“Pray, excuse me. I must find Mr Wickham. If I remember correctly, Bingley has invited all the officers.”
“He has! What an excellent gentleman Mr Bingley is. So amiable and such pleasant company.”
Darcy had no time for Sir William’s effusions and rose to leave.
“But Mr Wickham is not here.”
Darcy halted mid-step and turned on his heel. “Where is he?”
“If Miss Lydia’s loud wails…I mean exuberant exclamations are to be believed, he is in London on an errand for his regiment, under the orders of Colonel Forster. Miss Lydia berated the poor colonel for depriving her of the neighbourhood’s most sought-after dance partner.”
Blast and damnation if that hell-born shabbaroon was not in London, which Darcy had left just this morning. The decision to await Colonel Fitzwilliam’s assistance had been bloody stupid. Yet there was nothing more he could accomplish at present, and the delectable presence of Miss Elizabeth beckoned him to end the conversation with due haste.
Darcy entered the ballroom with a spring in his step. The line had already formed for the first set, and he had to find Elizabeth before the first scratches of violins filled the hall. She was standing just inside the door with her arms crossed over her bosom. Had she feared he had forgotten his obligation?
“Finally!” Darcy rushed with all the yearning he had contained these last four days. “I have missed you,” he admitted honestly.
“Then what took you so long?” Elizabeth whispered whilst he guided her to the bottom of the line. “Do not prevaricate because I observed you looking out of the window. You greeted me with an almost imperceptible nod, or you may have twitched at a gnat bite. I cannot be certain, but it was either or—”
“Ha!” A bubble of laughter escaped him, but he schooled his expression when he detected the vulnerability shining in her eyes. “Sir William intercepted me on my way to find you, my fair maiden.”
Elizabeth chuckled. “Say no more, noble knight. I understand your predicament, and no further excuses are necessary.”
He bowed low, accompanied by a flourish of his hand. “Thank you.”
The musicians played a lively reel that left Darcy with no breath for conversation. Elizabeth was gracefully agile and sprightly in her steps; he needed all his energy to follow her. It was like her feet were well sprung and she bounced effortlessly round the circle. By the grace of God, or Miss Bingley’s excellent planning, the second dance was the much less rigorous minuet.
“I need to speak to you in private,” he whispered close to her ear.
“Fresh air would not come amiss. Perhaps the balcony?” Elizabeth suggested. “Once the set is completed and we have found a glass of punch to relieve our parched throats.”
“An excellent plan.”
“Mr Darcy, how well you dance!”
“Thank you, but I disagree.” Darcy had not even noticed Mrs Bennet approach, and the interruption was far from welcome. It was one of Elizabeth’s few disadvantages, that most of her family lacked the most elementary decorum. “Miss Elizabeth is far my superior.”
Mrs Bennet brightened but did not leave them to their dance as he expected, instead prattling on.
“All my girls are excellent dancers. Elizabeth is only second to Jane, who is most accomplished in the art.” She pointed at Miss Bennet, who was dancing, admittedly quite well, with Bingley. “I hope to see this repeated often once my Jane and Mr Bingley are married.”
Darcy glanced at his friend. He was aware of Bingley’s infatuation with Miss Bennet; whether his affection was reciprocated was less certain. In the lady’s defence, she was not prone to display her feelings but smiled serenely at everyone. So far, he had not observed any particular regard for his friend, which might be due to his own obsession with Miss Elizabeth…
Mrs Bennet sauntered away to disturb some other poor dancers, and he was yet again alone with his lady, or as alone as one could be in a crowded ballroom. The dance ended, and after a quick sojourn to the refreshment table, they were left undisturbed on the balcony.
“Mr Darcy!”
Miss Bingley’s nasal voice was too close for comfort.
“Marry me,” he blurted out before the banshee could reach them. He searched his pocket for the box he had taken from his safe, but it was nowhere to be found. In his rush to welcome Elizabeth, he must have forgotten to retrieve it.
“Do not move,” he ordered Elizabeth, whose grin was visible even in the dim light. “I have brought you a gift but seem to have misplaced it.”
“My mother will be concerned if I do not return to the ball in a timely manner,” she protested.
“Your mother will be delighted and announce you as good as married.”
“But my father will be pacing through Netherfield’s parlours in search of me.”
