“Exactly. You are a quick learner, Miss Elizabeth.”
She nodded her gratitude, but she was murmuring the count to herself and did not reply for a moment. Darcy studied her knit brow, the squint with which she stared fixedly at his chest as her head bobbed faintly in time with their steps. Any moment now, she would feel herself master of the art… and she would look up into his face.
He swallowed.Please, heaven, let the nausea gnawing at him abate. Just long enough to survive this dance and enjoy the supper afterwards. The waltz demanded precision, and he needed every ounce of his focus on the steps—and on Elizabeth. If the rest of life’s pleasures were to be denied him, if his future were to be cut short, he would add this night to his bank of memories—things to pull out of the trove and smile over when that day came that he discovered his time was at an end.
But he would push that day back as long as he could. Tonight, he would lose himself in the making of that memory… in admiring a lady merely for herself, for once in his life, because his habitual standards—the duty of marriage to a society heiress and founding a new generation of Darcys to carry on after him… well, those were no longer considerations.
He showed her the next movement, his hand steadying her as they turned. “Now, step to the side and then forward again. One, two, three… Yes, very good.” Her touch grounded him and sent shocks of pleasure rather than pain down his spine. Was it the lingering traces of laudanum, or was it the warmth of her body through the fabric of her gown that intoxicated him? He marvelled at how quickly she picked up the rhythm, her movements becoming more fluid with each step.
And that was when she looked up into his eyes, and his heart might well have stopped.
Egad, this was lunacy. What madness had persuaded him to think he would be satisfied with one dance? Perhaps… Perhaps there remained before him…possibilitieshe had not considered carefully enough.
Darcy’s thoughts swirled, a chaotic blend of admiration and longing. Every graceful turn, every twirl brought them closer as Elizabeth eased into the dance. The scent of lavender in her hair, the soft rise and fall of her breath, the way her fingers rested lightly on his shoulder—all of it captivated him completely.
“You are doing wonderfully,” he murmured.
Elizabeth’s gaze faltered, and he realised he had been staring without blinking. “Thank you, Mr Darcy. It really is rather… ah…” She cleared her throat. “Engaging.”
He could hardly think of anything to say, the words caught in his throat as he became more aware of the rising tension in her eyes—a blend of anxiety and something he dared to hope was confused desire. She certainlylooked… well, she had not looked at anyoneelsethe way she was looking at him. He had been watching her all evening—he knew all too well how she looked at other men. There was something there when she lifted her eyes to him that had been absent in other men’s arms.
Perhaps… it was not lunacy, after all. Perhaps…
“Miss Elizabeth,” he began, his voice low and halting. “I… must confess something. I have been considering... many things of late.”
Her eyes flickered with confusion and curiosity. “Oh? And what matters occupy your thoughts so deeply, Mr Darcy?”
He hesitated, searching for the right words. “I find myself... considering the future, and what it holds. I thought I would not have the time for...” He stopped. How was she to understand that? He had told her nothing of his fears, but she was not entirely ignorant of the fact that he was unwell. Perhaps that was enough. He filled his lungs and tried again.
“I had thought certain pleasures would be denied me, and yet, I am… utterly tempted.”
Elizabeth’s brow furrowed slightly. “Tempted, sir? By what?”
“By the prospect of... securing my family’s future,” he replied, his eyes searching hers. “Of finding someone who might… partner me, who might...” He trailed off, his throat tight with unspoken words.
Her expression hardened slightly, a flicker of something cold passing through her eyes. “I see. You speak of Miss Anne de Bourgh, do you not? Everyone knows it has long beenarranged.”
Darcy blinked, startled by her assumption. How had she even heard of that? “No, Miss Elizabeth, you misunderstand—”
She interrupted, her tone becoming warmer yet defensive. “If there is any misunderstanding, it is my comprehension of your character. You would not, sir, be the man to withdraw from his commitments? No? I wondered when I first heard of it, but Mr Wickham speaks highly of your character, Mr Darcy. He believes you to be an honourable man, despite what others might say. I find his perspective... enlightening.”
Darcy’s chest tightened. “Wickham... he is not what he seems, Miss Elizabeth. There are things you do not know about him.”
Her eyes flashed with indignation. “And what do I not know, Mr Darcy? That he is kind, charming, and considerate? That he has spoken of you with nothing but respect and admiration?”
“He is…” Darcy’s head panged, and he closed his eyes against the shot of light across his vision. A hiss escaped him, and he felt Elizabeth stiffen in his arms.
“Are you well, sir?”
He forced a smile… or the closest expression he could approximate. “Well enough. Miss Elizabeth, I cannot say with any degree of certaintywhatMr Wickham is at present, but the man I knew from my youth is not as honourable as you believe.”
Elizabeth’s brow furrowed, her steps faltering slightly. “Then, you believe people cannot change?”
“In my experience, they do not.”
“But you have nothing specific of which to accuse him?”
Darcy’s jaw tightened. “No. I can only say that your trust should not be lightly given.”
