Page 86 of A Matter of Murder

She locked the door behind her, slipped the key into the pocket of her dress, and hurried toward the sound of voices and music that floated up from below. At the top of the stairs stooda tall, sharply cut figure in evening wear. As she approached, he turned, and Lizzie smiled to see Darcy. He took her in and laid his right hand over his heart, as if the sight of her were too much for him. “Mr. Darcy,” she said, dipping into a small curtsy.

“Miss Bennet,” he said with a bow. “You look... stunning.”

Her smile grew as his words sent a thrill down her spine. “And you look quite handsome yourself. What are you doing up here?”

“Waiting to escort you, of course,” he said, offering her his arm.

“How chivalrous,” she said, taking it. “And that has nothing to do with the fact that you don’t want to face all those people on your own?”

He grimaced. “I believe every eligible young lady in the county is here.”

“Darcy, you’ve faced down murderers and thieves and villains of all sorts, but you’re afraid of young ladies?”

“Terrified,” he confirmed. He leaned in closer and whispered into her ear, “And even more intimidated by their mothers.”

Lizzie laughed, leaning into Darcy. She wanted to enjoy tonight—for all of the things that she and Darcy had seen and undergone together, they’d never been to a ball together. And maybe she was a little romantic after all, or maybe it was the flickering of hundreds of candles in the foyer below and the strain of music from the ballroom, but she felt lighter than she had in days. Weeks. Then she looked into Darcy’s eyes and realized no, it wasn’t the setting—it was he. Darcy was the one who made her feel as though she didn’t have to fight to prove herself. He sawher exactly as she was, and he made her laugh, and he was always there.

“What are you thinking right now?” he whispered.

That I want you to kiss me, she thought.And never stop.

But before she could say anything reckless, a door slammed somewhere behind them. She and Darcy startled, and Lizzie took a half step back, turning to see Caroline coming around the corner, dressed in an exquisite peacock-blue dress and looking extremely annoyed.

“Well, are we going down or not?” she demanded.

Lizzie tilted her head to Darcy, and he sighed and offered an arm to each of them. “Be nice,” he reminded Caroline as they glided down the stairs.

“Darcy, the sooner Charles and Jane give up on trying to impress these country bumpkins, the sooner I get back to London,” she muttered under her breath. “I don’t give one fig about beingnice.”

“Eloquent as always, Caroline,” Lizzie said.

“Don’t pretend you’re any happier here than I, Lizzie Bennet,” Caroline said as they reached the bottom of the stairs. “I know you’re just dying to go home.”

Then she extricated herself from Darcy and glided away, slipping between guests as she made her way to the ballroom.

“I’ve a new theory,” Lizzie whispered. “Do we think that Caroline is perpetuating the rumors about this place being cursed in order to get herself back to London faster?”

“Don’t give her any ideas,” Darcy said.

They made their way through the foyer, where Jane and Bingley stood greeting guests as they arrived, and to the ballroom, which was down a short hall to the left of the front door. The room seemed to glow from the hall, and when Lizzie and Darcy stepped into the space, Lizzie caught her breath.

The ballroom had been transformed.

The wood floors were polished to a high gleam, and gone was the musty smell of air being shut up for too long. Lively musicians played along the far wall, and everywhere Lizzie looked, the people of Meryton were chattering animatedly. Above them all, the giant chandelier cast a brilliant, shining light down on the guests from dozens of lit candles. The overall effect was cheerful and inviting, with an undercurrent of excitement.

Lizzie spotted the ladies from the haberdashery, including Mrs. Fitzgerald and two tall, wide-eyed young women who could only be her daughters. Clara Jeffries stood near the edge of the dance floor, staring up at the chandelier. And Mr. Thomas was deep in conversation with Charlotte, who looked especially lovely in a saffron-colored dress. Lizzie smiled and nudged Darcy. “Look,” she whispered, nodding in their direction. “Mr. Thomas seems quite taken with Charlotte.”

“Taken?” Darcy repeated. “You mean...”

“Perhaps. She deserves someone nice, don’t you think? And he seems nice.”

“Mr. Thomas, though?” Darcy asked.

“Do you think her not good enough for him?” Lizzie felt her voice rise in defensiveness, but she didn’t care.

“On the contrary—I wonder if he is good enough for her.”

“Well said,” Lizzie said. Then she spotted another familiar figure—her mother, headed straight toward her.