Page 17 of Stranded at Michaelmas

Elizabeth allowed him to guide her back towards the gathering. With Davy safely found, the music and festivities had resumed, and the tension that had briefly settled over the celebration was already beginning to ease.

Looking around, she saw that Mary and Georgiana were standing together nearby, while Jane remained in conversation with Mr Bingley some distance away. Her parents and Lydia were not immediately visible amongst the crowd, though Elizabeth supposed they had remained with the other landholders.

Mr Darcy glanced towards his friend. “I believe Bingley has found sufficient reason to prolong his evening.”

“I believe he has,” Elizabeth agreed.

As they approached the table where the kettle stood, a servant handed each of them a cup of mulled wine. Mr Darcy waited until Elizabeth had taken a sip before speaking again.

“There is one other matter I have not forgotten,” he said, his voice low and deep.

She looked at him questioningly.

“You promised me a dance, Miss Elizabeth,” he reminded her, the smile that revealed his dimples once again appearing. “This is not the assembly, but I believe it will serve.”

Elizabeth had danced only rarely at Harvest Home celebrations, and then most often with young men she had known since childhood. None had ever been considered even remotely as a suitor, and she had certainly never given much thought to the placement of a gentleman’s hand or the expression in his eyes when he looked at her.

Dancing with Mr Darcy was proving to be an altogether different experience.

Perhaps it was because, even in the short time she had known him, she had already become far too aware of him. She knew the strength of the hand that had steadied her in the darkness and could still remember the peculiar thrill his touch had sent through her. She knew how gentle he had been with little Davy and how tenderly he regarded his sister. She knew the pleasure of debating with him and, perhaps more importantly, that he never seemed to consider her opinions of less consequence simply because she was a woman.

Now, each time the figures of the dance brought them together, she found herself watching for that unexpected smile—and was absurdly pleased whenever she received it.

Worse still, Mr Darcy seemed to be enjoying himself every bit as much as she was.

For much of the dance, they exchanged only a few words. Elizabeth found herself feeling far too much to speak easily, but when the figures left them standing together for a few moments, she finally felt compelled to break the silence.

“Come, Mr Darcy,” she began, relying upon teasing rather than daring anything more serious, “surely it will look very odd if we pass the entire half hour without speaking. There must be something you can think to say.”

He accepted the challenge readily, and Elizabeth determinedly ignored how much she liked being the cause of his good humour.

“I will say whatever you wish, Miss Elizabeth, if only you will tell me what you would like to hear.”

Much as she had come to expect of him, his voice was grave, but his eyes sparkled with amusement. Had they met under different circumstances, Elizabeth wondered whether she might have mistaken his solemn manner for seriousness and missed the dry humour beneath it entirely. She found herself rather pleased that she had already learned to recognise the difference.

“What do you normally speak of when dancing?” she asked.

“I generally try not to speak at all—or dance, if I can help it,” he said, his tone more serious than it had been a moment before. “But I will admit that I have found this dance more enjoyable than any ball I have ever attended in London.”

Elizabeth could not help herself. The compliment unsettled her composure, and she ducked her head before he could see just how much it affected her.

Unfortunately, the dance offered her no reprieve. It was their turn to move through the figures, and Elizabeth was obliged to look up and attend to her steps. When she met Mr Darcy again a moment later, the amusement in his expression suggested that her discomposure had not gone unnoticed.

“Forgive me if I have disconcerted you,” he said after a moment.

For a moment, Elizabeth was at a loss. Mr Darcy had always been amiable with her, even slightly teasing, but until now she had been able to convince herself that his manner was merely friendly. This felt different. His words had carried a warmth she could not so easily dismiss.

Perhaps she was stranded again, though in an altogether different fashion from the night at the inn a mere se’nnight before. Until now, she had believed herself alone in her growing regard for him, certain that whatever she felt must be hers alone. For the first time, she wondered whether Mr Darcy might be stranded there with her.

“You need not apologise,” she managed at last. “I was merely unprepared for the compliment.”

Despite Elizabeth’s original intention of engaging Mr Darcy in conversation for the remainder of the dance, her thoughts were in far too much of a tumult for easy speech. She answered whenever he spoke and did her best to appear composed, but found herself quite incapable of introducing any new topic.

Fortunately, she was not required to maintain the effort for long, for the dance concluded shortly thereafter. Mr Darcy escorted Elizabeth to where Mary and Georgiana sat together. Georgiana had not joined the dancing, as she was not yet out, and Mary had earlier declared that she was perfectly content to keep her company rather than join in herself.

A few minutes later, Mr Darcy made his excuses and left them, making his way towards his friend. Elizabeth watched as the two gentlemen spoke together for several minutes, but Georgiana soon drew her attention away with a question.

For a time, Elizabeth became absorbed in conversation with the two girls. When she finally glanced around the gathering again, Mr Darcy was nowhere to be seen.