CHAPTER ELEVEN #2
“If you will allow me,” he continued, his tone composed yet unmistakably intent, “I believe I may be of greater use.”
Elizabeth looked up at him, not in the least surprised by the offer, and inclined her head. “I should like that very much.”
He took her hand, his hold firm but careful, and guided her forward again, this time at a far more measured pace. He spoke little at first, allowing her to feel her footing, his attention wholly fixed upon her movements.
“Do not look down,” he said gently. “It unsettles you. Keep your eyes forward, and allow your weight to move with the ice, not against it.”
Elizabeth followed his instruction. At first her steps remained tentative, her confidence uncertain, but gradually the tension eased. She no longer clutched at him so desperately; her movements grew smoother, more assured.
“You learn quickly,” Darcy observed. “You are steadier than you suppose.”
She smiled, breathless but pleased. “You are a generous instructor.”
“I am an observant one,” he replied. “And I think you possess a natural aptitude.”
Elizabeth glanced at him in genuine surprise. “That is not how I should have described myself. I attempted skating once before, when I was much younger, upon the Serpentine at Hyde Park. I fell almost immediately and was persuaded that I had proved myself entirely unsuited to the amusement.”
His mouth curved faintly. “I suspect the conclusion was reached too hastily.”
They moved together now with increasing ease, Elizabeth aware that she no longer relied entirely upon his support, though she was not yet inclined to release his hand.
“I did not expect to enjoy this so much,” she admitted.
“Nor did I expect you to take to it so readily,” he said quietly.
At that moment her blade caught upon a roughened patch of ice. Elizabeth gave a soft cry as her balance slipped away.
Darcy caught her at once. His hand came to her waist for the briefest instant—no more than was necessary to steady her—but the contact sent a sudden warmth through her entire frame. Almost immediately he shifted his hold to her elbow, guiding her into safety with composed precision.
“You are quite safe, Miss Elizabeth,” he said, his voice a shade lower than usual.
“Yes… quite safe,” she managed. Her breath felt oddly unsteady, her heart fluttering in a way the slight stumble alone could not explain. The memory of his touch lingered far longer than propriety allowed her to dwell upon.
For one suspended heartbeat the world felt very small indeed, bounded only by his nearness and the sure strength of his hand. Then he guided her gently forward again, his hold entirely proper, yet the warmth of that fleeting moment at her waist still shimmered through her like a secret.
They continued side by side across the ice, her earlier unease dissolving with every measured glide.
Though Darcy spoke little, his steady presence at her side lent her a confidence she had not expected, nor could she entirely account for.
Elizabeth found herself almost grateful for her earlier slip, if only for the ease it had brought between them.
Around them, good order gradually yielded to cheerful disorder.
Miss Bingley, having declared skating a matter of elegance rather than balance, stepped upon the ice with rigid determination and promptly contrived an ungainly descent into a bank of snow. There was a moment’s stunned silence, followed by Mr Bennet’s unrestrained laughter.
“I have long suspected,” he said to Mr Gardiner, “that winter reveals character far more efficiently than summer.”
Mr Collins, meanwhile, advanced with arms extended in solemn concentration, turning steadily upon himself with such anxious industry that Lydia declared him a windmill in distress, and Kitty nearly lost her footing from laughter alone.
The merriment drew Darcy’s attention away at last. He slowed, guiding Elizabeth safely back toward the bank as voices rose and servants hurried forward to assist Miss Bingley from her snowy predicament.
“I believe,” Darcy said quietly, “this may be a prudent moment to conclude the experiment.”
Elizabeth inclined her head, amused and grateful in equal measure.
Miss Bingley, restored to her feet and brushing snow from her cloak with as much dignity as circumstances allowed, approached them at once. “Mr Darcy,” she said, with forced brightness, “perhaps you would oblige me with your assistance. I find the ice quite altered from what I expected.”
Darcy bowed. “Of course.”
Yet before he stepped away, he ensured Elizabeth was steady, his hand lingering only long enough to confirm it. When he did turn to Miss Bingley, it was with courtesy unexceptionable, but Elizabeth could not help observing that his attention, once engaged elsewhere, did not quite follow.
As the party gathered upon firmer ground, laughter subsiding into contented chatter, Elizabeth stood for a moment apart, watching him speak, assist, withdraw, and return again with the same deliberate composure he had shown all morning.
It occurred to her then, not suddenly, but with the quiet certainty of something long assembling itself, that this day had not been accidental. That his attentions, restrained though they were, had been intentional rather than incidental.
She did not attempt to define the thought more precisely than that.
It was enough to recognise it.
Elizabeth smiled to herself, the cold air bright upon her cheeks, and followed the others back toward the house, her steps lighter than before.
***
From An Upper window of the house, Lady Catherine de Bourgh observed the distant scene below with mounting displeasure.
The frozen stream lay glittering in the pale winter light, and upon it moved a disorderly collection of young people, their laughter rising even to her vantage point.
At first, she had attended only out of a sense of duty, for such diversions, she believed, were rarely conducted with sufficient regulation.
Yet her gaze soon fixed upon one figure in particular.
Darcy.
He was not skating with his sister, as would have been natural, though Georgiana’s movements were graceful enough to deserve notice. Nor, Lady Catherine observed with increasing irritation, had he once offered his arm to Anne, who skated in the careful company of Colonel Fitzwilliam.
Instead, he was laughing.
Laughing with Miss Elizabeth Bennet.
Lady Catherine’s lips pressed thin as she watched them move together upon the ice, his attention wholly engaged, his manner unguarded in a way she had rarely seen. There was an ease between them that offended her sense of order far more than any ungainly tumble or improper merriment elsewhere.
Her gaze shifted briefly, returning to Anne and Colonel Fitzwilliam as they made their way back toward the bank. Georgiana skated past them with quiet assurance, yet even she received only a passing glance from her brother.
Miss Elizabeth Bennet did not.
Again and again, Lady Catherine saw Darcy’s eyes follow her movements, saw the instinctive readiness with which he steadied her, guided her, smiled at her.
Worse still, she recalled with sharp clarity the vigilance of his regard whenever Captain Ashford had ventured too near Elizabeth, the manner in which Darcy appeared to measure every approach.
This was not gallantry.
This was attachment.
Lady Catherine drew back from the window with decisive force.
Such behaviour would not be overlooked. Nor would it be permitted to proceed unchecked. Darcy, whatever his inclinations, would be reminded of his duties, his position, and the expectations properly attached to both.
She rang for her maid with unnecessary force.
Something, she determined, must be done.