CHAPTER NINETEEN
A FEW MINUTES after his departure, Mr Darcy returned just as the musicians completed their tuning and the first set was called. The room shifted at once, chairs drawn back, voices lowering in anticipation.
“Miss Elizabeth,” he said, extending his hand, “we had best join the company upon the floor.”
She placed her hand in his. The contact sent a sudden awareness through her, keen and unmistakable, and she was obliged to draw a steadying breath before turning her attention to the forming set.
Mr Collins stood proudly with his wife, exactly as Elizabeth had expected.
Mr Bingley and Jane were already positioned, their ease together apparent even at a distance.
Anne de Bourgh had been claimed by Colonel Fitzwilliam, while Captain Ashford, to Elizabeth’s mild surprise, stood opposite Kitty, who looked rather pleased with herself.
Others filled the remaining places, though Elizabeth had little leisure to observe them before Darcy’s voice drew her attention back to him.
“I was surprised,” he said quietly as they took their places, “that you chose to wear the locket. I hoped you had opened it, and perhaps liked it, but I did not imagine you would wear it tonight.”
Elizabeth felt warmth rise to her cheeks, though she met his gaze steadily. “Then I ought to thank you properly, sir, for the gift. It was most thoughtful. I like it exceedingly, and I hope I have not startled you by wearing it this evening.”
“On the contrary,” he replied at once, his tone low and earnest, “it gives me the greatest pleasure.”
The music began, and with it the minuet.
Attention was required, and Elizabeth turned her thoughts to the steps, though she could not prevent an awareness of him beside her, nor the regret that conversation must be suspended.
The figures were executed with care, the dancers moving in unison, and when the set concluded, there was a murmur of approval from those who looked on.
“For a gentleman who professes to dislike public assemblies,” Elizabeth said, as they moved aside, “you have managed to put this one together remarkably well.”
Darcy’s brows lifted in mock concern. “Here I was expecting a comment upon my dancing.”
“We danced at the Netherfield ball, Mr Darcy,” she replied lightly. “I am already acquainted with your skill, even if you are reluctant to acknowledge your fondness for it.”
“I am not reluctant,” he said, a smile touching his expression. “It merely depends upon my partner.”
The words settled between them with more meaning than he perhaps intended. Elizabeth felt it at once, a subtle tightening in her chest, and was grateful when the moment was broken by his next remark.
“I should wish to claim the next set as well,” he continued, “but I fear my aunt would be greatly displeased if I did not dance with my cousin. It is better, I think, to prevent a scene.”
Elizabeth’s eyes moved, unbidden, to where Lady Catherine stood. Her ladyship’s expression was rigid, her gaze fixed with unmistakable disapproval upon them both. Elizabeth felt a flash of irritation, quickly followed by something more unwelcome, and she checked it at once.
Mr Collins’s earlier remarks, made in the first days of their acquaintance, returned to her mind—his confident assertions regarding expectations long held between Mr Darcy and his cousin, Anne de Bourgh.
Elizabeth dismissed the thought with all the resolution she could summon.
Darcy had once proposed to her at Kent, while residing under Lady Catherine’s very roof.
That singular act alone had convinced her that Mr Collins was either mistaken or deliberately misled.
Whatever others might assume, Darcy did not conduct himself like a man bound by such intentions.
“I shall dance the next set with my cousin,” Darcy said, lowering his voice and drawing her attention back to him, “but if you have not been otherwise engaged, I should like to claim the third.”
Elizabeth turned to face him fully. “I have not been asked.”
A faint smile touched his mouth. “Then I shall look forward to it.”
He bowed and withdrew, leaving her neither startled nor uncertain, but with a calm satisfaction settling comfortably in her chest.
Elizabeth did not stand lost in thought when he left her.
She remained where she was only long enough to collect herself, aware of the pleasant warmth that lingered from their exchange.
There was no need to reason, no inclination to question.
She had enjoyed his company, his attention, the ease with which they had spoken—and that was enough.
The locket rested lightly at her throat, and she smiled to herself as the music gathered again.
The evening was unfolding exactly as she hoped.
***
Elizabeth Danced The next set with Colonel Fitzwilliam.
He was agreeable and attentive, a partner well practised in the art of making conversation easy, and she was grateful for it.
Jane remained in the company of Mr Bingley, whose evident pleasure in her society drew more than one approving glance.
Lydia danced with a young tenant whose name Elizabeth did not catch, while Captain Ashford claimed Georgiana, who bore herself with a composed grace that would have pleased her brother exceedingly.
Elizabeth told herself she attended properly to the dance.
Yet her eyes betrayed her more than once.
Across the room, Darcy moved with his cousin.
His manner was correct, his steps precise, and his attention fully given to Anne.
