At that, Elizabeth had blushed, for she had whispered the same sentiment to Charlotte that very night. She had confessed it to him then, so I guess I deserved the insult. At that Fitzwilliam replied his voice softened as he did. “I knew as soon as I spoke that insult, I had done wrong. I watched you laughing at my expense, trying to justify my words, but I could not. And yet, in doing so, I found myself unable to look away. You, the brightest, most intelligent, most beautiful woman of my acquaintance.”
He had laughed then, shaking his head. “You once asked when I began to fall in love with you. I told you I was in the middle before I knew it. But now, I think I know the moment it began.”
Elizabeth had laughed, too. “And of course, dancing would give consequence, so you refused to dance. You do know that wallflowers would not have thought anything of it?”
Darcy had hesitated, then admitted something she had never expected. “I used to dance with married women, thinking them safer.” He had exhaled heavily. “Do you ever wonder why I left for Ramsgate early? I was at a ball, fulfilling my obligation to dance, when a married lady arranged a movement within the set to place me with her unmarried sister. She meant to compromise me. It was only by fortune that I escaped unscathed. That was the sixth attempt that season.”
Elizabeth had felt an ache for the man he had been then—young, wealthy, and pursued for his fortune. She had known his pride, his aloofness, but never fully understood what had shaped him. That conversation had changed much between them.
But now, she was here again, watching the scene unfold, knowing how it would end. Knowing what it would lead to. If she were to change it—if she were to stop the insult before it was spoken—would he ever look at her twice? Would he ever learn to love her?
Her mind raced, flashing through all that followed. Charlotte’s warning. Hunsford. Pemberley. His letter. Their reconciliation. James, their son.
Elizabeth closed her eyes now, standing in the crowded assembly room, and the memory melted into the present. She did not need to look at him to know that Darcy’s expression was cool, his posture reserved. The man she loved—the man she would love—was standing mere feet away, and yet she had never felt farther from him.
She glanced in his direction, careful not to linger too long. He looked just as she remembered from their first meeting—tall, distinguished, severe. His expression wasset in the proud indifference that had so irked her once. How strange, she thought, to see him thus, when I have known his smile, his tenderness, his love.
Elizabeth debated her next move. It was nearly time to sit out a dance. If she avoided his line of sight, perhaps he would not make the comment that had stung her pride so deeply. If he never said those words, he would not feel the guilt she knew had weighed on him later. But then, was it not that very guilt that had made him take notice of her at all? If she erased this moment, would she simply blend into the sea of young women he had trained himself to ignore? She hesitated, knowing the risk, but in the end, fear of altering their course won
"Come, Darcy," Bingley urged, "I must have you dance. I hate to see you standing about by yourself in this stupid manner. You had much better dance."
Elizabeth closed her eyes briefly. There it is. Go on, say it.
"I certainly shall not," Darcy replied. "You know how I detest it, unless I am particularly acquainted with my partner. At such an assembly as this, it would be insupportable. Your sisters are engaged, and there is not another woman in the room whom it would not be a punishment to me to stand up with."
Bingley laughed. "I would not be so fastidious as you are for a kingdom! Upon my honour, I never met with so many pleasant girls in my life as I have this evening; and there are several of them, you see, uncommonly pretty."
Darcy’s gaze shifted. "You are dancing with the only handsome girl in the room," he said, looking at Jane.
Bingley was delighted. "Oh, she is the most beautiful creature I ever beheld! But there is one of her sisters sitting down just behind you, who is very pretty, and I dare say very agreeable. Do let me ask my partner to introduce you."
Elizabeth held her breath. This was the moment. He turned. Their eyes met, and for a fleeting second—so brief she might have imagined it—something flickered in his expression. Not recognition, not yet, but something unreadable, something that made her heart catch. Then, as before, his gaze cooled, his posture stiffened, and he uttered the words she had braced herself to hear.
"She is tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me."
