As Darcy bowed and took his leave, Elizabeth found herself wondering just how much longer they could pretend this was all for appearances’ sake.
Because with every passing day, it felt less and less like a charade.
Chapter Twenty-One
Darcy had always believedhimself a man of unwavering composure.
In business, in family matters, even in the absurd political machinations his uncle dragged him into—he approached each challenge with precision and detachment. His decisions were deliberate, his words measured. Feelings, particularly the messy, irrational kind, were luxuries for lesser men.
Or so he had thought.
But as he stood in the ornate hall of Lord and Lady Matlock’s townhouse, watching the gilded crowd swirl around him, he realized—begrudgingly—that his carefully constructed armor had begun to crack.
It started yesterday.
He had arrived at the Gardiners’ townhouse with no clear purpose, no well-defined excuse. It had been a foolish impulse, one he ought to have ignored. But when the man at the door informed him that Miss Bennet was, indeed, at home, and moreover alone, Darcy felt an inexplicable relief course through him. The ache in his chest—an unfamiliar, unwelcome thing—had eased the moment he saw her face.
He would have despised himself for that weakness, had he the energy to do so. But standing here tonight, with the low hum of conversation and the clink of crystal filling the air, he felt it again—that strange, infuriating ease.
But only when she appeared.
On her uncle’s arm, Elizabeth entered the hall like a beacon in the dim glow of the chandeliers. Mr. Gardiner escorted his wife on the other side, both of them radiating the quiet confidence of people entirely at ease in any company. But it was Elizabeth who held Darcy’s gaze. She wore a gown of silvery-lavender silk, the fabric catching the light with every graceful step. He had been imagining her in that gown all day—after all, he had had a hand in ensuring it adorned her tonight.
Ithad been a subtle collaboration, a quiet exchange of letters, discreet suggestions… and a bit of coin between himself and the Gardiners. If Elizabeth Bennet was to navigate these treacherous London waters by his side, she needed to be armed appropriately. The silk hugged her figure with understated elegance, the color making her skin glow like moonlight against polished glass.
And it was working.
Gentlemen turned their heads as she passed, their expressions shifting from mild interest to something far more appreciative. Darcy caught the tight-lipped smiles of certain ladies, their eyes narrowing in calculated assessment. The reactions pleased him more than they should have. A private, almost smug satisfaction curled in his chest.
But it was hereyes—those glorious, expressive eyes—that unraveled him.
They danced over the crowd, searching, hopeful. And when they found him—when they lit up with that unmistakable spark—Darcy felt a tightness within him ease, as though the very air in his lungs had been bound and now slipped free without his consent.
How very odd! He was a grown man of seven and twenty. He had never struggled to breathe before. Yet somehow, when Elizabeth Bennet entered a room, the very air seemed to sweeten.
Only when her gaze settled on him did he allow himself to move. With purposeful steps, he crossed the room, the crowd parting instinctively as though sensing the gravity of his intent. “Mr. Gardiner, Mrs. Gardiner,” Darcy greeted with a respectful bow. “It is a pleasure to see you both this evening.”
Mrs. Gardiner smiled warmly. “Mr. Darcy, what a fine gathering this is. Our hosts have outdone themselves.”
“Indeed, my aunt prides herself on her parties,” he agreed before turning to Elizabeth. “Miss Bennet.”
She tilted her head, amusement flickering in her gaze. “Mr. Darcy.”
“You are looking very well this evening. The color becomes you.”
Her smile deepened, though whether in acknowledgment or teasing, he could not yet tell. “How very gracious of you, sir. You must be practicing flattery.”
“Not at all. Only speaking what is true.”
She did not look away as quickly as she might have done before, but rather studied him for a fleeting moment, as if weighing the words. Then, just as swiftly, her playfulness returned, her lips curving once more. “Then, if we are speaking truth, I see your waistcoat is a rather complimentary shade. What a remarkable coincidence, sir.”
“It is, indeed,” he replied in the gravest tone he could manage. “Might I have the honor of the first dance?” he asked, extending his hand.
She regarded him for a moment before placing her gloved hand in his with deliberate poise. “Well, Mr. Darcy, I suppose I cannot refuse such a request. But I do hope you intend to make it worth my while.”
“I shall endeavor not to disappoint.”
But the musicians had yet to take their places, and the first strains of the evening’s waltz were still moments away. Darcy turned to the Gardiners with a polite nod. “If you will excuse me, I should like to steal Miss Bennet for a moment before the dancing begins.”
