When the dance concluded, Darcy bowed, and Elizabeth curtsied, her heart beating rather faster than the exertion warranted. Around them, applause and chatter filled the air as couples broke apart to find refreshment or new partners.
Darcy offered his arm, inclining his head towards the edge of the floor. “What an immense pleasure this first dance has been; I find my anticipation for our next sets heightened even further,” he said softly, his voice dipping into something warmer, more private. “I find I look forward to it more than I had imagined.”
Elizabeth opened her mouth to reply—but before she could, Mr. Collins descended upon them like a storm cloud.
“Mr. Darcy, sir!” he exclaimed, stepping directly between them and bowing far too low. “I hesitated to interrupt so illustrious a personage as yourself, but it is time for me to claim my fair cousin's hand for the second set. I have greatly anticipated the honor and would not want to cede it to another man due to one's forgetfulness or negligence.”
Elizabeth took a prudent step back, folding her arms and watching the exchange with equal parts annoyance and amusement. Darcy’s expression had shifted into one of polite endurance.
“Indeed,” he said when Collins paused for breath. “And to whose forgetfulness or negligence to you refer?”
Collins flushed a deep red, then paled. “Ah…well…naturally…” His voice trailed off, and he shifted uncomfortably.
Darcy inclined his head. “Mind yourself, sir. The second set has yet to be called. Miss Elizabeth will be here when it is time.”
With a stiff bow, Collins mumbled something about seeking refreshment and made his way towards Miss Lucas, casting sullen glances back at Darcy.
Darcy returned to Elizabeth’s side, his brow faintly furrowed. “I beg your pardon. He seems determined to test my patience this evening.”
Elizabeth’s lips quirked. “You bore it admirably. And now perhaps we might enjoy the rest of the evening without interruption.”
He offered his arm again, and she took it, feeling that curious sense of security in his presence settle over her once more.
Darcy guided Elizabeth towards the refreshment tables, weaving between groups of laughing couplesand elderly matrons chattering on the fringes. The supper room was a glittering spread—platters of cold meats and fowl, cheeses, delicate tarts, jellies that trembled in the candlelight, and pyramids of fruit polished to a shine. A crystal fountain in the center bubbled with a pale golden punch.
Mrs. Bennet had already stationed herself strategically close to the pastries, nodding in approval as footmen replenished the trays. Mr. Bingley was standing beside Jane, leaning close to say something that made her blush and look down at her plate.
Darcy fetched two glasses of punch and offered one to Elizabeth. Their fingers brushed briefly as she accepted it, the moment lingering far longer than propriety dictated. She sipped, the cool sweetness sliding down her throat, and noticed him watching her—not idly, but with that quiet, intent gaze that always seemed to unsettle her just enough to make her pulse quicken.
“You are very quiet,” she said, tilting her head. “Am I to believe you have nothing to say?”
“Oh, I have much to say,” he replied, his tone low, “but most of it is not fit for such a public setting.”
Her brow arched. “Now you have me curious, sir.”
“That is my intent,” he said, a hint of a smile ghosting across his lips. “But I will content myself with telling youthat this evening has exceeded my expectations in every respect—though the cause is chiefly my partner.”
Elizabeth took another sip to mask the heat rising in her cheeks. “You are uncommonly gallant tonight, Mr. Darcy. I might almost believe you mean it.”
“I always mean it,” he said simply.
Before she could reply, Sir William Lucas hailed Darcy with effusive congratulations on his dancing, which he claimed was “most superior and worthy of the first circles.” Darcy inclined his head politely, but his eyes never strayed far from Elizabeth.
After supper, the musicians struck up another set—a cotillion this time, bright and lively. Darcy requested the dance, and Elizabeth accepted without hesitation. As they took their places, she felt the energy shift—this dance was quicker, more spirited, with frequent changes of partner. But whenever the figure brought her back to Darcy, there was a subtle exchange: a smile that lingered, a hand that clasped hers firmly, the faintest pressure guiding her through the turns.
At one point, the movement required them to pass close enough that she could feel the warmth of his breath near her ear. “I will not soon forget this night,” he murmured, and though the words were simple, they sent a shiver down herspine.
The final notes faded, and the couples applauded the musicians. Darcy bowed over her hand, but before either could speak, Elizabeth caught sight of Charlotte standing very near Mr. Collins, the two of them in deep conversation. Collins’s expression was one of self-importance; Charlotte’s, measured consideration.
Darcy followed her gaze. “Miss Lucas seems engaged in a serious discussion.”
Elizabeth smiled faintly. “She is an old friend, and I wish her well. Even if she decides to tie herself to our cousin.”
He gave her a searching look. “And you? How do you fare with all of this?” His tone shifted—quieter, more private.
Her eyes softened. “Better for having you here.”
Something unreadable flickered in his gaze, but before he could speak, the next dance began to form, and couples surged around them, pulling them apart.
