A small sound escaped her before she could stop it.
Mr. Goulding looked down at her in alarm. “Miss Elizabeth? Are you well?”
“Yes.” She forced herself to smile. “Quite well. I merely almost lost my footing.”
Mr. Goulding’s eyes twinkled as he glanced toward the newcomers. “Ah, I see. New gentlemen enter the room, and all the young ladies begin swooning. Should I call for smelling salts, or is the danger past?”
Elizabeth’s cheeks warmed, but she lifted her chin. “Indeed no, sir. It was dancing with such a fine partner as yourself that took my breath away. The new gentlemen had nothing to do with it.”
Mr. Goulding laughed so loudly that several people nearby turned to look. “Mrs. Goulding must hear this. Come, come, I have been properly appreciated at last.”
He repeated her compliment to his wife with such satisfaction that Mrs. Goulding patted his hand and said she had always known him irresistible. Elizabeth smiled, curtsied, and would have gladly remained with them another moment had she not caught sight of her mother beckoning with alarming urgency from across the room.
“There you are, Lizzy!” Mrs. Bennet cried as soon as Elizabeth reached her and Jane. “Make haste and look. That is Mr. Bingley, and I am told he has five thousand a year. Five thousand! Oh, if only your father had come. He has called, you know, but would he tell me? No. He must tease and torment me, though he knew very well I wished to know. Now we must wait for Sir William to introduce us, and I am sure half the room will be before us.”
“He looks very amiable,” Jane said softly.
“Of course he does. A young man with five thousand a year has every reason to be amiable.” Mrs. Bennet fluttered her fan, her eyes fixed upon Mr. Bingley with maternal determination. “And he has sisters, which may be useful, though the tall one looks very high in the instep. Still, sisters may be managed if the brother is agreeable.”
Elizabeth tried not to look again at Mr. Darcy and failed. “Do you know anything of the rest of the party?”
“Oh yes,” Mrs. Bennet whispered, with the delighted importance of one possessing intelligence not yet generally distributed. “Two sisters, one sister’s husband, and a friend who was lately a colonel in the militia. He has an estate in the north, though I do not know how large. But, Lizzy—” She leaned closer. “I am told his father left tremendous debts, and he paid them all off. Very noble, I am sure, but it means he is most likely looking for an heiress to refill his coffers.”
Elizabeth stared at her mother. “How did you learn all of that so quickly?”
Mrs. Bennet looked offended by the question. “My dear, I am not without resources. Mrs. Philips’s housekeeper heard it from one of the Netherfield maids, who came from London a few days ago to help prepare the house. Servants always know things before their masters do.”
Elizabeth could not dispute that. In her experience, servants usually knew everything before anyone else admitted it was happening.
Before she could ask more, Sir William Lucas approached, leading the Netherfield party in triumph. His manner was all ceremonious delight, his bows multiplying with every step.
“Mrs. Bennet! Miss Bennet! Miss Elizabeth! Permit me the honor of presenting Mr. Bingley, the new tenant of Netherfield Park.”
Mr. Bingley bowed with cheerful eagerness. His eyes rested upon Jane and seemed, at once, to forget the rest of the room. “I am very pleased to make your acquaintance.”
Jane curtsied, her color gently rising. “You are very welcome to Hertfordshire, sir.”
Mr. Bingley smiled as though Hertfordshire had personally bestowed upon him some great favor. After introductions to hissisters, Mr. Hurst, and Mr. Darcy were completed, he turned back to Jane almost immediately. “Miss Bennet, may I hope you are not engaged for the next set?”
Jane’s blush deepened. “I believe I am free, sir.”
“Then I should be very honored.”
Mrs. Bennet looked as though she might burst from satisfaction. She made a valiant attempt to include Mr. Darcy in her pleasure, turning upon him with her brightest maternal smile. “And you, Mr. Darcy, are you fond of dancing?”
He bowed slightly. “Not very much, madam.”
It was politely said. Quietly said. Not cold, exactly, but distant enough that Mrs. Bennet’s interest in him lessened at once. A gentleman who did not care to dance, had only uncertain fortune, and perhaps required an heiress to mend his circumstances was not worth nearly so much exertion as Mr. Bingley, who admired Jane and possessed five thousand a year. Within moments, Mrs. Bennet was addressing all her remarks to the new tenant, while Mr. Darcy stood with composed silence beside his party.
Elizabeth watched him.
She could not help herself.
Surely he must recognize her. Sir William had introduced her as Miss Elizabeth Bennet. He had heard the name. He had seen her face. He had looked at her—briefly, yes, but surely not so briefly as to forget entirely the young woman who had discovered a Roman hoard beneath her uncle’s cellar. Did he remember Gracechurch Street? The coin? The mud? The moment when he had looked at her with such arrested surprise that she had carried the memory of it for two years like a foolish secret?
His gaze passed over her as it had passed over Jane, Mary, Kitty, Lydia, and her mother.
Polite. Unmoved. Unknowing.
