“Miss Elizabeth,” he said, addressing her. “You look lovely this evening.”
“I thank you, sir.” She blushed, bit her lip, and cast her eyes briefly aside. “Have you kept busy since we last met?”
“Bingley has kept me more occupied than I would wish. I could not ride to Oakham Mount this morning.” He hoped the meaning behind his words was understood.
“I, too, was unable to walk out.” Leaning closer, she whispered so only he might hear. “I feared I had left you waiting. I am pleased that was not the case.”
His heart gave a sudden leap.She cares. I knew it.“I am looking forward to our dance later,” he replied.
“Have you secured partners for the rest of your sets?” she asked lightly.
“I have not, though there is no shortage of partners.” He nodded toward the crowded room. “Mrs. Hurst saw fit to invite all four-and-twenty prominent families in the area, along with the officers.”
“And my neighbors have a surplus of daughters, as I am sure you noticed.” She chuckled, the rich sound washing over him and making his heart pound.
“It will be torture to watch you stand up with other gentlemen.” His impulsive words he did not regret, for she drew in a breath and dropped her gaze to her slippers. When she lifted her eyes to him, they were alight with feeling—hope, longing, perhaps even desire—tempered by something more elusive. Was it uncertainty? Or fear?
The first set began to form, and John Lucas appeared at her side to claim the set. Darcy watched with barely concealed jealousy as he led her away to take up their positions for the dance.
He looked around frantically, approaching Miss Lucas and requesting her hand. She accepted, and they joined the line two positions down from Elizabeth.
At least I shall be near her whilst she dances.But he would make every effort to give Miss Lucas his full attention. It would be abominably rude for him to ignore his partner in favor of another.
And so, the evening wore on until the supper set was announced. Darcy had danced with a number of different ladies, each seemingly gratified by his attention. Thankfully, none sought to flatter him with compliments.
At last, the supper set was called, and he offered his arm to Elizabeth, escorting her to the floor. The slow, stately figures of the dance allowed ample opportunity for conversation, yet neither spoke. Instead, their eyes remained fixed on one another as they moved through each step, looking away only when the movements of the dance made it necessary.
Without uttering a word, they conveyed feelings more than any dialogue could express, and Darcy absorbed every moment. She was, to him, the most captivating woman he had ever known. Her perfectly arranged curls framed her face, drawing attention to her fine cheekbones and her luminous complexion. Her dark eyes held him fast, and he found himself imagining the taste of a kiss placed on her cupid bow lips.
The dance ended, yet it had felt more intimate than any he had known. Darcy had never danced the waltz, but he doubted it could surpass what he had just experienced. With his determination to propose now fully restored, he led Miss Elizabeth to the supper room.
“Jane seems very happy,” Elizabeth remarked as they ate white soup.
“Bingley as well. They are a good match.” He moved his foot under the table until it came to rest lightly against the side of her slipper.
Elizabeth drew in a soft breath and glanced at him sidelong. She did not withdraw. Instead, she lifted her foot and pressed it gently on the toe of his boot. Darcy’s pulse surged, and he took a measured spoonful soup to keep a love-struck grin from taking over his face.
Halfway through the meal, they were obliged to change conversation partners, and Darcy found himself speaking with Mrs. Goulding, the wife of a nearby landowner. She was of an age with Mrs. Bennet, and informed him that she had lived in Meryton all her life, never having ventured even so far as London. He was not required to say much—an occasional nod or murmur of agreement sufficed to satisfy her.
His anticipation to rejoin Elizabeth could scarcely be disguised, and as the ladies rose to excuse themselves, he leaned discreetly toward her. “Will you speak with me on the terrace?”
She nodded. “I shall go there directly.”
Darcy waited only until the ladies left the room. He offered a vague excuse, then slipped through a side door. The gentlemen might linger over their port, but he had more urgent business. His lady awaited.
Chapter Twenty-One
November 26, 1811
Netherfield Ball
Elizabeth
Elizabethhadretrievedashawl from the retiring room, anticipating the chill of the night air on the terrace. The ladies had withdrawn to the large drawing room and were, even now, displaying their various talents for the assembled guests. Elizabeth slipped away as Mary took her place at the instrument. No one would miss her absence—certainly not when compared to her sister’s performance.
“Elizabeth.”
She turned as Mr. Darcy approached, pulling the shawl more tightly around her shoulders. He came to her side and, as he had on Oakham Mount, lifted a hand to her cheek. Though he wore gloves, the warmth of his touch reached her, and she leaned into it, grateful for the comfort against the cold. “I do not believe anyone will interrupt us this time,” he said, his voice thick with feeling, “but just in case, I shall get straight to the point.”
