And proceed she did.
Jane’s happiness, meanwhile, advanced with a clarity that left little room for doubt. Mr. Bingley’s attentions, once a matter of hopeful observation, had settled into something far more certain. His visits were not merely frequent, but purposeful, and the ease with which he entered the household, the naturalwarmth he showed toward both Jane and her son, spoke of an attachment that required no interpretation.
Thomas, for his part, had accepted Mr. Bingley with a readiness that delighted the entire family. It was not uncommon to find the gentleman seated upon the floor of the nursery, engaged in some earnest game that required more enthusiasm than skill, or walking in the garden with the boy perched upon his shoulders, both of them laughing with an abandon that softened even Mrs. Bennet’s more anxious tendencies.
Elizabeth observed it all with a tenderness sharpened by reflection. She had once believed that love must come at a cost—that to accept one form of happiness meant relinquishing another. Jane’s experience suggested otherwise. There was no division in it, no sacrifice demanded. It was, instead, an expansion.
Elizabeth wondered, more than once, whether such expansion might be possible for her.
She did not wonder as often as she had before.
The invitation to a ball at Netherfield arrived with little surprise, though it was received with no less enthusiasm for that. Mr. Bingley invited his aunt from the north to act as hostess.
Mrs. Bennet declared it a most fortunate development, her satisfaction expressed in terms that left no doubt as to herexpectations for the evening. Kitty and Lydia immediately set about the consideration of gowns and ribbons, their excitement carrying them through the day with a liveliness that proved both infectious and exhausting in equal measure. Mary, though less animated, expressed her approval of the opportunity for music and society, while Jane accepted the invitation with a composure that did not entirely conceal her anticipation.
Elizabeth received it with a steadier mind than she might once have done.
There was no anxiety in the prospect, no sense of entering a space in which she might be judged and found wanting. Instead, there was an awareness that the evening would mark something of importance—not in its outward form, but in what it represented.
A beginning.
Netherfield, when they arrived, was transformed.
The rooms were lit with a brightness that reflected upon every polished surface, the mirrors multiplying the effect until the space seemed larger, warmer, more alive than it had ever appeared during their previous visits. Music carried through the hall as they entered, the sound of it blending with the murmur of voices and the movement of guests, all of it arranged in a manner that spoke of both elegance and hospitality.
Elizabeth took a moment, as she always did, to orient herself to the space, her gaze moving slowly across the room, marking its boundaries, its arrangement, the shifting positions of those within it. The light was strong, though not overwhelming, and she was grateful for it. It allowed her a clearer sense of her surroundings, a steadier footing in a space that might otherwise have required more caution.
Mr. Darcy approached not long after their arrival.
“Miss Bennet.”
“Mr. Darcy.”
There was a warmth in the exchange that had not existed at their first meeting in such a setting. It was subtle, but unmistakable.
“You are well?” he asked.
“I am,” she replied. “And you?”
“Entirely so.”
His gaze lingered upon her for a moment longer than propriety might have required, though not so long as to invite remark.
“You are very much at home here,” he said.
Elizabeth’s lips curved. “I believe I am becoming so.”
“I am glad of it.”
The first set was called.
Darcy inclined his head. “May I?”
Elizabeth did not hesitate. “Yes.”
They did not dance as they might have had Elizabeth’s vision been perfect. The set seemed to have been chosen with her in mind with minimal directional conflicts involved. Still, Elizabeth did not attempt the full measure of such movement, the risk of misstep too great in a crowded room where the shifting of bodies could not be entirely predicted. Instead, what passed between them was a version of the same—a guided pattern, adaptedwithout comment, the structure of the dance preserved in form if not in exact execution.
Darcy’s hand was steady at her own, his movements precise without being restrictive. He did not lead with force, nor did he hesitate in a way that might have suggested uncertainty. Instead, he adjusted with a fluidity that rendered the differences between them almost imperceptible to those who did not look closely.
