Her eyes lifted to his. “Have you, sir? Are there not enough ladies and gentlemen in Meryton to provide you diversion?”
“Are you teasing me, Mrs Fiennes?”
“Perhaps a little, Mr Darcy.”
The reverse of a similar moment of gentle raillery in London drew laughter from them both, and a brief reflection from Elizabeth on how far they had come.
His hand rested on his knee, and she noticed his fingers twitch slightly before he answered. “There are indeed many hereabouts to satisfy curiosity—and even to weary it—but none whose company I prefer toyours.”
The import of his words made her heart sing. “You are a flatterer,” she said teasingly, hoping to break the moment’s intensity. The heaviness that settled on her then was not the oppressive sort of impending storm she had known with Fiennes—tumultuous, angry, and consuming—but another kind entirely. It pulsed with warmth, with the suggestion of something unlooked for.Attraction,her mind whispered.
She could read it in his gaze. He regarded her steadily, his eyes warm, and features gentled. He did not look away. It was as though he truly saw her—a woman of feeling and thought, not an object to be possessed nor a prize to be won. The awareness was heady: to be well regarded, not as a show to please another’s vanity, but as a person worthy of esteem.
“Flatterer I may be yet no one could call my words false. It has been a delight to renew our acquaintance, Mrs Fiennes.”
Elizabeth felt the familiar panic rising within her.You are mine!Fiennes’s snarl rang sharp in her mind. I will not tolerate this flirtatious, wanton behaviour.
In an instant, the candlelight of Lucas Lodge was gone. Fiennes stood before her once more, his breath foul and hot against her cheek.
“How dare you embarrass me!” he hissed, his rage vibrating through the hand that gripped her arm and shaking it. “Flirting and laughing with Colonel Wilson—despicable!”
“I did not—no, you misunderstand—”
He had struck over her protest, words cutting as keenly as any blow.
“I saw how he looked at you. No, Elizabeth, it will not do. You were nothing before me. I gave you my name, bestowed a fortune on you, and this is my repayment? You will be more…selective…in your company henceforth.”
The memory dissolved, leaving her trembling.
“Mrs Fiennes? Are you well?”
Mr Darcy’s voice recalled her. He touched her sleeve lightly, and she flinched before she could master herself. She prayed he had not observed, but the firm set of his features betrayed that he had.
She quickly rose. “I am cold. I believe I shall return to the party.”
He straightened at once, a mask of politeness settling over his countenance. “May I attend you, madam?”
The warmth of a moment earlier had fled; his tone courteous but distant. Her heart contracted at the thought that she had wounded him.
“If you like.” She smiled at him, but she knew it did not reach her eyes. “I thank you, sir.” She took his offered arm, the contact stiff and uncertain. All the brightness of earlier conversation had vanished, leaving her feeling anxious and frightened once more.
Within the parlour they parted. Feeling unequal to further company, Elizabeth sought her father and quietly requested to return home. His look held concern, but he agreed, reminding her that she needed no leave to withdraw.
As the carriage rolled into the night, Elizabeth wondered at her reaction.Surely he will despise me now,she thought.I have not been honest, and I have repaid his kindness with apparent coldness. How am I to explain—and will he still call himself myfriend if I do?
The night air pressed cold against the glass, yet her cheeks still burned. What startled her most was not the memory she had relived, but how fiercely she wished to be thought well of by another man.
Darcy
I do not understand it,Darcy thought, a cup of punch in his hand and a deep scowl on his face as he stood by the darkened window looking into the night. The evening had begun so well. Their conversation had been easy and lively; he had almost reached for her hand—had nearly asked permission to wait upon her. Then, in an instant, something had shifted. Her teasing humour vanished; a look of fear had played across her countenance. For one dreadful moment, he had the impression it was notheshe saw at all. The sparkle of those fine eyes had been extinguished, leaving only terror.
Something haunts her.But what can it be?No answer came to him.
He turned the question over in his mind until Sir William called for the rugs to be rolled and the furniture pushed aside for dancing. Glancing about, he felt his heart sink as he realised Elizabeth was nowhere to be seen. Miss Mary took her place at the pianoforte, and couples began to form.
Desiring to appear sociable, he invited Mrs Wilkens to stand up with him, hoping to gain some information from her as they did. It was ungentlemanly, perhaps, to speak of one lady while dancing with another, but curiosity burned too hot within to be ignored.
“I trust you have enjoyed the evening, sir,” Mrs Wilkens began with her usual good sense.
