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"I fear I must tell you something," Jane said, looking down at her slippers.

For Jane to have secrets was highly unusual, and Elizabeth felt her heart begin to beat faster in her chest.

"What is it, Jane? You know you can tell me anything."

"I did not see simply sparks in the mirror. I saw Charles… Mr Bingley, I mean."

"Truly? But you said nothing."

"I did not want to cause a fuss. And I certainly did not want to add to the overexcitement of our youngest sisters, but I did see his face. And tonight he shared with me that he loves me, and that he wishes to speak to Papa in the morning."

"Oh, Jane! That is wonderful! No one deserves happiness as much as you. And, oh, you will be so happy together!"

"I do hope so, Lizzy."

Elizabeth paused for a moment, pressing her lips together in concentration. "So you believe the spells may have been real?"

"I do not know if it was any form of magic, or simply a way for our own minds to crystallise upon the man who would bring us the most joy as a partner. I believe our younger sisters saw nothing because they are not old enough, nor experienced enough in the world, to have met a man who could potentially be their husband. Does it matter if happiness is the outcome?"

Elizabeth considered this. It was a far more sensible explanation than believing an old book possessed magical knowledge, although she was beginning to wonder if there might be something in the superstition after all.

"But you cannot go searching for Mr Darcy alone. What would happen if you were found together?"

"Oh, Jane, I know it is ridiculous, but I cannot settle until I have had a conversation with him. I am so angry at him and confused by him, and oh, I am so thoroughly out of sorts that I hardly know what to do with myself. The only way to settle it is to hear the truth from his own lips."

Jane regarded her for a moment, then sighed. "Very well. I shall not stop you, and if anyone asks me where you are, I shall tell them that you felt a little faint and are resting."

"Oh, thank you, Jane! Have I told you today that you are my favourite sister?"

"Not today." Jane smiled. "And I think now I must go and find Charles. Mr Bingley, I mean. I promised him another set."

"Go and be happy, dearest. I shall be well. One way or another, I shall conquer this."

Elizabeth watched her sister return towards the ballroom and then hurried along the corridor. She was suddenly very grateful for her time in residence at Netherfield, as she had a much better understanding of its layout and rooms than she might have had she not stayed under its roof for several days.

She reached the library quickly and opened the door just a crack to look for movement inside. It was largely dark, apart from a couple of lit sconces that cast shallow pools of orange light, and more importantly, it was abandoned. No one hid amongst the bookshelves or sat in the comfortable chairs arranged around the now empty fireplace. She muttered a word that was entirely unbecoming of any lady and tried to think. She could return to the ballroom and pretend this had never happened. It appeared no one had noticed that they had both been on the terrace alone, and it appeared Mr Darcy had also been able to slip from the ballroom unnoticed. Where could the man be?

She supposed he must have retired to his chambers. He was probably at that very moment packing his bags and wondering how quickly he could escape the company of the vexing Elizabeth Bennet. Oh, it would not be enough to be simply a few miles from her. She imagined he felt he must be out of the county entirely, and perhaps the country too!

If he was in his chambers, there was no chance of a conversation. Or was there? All of the residents of the house would be enjoying the festivities of the ball, and most of the servants would be engaged in attending to the needs of the guests who filled the ballroom and the rooms immediately around it. The thought was so improper that she curled her hands into fists at her sides and dug her nails into her palms. She could not seek Mr Darcy in his bedchamber!

But if their kiss had upset his equilibrium so much that he planned to leave immediately, then it might be her only chance. What, in all reason, did she have to lose? As long as she was not seen, then the worst outcome was that he would send her away with a flea in her ear. He would never tell anyone of the encounter. It would be far too embarrassing, and perhaps place him in a situation where his honour was engaged. She must try. She could not settle and be easy in herself until she had tried. She must know the truth of what lay between them.

Elizabeth had a reasonable idea of where Mr Darcy's chambers might be. During her stay at Netherfield, she had occupied a room in the eastern wing, where the guest apartments were situated, and she recalled Miss Bingley mentioning that Mr Darcy had been accommodated in the family wing, because he is as dear to us as family! At the time, she had thought nothing of the information, being more concerned with Jane's health than the sleeping arrangements of an insufferably proud gentleman, but now she was exceedingly grateful for it.

She made her way towards the main staircase, listening carefully for approaching footsteps. The music from the ballroom followed her through the house, growing fainter as she climbed the stairs, until she could hear little more than the distant strains of a violin and the occasional burst of laughter. She could not help wondering what Jane would think if she could see her now. Her sister had agreed not to prevent her from seeking Mr Darcy, but Elizabeth was certain she had imagined a respectable conversation in some quiet corner of the house, not her younger sister creeping like a thief towards a gentleman's bedchamber in the middle of the night.

Well, there was nothing for it now. She had made her decision, and she would not allow herself to be frightened out of it by the possibility of looking foolish. She had already looked foolish enough this evening, and if Mr Darcy could survive the indignity of kissing Elizabeth Bennet, then surely she could survive the indignity of knocking upon his door.

The family wing was mercifully quiet, and she recognised the broad corridor from an occasion when Miss Bingley had taken it upon herself to parade the whole party before a particularly fine painting. There were four doors along its length, and Elizabeth paused, trying to remember which apartment had been indicated as Mr Darcy's. She was almost certain it was the second on the left, although now that she was standing before it, her certainty began to desert her. What if she knocked upon Miss Bingley's door instead? Her maid would have begun to spread the gossip before Elizabeth had made her way back to the main staircase. Or worse, what if she disturbed some elderly relation of the Bingleys who had retired early and was now enjoying a peaceful night's sleep?

She stood there for what felt like hours, but could have been no more than two minutes, considering whether she ought to abandon the whole endeavour, before taking a deep breath and raising her hand. Her knock was so tentative that she doubted anyone inside could possibly have heard it. She waited, then knocked again, a little more firmly this time, and was rewarded by the sound of footsteps approaching from within.

The door opened, and Elizabeth found herself looking up at a tall, serious-looking gentleman of perhaps fifty, dressed in the neat black attire of a gentleman's valet. For a moment, neither of them spoke. The man regarded her with an expression of perfect composure, although Elizabeth fancied she detected the smallest movement of his eyebrows. "Good evening, miss. And what might I be doing for you this fine evening?"

"Good evening. I do beg your pardon for disturbing you, but I wondered whether Mr Darcy might be within?"

"He is indeed, miss." The man's gaze moved briefly towards the corridor behind her before returning to her face. "And who might I be telling him has come calling?"