“Miss Elizabeth?” His voice, low and resonant, brushed against her ear like a caress. He held his hand out and she took it, allowing him to loop it through his arm and escort her to the floor. Out of the corner of her eye, she noted Miss Bingley scowling in anger—a thundercloud amidst bright candlelight.
The song was lively, leaving little room for conversation, but she did not mind. Simply partnering with such a man was sufficiently thrilling. The steps brought them apart and together again in quick succession—each meeting of their eyes a spark, each brush of hands a sparkler’s flare. Darcy moved with precision and grace, far better trained than most of the local gentlemen. Elizabeth could not help but feel a flutter in her chest when he met her gaze with a warmth he scarcely concealed.
Jane partnered with Mr. Bingley down the line. Her sister’s cheeks were flushed with pleasure, and the gentleman scarcely took his eyes off her.Perhaps we shall both find happiness.
Later, Elizabeth traded places with Mary. Mr. Darcy took up a position at her side, carefully turning pages as the others danced. His presence, solid and attentive, sent a pleasantawareness down her spine. Mary, usually shy and content to sit on the side, partnered with Mr. John Lucas and Mr. Arnold Goulding. The younger Misses Long looked on with envy—rarely did Mary command such attention at a gathering.
Jane stood up with Mr. Bingley twice more, though she had other dance partners. If it were a proper ball, such a thing would have sent tongues wagging. But tonight, excitement over the Netherfield newcomers outweighed propriety—everyone was too busy watching Bingley’s shining expression whenever Jane entered the room.
Miss Bingley remained in the same spot throughout most of the evening. Her sister joined her for a time before moving away to converse with the other married ladies. Mr. Hurst disappeared and did not reappear until the carriages were called—no doubt he had discovered a card table or some other amusement.
By the time the evening ended, Elizabeth realized Mr. Darcy had scarcely left her side all night. When she moved, he followed. When she spoke, he listened. And when others approached her, his attention never strayed far.
“I have wished to ask…” He hesitated as she closed the lid to the instrument. His hand hovered at his side, opening and closing once as though uncertain what to do with itself. “Miss Elizabeth, I suspect you are fond of walking.”
“I am.” She turned to look up at him, craning her neck as she was still seated on the bench. From this angle, he seemed even taller, more imposing, yet so very earnest.
“I often ride out in the morning. If we should encounter each other, I should be pleased to share conversation with you.” He looked rather hopeful, though Elizabeth noted his nerves as he fiddled with his cuffs. His eyes dropped briefly to her hands before darting away. Had Mr. Darcy never courted a woman before?She did not know.
“I favor Oakham Mount. It is more of a hill, situated between Longbourn and Netherfield. I believe I shall venture that way on the morrow.”
“Then if we encounter each other…” he trailed off, leaving the rest of the sentence unsaid. Even unfinished, it hung warmly between them.
The Bingleys’ carriage was announced, and he bowed, moving away. Elizabeth remained on the bench, her anticipation growing as she imagined meeting Mr. Darcy while out walking. The candlelight shimmered across the now-empty, makeshift dance floor, and laughter echoed faintly from the hall where guests collected cloaks and gloves.
We are so similar,she mused. Though the acquaintance was of short duration, she knew she had found in him a kindred spirit.
She pressed a hand lightly to her chest, willing her heartbeat to steady—yet secretly savoring the thrilling instability of it.
The Longbourn carriage rattled up the familiar drive well past ten, lanterns swinging as the horses slowed to a walk. Elizabeth, warm from exertion and flushed from the evening’s pleasures, stepped down after her sisters and followed her mother inside. The Bennet household was quiet, save for the soft crackle of the dying fire Mr. Bennet had kept in the sitting room.
He looked up from his book as the ladies filed in. “Ah. My flock returns. Tell me—did the evening live up to its promise? Or did Meryton once again prove itself incapable of producing amusement for more than fifteen minutes at a stretch?”
Mrs. Bennet dropped into her favorite chair with a dramatic flourish. “Oh, Mr. Bennet, such an evening! The most delightful we have had in years. Jane dancedthreetimes with Mr. Bingley! Sir William always arranges amusements, you know, and Mr. Bingley was very attentive.”
Mr. Bennet’s eyebrows rose sharply over the edge of his spectacles. “Three times? Good heavens. That sounds dangerously like a declaration.” His tone was mild, but something in his expression made Elizabeth pause. Was he concerned? Her father rarely betrayed worry unless matters truly pressed upon him.
“Oh, nonsense!” Mrs. Bennet fanned herself. “Mr. Bingley is enchanted. Quite enchanted! Anyone could see it.”
Elizabeth glanced toward Jane, whose soft blush confirmed the statement. A tender smile tugged at Elizabeth’s lips—until she caught her father’s thoughtful frown. Why wouldthattrouble him?
“And that is not the only news,” Mrs. Bennet continued breathlessly. “Mr. Darcy barely left Elizabeth’s side. Indeed, I counted—he spoke to her more than anyone else!”
“Mama!” Elizabeth’s cheeks flamed, mortification prickling beneath her skin.
Mr. Bennet lowered his book, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Is that so?” He looked directly at his second-eldest daughter. “Tell me, Lizzy, have you a suitor? Should I begin penning letters of congratulations to the neighborhood?”
“Papa!” Elizabeth pressed a hand to her cheek. “There is no suitor. Mr. Darcy was merely…civil.”
“Civil men do not hover,” Mrs. Bennet declared triumphantly. “Civil men do not follow one lady about for hours. No, no, Lizzy, you may deny it, but I saw it with my own eyes—every time I turned round, there he was, speaking to you, looking at you, fetching you punch—”
“Mama,” Elizabeth said weakly, “you exaggerate.”
“Do I?” Mrs. Bennet huffed. “We shall see.”
Mr. Bennet chuckled. “Well, my dear, whether you have ensnared a wealthy gentleman or not, I am glad the evening was enjoyable. For my part, I had a pleasant night free of militia tales and Mrs. Phillips’ news.”
Elizabeth laughed softly, grateful for the momentary reprieve. She escaped with Jane toward the stairs, both tired yet glowing with the thrill of the night.
