Darcy, pausing just a moment, gave a brief, unreadable look toward the line of dancers, then continued on without comment—but the angle of his shoulders suggested he had taken note.
Soon after, the set concluded. The dancers slowed, bowed, curtsied—and the room shifted again. Colonel Fitzwilliam brought Georgiana back to where James Bennet stood, with a grace that belied his earlier teasing about sore ankles and irregular steps. Her cheeks were flushed with exertion, her eyes bright.
“I do wish the evening would never end,” Georgiana said, her voice soft but sincere. “I could dance for hours.”
The Colonel laughed. “Then we shall have to find you a suitable partner, Cousin.”
James smiled slightly at that, offering a short bow as they approached.
“You have returned in excellent spirits, Miss Darcy. And with perfect timing—your brother was just here looking for you. I imagine he is not far.” He glanced discreetly over her shoulder, where Darcy’s tall frame was.
As if summoned by fate—or by timing too convenient to be anything else—Elias Bennet appeared then, having returned his partner to her party and caught sight of his brother near the edge of the floor. He approached, drawing to a halt beside James just as the Colonel turned.
“Ah,” James said, straightening slightly. “Colonel Fitzwilliam, may I present my brother, Mr. Elias Bennet—by all accounts, a man of sense. Elias, this is Colonel Fitzwilliam, of His Majesty’s service—and Miss Darcy’s cousin.”
Elias offered a courteous bow. “Colonel. I have heard of your distinction, sir—though I daresay Miss Darcy’s dancing tonight surpasses even the accounts of your campaigns.”
The Colonel’s eyes lit with good humour. “High praise indeed, and justly placed. My cousin dances rarely, but always well. You are most welcome, Mr. Bennet.” He gave a small nod toward James. “We were just wondering aloud if Miss Darcy might be tempted into another set—should a gentleman of suitable character be at hand. My cousin, as you see, is in excellent spirits.”
“She is indeed,” James said. “And I shall not speak for the entire floor, but I might venture that my brother here is both free, capable, and a better dancer than myself.”
“I watched your last dance, Miss Darcy,” Elias said, ignoring his brother’s remark, “and I must confess I admired both your elegance and your endurance. One might suspect you take particular pleasure in dancing.”
Miss Darcy’s brows lifted, and something like mischief flickered at the edge of her poise. “In fact, I do. Though I confess, I often hide it. In some rooms, joy is mistaken for levity.”
“In this room,” said the Colonel with mock gravity, “everything is mistaken for something. Nevertheless, Mr. Elias, you will spare my cousin the disappointment of sitting out, won’t you?”
James looked at Elias with a slight smirk. “My brother can be tiresome on the subject of the law, but he does know how to count time. You had best ask her before the quartet begins.”
Elias turned back to Georgiana, offering his hand without over-formality. “Miss Darcy—may I have the honour?”
“You may, Mr. Bennet.”
Elias offered his arm, and Georgiana placed her gloved hand lightly atop it. Her touch was feather-light, yet assured—not the nervous reach of a debutante, but the poised gesture of a young woman who had been taught how to move through society without drawing attention to her discomfort.
And so, just as the quartet struck the first notes of the next set, Elias Bennet and Miss Darcy stepped forward together—a pairing born not of design, but of something quieter, subtler… and far more promising.
***
There was a restrained elegance in Miss Darcy’s movements—unhurried, unpretentious, yet unmistakably refined. There was a thoughtfulness in the way she timed her steps, a clarity in each turn that suggested she valued form not for its own sake but for the order it preserved.
“Your cousin dances well,” Elias said quietly, as they stepped forward and turned.
“He does,” Georgiana replied. “Though he makes rather too much of his limitations, I think. He prefers to be underestimated.”
“A useful strategy in some rooms,” Elias observed.
“And less useful in others,” she returned, with a glance that held something more—an awareness, perhaps, of just how closely Rosings weighed its guests.
They passed another couple in the figure, then met again, their hands briefly touching. Elias felt the pulse of contact through his glove, subtle and fleeting, but enough to make him aware of her in a new way—not as Mr. Darcy’s sister, nor as a figure under scrutiny, but as a person wholly present beside him.
“I enjoyed our conversation at tea,” Georgiana said as they resumed the step.
“I did not expect to speak so freely,” Elias admitted. “It is not often one is invited to do so by someone like Lady Catherine.”
Her lips curved faintly. “One is rarely invited. But one may sometimes be permitted.”
“I am grateful for the exception.”
