Perhaps her mother was correct. Perhaps an engagement to Andrew Lucas was exactly what she needed—a clear path forward, a way to extricate herself from this uncomfortable situation with Cassandra and Mr Darcy. Once she was engaged, she would have a perfectly reasonable excuse to spend less time at Engleton House, to distance herself from the deception of the previous months before it grew any more complicated.
Chapter Ten
Three days later
The ballroom at Netherfield blazed with light. Candles flickered in every sconce and chandelier, casting dancing shadows across walls hung with garlands of autumn foliage. The musicians had already begun tuning their instruments when the Bennet family arrived, Mrs Bennet's voice carrying across the entrance hall as she exclaimed over the decorations with indiscriminate enthusiasm.
Elizabeth surrendered her cloak to a waiting servant and followed her family into the assembly. The room hummed with conversation—Meryton society in its finest attire, eager for entertainment and gossip in equal measure. She spotted someone who startlingly looked like her friend Charlotte Lucas near the refreshment table, but a closer examination proved that wasn’t the case. Charlotte had gotten married earlier in the year and departed for a blissful life in Sussex, although Elizabeth missed her greatly. Mr Bingley stood beside the orchestra, his habitual cheerfulness somewhat greater as he surveyed his guests with evident satisfaction.
And there, near the far windows, stood Fitzwilliam Darcy.
Elizabeth's breath caught. His posture retained its characteristic straightness, his evening suit impeccable. Yet something in his bearing suggested discomfort, a tension in his shoulders that spoke of a man bracing himself against an ordeal.
"Oh, there is Mr Bingley!" Mrs Bennet seized Jane's arm. "Come, my dear, we must greet our host at once."
Kitty, Lydia and Mary had spread out in pursuit of their own interest, therefore the rest of the family moved as a unit through the crowd. Mr Bingley's face brightened as they approached, his attention immediately fixing on Jane with unmistakable warmth.
"Miss Bennet! Mrs Bennet, Mr Bennet, Miss Elizabeth—how delightful that you could attend." His gaze remained on Jane, lingering with such obvious admiration that Elizabeth felt a smile tug at her lips despite her own disquiet. "The ballroom seems suddenly much improved."
Jane's cheeks coloured prettily. "You are too kind, Mr Bingley."
"Not at all. I am merely observant." He turned to the rest of the party. "May I introduce my particular friend, Mr Darcy? Though I believe you have all met before."
Darcy approached with measured steps. His eyes moved across the assembled Bennets with careful attention, as though searching for something he could not quite identify. When Mr Bingley made the introductions, his expression remained courteously neutral.
"A pleasure to see you again," he said, though the words held a note of uncertainty.
"We are glad to find you recovered, sir," Mr Bennet replied. "We heard of your mishap. Most distressing."
"Thank you. I am improving."
The conversation might have continued in this vein of polite emptiness had not Miss Cassandra Rochford chosen that moment to materialise at Mr Darcy's elbow. She lookedexquisite in a gown of pale blue silk, her blonde hair arranged in elaborate curls that must have taken her maid hours to achieve.
"Mr Darcy!" Her voice carried a note of possessive intimacy. "How wonderful to see you at last. I have been so concerned for your welfare."
He turned to her, his brow furrowing slightly. "Miss...?"
"Rochford. Cassandra Rochford." She extended her hand, clearly expecting him to take it with some warmth of recognition. "Surely you remember me, Mr Darcy. We have been corresponding these past months."
The silence that followed was exquisitely uncomfortable. Elizabeth watched his countenance, saw confusion flicker across his features before he schooled them into politeness.
"Forgive me, Miss Rochford. I suffered a head injury some weeks ago, and my memory of recent events remains incomplete. I have read our correspondence, of course, but I confess I do not recall our meeting."
Cassandra's expression shifted from confident expectation to poorly concealed annoyance. "You do not remember me at all?"
"I am afraid not. Though I am certain the fault lies entirely with my injury, not with any deficiency in your person."
It was gracefully said, but Cassandra's lips thinned. Elizabeth felt an unwelcome stab of sympathy for her friend, though it was quickly overwhelmed by a more complex emotion as his gaze moved past Cassandra and settled on her.
His eyes narrowed slightly, not with displeasure but with concentration. "You," he said slowly. "You seem... familiar."
The words fell into the conversation like a stone into still water, sending ripples of surprise through the assembled group. Elizabeth felt multiple pairs of eyes fix upon her—her mother's delighted, Cassandra's sharp with something approaching hostility, Jane's curious.
"We met briefly at the assembly in Meryton.” She managed, her voice steadier than she felt. “Several months ago.”
"Miss—forgive me, your name—"
"Elizabeth Bennet."
