Bingley is right,he admitted grimly.I ought to dance.While it was true he had no affection for the activity, his reluctance this evening sprang less from distaste than from melancholy.No young lady wishes to be scowled at while dancing.He should have remained at Netherfield, but the thought of Caroline Bingley’s lone company had driven him out. Having arrived from London but a few hours before, he had been in no humour to endure her simpering attentions.Better to endure a crowded assembly than solitude with that viper,he told himself.
Steeling himself to seek a dance partner, he surveyed the room. Bingley had rejoined his angel, the young lady whose name he recalled as Miss Jane Bennet. She was a classical beauty, her fair hair glinting in the lamplight. Though modest, her pleasure at Bingley’s company was evident in every look. Beside them stood another lady. Mrs Wilkens, if memory served. As Darcy’s gaze shifted, a third lady approached.
His heart gave a violent start. Dark hair, intelligent eyes.Mrs Fiennes—Elizabeth.Can it be?He could hardly believe it. For four long years, her image had haunted him. Her wit and lively understanding had fascinated him.
She must have remarried,he reasoned. She was young when first she wed; surely another man has since won her regard. He recalled that she had been with child, too. There was no sign of a babe now. If the child lived, it would be four years old or thereabouts.
Drawn towards her by some unknown force, his gaze remained fixed on her. She looked older now—more composed, more assured—and the change suited her. The girlish softness of her countenance had given way to a refined beauty. When Miss Bennet spoke, Elizabeth’s lips curved into a playful pout, though the brightness in her eyes betrayed her amusement.
“Darcy!” Bingley’s call cut through the music and chatter. “Come meet Miss Bennet’s sister.”
Darcy’s broad smile revealed his dimples. “Mrs Fiennes and I already have an acquaintance,” he replied, turning towards his friend. “Of some duration.”
Bingley’s astonishment was comical. “You never said you knew anyone in Hertfordshire! How very unfair of you!”
“Pray, you must not blame him.” Elizabeth’s gentle address sent an involuntary thrill through him. “Mr Darcy and I have not met for many years. I doubt he knew I was living here.”
Their eyes met, his smile faltering a little as he discerned the reserve in hers. Never had she looked at him with such apprehension; she appeared as though she were a startled doe. He looked at her intently. “You are still Mrs Fiennes, are you not?”
“I am.” Elizabeth squared her shoulders and turned towards Bingley. “You must forgive me, sir, for not being present to greet you on your arrival. My daughter required her mother to settle her for the night. She has had a busy day—’tis her birthday, you see.”
Bingley waved the concern aside. “Think nothing of it, Mrs Fiennes. The introductions are now complete. I dare say Darcy will not refuse to dance now, for he cannot object when acquainted with his partner. He will not dance unless he knows the lady. ’Tis as if he believes no one can be introduced in a ballroom!”
Laughter rippled through the small circle, Darcy’s included. It did not even bother him that Bingley’s jest was at his expense. “I should be pleased to dance with you, Mrs Fiennes, if you have a set still unclaimed.”
Elizabeth regarded him steadily. He fancied he saw a flicker of—what? Suspicion? Surely not. She, of all women, knew him best beyond the circle of his own family. With her he had shared his deepest concerns and the grief of his father’s death; they had been united in sorrow—she for her husband, he for his parent.
Her fingers rose to the necklace at her throat. The dark stone glistened against her fair skin, and his chest tightened.Spinel.Mourning jewellery. Does she still lament her husband’s loss?If so, she must have loved him dearly.Then perhaps there is no space in her heart for another,whispered a bitter voice within.
He refused to heed it. “Well, Mrs Fiennes?” His smile softened. “May I have your next free set?”
“You are fortunate, sir, that I arrived late. All my remaining sets are free.” Elizabeth offered a shallow curtsey.
Feeling uncharacteristically daring, he asked, “Then may I claim your next—and the last?”
Bingley’s approving laugh rang beside him. “Well done, man!”
Elizabeth wore a slight frown, but she inclined her head. Darcy dismissed theunease her hesitation produced and extended his arm. “Shall we?”
Her hand rested lightly on his, and at the contact, a tremor of pleasure shot through him. He closed his fingers around hers with the faintest pressure and led her towards the floor as the musicians struck the opening chord.
At last,he thought, his heart lifting.At last.
Chapter Nineteen
October 1811
Hertfordshire
Elizabeth
Shehadnotintendedto dance at all, yet found herself accepting Mr Darcy’s invitation almost before she realised it. With an inward wince, she placed her hand on his and allowed him to lead her to the floor. The set was a slow one—unfortunately leaving ample opportunity for conversation.
“It is remarkably pleasing to see you, Mrs Fiennes.” His demeanour held an unguarded warmth, and when she looked up, she caught the faintest curve at the corner of his mouth.
For a moment she faltered. Was it truly pleasing to see him once more? She had thought so at first, yet uncertainty now unsettled her equanimity, causing her pulse to quicken. “It has been years. In truth, I never expected our paths to cross once I left London.”
“Surely, you intended to return to town, eventually.” A shadow of thought crossed his brow. “I know it must be painful to be in the home you shared with your husband…” The words drifted off as the pattern of the dance carried them apart.
