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“That gentleman must be Mr. Bingley. Look, my father has recognized him and is going to greet him now,” Charlotte Lucas said, joining them with her usual quiet composure.

“And who is that gentleman with him?” Elizabeth asked, noting the second gentleman’s distinguished appearance.

“Mr. Darcy of Pemberley in Derbyshire,” Charlotte replied. “According to Mrs. Long, Mr. Bingley was to bring him along. Rumor has it he earns ten thousand a year and owns half the county.”

“His wealth is evident in his bearing,” Elizabeth observed with a hint of irony. “He looks down on our humble assembly as though we were insects beneath a glass.”

Charlotte’s pragmatic nature asserted itself. “With ten thousand a year, one may look however one pleases.”

Their conversation was soon interrupted by the approach of Sir William, who led Mr. Bingley through the crowd with visible satisfaction at making the introductions.

With due ceremony, Sir William said, “Mr. Bingley, may I present Miss Elizabeth Bennet, my daughter Miss Charlotte Lucas, and Miss Jane Bennet,” naming each young lady in turn as they stood together.

The proper courtesies of acquaintance were exchanged, each lady greeting Mr. Bingley with a graceful curtsy and a few well-chosen words. It was not long before Mr. Bingley, with a warm smile, requested of Miss Jane Bennet the honor of her hand for the first two dances of the evening.

Mr. Bingley’s charm and evident admiration for Jane momentarily lifted Elizabeth’s spirits. If Jane could secure such an advantageous match, perhaps their family’s situation might yet be salvaged.

As the first set began, Elizabeth found herself partnered with a local gentleman of little consequence but pleasant manners.

She moved through the familiar patterns of the dance, her body following the steps while her mind continued to work on the problem presented by her father’s debts.

One thousand pounds was an insurmountable sum for a family of their modest means.

The dance ended, and Elizabeth returned to her mother’s side, where Mrs. Bennet was already expounding on Jane’s prospects to anyone within earshot.

“Did you see how Mr. Bingley singled her out? Five thousand a year, they say, and likely more, I believe! I always said Jane’s beauty would serve her well. One daughter well married, and the rest must follow!”

Elizabeth winced at her mother’s volume but was spared further embarrassment when a gentleman she recognized as Mr. Whitmore approached her. He was a wealthy widower of some forty years who had recently taken up residence in the neighborhood. His small eyes assessed her with undisguised interest.

“Miss Elizabeth Bennet,” he said with a bow that strained the buttons of his waistcoat. “I believe the next set is beginning. Would you do me the honor?”

Several realizations converged in Elizabeth’s mind with startling clarity at that moment.

Mr. Whitmore’s fortune was considerable, rumored to be three thousand a year from investments.

His interest in her had been noted at previous gatherings, though she had paid it little mind.

A connection with such a man, while personally repugnant, would provide immediate financial security for her family.

Yet if she encouraged Mr. Whitmore, his attentions would become the talk of Meryton.

Such gossip would inevitably reach Mr. Bingley, potentially casting a shadow over Jane’s prospects.

The elder sister entertaining a suitor while the beauty remained unattached would violate the natural order of things in the marriage market.

Elizabeth made her decision in the space of a heartbeat.

“I thank you for the honor, sir,” she said with perfect composure, “but I am not inclined to dance this evening.”

The silence that followed her pronouncement seemed to expand until it filled the entire ballroom. Mrs. Bennet’s face froze in horror, and Mr. Whitmore’s complexion darkened to a dangerous shade of purple.

“Not inclined?” he repeated as though the response she offered were in a foreign tongue.

“I find myself fatigued,” Elizabeth explained, her voice steady despite knowing she was committing a grave social transgression. To refuse a dance only to sit out the set was an unforgivable slight.

Mr. Whitmore’s jaw worked as though he were chewing something unpleasant. “I see,” he said finally before executing a stiff bow and retreating.

When he was beyond earshot, Mrs. Bennet seized Elizabeth’s arm with fingers like talons.

“Have you taken leave of your senses?” she hissed. “Mr. Whitmore! Three thousand a year—and you refuse to dance? What will people say? How will this reflect on your sisters? On Jane’s prospects with Mr. Bingley?”

“I believe it will reflect quite well on Jane’s prospects,” Elizabeth replied quietly. “Mr. Whitmore’s interest should be directed elsewhere, not toward me.”

Mrs. Bennet blinked. “Jane? But—Mr. Bingley!”

