"I believe she has found several candidates," Mrs Gardiner said, her eyes flicking briefly to Robert.
The Countess smiled. It was a smile that would have terrified Robert had he seen it. It was the smile of a cat who has just realized the mouse has walked willingly into the bowl of cream.
"Yes," she murmured. "It seems she has."
She decided, then and there, to exact her revenge on her son. She would not oppose this. Oh, no. That would only make him rebellious. Instead, she would facilitate it. She would force him to be on his best behaviour. She would make him sweat under the pressure of family dinners and polite conversation until he was desperate enough to propose just to get some privacy.
Having settled Robert's fate, she turned her lorgnette—metaphorically—to the other mouse.
Fitzwilliam. Her serious, brooding, overburdened nephew. The boy who carried the weight of Pemberley like a cross. He was standing in the shadows at the back of the box, next to the dark-eyed Miss Elizabeth.
He wasn't hovering like Robert. He was standing guard.
He looked rigid, but his eyes were fixed on the girl's face as if she were the only source of light in the room. And the girl wasn't fawning. She wasn't flirting. Shewas whispering something to him that made the corner of his stern mouth tuck inward in a suppressed smile.
Interesting,the Countess thought.Very interesting.
"And the other niece?" she asked Mrs Gardiner. "Miss Elizabeth?"
"Lizzy is... spirited," Mrs Gardiner chose the word carefully. "She values wit and honesty above all else."
"Honesty," her ladyship mused. "Fitzwilliam needs honesty. He gets very little of it. Everyone is either afraid of him or wants his money."
"Lizzy is afraid of no one," Mrs Gardiner said. "And she has no interest in money that comes with strings attached."
The Countess looked at Mrs Gardiner with new respect. "I see. Well, Mrs Gardiner, it seems we have much to discuss."
She shifted her position slightly, bringing the other side of the box into view. She watched Georgiana.
Her niece was usually a shadow in these settings—hiding behind her fan, terrified of saying the wrong thing. But tonight, Georgiana was leaning forward, her face animated. She was whispering to Miss Elizabeth, pointing at the orchestra pit. Miss Elizabeth leaned in, listening intently. She didn't dismiss the girl. She didn't talk over her. She nodded, whispered back, and Georgiana giggled. It was a sound she hadn't heard from her in months.
Then, the Countess looked at Darcy. He wasn't watching the stage. He wasn't watching the crowd. He was watching Elizabeth talk to his sister. The expression on his face was so raw, so filled with longing and relief, that she felt a sudden, sharp pang in her chest. He looked like a man who had been holding his breath for years and had finally found oxygen.
Darcy looked up, sensing her eyes on him. He caught his aunt's gaze. For a second, nephew and aunt locked eyes across the crowded box. Darcy didn't look away. He didn't flinch. He looked at her with a steady, defiant pleading.Do not ruin this,his eyes said.I have found her. Do not take this from me.
She softened. She might be a snob, she might be intimidating on purpose, but she loved her family fiercely. She wanted them strong. She wanted them happy. She gave him the smallest, almost imperceptible nod.
Darcy's shoulders dropped an inch. He turned back to Miss Elizabeth, who was now explaining something to Georgiana with animated hand gestures that threatened to knock over the lemonade.
"You are staring again, Mr Darcy," Elizabeth's voice drifted over, low and teasing.
"I am merely observing," Darcy replied.
"Observing what?"
"That my sister has said more to you in ten minutes than she has said to me all night."
"That is because I am discussing the scandalous nature of the flautist's wig," she noted. "You would likely discuss the structural integrity of the balcony."
"The balcony is important. If it falls, we all perish."
"And if the wig falls, we all die of laughter. I prefer my demise to be amusing."
The Countess hid a smile behind her fan. Yes. This one would do nicely. She would eat Lady Catherine alive, and it would be a spectacle worth paying to see.
The bells rang, signalling the end of the interval, and warning the patrons to returnto their seats.
"Blast," the Earl muttered. "We haven't even discussed the tobacco tariffs."
