Painful, yes, but not as he imagined. The house was steeped in memories she could neither face nor forget. Though she had lived there less than ayear, it had been quite enough. Her steps at first were tentative, yet as the familiar figures repeated, muscle and memory re-awakened; she had, after all, taught her younger sisters these very movements.
When the dance brought them together once more, Mr Darcy seemed determined to speak. “Is it too forward of me to ask—may I inquire after your…” He broke off, cleared his throat, then blurted, “Mrs Fiennes, is your child well?”
This made Elizabeth smile, and a light laugh escaped her. “You are kind to ask, sir. As I mentioned only a moment ago, I have a daughter. She just turned four years old—’tis her birthday.”
His features brightened. “Oh yes, of course. Is she as lovely as her mother?”
Her smile faltered, but she held it in place. Such compliments always left her feeling strangely exposed, as if she accepted something she did not deserve. Many would call her handsome—Sir William had once declared her the jewel of the county—but Fiennes had long laboured to persuade her otherwise. His scorn, inflicted when she was but a girl and unguarded, had struck roots too deep to be easily torn away. Even now, his shadow still lingered.
“Elinor favours me in looks.” She willed her thoughts towards brighter ground. “In manner, however, she resembles my sister, Jane. I think, given time, she will possess the best qualities of both.”
“My sister Georgiana is much the same—more like me in disposition than in appearance.” A fondness softened his mien. “She is the image of our mother.”
They moved through several turns of companionable silence before he continued. “May I call on you?” he asked as they came together in the dance once more. “I should like to renew our acquaintance. I missed our talks dreadfully when you went away.” A flush rose to the tips of his ears. “Inearly went to Lady Westland to demand your direction,” he confessed with a rueful smile, “but I restrained myself. I feared you might think me quite deranged—or at the very least, intrusive in your mourning.”
Another laugh escaped her, for it never ceased to surprise her how readily he could put her at ease. “I confess I left London rather suddenly. My father needed to return to the estate, and Jane was to accompany him. I could not bear to remain alone—and Lady Westland meant to leave Town as well…” She hesitated, knowing she had not spoken the whole truth. What would he think if he learnt she had been obliged to flee for her own safety?
As the set came to an end, Darcy led her to the edge of the floor. “May I call?” The question, softly spoken, conveyed an earnestness no flourish could improve.
After a moment’s hesitation, she nodded. How could she refuse? Had she not also missed their walks and conversations? Was there a single day since their last meeting when she had not thought of him?
“Now, go ask another to dance.” She gave him a gentle shove. Though he professed a dislike for the activity, perhaps he would humour her. There was more than one young lady sitting out in want of a partner.
A flicker of distaste crossed his expression before he masked it with a courtly bow. “As the lady commands.” Turning on his heel, Darcy set off to secure another partner. Jane obliged him, and they stepped to the floor as the next set began. Mr Bingley soon followed, engaging Miss Mary King, a freckled, red-headed young lady newly arrived in Meryton.
Content to observe, Elizabeth drifted about the room, her thoughts agreeably engaged with recollections of Mr Darcy.
As she turned a corner, the soft murmur of familiar voices reached her. Mrs Long and Mrs Goulding stood near, conversing in eager whispers.
“Did you see Mrs Fiennes stand up with Mr Darcy?” Mrs Goulding breathed. “I have not seen her dance in years—not since before her marriage!”
“Quite right,” returned Mrs Long. “All the gentlemen know she is too heartbroken to consider another. Poor Mr Darcy—he is doomed to disappointment.”
Elizabeth might have laughed outright had she not been in view of the dancers. Both ladies had sons whom they would gladly see matched with her. Even were she inclined to marry a second time, she could never regard either man as a suitor; they had been her childhood companions, as like to her as brothers. Her neighbours imagined her heart wounded beyond repair, so devoted to her late husband that she would not consider marriage. In truth, quite the opposite was the case, though few were privy to it.
A slight movement caught her attention. Miss Bingley had drifted near the gossips, her eyes alight with the pleasure of overheard scandal. Suppressing an amused smile, Elizabeth moved away.Let them think themselves superior. It makes no difference to me.
The remainder of the evening passed agreeably. She conversed with her neighbours, and when Mr Bingley pressed her to dance, she accepted from politeness. No other gentleman approached her, though she wondered if that might soon change. After an absence from the dance floor, she had shown herself willing to take part. Surely that would encourage others. So much the better if it did. She could dance with everyone and single out no one. She was, after all, a most attractive prospect. It was well known Fiennes had left his fortune to her and their daughter, and though the precise amount was uncertain, speculation abounded. Netherfield Park alone returned five thousand a year, and that fact was enough to stir considerable interest.
When the final set was called, Mr Darcy sought her out. Though she hesitated, the memory of their earlier dance still lingered pleasantly, and she found herself unable to refuse. Their steps moved in perfect time, their conversation light and unforced. When the music ceased and he bowed over her hand, she felt an unexpected warmth touch her spirits—a quiet contentment she had not known for a long time.
“Thank you for the honour, Mrs Fiennes.” His gaze was softened by sincerity. “I had not forgotten how very much I enjoy your conversation.”
“The pleasure has been mine, Mr Darcy.” Her reply was graced by a smile that reached her eyes. “It is a comfort to be reminded that some acquaintances, once renewed, can feel as though they were never interrupted.
He inclined his head slightly, a look of unmistakable satisfaction passing over his features before he turned to escort her from the floor. And as he withdrew, she watched him for a heartbeat longer than she intended. The evening’s noise resumed about her, but something within her had shifted—so slight she dared not perceive it.
The evening ended late, and Elizabeth climbed aboard the carriage, heaving a great sigh of relief. Mrs Bennet sat beside her on the forward-facing bench, with Mary and Jane opposite. Mama recounted the evening with great enthusiasm, and Elizabeth listened without comment. The entire thing would be repeated when they reached home—Papa had not attended and would be subject to Mama’s exultations. He would listen with amusement, and then they would all go to bed.
Before retiring, Elizabeth would check on her daughter. She felt exhausted and knew her day would begin early on the morrow despite the lateness of the hour.
Darcy
“What a dreadfully dull way to spend an evening,” Miss Bingley declared as the Netherfield party gathered in the parlour for tea before retiring. “There was no one of fashion or fortune present—the entire assemblage consisted only of country wives and inconsequential gentlemen.”
“That is a harsh judgement,” Bingley returned mildly, pouring himself a glass of port. “I have seldom passed a more pleasant evening, even in town. I found the company cheerful and most obliging—so ready to welcome us without reserve.”
Darcy agreed. After overcoming his early reticence, he too had thought the evening unexpectedly agreeable. Having Elizabeth near had certainly contributed to that change; he could not deny it. Something within him had stirred at the sight of her, a spark long dormant since his father’s death and the tedious attentions that had followed. Ever since the inheritance of Pemberley, ladies and their matchmaking mamas had pursued him with relentless industry until even the most trivial engagement in society had become irksome. His withdrawal had grown so marked that Lady Matlock had felt obliged to interfere.
