A gentleman approached him—one of the local inhabitants, judging by his manner—and offered a polite introduction. Darcy inclined his head, returned the civility, and answered briefly. The exchange concluded without difficulty. It was, perhaps, not the done thing to introduce one to a newcomer without a request, but it did not signify.
Darcy resumed his position. He observed Bingley, who had partnered with a remarkably handsome woman. His friend appeared awestruck, and Darcy could hardly blame him. The lady’s looks were classical in every respect, from her willowy figure to her perfectly coiffed blond hair. She, in turn, bequeathed an ethereal smile upon her partner, her pleasure at his attention evident.
It would seem Bingley has already found his latest angel.This amused Darcy, and he shook his head ruefully.
It was then that he became aware of her.
The awareness was gradual. It was not in the way that one notices something striking or unusual. Rather, she came into hisunderstanding gradually, as though she had always been present and he had only just recognized it.
He had observed her earlier—seated apart during the first set, her stillness more noticeable for the movement around her, but considered her presence inconsequential. She sat near the edge of the room, not in the manner of a wallflower. She was not withdrawn or excluded but rather seemed placed in her spot as if intentionally.
Darcy’s gaze lingered, adjusting as the brightness of the room resolved into clearer detail. She was seated with composed ease, her posture unforced, her hands resting lightly in her lap. A walking stick stood beside her chair, its presence at odds with the setting, yet not incongruous.
He watched. Longer than he intended. She did not move as others did. When she turned her head, it was with purpose. When she rose, it was measured. There was no hesitation, but there was concern.
And then she shifted. It was slight, as if she angled herself toward the light.
Darcy saw it then. Her right eye, though open, did not focus as the other did. It held a faint opacity, a clouding that caught the candlelight differently. It did not track movement.
Her left, however—Her left eye was clear, bright and intelligent. It was fixed upon the room with silent attention, observing rather than merely seeing.
Darcy felt something stir—not surprise, precisely, but a sharpened interest. He had seen injuries before. He had seen the effects of illness, of accident, of time, of the bitterness and despondency that came from it and was not hidden from the world behind politeness. The lady before him displayed none of those things. There was nothing diminished in her bearing, nothing that suggested retreat or surrender, anger or self-pity. She sat as though entirely at ease within herself.
Bingley returned then, his expression alight. His partner stood a few paces away at the refreshment table.
“You must dance, Darcy,” Bingley said, coming to stand beside him.
“I must do no such thing.” The very idea filled him with dread. He could not countenance the thought of standing before the masses and putting himself on display.
“You must,” Bingley insisted. “It is a most agreeable set, and the ladies are all very pleasant.”
Darcy glanced toward the dancers. “I have no doubt of it.” Yes, every one of them would be pleased with the consequence that came with standing up with a man of his status.
Bingley followed his gaze, then laughed. “You have not even attempted to form an opinion. The ladies here are some of the handsomest I have ever met, and they are all very agreeable.”
“I have observed sufficiently.” And Bingley was dancing with one of the loveliest ladies in the room.
“That is not the same.”
Darcy did not answer. His gaze lingered on the lady in her chair.
Bingley leaned closer. “There is one in particular I wish you to meet.”
Darcy’s gaze shifted, though he already knew whom Bingley meant.
“The lady with whom you danced the last?” His gaze flicked to the refreshment table where the lady stood holding a glass of punch.
“Yes—Mrs. Collins. A most delightful woman. And her sisters.”
Darcy said nothing.
Bingley continued, undeterred. “She is seated just there. I shall introduce you.”
Darcy followed Bingley’s pointed finger. He gave a start when he realized that it was the lady with the walking stick to whom hegestured. Darcy hesitated only a moment. Any refusal on his lips died away as he replied, “Very well.”
Bingley’s satisfaction was immediate. “Excellent. Let me retrieve my partner to facilitate the introduction.”
In but a moment, Bingley returned with the handsome, blond woman on his arm. Mrs. Collins greeted Darcy with polite gentility.
