Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
O btaining punch from the table took Darcy longer than he had intended. When he returned to where he had left Miss Bennet, she was nowhere to be found. He walked about the hall, utilising his height to peer over others in hopes of finding her. A few of his aunt’s neighbours attempted to pull him into conversation but he refused to be drawn in, preferring to continue his search. Where could she have gone?
He furrowed his brow as he made a second perambulation of the hall, peering into all corners of the room; the punch glasses splashed as he walked, no doubt staining his gloves. For a few minutes, he hovered about to ensure that she had not gone to the ladies’ retiring room, but she did not appear. Feeling more disappointed than he would have liked to admit, he walked out to the terrace to escape the hot air of the hall.
The brisk spring air was a relief to him. He only wished its rejuvenating touch would lift his thwarted spirits more. Despite the presence of a few people on the terrace, he kept his head lowered, not allowing his gaze to linger long enough to acknowledge any of them. He placed the two cups of punch on the balustrade and tugged at his cravat, feeling suffocated.
He looked down towards his feet. Perhaps Elizabeth Bennet was not as interested in him as he had assumed. Sighing heavily, he raised his gaze as he wearily rubbed his face. In that moment, his eyes unexpectedly met a pair of fine, dark eyes across the terrace. There she stood, adorned in a simple country dress that radiated unassuming beauty in the soft glow of the lamps. A hint of mischief played on her features. In retrospect, he would scold himself for not having previously recognised her as the most beautiful woman of his acquaintance.
True, he had met many more striking women in the ton . But her allure went beyond the superficial; it was a quieter beauty that took hold of him and consumed his thoughts. Her subtle allure, her sweetness and wit, had snuck into his heart, and refused to let go. It was this captivating essence that lingered, haunting his past few nights like no other sight ever had.
Only once had he witnessed beauty in a woman that could rival what he saw now, and it just so happened to have occurred the day before: Elizabeth, at the top of Holly Hill, covered in mud with her hair tousled from their vigorous hike. He could not deny his feelings for her any longer. Although he had initially rejected the notion—after all, how could he disregard her inferior birth—now it seemed far more difficult to imagine himself without her.
He looked at her affectionately. Although there were many people between them, it felt as if the terrace was empty. Their eyes locked and he manoeuvred through the crowd to reach her without ceasing eye contact. A wry smile crept over her face as they finally met, and his heart skipped a beat.
“I could not find you,” he said earnestly.
Elizabeth laughed softly. “Forgive me, I needed to step outside.”
“Are you unwell?”
“No,” she said with a smile. “Mrs Collins was coming towards me with a gentleman she clearly wished to introduce to me. That likely would have led to a dance with him, and perhaps this is too forward to say, but I was not yet ready for our conversation to end. So I?—”
“Hid out here?”
She laughed, the sound like a silver bell. “Yes. Am I not terrible?”
“Not in the least,” he said softly. A light breeze picked up then, stirring the curls by her temples. He reached over to brush them back away from her cheek and brazen as it was, she permitted him to do it, still smiling, still meeting his gaze.
After each sipped their punch, he offered her his arm, and they strolled about the terrace and assembly hall. They continued conversing of insignificant matters that suddenly were more interesting than they had ever been with anyone else. When he saw interlopers approaching them with a clear interest in claiming Elizabeth for a dance, he froze them in their place with an icy hauteur he hoped escaped her notice.
They weaved through the crowd together arm in arm, as they walked and talked. Although they did not agree on every point, they spoke with great enthusiasm towards each other and when they disagreed, exhibited mutual respect .
Occasionally, the dense crowd demanded that he release her arm, but she would turn her head over her shoulder, seamlessly continuing their conversation, and he willingly followed her lead. Despite realising that he might look like a love-sick puppy, he found himself uncharacteristically unperturbed by appearances, content simply to be in her proximity.
Their tête-à-tête was interrupted when a stout neighbour of Mr Collins, seemingly impervious to Darcy’s silent warnings, intruded to ask Elizabeth for the next dance. Dare he believe that she looked disappointed? “Go,” he murmured. “I would not like to get you in trouble with your hosts.”
As he stood on the edge of the set, his eyes were fixed on her as she danced. Watching her glide up and down the line with her partner, he wondered at the all-consuming tumult of emotions brewing within—feelings he could not have imagined or described before he met Elizabeth. But in this moment, he recognised the truth of what he felt with startling clarity: I am in love. It was like nothing he had ever expected, and yet, now that he had found it, he knew he would hold on tight and never let go.
“Darcy! I have hardly seen you all night.” Fitzwilliam appeared at his side, breathless from his own exertions on the dance floor. “You have been a little preoccupied with a certain lady, eh?”
“Unlike you. Have you danced with every woman in the room yet?”
The colonel laughed. “I am having an enjoyable night in the presence of many lovely women. And you? Does your lady friend realise she is being pursued by a man who would never have serious intentions towards her?”
“That is not true,” Darcy retorted softly .
“Oh-ho!” The colonel turned a gimlet eye upon his cousin, but Darcy steadfastly kept his face turned aside. “You must be joking. Tell me, how does this actually end? You are in danger. I have never seen you act this way with any woman, ever.”
He did not respond.
“What would your father say?”
“I would not go against my father’s wishes, but I know him. When he meets her and sees her intelligence, he will understand. We are not from different stations after all, just different circles of society.”
“Yes, but I think that?—”
“I will manage it,” Darcy interrupted. Wishing to be rid of his cousin’s company and gloomy predictions, he excused himself and walked away.