Page 77 of Sweet on Mr Darcy

Elizabeth’s eyes flew up to meet his.

There was something about his restraint that moved her far more than a dramatic declaration might have.

She smiled. “I think, Mr Darcy, you may safely have confidence in my estimation.”

His expression changed. “May I?” he said hopefully.

“You have made your company very difficult to do without,” she confessed in nearly a whisper, her face scarlet.

Not quite a confession of her feelings. But gentle and intentional encouragement.

“You are all kindness and generosity tonight.” He smiled radiantly.

“I hope so, Mr Darcy. I should hate to be misunderstood.”

During the last set of the night, their conversation wandered hesitantly to the future. They spoke of books he meant to send her from his library. Whether his father’s health would permit another stay at Ramsgate next summer. Whether they preferred the sea to the countryside. Whether Derbyshire might ever tempt her to travel to the north.

Elizabeth was acutely aware that in a matter of days, these small moments between them would be over. He would be absent. No more walks by the cliffs. No confectionery adventures. No absurdly attentive company. No Darcy. Elizabeth found it an intensely disobliging thought.

When the dance brought them together again, she spoke before caution could bring her to her senses.

“Do you mean to return?” she blurted out quite suddenly.

“From the north?” His gaze fixed on hers.

“Yes.”

“I hope so,” he answered. “I will come to London after the festive season, if I am wanted.”

Elizabeth’s smile was radiant. “You are.” Her voice was barely a whisper. “Perhaps I might visit my aunt and uncle there.”

His countenance changed from uncertainty to utter joy. Their expressions showed them both, even from across the room, to be deeply in love.

Lady Barry observed with satisfaction and nudged Charlotte.

“Well, well.” Mr Bennet followed her gaze. “I believe I have lost my dear Lizzy.”

Lady Barry adjusted her shawl. “You could not lose her to a better man. If she must enter the detestable state of marriage, she could not do better than Anne’s boy.”

She paused. “Except for one of Reggie’s boys, perhaps, though your eldest seems to have caught one.”

“Finally.” Charlotte made no attempt to hide her smile.

“Indeed, my dear,” Mr Bennet said tenderly to his wife. “Indeed.”

Late that night, Elizabeth was quiet as she and Jane prepared for bed. Jane, however, was unable to contain her enthusiasm for Viscount Fitzwilliam. She wavered between admiring his merits and insisting that she could never interest him properly.

“He paid you quite enough attention, Jane.” Elizabeth was amused. “You never spoke like this about Mr Lovett or Mr Bingley.”

“Lizzy, it is almost as if I never met a man before! Mr Darcy, he is quite mature for his age. He has a sense of masculine dependability about him that is very attractive, though he is too reserved for me. Even if you did not like him, I should never encourage him. We would speak ten words between us in a year, I am certain. But these gentlemen. His cousins. Lizzy…they are men! Did you see how the viscount carries himself? I know he is too far above me, but oh! How a girl could dream about marrying such a man…”

Jane went on about not getting her hopes up for more than a quarter hour as Elizabeth brushed out her hair.

“I believe we might both be allowed to get our hopes up this time, Jane.” She grinned at her sister in the mirror. “But do not tell Charlotte I said it.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Friday 7 August 1812