Chapter Five #2
Darcy’s heart struck hard against his ribs.
Mr Collins entered first in a coat which was too tight across the stomach, his hair slicked back with some sort of greasy substance that gave him an oily appearance.
He wore an expression of unbridled delight on his face.
He bowed deeply while he was still some feet from Lady Catherine in such a way that Darcy feared he might lose his balance as he advanced while bent almost double.
Mrs Collins followed her husband sedately, composed and sensibly dressed in a modest gown of dark green.
Elizabeth entered behind her, and Darcy’s heart seemed to stop altogether.
She wore a gown of rich amber which caught the candlelight and made her skin—always a little sunkissed from her love of walking—glow.
A little gold embroidery edged the neckline, drawing his attention to the curve of her figure despite every effort at restraint, while the short sleeves revealed the elegant line of her arms above pale gloves.
Her dark hair had been gathered loosely at the crown with a gold comb, though several curls had escaped to rest against her temples and the graceful column of her neck.
She wore no jewellery other than her simple garnet cross and Darcy thought it looked finer than the most ornate diamond or emerald creations ever could.
For a few blessed seconds, he forgot his proposal and the misery that had marked the past week. He could only stare at the woman he loved, and wonder how he had ever believed himself capable of leaving Kent without seeing her again.
Then Elizabeth looked up and found him watching her.
She had been smiling at something Mrs Collins said, but the amusement faded quickly when she noticed him.
She stopped just inside the doors and drew in a slow breath, as though the sight of him had unsettled her too.
Her gaze moved over his face and remained there.
He saw uncertainty, but none of the anger he had feared.
Could it be that her feelings had softened?
The first fragile stirrings of hope took hold, despite telling himself firmly that he had no right to expect anything from her.
Fitzwilliam touched his elbow. "Close your mouth, cousin."
Darcy looked at him with a slightly dazed expression. He had forgotten he was there.
"You looked on the verge of catching flies."
"I did not," Darcy muttered.
"You did. Fortunately, the lovely Miss Bennet appeared too occupied staring back to notice."
Darcy refused to answer that. Across the hall, Elizabeth had reached Lady Catherine and was making her curtsey.
His aunt said something which made Mrs Collins’ expression tighten, while Elizabeth’s lips quirked with a faint hint of amusement.
Whatever reply she gave caused Anne to look down quickly, hiding a smile.
The musicians struck a bright chord from the ballroom, and Lady Catherine immediately began directing her guests through the open double doors.
She had arranged the room with the same restraint she had shown elsewhere.
Great urns of hothouse flowers stood between the windows, more gold ribbon looped between the sconces and hundreds of candles blazed in chandeliers overhead.
The room shone so brightly that Darcy suspected the glow was visible from the London Road.
The polished floor shone beneath them, reflecting silk skirts and the white-stockinged legs of the gentlemen as the company moved into place.
Darcy allowed himself to be carried with the crowd, his eyes never moving from Elizabeth, who remained on the opposite side of the room beside Mrs Collins and Anne talking quietly. She did not look towards him again.
He told himself this was for the best. He had promised himself he would not impose upon her.
He would not pursue her around the ballroom demanding reassurance or attempt to turn one softened glance into something it was not.
She had read his letter and now knew the truth. Anything further must be left to her.
Lady Catherine took up her position near the head of the room and surveyed the company with satisfaction, banging her silver-headed cane to draw the attention of her guests.
"We shall begin," she announced. "Anne, it is time.
Darcy, Darcy, where are you?" She spotted him and pointed at him with her cane.
"What are you doing over there? Come here at once. You will lead her out."
Darcy crossed the room to where Anne waited beside her mother.
She stepped forwards to meet him and placed one hand upon his arm, her fingers tightening once in warning.
He looked down at her. Her expression was composed, but there was a brightness in her eyes which told him the performance was about to begin.
Lady Catherine's voice rang out once more over the room. "My daughter and my nephew will open the dancing. I am sure you will all agree that they make a very fine pair."