She had known it was coming, but even with all her knowledge, all her understanding, the words still stung. The memories of his whispered endearments, his warm breath upon her temple, his touch so familiar and dear—how different it all was from this man before her, cold, severe, indifferent. Her heart clenched at the cruelty of fate, to hear these words anew with the echoes of his love still so fresh in her mind.
And yet, as she turned to walk away, she could not help herself—she looked back. Just once. Her expression softened, not with anger or wounded pride, but with longing, with love, with the ache of knowing him so well while he did not yet know her at all.
Darcy faltered. His posture stiffened, his lips parted as if to speak, but before he could, Elizabeth turned away. She found Charlotte at her side and forced a laugh—not the same one she had given before. She would not repeat Darcy’s words this time, would not cast his careless remark out for amusement. Instead, she laughed at some small absurdity Charlotte mentioned, something light and inconsequential. But even as she did, she glanced back, just once, needing to see if Darcy was watching. He was.
His eyes were still fixed on her, but there was something different in them, something she could not quite name. Or perhaps she simply knew him better now. The knowledge unsettled her. Had she revealed too much? Had her love, so deeply ingrained in her, shone through in that brief moment? The thought made her heart pound. She worried. She longed. She hoped.
Chapter 4
Oh, my dear Mr. Bennet,” as she entered the room, “we have had a most delightful evening, a most excellent ball. I wish you had been there. Jane was so admired, nothing could be like it. Everybody said how well she looked; and Mr. Bingley thought her quite beautiful, and danced with her twice. Only think ofthat, my dear: heactually danced with her twice; and she was the only creature in the room that he asked a second time. First of all, he asked Miss Lucas. I was so vexed to see him stand up with her; but, however, he did not admire her at all; indeed, nobody can, you know; and he seemed quite struck with Jane as she was going down the dance. So he inquired who she was, and got introduced, and asked her for the two next. Then, the two third he danced with Miss King, and the two fourth with Maria Lucas, and the two fifth with Jane again, and the two sixth with Lizzy, and theBoulanger——” (end of Chapter 3 of Pride and Prejudice)
Elizabeth sat quietly as her mother prattled on, her enthusiasm unchecked by either Mr. Bennet’s dry interjections or the evident fatigue of her daughters. Though the familiarity of the evening’s events was a comfort in some respects, Elizabeth could not remain idle. She knew too well what course of events this unguarded conversation might set in motion. It was not merely her mother’s matchmaking tendencies that concerned her; it was the exaggerated praise of Mr. Bingley, the overt glee at Jane’s success, and the unchecked criticism of Mr. Darcy that could, if left unchallenged, shape opinions to the detriment of all.
Taking a steady breath, she spoke, careful to keep her tone light and unaffected. “Indeed, Mama, I do not see why we should trouble ourselves with Mr. Darcy’sopinion at all. It is clear he thinks himself above our company, and perhaps he is not mistaken in that belief. It is hardly surprising that a man of his consequence should be reserved among strangers.”
Mrs. Bennet huffed. “Well! That may be so, but it does not excuse his rudeness. You may wish to spare my feelings, Lizzy, but it is no use. I have already heard the dreadful thing he said about you—from Mrs. Long, no less! And if she knows of it, then half the town surely does by now.”
Elizabeth met her mother’s gaze evenly, though she could already see that reason would do little to dissuade her. “I do not doubt that his words were ungracious, but we must not let a single remark define him entirely. Mr. Bingley seems greatly attached to him, and surely a man of Mr. Bingley’s character would not form a friendship with someone entirely without merit. Perhaps Mr. Darcy is merely reserved and not so very proud as he appears.”
Kitty and Lydia, who had thus far been content to exclaim over Bingley’s amiability and the charms of red coats, now turned their attention to Elizabeth. Lydia scoffed. “La! What does it matter if he is proud? No one needs to care for his opinion.”
Elizabeth inclined her head slightly. “That may be so, but consider—if he is to remain in Hertfordshire as Mr. Bingley’s guest, would it not be wise to be civil to him? Even if he is not likely to admire us, surely it is better to be courteous rather than confirm his ill opinion of our society.”
