TWENTY-ONE
Lucas Lodge
Elizabeth
The first set ended, and Elizabeth accepted Mr. Goulding’s arm back toward the edge of the room with a composure she hoped appeared considerably more natural than she felt.
After thanking him with proper civility, her attention turned immediately toward the place where she had last seen her father beside Mr. Darcy’s chair.
Both gentlemen remained exactly where she had seen them. Marsh lingered some distance away, close enough should Darcy require assistance, yet far enough to allow the two gentlemen privacy.
Whatever conversation had passed during the dance had apparently concluded, for Mr. Bennet now wore the particular expression that generally signified he had been vastly amused and intended to explain none of it.
Catching Elizabeth’s eye across the room, he offered the faintest suggestion of a smile before turning deliberately back toward Sir William Lucas.
Elizabeth’s attention shifted toward Darcy.
He was already looking at her.
She crossed the room with what she intended as perfect calm and arrived beside him very nearly possessing it.
“Mr. Darcy,” she began lightly, “I had not entirely expected to see you this evening. I had begun to wonder whether the whole Netherfield had decided against coming altogether.”
“We were not late by intention,” said Darcy. “Loading my chair and disembarking requires more time than most arrivals do. Marsh manages it well enough but it cannot be hurried.”
He said it without apology. Simply as fact.
“I suppose people who travel with you must then learn patience,” said Elizabeth. “It is generally considered a virtue.”.
There was no pity in her voice. No careful softening. Just acknowledgement, which was somehow more respectful than sympathy would have been.
Darcy was quiet a moment.
Then his gaze moved briefly across her face before lowering, with visible care, toward her gown, as though permitting himself the observation only after considerable internal debate.
“Miss Elizabeth,” he said quietly, “you look remarkably well tonight.”
A sudden warmth rose to Elizabeth’s cheeks. It did not escape her notice that Mr. Darcy had never before complimented her appearance. Whether he had offered the words deliberately or not, she could not determine, though she found the compliment unexpectedly pleasing.
“And you appear very elegant yourself, sir,” Elizabeth returned, her eyes travelling briefly over the dark severity of his evening coat before lifting again to his face.
Something almost resembling amusement touched his expression.
“I must add,” he continued after a moment, “that you dance exceedingly well. I had opportunity enough to observe it.”
Elizabeth glanced briefly toward the room before looking back at him.
“As you know, sir, dancing is generally considered one of the principal activities at a ball.”
“Yes.” His fingers adjusted slightly against the arm of the chair before he added, with careful neutrality, “I hope you enjoy the remaining sets this evening.”
Something in the tone itself drew Elizabeth’s attention more sharply than the words. There was nothing openly readable in his expression, yet the restraint governing it seemed suddenly too deliberate.
“I find,” she replied slowly, “that I enjoy dancing considerably less when my attention is elsewhere.”
Darcy’s eyes lifted to hers immediately.
“And where,” he asked after a brief pause, “was your attention?”
Elizabeth held his gaze a moment longer than prudence entirely recommended.
“Observing,” she answered at last. “It is a useful tendency.”
To her surprise, Darcy laughed openly at that. Not politely, nor with the guarded restraint she expected of him in this environment, but genuinely.
“So it is,” he said.
The laughter altered his entire countenance. Elizabeth, who had not expected herself capable of startling Mr. Darcy into unguarded amusement twice within one evening, found the discovery absurdly gratifying.
“I confess,” she continued after a moment, “that I hoped to see you accompany Mr. Bingley on at least one of his visits to Longbourn. Though I suppose I had little reason to expect it.”
The amusement faded almost immediately from his expression.
A brief tension appeared near his jaw before he answered.
“I should have come at least once.” His gaze drifted momentarily toward the room before returning to her. “I simply had not yet found myself equal to visiting anyone.”
There was enough honesty in the admission to prevent Elizabeth from teasing him further.
“That is fair,” Elizabeth said after a moment. “You are here now. I think that must count for something.”
His eyes remained upon hers a second longer than necessary.
“It does to me.”
Before Elizabeth could determine whether she had imagined the quiet sincerity of the statement, the musicians began preparing for the second set. Couples drifted back toward the forming lines, though Elizabeth found herself curiously content where she was, with no particular wish to join them.