All eyes turned towards them, and Anne squeezed his arm once more as they moved across the room.
Darcy kept his pace measured, allowing her to lean upon him while the guests drew back to clear their path.
They had almost reached the centre of the floor when Anne stumbled.
She gave a small gasp, caught at his sleeve and fell heavily against him.
Darcy steadied her at once, one arm coming around her waist before she could fall.
Anne lifted one foot from the floor and looked down at it with a convincing mixture of surprise and discomfort.
Darcy stopped at once. "Anne?" he said quietly, tightening his hold as she leaned more heavily against him.
She drew in a sharp breath and looked down at her ankle with such alarm that, for one disorienting moment, he wondered whether the performance had gone awry and she had really injured herself.
Then her gaze flicked up to his and she gave a small satisfied wink, so neatly hidden beneath her lashes that he might have imagined it.
The room went deathly silent. Lady Catherine’s satisfaction vanished beneath alarm. "Anne! Darcy! What is it? What has happened?! This is unacceptable!"
Anne placed one hand delicately against her ankle and said meekly, "I am afraid I turned it, Mama."
"You turned it?" Lady Catherine stared at the offending foot in horror. "How could you possibly turn it upon a level floor? What nonsense."
"I cannot imagine, Mama, but it hurts most dreadfully."
Fitzwilliam arrived at her other side, concern written so plainly across his face that Darcy would have believed it had he not known better.
"Let me help you to a chair," he murmured.
Anne allowed the two men to guide her towards the edge of the floor, where she lowered herself carefully into a seat.
Lady Catherine hovered before her, plainly torn between concern for her daughter and irritation that the evening was already departing from her careful design. "You must rest for a few minutes," she said firmly. "The opening can be delayed until you are recovered."
"No, Mama." Anne looked towards the waiting musicians and then over the company, every face turned in their direction. "Everyone is assembled. It would be most uncivil to keep them standing here while they watch me nurse a sore ankle."
"But you are to open the ball with Darcy," Lady Catherine said, her tone high-pitched and whining now, like a child who had not got their own way.
"And so he must still open it," Anne said firmly. Then, seeming to remember that she was meant to be injured, she softened her tone and added mildly, "At least, I think that would be best."
Lady Catherine frowned. "With whom?"
Anne’s gaze moved across the room and settled upon Elizabeth. Darcy felt the intention before his cousin spoke and had to school his expression quickly.
"Miss Bennet should take my place."
Elizabeth, who stood beside Mrs Collins near the edge of the company, looked up, her eyes wide and startled. Lady Catherine’s brows rose and a hint of suspicion touched her features. "Miss Bennet?"
"She dances very well, I am sure," Anne said quickly. "Come, Darcy," she added with a meaningful look and in a tone that bore a striking resemblance to her mother’s.
Lady Catherine opened her mouth to protest, but blood seemed to rush to Darcy’s head and before he knew it he was crossing the floor towards Elizabeth and bowing deeply. "Miss Bennet?" he murmured, lifting his eyes to hers while his pulse beat a wild tattoo.
For one long heartbeat, she said nothing.
Her eyes seemed to search his for something, though what she hoped to find he could not determine.
Then she placed one small gloved hand in his and gave a small nod.
The relief that moved through him was so sharp it was almost painful.
He attempted to school his features and led her towards the centre of the floor, hardly aware of the murmurs passing through the company or his aunt’s voice behind them.
Elizabeth walked beside him with her head held high, but he could feel the slight tension in her hand where it rested on his arm.
The musicians struck the opening notes before Lady Catherine could frame any objection.
Darcy bowed, Elizabeth curtseyed and, for the first figure, they moved alone beneath the full attention of the room.
Darcy was conscious of every step she took and when the pattern brought them together, her hand settled lightly in his.
The touch was brief, no more than the dance required, but it was enough to send warmth along his arm and leave him painfully aware of how close she stood.