“Then dance.”
Mary frowned, discovered she had been cornered by logic from Lydia, and changed the subject.
Netherfield shone that night. Bingley had opened every principal room. Candles multiplied in mirrors. Musicians tuned in the gallery. The floors gleamed. Caroline received guests at her brother’s side with elegance sharpened by effort. She had not apologized to Jane. She had, however, ceased speaking of her as an unsuitable connection. For Caroline, this represented progress.
Darcy stood with one hand on a cane near the fireplace. Dr. Morrison had permitted him to walk short distances without crutches but forbidden dancing. Darcy believed the second instruction vindictive.
Then Elizabeth entered.
He forgot the physician. Her green gown made her eyes appear darker. Her hair was arranged more simply than fashion dictated, curls escaping near one temple. She was laughing at something Lydia said.
Richard came to stand beside Darcy. “Close your mouth.”
Darcy did not look at him. “It is closed.”
“Then blink.”
Darcy turned. “Leave.”
Richard grinned.
Elizabeth approached. “Mr. Darcy.”
“Miss Elizabeth.”
“You are standing.”
“I have done so before.”
“Not for this long.”
He glanced at the cane. “I am obeying Morrison.”
“An historical occasion.”
His gaze moved over her face. “You look…”
Elizabeth waited. Darcy, who could discuss crop yields with three land agents and contradict Lady Catherine before dinner, failed to complete the sentence.
Richard murmured, “Beautiful. The word is beautiful.”
Darcy glared at him.
Elizabeth laughed. “Thank you, Colonel.”
“I am always of service.”
Darcy said, “You look beautiful.”
Her laughter softened. “Thank you.”
He had seen her blush many times, usually from irritation or exercise. This was different.
Bingley claimed Jane for the first set.
Richard danced with Elizabeth.
Darcy watched. He disliked watching more than ever. Richard knew it and became insufferably entertaining. He made Elizabeth laugh through the entire dance and once, while turning, caught Darcy’s eye and winked.