There was nothing in his conduct that invited remark.
And yet—there was a lightness to his expression Elizabeth had not often seen, a faint ease that lingered about his mouth as they turned through the figures.
It unsettled her.
She corrected herself at once. There was no reason for unease. Still, she could not quite prevent the awareness from settling, nor the swift tightening in her chest that accompanied it.
The third set was announced as a country dance, and Elizabeth braced herself as Mr Darcy reclaimed her hand. She drew a breath as the music began, grateful that this dance allowed for greater freedom of movement—and conversation.
“I hope you enjoyed your dance with your cousin,” she said, as lightly as she could manage.
Darcy regarded her for a moment, as though discerning more than she had spoken. “Anne is a simple dancer,” he replied at last. “We practised together when we were younger. Our symmetry is therefore expected.”
“That is pleasant to hear,” Elizabeth said.
“You would observe the same if I were dancing with Georgiana,” he continued. “I have always danced so with my sisters.”
Sisters. The word settled quietly, decisively.
Elizabeth smiled to herself. “It is admirable of you, Mr Darcy, to regard your cousin as a sister.”
“I always have,” he said, his tone unambiguous. “And never in any other light.”
Something eased within her at once. The unwelcome flicker of jealousy extinguished as quickly as it had arisen, leaving only a warmth in its wake.
They danced on.
“I see you listened to my opinion of poetry,” Elizabeth said after a moment.
His gaze sharpened with interest. “Does that mean you approved of what I wrote?”
“It was splendid, sir,” she answered without hesitation. “I should not have taken you for a poet.”
“I rarely am,” he said. “But when I am, I mean my words.”
The colour rose swiftly to her cheeks, and she was grateful for the movement of the dance to disguise it.
When she recovered herself, curiosity prevailed.
“If I may ask,” she said quietly, “how did you come by the locket so readily? When last we spoke of gifts, you were quite certain you had nothing prepared—nothing of consequence—since we came to Pemberley so unexpectedly.”
He did not answer at once.
She felt the pause before she saw it, the slight tightening of his jaw, the way his fingers flexed as though the words required more resolve than he had anticipated.
“That locket,” he said at last, “was not procured for this occasion.”
Elizabeth focused her gaze on him, startled. “Then I do not understand. You could not have known we would be here.”
A faint, rueful smile crossed his face. “No. I could not.”
They moved through the figure of the dance, and only when they were again side by side did he continue.
"I purchased it during my time in Kent," he said, his voice low. "Before I called at Hunsford that spring. I had intended to give it to you when I—when I made my proposal."
The world seemed, for a moment, to tilt.
“You mean—” Elizabeth began, and found she could not finish.
He inclined his head, once. “Yes.”
The music carried them forward, but her thoughts lagged behind, racing to meet the truth now plainly set before her. She had not imagined it. She had not misread him. This had not been sudden, nor circumstantial.
“I never supposed—” she said, and stopped, the realisation settling with a force that left her strangely breathless.
“Forgive my openness,” Darcy said quietly.
“When my proposal was refused, I believed it would be improper to offer it to you. I was certain you would reject it outright.” He paused, his gaze steady upon her face.
“Yet I could not part with it. I kept it with me, though I no longer had any claim to do so.”
Elizabeth looked at him fully then, her expression unreadable even to herself.
“When you came here,” he continued, “I knew at once that the moment had returned. Not because I expected anything in return—but because it was always meant for you.”
She did not answer immediately. The set was drawing to its close, the music resolving around them, and she felt as though she stood at the edge of something irrevocable.
At last, she said softly, “I am glad you waited.”
Something in his face shifted then—relief, perhaps, or confirmation.
As the final figure ended and the dancers separated, he bent his head toward her once more.
“I should like to speak with you privately tomorrow,” he said. “There is something of importance I wish to say.”
Her heart answered before her reason could intervene. “I shall be glad to hear it.”
He bowed and withdrew, leaving her composed, though keenly alive to every sensation.
Elizabeth’s attention returned to the room.
Jane and Mr Bingley were met with cheers, having danced each set together with unabashed delight.
Miss Bingley looked as though she had swallowed something exceedingly sour.
Lady Catherine appeared positively incandescent.
Mrs Bennet, by contrast, was in the highest spirits, declaring to anyone within earshot that her daughters had danced twice, at least, with the most eligible gentlemen present.
The ball concluded near midnight. As the company dispersed, Darcy paused only briefly to wish the Bennets a good night, explaining that he must attend to the departure of the guests.
Elizabeth retired at last, her thoughts turning again and again to his request.
Something of importance.
The words echoed with a promise she scarcely dared to shape—though her heart leapt at the mere attempt, and her knees weakened at the thought of what morning might bring.