“Is not yet secured,” Elizabeth said evenly. “Until he clarifies his intentions, we must keep Jane’s path clear of entanglements. Mr. Whitmore deserves someone who returns his regard—and I do not.”

Mrs. Bennet’s face contorted through several expressions before settling on resigned distress. “You are too clever by half, Lizzy. It will be the ruin of you—and of us all.”

Elizabeth’s gaze drifted across the room, where whispers were already spreading like ripples in a pond. She had achieved her immediate goal of protecting Jane’s position, but at what cost to her own reputation? The weight of the letter in her pocket seemed to grow heavier.

Then, she noticed Mr. Darcy observing her from across the room.

Unlike the other onlookers, whose expressions ranged from scandalized to gleefully judgmental, his face betrayed only a detained curiosity.

Their eyes met briefly, and Elizabeth felt a strange jolt of recognition as though he alone might understand the calculation behind her actions.

The moment passed as quickly as it had come. Mr. Darcy turned away, bending to make some remark to Mr. Bingley, who laughed in response. Elizabeth squared her shoulders and prepared to weather the storm of gossip that would surely follow her decision.

***

“Reckless.” Whispered but audible, the word followed Elizabeth as she made her way to the refreshment table. “Reckless. How odd.”

Elizabeth accepted a glass of ratafia from a servant, her expression betraying none of her turmoil. The calculated risk she had taken in refusing Mr. Whitmore was already having consequences. She could feel the weight of disapproving glances and hear the murmurs that ceased when she approached.

Jane appeared at her side, concern evident in her gentle features. “Lizzy, what has happened? Everyone is talking about your refusal to dance with Mr. Whitmore.”

“A momentary indisposition,” Elizabeth replied with a smile that did not reach her eyes. “It will be forgotten by the next scandal.”

“Mama is quite distressed.”

“Mama is always distressed about something or other. It will pass.”

Jane’s expression remained troubled. “You have never refused to dance before. Are you truly well?”

Charlotte Lucas’s approach saved Elizabeth from further explanation. Her practical nature made her a valuable friend in times of social turbulence.

“You have set the cat among the pigeons, Lizzy,” Charlotte observed quietly. “Mrs. Long tells anyone who will listen that you have developed airs above your station.”

“And what do you think, Charlotte?” Elizabeth asked, genuinely curious about her friend’s assessment.

“I think,” Charlotte replied after a thoughtful pause, “that you rarely act without reason, though your reasons may not be apparent to others.”

Elizabeth squeezed her friend’s hand in silent gratitude. “You know me too well.”

“Not Mr. Darcy, though,” Charlotte continued with a nod toward the tall gentleman who stood in conversation with Mr. Bingley. “He has been watching you with particular interest since your... incident.”

As if summoned by Charlotte’s observation, Sir William Lucas approached, Mr. Darcy just behind him.

“Miss Elizabeth Bennet, allow me the pleasure of presenting Mr. Darcy of Derbyshire,” he said with a cheerful flourish.

Darcy bowed; Elizabeth returned the gesture with a curtsy of composed grace.

“A pleasure, Miss Elizabeth,” he said, his tone reserved but not indifferent. “It seems you have the rare gift of enlivening the evening’s conversation.”

Elizabeth detected the faintest trace of condescension and replied, “I am glad to have provided some entertainment for our distinguished visitors, sir.”

Mr. Darcy’s mouth twitched, almost a smile. “It is not often one encounters such—resolution. I find myself curious as to your motives.”

“I am sure, sir, that any explanation I could offer would only increase your astonishment,” she replied lightly, though her chin lifted a fraction.

“On the contrary,” Darcy said, “I have come to appreciate that appearances may deceive. I trust we will have the opportunity to speak again, under more—favorable circumstances.”

Elizabeth inclined her head. “If you desire a puzzle, Mr. Darcy, I fear I must disappoint you. But I am not opposed to conversation, provided it is not at my expense.”

He bowed again, more deeply this time. “Rest assured, Miss Bennet, I have no wish to make you the subject of gossip.”

With that, the orchestra began the next dance, and Darcy excused himself, leaving Elizabeth with the uneasy sense that she had been both appraised and respected in a way she had not anticipated.

Elizabeth glanced in Mr. Darcy’s direction, surprised to find his gaze turning toward her. He did not look away when their eyes met, as propriety dictated, but continued to regard her with an expression she could not quite interpret.

“Mr. Darcy finds me a curiosity, nothing more,” Elizabeth said dismissively. “A country miss who does not know her place in society makes for novel entertainment.”