There was something in his stillness that drew the eye—not through effort, but through contrast. Where others moved, he remained. Where others spoke, he listened—or appeared to.
She could not yet decide whether she liked him.
Or whether she understood him at all.
A gentleman approached him—spoke briefly.
Mr. Darcy inclined his head and answered. The exchange was short.
The gentleman moved away.
Mr. Darcy remained.
Elizabeth’s brow knit faintly.
It was not shyness. That much she could discern. Nor was it awkwardness. There was no uncertainty in him. If he did not dance, it was because he chose not to. The realization settled in Elizabeth’s mind.
She turned her attention back to the set.
Jane and Mr. Bingley had taken hands again, moving through the figures with increasing ease. Jane’s smile—small, composed—did not waver. Mr. Bingley’s, by contrast, seemed to expand with each passing moment.
Elizabeth felt the faint twinge behind her eye deepen.
She remained stationary.
The light, which had at first been a comfort, now pressed more insistently. Candlelight reflected in mirrors, multiplied across polished surfaces—it created a brightness that, while illuminating, was not entirely gentle.
She narrowed her eye slightly, attempting to bring the nearer figures into clearer focus.
It worked—for a moment.
Then the strain returned.
Elizabeth rested her hand more firmly upon the arm of the chair. It would pass. Or if it did not, she would endure it. She had endured worse.
The set came to its conclusion. Applause—light, informal—rippled through the room. Gentle laughter followed, along with the shifting movement of those returning to their places or preparing for the next.
Jane moved nearer.
Elizabeth straightened slightly, her expression softening.
“You look well,” Jane said, coming close enough that Elizabeth could see her clearly without effort.
Elizabeth smiled. “And you dance very well.”
Jane’s eyes brightened. “Mr. Bingley is most agreeable.”
“I had gathered as much.”
Jane hesitated only a moment. “He has asked me to stand up again.”
Elizabeth felt the warmth return.
“I am very glad.”
Jane’s hand touched her sleeve briefly—a small, affectionate gesture—before she turned away once more.
Elizabeth watched her go.
