He opened his mouth to inquire further, but her tone brightened before he could speak. “But I am afraid that subject is far too dull for dancing. Tell me, have you ever danced in a smaller room than this?”
Darcy understood the redirection and chose not to press. “Once. In a winter parlour in London. The ceilings were so low the chandeliers had to be removed entirely.”
Elizabeth laughed. “And yet I imagine you danced with dignity despite the threat of flying candelabras.”
“I like to believe so.”
Their conversation flowed more easily than he had expected. Elizabeth had a knack for drawing meaning from silence and humour from simplicity. She made even the formal turns of a country dance feel more like a conversation than a performance.
As the set ended and they returned to the side of the room, she turned to him with that same knowing look in her eyes. “I believe Miss King over there is in want of a partner, and she has been glancing this way with increasing desperation. I hope you do not object to an introduction?”
Darcy gave a polite nod, though the idea of dancing again held little appeal after the unexpected enjoyment of his last set. “I do not object.”
Miss Elizabeth led him to a modest young woman with a quiet voice and a nervous curtsey. He bowed, exchanged a few civilities, and offered to stand up with her for the next dance.
He did not dance another until he stood up with Mrs Hurst. As the final set was called and couples reassembled, Darcy remained at the edge of the room, watchful and still. He wished only to observe, and made no effort to seek out Miss Bingley’s glance; instead, he allowed the gentle chaos of the room to unfold around him.
The carriage ride back to Netherfield was silent. Bingley, content and smiling, stared out the window with his thoughts obviously elsewhere. Miss Bingley sat stiffly, her expression unreadable in the dim light and her usual diatribes absent. The Hursts dozed, their heads nodding in rhythm with the swaying of the coach.
Darcy leaned against the velvet lining, his thoughts miles away.
Five years since Anne had disappeared—without warning, without reason. Years of questions unanswered, of his aunt’s steady unraveling and rebirth into a charitable, kind patroness. The ache of not knowing had dulled over time, but tonight, as the road continued in the dark before him, it returned with quiet persistence.
He closed his eyes and let his thoughts drift upward, towards the unseen sky.
Wherever you are, Anne…be safe. Be happy.
The wheels rolled on through the night, and he allowed his thoughts to turn to Miss Elizabeth Bennet.
Chapter Fourteen
“Tommy, are you not supposed to be upstairs with Miss Lane?” Elizabeth stood in the doorway of the parlour, her hands planted firmly on her hips and a mock frown curving her lips. The sunlight filtered in from the tall window beside her, catching the soft curls that had escaped her pinned-up hair.
Her younger brother looked up, guilty and sheepish, his block paused mid-air. “I know,” he replied, his voice edged with remorse. “But Miss Lane says I am to take a rest, and I do not like lying down. How shall I have any fun if I am asleep?” He turned back to his blocks, carefully stacking one upon another with exaggerated precision.
Elizabeth’s expression softened. She came to his side and crouched down, smoothing a hand affectionately over his tousled hair. “Little boys need to rest,” she murmured, her tone affectionate but firm. “I promise you will not miss anything exciting. Miss Lucas intends to call, and we shall talk of nothing but lace and dancing and the colour of ribbons.”
Tommy made a face of perfect, exaggerated disgust. “Girl things,” he declared, as though the phrase itself were a condemnation. “Very well,” he sighed dramatically, as though it were a great sacrifice. “I shall go and take my rest—but only if I may have biscuits later!” His brown eyes sparkled with hope as he looked up at his sister.
Elizabeth laughed, ruffling his hair again. “Gather your blocks and take them upstairs. I am certain we can persuade Cook to give us a few biscuits later—if you are good.”
That was all the encouragement he needed. Tommy hastened to obey, scooping his wooden toys into a little basket. He stood and reached for Elizabeth’s hand, which she gave with a smile. Together they ascended the stairs, the sounds of their footfalls echoing softly down the corridor.
In the nursery, Miss Lane turned from the window with mild reproach. “Forgive me, Miss Elizabeth. He slipped out whilst my back was turned.”
Elizabeth offered a reassuring smile. “He meant no harm, and you need not worry. I have returned him safely.”
Tommy climbed onto the bed and flopped backward dramatically, pulling the coverlet over his head with a muffled, “I am asleep now!”
Satisfied, Elizabeth returned to the drawing room. Charlotte Lucas was expected shortly, and with her would come the anticipated recounting of the previous evening’s assembly. Lydia and Kitty, ever hungry for gossip, would undoubtedly insert themselves into the conversation. Mary might sit and listen, perhaps offering the occasional scolding remark about the frivolity of balls, but rarely did she engage with the same youthful fervour.
Precisely half an hour later, Hill entered and announced the visitors. Jane rose gracefully to greet them. “Charlotte! And you brought Maria.” Her smile brightened. “Lydia and Kitty will be pleased.”
“Where are they?” Miss Maria asked, her cheeks pink with excitement. “I am aching to tell them all about last night!” She sighed dreamily, clasping her hands. “I never imagined an assembly could be so wonderful.”
“And ours is but a simple country affair,” Elizabeth teased, her voice lilting with humour.
“I know,” Maria said with a fluttering sigh. “Can you imagine what a private ball or a London event might be like?”
