The question unsettled her in a most disarming way. She hesitated, twirling past him in the turn, before rejoining his side. “I—should like the same. A marriage of respect, friendship… and perhaps, if I am very fortunate, affection.”
His gaze deepened, the barest of smiles tugging at his lips. “You may be certain of it.”
The dance carried them apart and together again, each figure an excuse for his hand to find hers, for his glance to seek her face. The hum of conversation faded; the candlelight seemed to gild only their small corner of the world. When the music slowed for the final pass down the set, Darcy’s hand lingered at her waist a fraction longer than the step required.
“I look forward to our future,” he murmured, his voice rich with a meaning that made her pulse quicken. “But tonight—this—feels very near to what it will be like.”
Elizabeth met his gaze, her breath catching. “Then I am glad you claimed this set.”
“I could hardly have done otherwise.” His fingers tightened gently over hers as the music drew to a close. “When I dance with you, Miss Bennet, the rest of the room ceases to matter.”
The final chord sounded, and for a moment they stood without moving, the applause of the guestswashing over them like a distant tide. Only when propriety demanded did he release her hand, though the connection lingered in the space between them.
Across the room, Jane was radiant on Mr. Bingley’s arm, their joy unshadowed by the discontented glances of his sisters. Elizabeth’s heart swelled—for Jane, for herself, for the curious happiness blooming in the midst of so much uncertainty.
Darcy, catching her glance towards her sister, said softly, “She will be safe. And happy. I will see to it myself.”
Elizabeth’s answering smile was warm and certain. “I believe you.”
The Bennet party spilled out of Netherfield in a flurry of shawls and goodnights, their carriage lanterns casting shifting light over the gravel. The air was sharp but not biting, carrying the mingled scents of damp earth and the faint perfume clinging to gowns and gloves. Elizabeth climbed into the carriage behind Jane, settling beside her as the rest found their places.
Mrs. Bennet was in raptures before the door had even shut. “Oh, my dearest Jane! My sweetest girl! Mrs. Bingley!Oh, how I long to hear myself say it every day! You will have the finest house in the county, and such a carriage! And the dinners! Oh, the dinners you will give! The ladies will all be jealous, and rightly so!”
Jane laughed softly, her blush deepening in the dim light. “Mama, please—”
But Mrs. Bennet could not be checked. “And you, Lizzy! Only think, with such a brother as Mr. Bingley, of the acquaintances it will bring you! Why, perhaps—” She cast a sly glance at Elizabeth. “Well, I will not say more, but I am no fool. I can see what is afoot.”
Lydia, squeezed into the far corner beside Kitty, gave a dramatic sigh. “If only there had been more officers tonight! Though Mr. Denny was very attentive. I am certain he would have asked me for another set if that odious Mrs. Hurst had not taken such a long turn in the supper line.”
Kitty tittered, and the two launched into a spirited account of the evening’s dances, naming each gentleman and debating the merits of their steps and conversation. Mary, seated opposite Elizabeth, maintained a serene silence, her hands folded over her reticule as though she had no opinion on the matter at all.
Elizabeth, though smiling at the chatter, felt the warm glow of the ballroom receding as the carriage swayed through the dark lanes.The thought of returning to Longbourn—of stepping back into shadowed halls where candlelight might fall on more than friendly faces—brought a subtle tightening to her chest.
Her gaze shifted to Jane, who sat with a serene contentment that seemed to fill the space around her. Mr. Bingley’s joy had been as transparent as her sister’s, and Darcy’s quiet assurance earlier—that Jane would be both safe and happy—echoed in her mind. She wanted to believe it, to let that certainty banish the unease that still lingered.
Outside, the rhythmic clop of hooves on the wet road marked their progress, the night beyond the glass a blur of hedgerows and bare-limbed trees. Darcy’s parting words returned to her:When I dance with you, the rest of the room ceases to matter.They stirred something deep in her, warm and unsteady, that kept her from dwelling too long on the darker corners of her mind.
By the time the carriage turned up the familiar drive, Mrs. Bennet was enumerating all the guests who would surely call upon them in the coming days to offer congratulations. Elizabeth forced herself to listen, to answer when addressed, though her gaze was drawn to the looming silhouette of Longbourn against the pale moonlit clouds.
The lamps in the lower windows gleamed faintly—watchful,as they had seemed when she left. Yet tonight, after the joy and quiet promise of the ball, they no longer felt entirely foreboding. Somewhere in the darkness, danger still lurked… but she carried with her the memory of Darcy’s hand over hers, and the steady conviction in his voice when he spoke of protecting those he cared for.
It was a fragile comfort, perhaps—but for tonight, it was enough.
The Bennets returned to Longbourn chilled but merry, the lanterns on the carriage still swinging when they stepped into the hall. The familiar scent of beeswax and wood-smoke greeted them, mingled with the damp of their cloaks and the faint perfume clinging to gowns and hair. Hill and the footmen hurried to take wraps and gloves, and soon the family was ushered towards the drawing room, where a bright fire leapt and crackled on the hearth.
Mr. Collins excused himself almost at once, declaring that “the exertions of the evening and the weight of such elevated company” had exhausted him beyond measure.He bowed to each in turn before retiring upstairs with his candle, his shadow lurching along the wall as he went.
Mrs. Bennet lingered just long enough to remark—twice—on the excellence of Jane’s match and the certainty of a second such union in the family before long. Then, with a flutter of ribbons, she too declared herself fatigued and made for her chamber.
The younger girls were dispatched to put away their ball shoes and hair ornaments before retiring. At last, the drawing room was quiet save for the pop and hiss of the fire.
Elizabeth and Jane took chairs near the hearth, their skirts brushing in the narrow space between. For a long moment, they sat in companionable silence, the warmth seeping into their chilled fingers.
Jane’s eyes were alight, her cheeks still faintly flushed. “Lizzy,” she said at last, her voice low, “I hardly know how to tell you—though I suspect you already know.”
Elizabeth smiled. “Mr. Bingley’s absence from the ballroom just before the final set, and your absence with him, gave me a fair suspicion.”
Her sister’s blush deepened, though her smile widened. “He spoke with such…such earnestness, Lizzy. He said he has never been so certain of anything in his life. That from the moment we met, he thought me—She broke off, laughing at herself. “Well, you know how he speaks. It was all so sincere, so…kind. I could not imagine refusing him, even had I been inclined.”
