“And that is precisely the woman he does not wish to encounter,” Mrs Gardiner cautioned. “Any misstep and he will not see the remarkable woman you are, who is now in love with him, but rather the acrimonious lady who hurled insults at him.”
“I am that person.”
“No, Lizzy, no! You regret the way that your discussion unfolded. That person crying bitter words did not love him. The lady he will meet at the theatre is truly smitten. Show him that.”
“I do not know how!” Elizabeth lamented. Whilst she occasionally relished being courted, she was at a loss as to how to flirt and especially plan such a thing before their meeting.
“Why am I even going?” she cried. “We both made it abundantly clear that we never wished to lay eyes on each other again.”
“Both of you did that in moments of profound distress, my dear!”
“What could I possibly gain from such a meeting?”
“Nothing more than seeing him in an elegant setting where you do not share any sad memories, where two young people might begin the journey of love. Expect nothing extraordinary to occur. Regard it as a mere chance encounter with a man you barely know.”
“He will come but scarcely take notice of me, leaving me to feel as though I am but an unwelcome intruder.”
∞∞∞
Yet, when Elizabeth stepped out of the carriage outside the theatre, her eyes met Mr Darcy’s. He looked at her with pure astonishment, a reflection of her own shock. If she had worriedhe might suspect some design behind their meeting, the honesty of her response to seeing him there seemed to ease his manner. He offered his hand to help her down.
“Miss Bennet,” he greeted her, once again the gentleman she had encountered at the Meryton assembly, his eyes showing that well-known sarcasm.
“Mr Darcy,” she murmured. The touch of his hand sent an inexplicable thrill coursing through her body, from her toes to her heart. She trembled, hoping her unease did not show, but his steady gaze made her unsure, and his smile nearly made her falter. She stumbled, and he caught her, his quiet laugh bringing a rush of warmth to her cheeks—embarrassment and something like joy mingling at once as she found herself, for a brief moment, closer to him than ever before.
At last, Lady Oakham came to Elizabeth’s rescue. She approached with Miss de Bourgh and a graceful young lady at her side. For one anxious moment, Elizabeth feared it might be Lady Olivia—whom she already dreaded more than the reserved Anne de Bourgh, who scarcely smiled and kept her gaze lowered. But then Mr Darcy, all ease and warmth, introduced his sister, and only then did Elizabeth’s heart settle. They bowed and curtsied in front of the bustling theatre, her aunt and uncle caught up in the joyful atmosphere, while Jane, looking absolutely beautiful in a pale green dress, attracted everyone’s eyes.
As each group prepared to part ways and take their seats, Lady Oakham made an unexpected suggestion, causing Elizabeth to realise she had not, in fact, been fully aware of the ladies’ plan. “Please join us. We have a box intended for a larger party. Georgiana and Anne would relish sharing their impressions of the play with Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth.”
Miss Darcy agreed in a warm tone, but when Elizabeth looked at Mr Darcy, her heart froze; utterly uninterested in theirconversation, he was looking about, unmistakably in search of someone—and who else could it be but Lady Olivia? And indeed, they were surrounded by beautiful ladies smiling, more than one exchanging greetings with Mr Darcy.
His initial kind politeness upon seeing her was nothing but a gentleman’s response to an acquaintance. Under the glow of the theatre’s many candles, his countenance became as inscrutable as an iron mask, while she tried desperately not to show her disappointment.
“We do not want to intrude,” Mrs Gardiner replied.
“You are not,” Miss Darcy chirped. “Please, Fitzwilliam, add your voice to mine to request their company.”
With all eyes on him, Darcy nodded indifferently. Lady Oakham took this as confirmation and invited everyone to follow her, hoping that Elizabeth and Darcy would follow suit.
But Darcy excused himself and disappeared before Elizabeth could make sense of what had happened or where he had gone. The crowd of theatregoers quickly swallowed him from view, leaving her with an ache in her chest she tried bravely to dismiss.
With no choice but to move with the press of people, they reached the box in silence.
Upon arriving at the door, Lady Oakham discreetly held Elizabeth back and whispered, “Put on your beautiful smile, my dear. I know him well—he was surprised to see you!” But surprise could have so many nuances.
Any glimmer of hope in her heart quickly dimmed when the play began and Mr Darcy remained absent. When the door finally opened, she resisted the impulse to turn, convinced it would be him, but a different voice whispering to Georgiana made her look round, and she discovered Colonel Fitzwilliam observing her with genuine joy.
“Miss Bennet,” he greeted her and sat in the adjacent seat—the one Elizabeth had hoped Mr Darcy would take.
Colonel Fitzwilliam stayed quiet for some time, his unease plain in how he shifted about, trying to attract her attention. At last, Elizabeth turned to him. She felt no anger or even bitterness towards the cheerful man and offered him a gentle smile, certain his discomfort sprang from the careless remark he had made at Rosings.
“You are not angry with me?” he said softly, almost in a whisper. Elizabeth shook her head, still wearing the same calm, reassuring smile. The colonel took a long breath of relief, and Elizabeth returned her gaze to the stage.
In the past, attending the theatre had been her main delight in London, and the play was among her favourites. But despite the elegant building and the lively performance on the stage, she could not follow the play nor enjoy the entertainment. The profound despondency she was experiencing was beyond her control. Despite her attempts to temper her expectations, love had its capricious rules, and she was a beginner on its complicated paths.
She could not close her eyes at night without longing for Mr Darcy to forget what had passed at the Parsonage, to be moved only by the wish to approach her with the intent of winning her heart in the old, familiar way—beginning with glances exchanged from afar, and then, in a slow but steady rhythm, allowing true feelings to come to light. That evening at the theatre, she finally understood Jane’s despair and her inability to move on from her love for Mr Bingley, even after more than five months of his absence. But unlike Jane, the object of her love was in plain sight, in the same theatre, probably searching for a young lady to love and marry.
She had been in love for a brief time, but her heart now burned with a pain that grew sharper with each passingmoment. The words she had once offered Jane—that love would come again in time—now seemed hollow as she began to grasp how unlikely such a hope was, at least for a long time. The elegant and proud man who had assisted her from the carriage was the love of her life, and she could not imagine anyone else taking his place. Unlike Jane, she had been on the cusp of becoming Mrs Darcy. And she alone was responsible for rejecting his love.