“So,” Darcy observed after the briefest hesitation, “Mr. Collins and Miss Lucas. Did you foresee that attachment?”
Elizabeth folded her arms lightly. “Imagine my own surprise upon returning home to discover the engagement established almost immediately after my refusal.”
Darcy’s gaze travelled briefly across the room. “I confess I had hoped to identify Mr. Collins simply by locating whoever spoke most frequently of my aunt.”
“Oh, Mr. Collins departed before we returned to Longbourn.” Elizabeth laughed. “He means to procure the licence quickly and, I believe, seek further wisdom from Lady Catherine before the wedding.”
The laugh escaped Darcy before he appeared entirely prepared for it. Several heads turned briefly in their direction, amongst them Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst, both of whom regarded Elizabeth with poorly concealed displeasure. Darcy, however, appeared not to notice in the slightest.
“Miss Elizabeth, before saying anything further,” he began after his laughter subsided, adjusting his gloves with visible deliberation, “I believe I owe you an apology for my behaviour at the Meryton assembly.”
The directness of the statement startled Elizabeth enough that she had no immediate reaction.
Darcy continued before she could recover.
“When Bingley attempted to persuade me into conversation that evening, I answered carelessly and with considerably less civility than I ought. That explanation is not intended as an excuse.” His gaze remained steady upon hers despite the obvious discomfort of the admission.
“You heard what I said, and I have been aware ever since that you heard it.”
Elizabeth’s brows lifted slightly. “I confess myself surprised you mention it at all.”
“I am more surprised you did not.” A faint line appeared between his brows. “During your stay at Netherfield, you never once used it against me.”
“I think,” Elizabeth said, finally recovering herself, “that I understood some time ago you were not entirely yourself that evening.”
Something in his expression softened unexpectedly.
“Even so,” he said quietly, “please believe I do not consider intelligence incompatible with assemblies.” His eyes flickered almost unwillingly toward the dancers before returning to her. “Nor beauty.”
Elizabeth could not entirely conceal her surprise. “An apology and a compliment in the same conversation? I confess I did not think it possible.”
A faint colour appeared at his temples.
“My conduct that evening was not entirely representative of my character.” He paused briefly before adding, more quietly, “I had spent the previous two years becoming someone I scarcely recognised myself.”
The honesty in the admission dissolved whatever lingered of Elizabeth’s irritation at his assembly slight.
“We all possess moments we would prefer forgotten,” she replied gently. “I do not hold it against you.”
Something in Darcy’s posture eased at that, slight though the change was.
The second set had begun fully now, yet neither moved from their place beside the wall.
Bingley and Jane occupied the dance once more, both appearing altogether too pleased with existence generally.
After several moments watching them, Darcy spoke again.
“I spoke with your father this evening.”
Elizabeth glanced toward him at once. “I noticed.”
He inclined his head slightly before continuing with visible deliberation.
“I asked his permission to request the favour of your company.” His fingers tightened briefly against the arm of the chair. “There are several places in the neighbourhood I hoped to see, and I thought perhaps you might be willing to show me the paths you recommended whilst you were at Netherfield.”
Elizabeth was quiet a moment. “You came here intending to ask him.”
It was not quite a question.
“Yes.”
Elizabeth lowered her eyes briefly to the folds of her gloves before looking at him again.
“I had hoped to encounter Mr. Bennet this evening,” Darcy continued. “Had he not attended, I intended to accompany Bingley to Longbourn upon his next visit instead.”
“You might have asked me directly.”
“I might have.” His gaze held hers steadily. “But I preferred to proceed properly.”
Elizabeth looked away first.
He had thought about this. Planned it. Arranged the matter with care before speaking a word to her.
And somehow that consideration affected her far more deeply than any compliment possibly could.
“I also mentioned,” Darcy continued with careful composure, “that Miss Bennet and Bingley might accompany us should such an arrangement appear preferable. Marsh would naturally remain present throughout, and I offered that you might bring a trusted maid as well, if your father considered it necessary.”
Elizabeth looked back at him slowly.
“You requested a chaperone yourself.”
“It seemed appropriate.”
“My father did not request it?”
“No.” A faint crease appeared between his brows. “He did not need to.”
For one entirely unguarded moment, Elizabeth found herself unable to think of anything sensible to say.