another without design.
“Your brother Elias. He strikes me,” she said, after a moment, “as someone accustomed to observing more than speaking.”
James considered this. “That is a fair assessment. He is deliberate. Reflective. Not inclined to assert himself where patience will serve better.”
“And he is content with that?” she asked quietly.
“He is, I daresay,” James replied. “Elias does not measure success by attention. He values steadiness—of purpose, of conduct. He is not easily hurried.”
There was no advocacy in his tone, no attempt to persuade. He spoke as one might speak of a fact long known and well accepted. Georgiana listened with care, and James, aware of the seriousness of her attention, found himself answering with equal seriousness, quietly surprised by both the depth of her interest and the intelligence with which she pursued it.
The dance proceeded, its figures drawing them apart and together again, and with each return Georgiana appeared more at ease, her movements assured, her countenance calm. Whatever apprehension had shadowed her earlier was no longer visible; in its place was a quiet attentiveness that suggested recovery rather than retreat.
When the final figure concluded and the music drew to its close, James conducted Georgiana back with proper courtesy, offering his arm and yielding it again without hesitation, his manner throughout reflecting a gentlemanly restraint that left no room for misinterpretation.
He did not linger, nor did he attempt to extend the moment beyond what was becoming; whatever purpose the dance had served was complete, and he withdrew with a polite bow that conveyed quiet satisfaction.
Georgiana glanced, almost instinctively, toward the place where she expected to find her brother. Darcy was not there, a circumstance that caused a faint flicker of uncertainty to cross her features before she composed them once more.
Before she could consider seeking him, another presence made itself felt—one already sanctioned by proximity and rank.
Colonel Fitzwilliam, who had observed the set from a short distance with attentive composure, stepped forward at once. His approach was unhurried, his manner open, and his timing precise enough to spare Georgiana the smallest appearance of uncertainty, drawing a subtle, grateful softening in her expression as she recognised his familiar, reassuring figure.
“Good evening, Cousin,” he said first, inclining his head toward Georgiana with warm affection, his smile easy and genuine as it always was in her company. “I trust you are well.”
Georgiana returned his smile with quiet pleasure, her posture relaxing slightly under the comfort of family. “Quite well, thank you, Cousin,” she replied softly.
Then, turning toward James with courteous ease, the Colonel continued, “Sir, I am afraid we have not yet been properly introduced. Colonel Fitzwilliam, at your service.”
James returned the bow with equal correctness, his demeanour composed and respectful. “James Bennet, sir. Honoured to meet you.”
“I have had the advantage of observing your conduct upon the floor,” the Colonel continued, his tone easy and civil, his eyes twinkling with genuine approval as he regarded the younger man. “You acquitted yourself very well.”
“You are kind to say so,” James replied, understanding the courtesy for what it was and offering no false modesty in return, his faint smile conveying quiet appreciation for the compliment.
The Colonel then turned, as propriety required, to Georgiana, his expression warming with protective fondness as he prepared to claim the next dance.
“Miss Darcy,” he said, “your brother has entrusted you to the evening with admirable judgment. If you are not already engaged, might I request the honour of the next set?”
The invitation was phrased as it ought to be: without presumption, without urgency, and with a clear allowance for refusal.
Georgiana met it calmly. “I am at liberty, Cousin. Thank you.”
James inclined his head once more, now fully aware that his part in the evening’s progression had reached its natural close. There was no awkwardness in the exchange, no sense of displacement; the transition was effected with the ease that comes only of mutual understanding and good breeding.
As Georgiana took her place for the next dance, the room absorbed the movement seamlessly. The quartet, already prepared, adjusted their instruments, and the assembly settled once more into ordered anticipation.
What had passed required no comment. Yet its significance remained: danger had been avoided without disturbance, judgment exercised without display, and choice made not in haste, but with quiet assurance—precisely the sort of conduct that Rosings, for all its severity, could neither forbid nor prevent.
***
Without further ceremony, Darcy led the way toward the adjoining anteroom, the door of which stood partially open to admit air from the terrace beyond. The passage was accomplished without remark, and when they were at last removed from the immediate company of the assembly, Darcy paused and faced him.
“I shall speak plainly,” he began, his voice steady and unraised. “Your presence this evening was unexpected, but not unwelcome on that account alone. What concerns me is not where you stand in this room, but how you have chosen to conduct yourself within it.”
Wickham smiled faintly, though the humour did not reach his eyes. “I had thought my conduct irreproachable.”
“In form, perhaps,” Darcy replied. “In intention, less so. You were refused an introduction, and yet you persisted in a manner calculated to exert pressure rather than to invite consent. That is not behaviour I will overlook where my sister is concerned.”
