“Youare Miss Elizabeth Bennet?” the viscount asked.
“I am. Do you know of me?” Elizabeth was certain she hadheard his name but could not recall when. For some reason, she felt wary.
Viscount Bramwell cleared his throat and gave a low chuckle. “I do. My dearest Miss Reed failed to mention that, like her, I am cousin to Darcy.”
Elizabeth’s stomach fell to her shoes, suddenly remembering Mr Darcy mentioning him. “I see. You are Colonel Fitzwilliam’s brother.”
“Unfortunately.” The viscount laughed merrily for several seconds. “I jest, but it is amusing to tease him, even when he is not present to hear it. You met him when he and Darcy had the grave misfortune of staying at Rosings last Easter, I believe.”
“You recall correctly.” She turned to Miss Reed. “It was lovely to meet you, but I must find my sister.”
“Oh, well, yes. She may be wondering where you are. Would she object if I called on you? I suppose I should ask whetheryouwould object?” Miss Reed’s expression showed both disappointment and anticipation.
Elizabeth debated silently for a brief moment. “I would like that very much, and no, my sister would not mind at all. I shall try to introduce you this evening, but if I do not, I shall when you call.” To the viscount, she nodded and added, “My lord.”
With that, she left them.
Not long after arriving at the Frys’ ball, Darcy encountered the Bingleys. They spoke for several minutes, but even without his friend mentioning Elizabeth, Darcyknewshe was present. The air was different in some undefinable way. He had experienceda similar sensation the day Georgiana and he had called at the Bingleys’ town house and when he had seen Elizabeth at a dinner party recently. Their eyes had met while she was at the pianoforte that evening, and every feeling of adoration and love he had experienced for her came rushing to the surface from the depths of his being where he had tried to bury it. He was certain Elizabeth knew what he felt and that she still cared for him.
He caught sight of her a short while after speaking to the Bingleys and found himself following her with his eyes. He attempted to approach her several times, but whenever he was within fifteen or twenty feet, she moved away, and he was afraid she was avoiding him.
And if she is? Whom do I have to blame but myself?
From what he could see, she was making new friends, and he did not doubt that she would have many admirers. If anyone deserved to be loved, it was Elizabeth, and he desired her happiness. Yet, selfishly, he also longed to spend even a few minutes in her company. Circumstance meant they could not be lovers, but might they be friends, or at least friendly acquaintances?
Immediately after supper, Darcy noticed her standing with a small group of young people and approached her. When he addressed her, she started, evidently unaware he was nearby.
“Miss Bennet, will you dance the next set with me?” He nodded and mumbled a few greetings to the other people present, all of whom he knew.
“Mr Darcy, how good to see you again,” one of the women said, adding to Elizabeth, “I ought not to be surprised you have met, given Mr Darcy and your brother are friends. I am glad you know enough gentlemen to keep you dancing all night. Enjoy yourselves!”
Perhaps because the lady had taken it as given that Elizabeth would accept his offer, she nodded and allowed him to escort her to the lines of dancers that were forming.
They said nothing for several minutes. Darcy was content just being near her. He took in every inch of her, attempting to commit her appearance to memory—the shade of ivory she wore, the pattern of stitching on the sleeves, the hint of pink in her cheeks, the slope of her nose, the brightness of her eyes, and bounce of her curls.
The pain and—if he was not mistaken—longing in her eyes as they remained fixed on his. The spark that passed between them when their fingers touched that left him breathless.
Do something! Say something to make this easier for her!he silently screamed. His mind took him back to their dance at Netherfield, when she had insisted a couple ought to have some conversation.
“Shall we not look stupid if we remain silent? I recall you expressing such an opinion.” He paused, hoping she might chuckle or smile. She did not, and he said, “Are you enjoying the party?”
“I am, thank you.” Her tone was stiff, and she looked around rather than at him. “Are you, sir? I had the impression you did not care for such gatherings.”
“Not usually, no, but one cannot always avoid them.” He swallowed nervously. “And it is an excellent way to ensure I see my friends.”
Her eyes flew back to his. He had emphasised the final part of his statement, in part wanting to see how she would respond and in part hoping she would like the notion of them being friends.
“You cannot be thinking of us,” she whispered.
“Is it so ludicrous? I miss?—”
“After you gave in to your family’s demand to forget me? Yes, it is.”
“Elizabeth, please, we must speak somewhere more private.” He would tell her of Georgiana’s illness. Although he did not know what difference it would make, he wanted her to know; at the very least, she would better understand the choice he had made.
The music stopped, signalling the end of their set. “There is no purpose when your family disapproves and you accept they have the right to interfere in your affairs.” Elizabeth shook her head, the gesture angry, then gave a bark of laughter. “Oddly, I met two of your cousins earlier, Miss Reed and Viscount Bramwell. They seem to have survived the encounter. Then again, neither of them knew who I was before we were introduced. Perhaps they will change their minds and have nothing to do with me in the future. A pity. I found them, like others in your family, rather agreeable.”
She dropped a shallow curtsey and walked away. Darcy recognised the implication in her final words; she meant to include him and impart the message that she no longer found him ‘agreeable’. He wondered whether she would ever know how much her words cut him.
