They crossed the room together, Bingley moving with easy confidence, Mrs. Collins beside him, Darcy more measured in his steps. As they approached, the lady in the chair rose.
Up close, her ailment was clearer. Her right eye remained unfocused, its surface faintly clouded. Her left met his gaze with directness, though she turned slightly to favor it.
“Mr. Darcy,” Mrs. Collins said, turning with composed warmth, “may I present my sister, Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”
Darcy inclined his head. “Miss Bennet.”
She returned the gesture. “Mr. Darcy.”
Her voice was steady. Composed. There was a trace of humor in it, though he could not yet place its source.
“Elizabeth,” Mrs. Collins continued, her hand resting lightly upon Bingley’s sleeve as she turned slightly, “you are already acquainted with Mr. Bingley, I believe.”
“Indeed,” her sister said.
“Only too briefly,” Bingley added with a laugh. “I have been most fortunate in making the acquaintance of Mrs. Collins and her sister earlier this evening.”
Jane inclined her head with gentle grace. “You are very kind.”
Darcy’s attention returned to Elizabeth.
“May I have the honor of this dance?” he asked. He reminded himself that he had not intended to dance. Yet intention, he found, was not always proof against curiosity.
There was the slightest pause.
Elizabeth’s lips curved. “I think not, sir,” she said. The refusal was gentle and unembarrassed.
Darcy found himself regarding her more closely. “You refuse me outright?”
“I do,” she said, and turned fully toward him.
The movement brought her face into clearer view. The contrast between her eyes was unmistakable. One clouded, still. The other alive with expression.
She smiled. “I would not wish to disrupt the set,” she continued. “It requires a degree of awareness I cannot promise to maintain on both sides.” There was humor in it, and self-possession.
Darcy felt, unexpectedly, a brief pang of something like sympathy. He dismissed it at once. Instinct told him she would not welcome it. “I am certain you would acquit yourself very well,” he said instead.
“On one side, perhaps,” she replied. “The other might prove less reliable.”
Bingley laughed.
Mrs. Collins’ expression softened, though she said nothing. There was a moment—a brief, unspoken exchange between the sisters. A glance, a shift, something that passed without words.
“Lizzy,” Mrs. Collins said gently, “the air is rather warm. You might find the terrace more agreeable.”
Elizabeth inclined her head. “Perhaps.”
Darcy observed her more closely now.
There was a faint tension at the corner of her eye. A slight narrowing, as though the light pressed too strongly. A headache. He recognized the signs.
“I should be pleased to attend you,” he said. Darcy spoke the truth. It was not his nature to place himself in such a position, but he could not resist. Something about the lady called to him, and he wished to speak more with her.
Miss Bennet considered him for a moment. Then she nodded. “Thank you.” She reached for her walking stick, her fingers finding it without hesitation. It was too long for her, he noted, but the way she caressed the handle told him she was used to its limitations and did not mind. Darcy offered his arm. She accepted it with her free hand, her grip light but assured.
They moved together toward the doors.
Darcy adjusted his pace without conscious thought, guiding her gently when needed. A gentleman passed too close—Darcy shifted slightly, altering their path before contact could occur.
