Mrs. Bennet curtsied with an air of triumph. “You look rather dashing this evening, do you not, Lizzy? And your waistcoat is blue and silver—you match my daughter perfectly! I knew how it would be when you came to the Meryton assembly. I said to Lady Lucas, a single man in possession of a large fortune must be in want of a wife! And now, here we are. You are courting my Lizzy, and Mr. Bingley is… well, I suppose he is courting Jane, too. What else might one call it?”
Darcy, with a faint smile, stepped in before Mrs. Bennet could draw another breath. “Your insights are unique as ever, Mrs. Bennet. Coming to Hertfordshire with my friend has proven to be the wisest decision of my life. I thank you for your accolades.”
Mrs. Bennet’s fan fluttered faster. “Such a handsome man,” she said, patting his arm. “Ah, there is Lady Lucas—I shall leave you two to yourselves.” She bustled off with a sly look over her shoulder.
Elizabeth shook her head, smiling. “Does she believe she is being subtle? You have quite won my mother over, sir. You should be proud of that. She detested you after you called me tolerable.”
Darcy’s eyes glinted. “Did she? I wondered if she knew—and then I wondered whether she knew I had apologized.”
“I never told her,” Elizabeth admitted. “If it comes up, I shall. And…I am sorry to say, I gleefully spread the tale that night, hoping the neighborhood would turn against you. Now all is put to rights.”
He chuckled. “What a sorry start we made.”
He offered his arm, and they began a turn about the room, exchanging greetings with her neighbors. Elizabeth caught whispers from the sidelines—what a handsome couple they made, how surely they would be engaged before Christmas. For a few moments, she forgot the shadows that lingered over Longbourn.
Mrs. Long admired her gown, Miss Goulding nodded a polite greeting without a trace of disapproval, and then—like a sudden gust of cold air—they came upon Mr. Collins.
“Mr. Darcy, sir! Cousin Elizabeth!” he exclaimed. “What a lovely evening! Never have I been in more splendid surroundings—save when I dine at Rosings Park. No place can compare to that great hall, nor is there any soul of greater condescension and benevolent manners. Your saintly aunt is the very pattern of a Christiangentlewoman, sir. Her daughter, no less!” He shot Elizabeth a glare as if daring her to contradict him.
“I thank you for the sterling character you grant my aunt,” Darcy replied, his tone clipped, lips pressed thin.
“I know you have the first set with my cousin, Mr. Darcy,” Collins continued, “but I feel it my duty to step in on your behalf. That set is generally shared between those of a closer connection. Your aunt would object to your actions, sir, and so I stand ready to—”
“That is unnecessary, Mr. Collins.” Darcy’s voice cooled to ice. “Elizabeth and I shall dance every set I have claimed. And did you not promise the first to Miss Mary?”
Collins faltered. “Yes, well, that was before—she will understand.”
Mary appeared at his elbow like a conjured spirit. “I believe our set is forming,” she said flatly.
Darcy inclined his head towards the musicians, who had begun the opening chords. “So it is. Miss Elizabeth, shall we?” He led her away without a backward glance.
“I am sorry for my sister,” Elizabeth murmured as they took their places.
“I shall seek her hand for a later set,” Darcy said, smiling now. “And how fare your sisters in our little intrigue?”
“Very well. Not a single letter has escaped. Poor Mr. Collins is baffled.” She glanced down the line.Mr. Collins was watching them, brows drawn together, entirely ignoring the figure of the dance.
The couples arranged themselves along the chalked designs on the ballroom floor. The first strains of a lively country-dance filled the air, the notes bright from the violins and flute, with the deep hum of the bass viol beneath. Elizabeth stood opposite Darcy, the distance between them feeling at once proper and too great.
When the opening figure began, they stepped towards one another, eyes meeting in a quick, almost conspiratorial glance before they turned away again, each moving in the prescribed arc to their next partner. The dance was a game of approach and retreat—Darcy’s gaze sought hers each time they drew near, and though they spoke only of trivial things in the moments allowed, Elizabeth felt the pulse of something unspoken beneath the formalities.
“You look particularly fine tonight,” he said quietly as they met in the center for a turn of two hands. His voice was pitched low, meant only for her. “I cannot think of another in the room who could so easily command my attention.”
Elizabeth’s lips curved, though she strove to keep her tone light. “That is a dangerous thing to say, Mr. Darcy. People might suppose you mean to flatter me.”
“Let them,” he replied as they circled away again, his eyes lingering on her a fraction longer than the dance required.
They wove in and out of the other couples, their steps crisp on the polished floor. The heat from the mass of bodies and the hundreds of candles made the air warm, scented with beeswax, perfume, and the faint tang of evergreen garlands draped along the walls.
Elizabeth could not help but notice Miss Bingley watching them from near the card tables, her expression tight, fan fluttering in agitation. Beyond her, Mrs. Bennet was nodding to Lady Lucas with a look of supreme satisfaction.
Darcy leaned in slightly when the pattern brought them together again. “You seem pensive. Are you thinking of Longbourn?”
“Perhaps,” she admitted. “I cannot help but think of Mr. Shipton and wonder if he has aught to do with this. The strange footprints around his cottage, his threats to my family… But tonight I am trying very hard not to. I would rather think of…this.” She gestured subtly to the dancers, the music, the glow of the room.
His lips softened into a smile that reached his eyes. “Then let us make that our only concern for the next set.”
The music swelled as they approached the grand chain. Elizabeth felt the light pressure of hishand guiding hers—steady, warm, certain. They moved with the others in a sweeping figure across the set, their hands touching and parting in rhythm with the music, the brush of his gloved fingers sending a current of awareness through her.
