And yet… for all his superiority, I couldn’t help but notice that he never once allowed himself to truly slip. His posture was impeccable, his coat perfectly tailored, his expression carefully neutral, no matter how ridiculous the evening became. While others flitted about the room, laughing too loudly or stumbling through a dance, he remained still.
Controlled.
Almost unnervingly so.
It made him all the more absurd, really. To stand so stiffly amidst such chaos, to guard himself so carefully against the prospect of enjoyment. How exhausting it must be, to never allow oneself a moment’s unguarded amusement.
As I wandered toward the refreshment table, I caught a glimpse of Kitty and Lydia at the other end of the room, practically hanging off the arms of two soldiers, their laughter ringing out above the music. I winced, glancing toward Jane, who was clearly doing her best to ignore the spectacle. If she was embarrassed, she would never show it.
But I wasn’t quite as patient. I could only imagine what Mr. Darcy made of the scene. Why I cared, I had no idea. What did it matter to me if he was a prig? But I still noticed.
He was near the fireplace now, standing perfectly still, his eyes flicking across the room as though cataloging every flaw in the evening. And yet, something about him remained so... steady. I found myself studying him in spite of myself. He was so unlike any man I had ever met—so fastidious, so very controlled, even in a setting like this where most men would have grown frustrated or bored.
My father, for instance, had long since retreated to a corner of the room, where he could sit in peace, nursing a glass of wine and casting the occasional amused glance at Mama’s efforts to herd my sisters like a determined sheepdog. But Mr. Darcy? Heremained in the thick of it, though he hardly participated. He was like a marble statue, observing, never reacting.
I supposed I should find it irritating—his insistence on remaining aloof. And yet, there was something strangely fascinating about it.
“Lizzy!”
I turned just in time to see Charlotte approaching, her face flushed with exertion from her recent dance. She smiled as she reached my side, following my gaze toward the refreshment table, then across the room to where Mr. Darcy stood, still glowering at the crowd.
“He doesn’t look as though he’s enjoying himself,” Charlotte remarked quietly, her smile fading.
“No,” I said, unable to suppress a smile of my own. “I don’t think Mr. Darcy was made for country assemblies.”
Charlotte shook her head. “Or any sort of assembly at all. How can a man be so disagreeable? And with Mr. Bingley as his friend, no less!”
“Perhaps that is why Mr. Bingley is so eager to befriend everyone else. He must balance out the company he keeps.”
Charlotte chuckled at that, though her eyes flicked back toward Mr. Darcy, her expression thoughtful. “Still, there’s something about him, isn’t there?”
“Something unpleasant, you mean?”
“No, something... steady. You can’t quite shake the feeling that he’s always in control.”
I raised a brow at her. “You find that appealing?”
“Not appealing, exactly.” She frowned, considering. “But intriguing. He doesn’t seem the type to let anything get the better of him, does he?”
I glanced back toward Mr. Darcy. He was watching Mr. Bingley and Jane dance, his expression as impassive as ever.
“He doesn’t,” I admitted. “But he also doesn’t seem the type to enjoy anything either. Where’s the fun in that?”
Charlotte shrugged, her smile returning. “Perhaps he finds enjoyment in other things.”
I doubted that very much, but I kept the thought to myself. We had spent enough time analyzing Mr. Darcy for one evening. Whatever his faults—and there were many—I could at least be grateful that he was no threat to Jane’s happiness. Mr. Bingley, for all his good nature, seemed unlikely to be swayed by the opinions of his stiff-necked friend.
The evening wore on, and the room grew even more crowded, the air thick with the mingled scents of sweat, perfume, and the increasingly warm bodies pressing closer together. I stayed by Charlotte’s side for much of the night, grateful for her company—and her good humor, which made it far easier to ignore the more embarrassing behaviors of my family.
At one point, Jane and Mr. Bingley passed by us, both of them glowing from their second dance, and I smiled at the sight of my sister so obviously happy. If only we could escape Mama’s loud declarations long enough to let Jane’s natural grace shine through.
And if only Mr. Darcy weren’t there to witness the whole evening.
I glanced back toward him one last time just as he turned away from the dance floor. Our eyes met briefly—his expression as hooded as ever—but there was something in his gaze that made me pause.
For a moment, I thought he looked almost... tired. Not the disdain I had seen earlier, but something far more ordinary.
I quickly looked away, unsure what to make of it.
