Chapter 25 #3
Amongst all the elegant silhouettes wandering around, she spotted Darcy, Colonel Fitzwilliam, and Bingley across the hall.
The first fixed her with his intense gaze, while the other two smiled and waved to them as they moved closer.
However, their union was delayed by interruptions—numerous people approaching them almost at every step.
Every time she looked at Darcy through the crowd, his gaze was there, watching her, until he was finally in front of her.
“I just remembered why I loathe attending the theatre on opening night,” the colonel declared. “I hope the performance is worth my vexation and that this actress, Elizabeth O’Neill, is as talented as the newspapers claim.”
“Jane is very excited, and I am glad we are here, for her sake, but I do know what you mean,” Bingley agreed, wiping his forehead.
“I could not agree more,” Mr Gardiner said. “But it is a sacrifice we shall readily accept for the sake of the ladies.”
“Do not be so irritable, gentlemen. You might enjoy your time in the end,” Lady Kendal scolded them in jest. “What about you, Mr Darcy? Do you regret coming too?”
“No, madam,” he answered.
“Of course he does not, since he has so many young ladies chasing him,” the colonel said in a low voice. The others were all amused, and even Elizabeth attempted to smile, hiding her nervousness, but Darcy frowned in disapproval.
“Do not be jealous, Colonel, you had your own admirers when you were single, did you not?”
The colonel shrugged with a mischievous grin, while the lady jested further.
“It is time for Mr Darcy to enjoy himself too. That is why we did not mind that he abandoned us during the first act. We could see he was overwhelmed by the attention of pretty ladies, and it must have been difficult for him to share his time.”
“I am far from entertaining myself as much as your ladyship assumes,” Darcy replied so seriously that his companions laughed. “And I have certainly not abandoned you. I needed to conclude a conversation with my uncle which would then free me for the rest of the evening.”
“Oh, really? So will you join us for the rest of the play, after all?”
“Gladly, madam, as long as my company is desired.”
“Very much so, I assure you. Mr Gardiner will be happy to have another gentleman who can share his boredom and frustration.”
“We should hurry to our places. The second act is about to begin. We shall meet you again during the next interval,” Bingley said.
Each party had turned towards their own box, when Darcy finally addressed Elizabeth directly.
“Lady Alveston, Mrs Gardiner, may I?” he enquired, offering each an arm.
“Yes, thank you,” Elizabeth replied with a sigh of relief. As they walked, she smiled to herself recollecting his words: no, he was not enjoying himself too much, despite receiving so much attention, and no, he had not abandoned them.
Once in the box, Darcy was met with joy by his sister and with some timidity by the other girls; his presence was still intimidating to them, regardless of their long acquaintance, just as much as his mere proximity calmed Elizabeth and soothed her prior anxiety.
The ladies were all on the first row in the box, and Darcy, together with Mr Gardiner, sat on the second row.
He was placed behind Elizabeth, with his sister on her left and Lady Kendal on her right.
It was the perfect spot for him to exchange opinions with Georgiana, Lady Kendal and Mr Gardiner.
Mrs Gardiner was charmed by the performance, while Elizabeth was silent most of the time, and Darcy was uncertain whether she was simply enjoying the play or was uncomfortable with his nearness.
He was not comfortable either, as her closeness allowed him to be intoxicated by her scent, observe the lock of hair dancing on her nape at every move, and admire her neck and her shoulders, covered by the shawl of black lace.
Yes, the colonel had estimated correctly: on her first evening out, Elizabeth was already the centre of attention.
During the play, many eyes turned to her repeatedly and probably plans for pursuing her were already being made by single men and their families.
No, it was not Elizabeth who was their point of interest, but Lady Alveston—the beautiful widow with a significant fortune and connections to the highest circles.
She could probably marry any man she chose, and he could not deny feeling the sharp bite of jealousy.
But his fears had disappeared when their eyes met during the first act, and then again during the interval.
Even without words, his heart was certain of what his mind still doubted at times: she was still his dearest Elizabeth, who had once rejected his ardent love, only to return it and to share it in the most painful moment.
There were certainly many better gentlemen that she could attain from her present position, but he hoped and prayed that she did not wish for another.
For him, she was the only woman in the world.
Darcy was startled from his reflections by a gentle touch on his legs, and he saw Elizabeth’s shawl had fallen from her shoulders. She did not seem to notice, so captivated was she by the actors’ performance.
He stretched out his hand and picked up the soft fabric, holding it in his hands for a moment with the realisation that it had touched Elizabeth’s skin. Embarrassed by his own thoughts, he leant forwards and placed it back around her, whispering, “Lady Alveston, you dropped your shawl…”
His hands lingered on her shoulders for an instant, and she turned her head only a little, to whisper back, “Thank you. I felt the chill.”
She held the shawl with her hands and in doing so, her fingers brushed over his. They both stilled for only a heartbeat. Then he withdrew from her, and she turned her head back to the stage, both bewitched by the small incident that had passed almost unnoticed. Almost.
Nothing else particular happened between the two of them.
The play continued, with stunning performances from the actors, countless applause and cheers, as well as occasional conversations.
During the following interval, Elizabeth exchanged greetings with more people.
Her distress dissipated while her self-confidence increased.
She kept the shawl wrapped around her shoulders, with the strange sensation that she could feel Darcy’s touch upon it.
Just like the soft fabric, heartfelt joy slowly enveloped Elizabeth.
She was happy she had accepted the invitation that day.
The lead actress’s talent and the overall performance were worthy of all the praise and deeply gratifying, even for those who had read the play many times and had seen it on the stage previously.
When the spectacle ended it was already dark outside, but her heart was light and warm.
The entire party finally reunited outside, waiting for their carriages while they exchanged favourable opinions.
Elizabeth had the chance to exchange greetings with the Matlocks, as well as with the viscount and his wife.
Bingley’s sisters were the first to depart, and Miss Pemberton was so offended by Darcy’s lack of attention that she was as eager to leave as Caroline and Louisa.
Elizabeth had no other opportunity to speak to Darcy as he stood close to the gentlemen. But what they had shared was enough—more than she had expected.
Since Lydia, Kitty, and Mary had chosen to spend the night at the Bingleys’, Elizabeth returned home alone with Lady Kendal.
They entered the carriage after a warm farewell from the others, and Elizabeth sighed, with a long glance through the window.
After the din and uproar, the silence seemed heavy and slightly awkward.
Neither of them spoke for a while, but Elizabeth felt Lady Kendal scrutinising her.
“Grandmamma, is anything wrong?”
“No, my dear,” the lady said in a low voice that worried Elizabeth. “Nothing is wrong, no more than it was before…but I finally understand.”
Elizabeth watched her, waiting for her to continue, too afraid to enquire further.
“It was him, was it not?” Lady Kendal eventually asked. “Not Colonel Fitzwilliam, as I foolishly assumed last summer. It was Darcy. His love for you kept him away all this time.”
Elizabeth forgot to breathe. She stared at the lady, the words to deny her claim refusing to come out of her trembling lips, so she only nodded in admission.