“Oh, I have tried that. I can accomplish one at a time passably well, but synchronising the two clefs together is beyond my abilities. I am afraid I am a lost cause, Miss Darcy. Perhaps I ought to have asked you to teach me to paint instead.”
“I have the perfect notion, Georgiana,” cried the countess. “Sit beside our Elizabeth and play the lower notes for her. We could all do with some entertainment, and you are among friends here, my dear.”
Elizabeth cast blushing eyes around the room, slowing pleadingly when they passed over Jane and then Darcy himself. “I-I’m not sure everyone wishes to hear—”
“Nonsense! No one will mock you. I always say it is far better to applaud one who is brave enough to step to the instrument than to criticise what one cannot do oneself.”
Elizabeth’s gaze dropped to the floor, and she clenched her hands on the sofa cushion for a second. “In that case, I cannot refuse.”
Georgiana leapt up with an eagerness that surprised him. “Have you your music? You play the right hand, and I shall play the left. The melody is the soul of that piece, and I know you will fall into it. Ah, here it is. Now, three beats to the measure, begin on the third count. One and two and…”
Darcy crossed his legs and leaned back, preparing to pity unhappy Elizabeth for being forced into something she did not desire. Only too late, he scolded himself for never speaking in her defence, but even as he recognised his failure, he confessed the reason for it. Secretly, he longed to hear her, to watch her, and to feast his mind and soul on her without incurring the notice of others.
She held her breath as she set her fingers on the keys, and for an instant—did he imagine it?—she flicked her eyes to him. Then her head bowed, and the first soft notes echoed. Georgiana’s voice fell quiet, and there was only the light spirit of song between them.
They made a pretty picture together; golden and chestnut heads bobbing in time over the keys, one figure lithe and the other shapely, swaying together in synchrony. Within the first three measures, Darcy’s worry evaporated. He laced his fingers together and would have closed his eyes to drink it all in, but they refused to darken while she illuminated them.
He sensed the trance as it came upon him, but welcomed the languorous mist that seemed to sparkle and coalesce around his mind. His face grew warm with the guilty pleasure of it, and he could almost fancy that a dream washed over him, wholly unbidden. It was summer bonnets and wildflower-studded meadows, lazy days of sunshine and simple plaid blankets spread under a twilight sky. It was a warm hand clasped in his own, tugging him towards one more adventure, one more moment of… ofeverything.
And then, the magic went cold.
Everyone was clapping politely, and Elizabeth was shakily rising from the piano stool. “Brava, my dear!” the countess applauded. “I daresay with a bit more practice, you will play beautifully!”
Elizabeth turned to Georgiana. “Thank you,” she said breathlessly. “I fear it was still quite choppy. I shall never have your light touch.”
“But it was not bad,” Georgiana comforted her. “Truly, a great improvement. We should do this again.”
Elizabeth nodded briskly as a sparkle of triumph finally glowed from within. Accidental or not, Darcy could not decide, but she looked directly at him, and something in that instant of connection seemed to beg his approval.
Others might have heard a struggling learner with imperfect timing or expression, but Darcy had only heard his own heartbeat. He smiled back at her unreservedly, bowing his head and offering gentle applause as the others did, but when she looked away, a melancholy sigh split him.
What the devil was he to do now?
“Jane,youareimaginingthings.” Elizabeth, her hands fisted and her cheeks on fire, hastened into her bedroom from their shared sitting room and shook her head when Margaret offered to help her undress.
Jane followed her insistently. “I do not think I am. I am not sure if anyone else saw, but I did.”
Elizabeth was already bent over, ripping off her stocking, and she snapped her head back up. “What was there to see?”
“The way Mr Darcy was looking at you… and the way you were looking back at him.”
Elizabeth scoffed and tugged at her other stocking. “Jane, I have no attachment to Mr Darcy. I’ve done nothing improper, and neither has he.”
“I am not saying you have, Lizzy, but do you not understand? He is betrothed. He belongs to another!”
Elizabeth flung the stockings across the room. “I know!Do you think I could not know that? Do you honestly believe I do not torment myself with that knowledge day and night?”
Jane paled. “It has gone that far, then? Why have you done nothing?”
“What am I to do?” Elizabeth exploded. “Whatcanyou do, when the one person who delights your heart is the very person you cannot have?”
“Elizabeth, you could not have had any other man, either. You married Richard.”
“Richard is dead! I know you think me awful, but it is no worse than I think of myself. I need none of your lectures, Jane, not now. I have berated myself for months, for not loving Richard better and for obsessing over a good and honest man who has only ever been a friend to me.”
“Obsessing! Oh, Lizzy, you cannot be serious. You must go somewhere—somewhere far away!”
“I know, Jane. Do not blame Mr Darcy, for he has done nothing wrong.” Elizabeth crashed down on the bed, her face in her hands.
