T he carriage turned onto the long, winding drive that led to Netherfield Park, the wheels crunching softly over gravel rimed with frost. As the house came into view, Elizabeth’s breath caught in her throat.
Netherfield Park stood bathed in bright light, every window ablaze with dozens—no, hundreds—of candles, their warm flicker making the great windows gleam like polished gold in the dark night.
A collective murmur rippled through the Bennet family.
“Oh!” Jane breathed, her hands clasped before her.
“Gracious,” Mrs. Bennet whispered. “What a grand display, but I daresay he can afford the expense.”
Even Mr. Bennet raised his brows in appreciation. “It appears Mr. Bingley intends to light half of Hertfordshire. Let us hope he does not frighten the livestock.”
As the carriage rolled to a stop before the entrance, Elizabeth found herself unable to look away. Garlands of greenery and white winter roses twined around the columns, and footmen stood at crisp attention beneath gas lanterns. Every detail, from the polished brass fittings to the snowy steps cleared of even a single flake, gleamed with elegance.
For all her pretensions, Miss Bingley certainly does know how to plan a ball .
Elizabeth climbed down carefully, gathering her skirts and drawing her shawl close. Her nerves, which had calmed somewhat during the ride, stirred again as she looked up at the towering facade of the house, causing her heart to pound. The house looked like something from a fairy tale—glowing and resplendent, untouched by fear or secrets. It was difficult to imagine it would be the site of a trap.
Somewhere behind those windows lies a traitor and a murderer.
They ascended the steps together, and a footman opened the door with practiced grace. Inside, the entrance hall had been transformed into a winter wonderland. Candles floated in glass globes suspended from the ceiling. Music drifted faintly from the ballroom beyond, and the scent of pine and oranges lingered in the air.
Elizabeth whispered to the nurse, who was holding the bundle with the false Benjamin, and the woman nodded and made her way towards the staircase to go up to the nursery.
Guests were already arriving, forming a tidy line to greet the hosts. The Bingleys and Hursts stood in fine array at the head of the receiving line. Mr. Bingley beamed, his face wreathed in smiles as he shook hands and welcomed his neighbors.
“Miss Bennet,” Mr. Bingley said warmly to Jane. “You look lovely. I am most glad you are here.”
Mrs. Hurst stood at his side with quiet elegance, and Mr. Hurst looked moderately awake. Caroline Bingley wore a vivid orange gown embroidered with gold—stunning in its extravagance and clearly chosen to dazzle. Her eyes flicked over the incoming guests with a queen’s narrowed scrutiny.
She curtsied low to the hosts, offering Miss Bingley the same polite, bland smile she had offered everyone else. The haughty woman sniffed in return and quickly turned to the next guest, leaving Elizabeth to the Hursts.
Mr. Hurst nodded absently as his wife fluttered a fan with a bored expression. But it was not until she reached the end of the receiving line that her eyes locked with Darcy’s—and the world seemed to hush.
Her steps slowed ever so slightly she took in his handsome appearance. His dark coat was perfectly fitted, his cravat immaculate, and his eyes—oh, his eyes—were fixed on her as though she had just walked out of his dreams.
When she reached the end of the line, he stepped forward, bowing deeply. “Miss Elizabeth,” he said, his voice low and reverent, “you are absolutely radiant this evening. I believe I may be the most fortunate man in all of England.” Her blush rose immediately. “You flatter me, sir.”
“I am only speaking truth.” His eyes lingered on hers. “I look forward to the first dance with great anticipation.”
Her heart fluttered once more, only this time, her anticipation was of a more pleasurable nature. “As do I. Although you may need to check your card again, sir; I believe I am to dance with”—her voice dropped to a whisper— “my betrothed.”
His eyes gleamed. “Then I shall appeal to your generosity and hope you will not rescind the favor.”
Before she could reply, Colonel Fitzwilliam stepped forward, elegant in his regimentals and very much enjoying the spectacle. “I believe I may claim the second set, Miss Elizabeth? Unless my cousin intends to steal all of your dances tonight.”
Elizabeth smiled. “I would be delighted, Colonel.”
Darcy, not to be outdone, added, “And the supper set, if you are not otherwise engaged.”
She hesitated—just long enough to enjoy the way his hand twitched slightly at his side—before she grinned at him, her eyes twinkling. “You may, sir.”
A sharp, strangled noise came from nearby.
Miss Bingley’s fan snapped shut with a violent crack. Her smile, plastered on for the benefit of those behind them, wavered like a candle in a draft. A muscle twitched in her cheek as her gaze darted between Elizabeth and the two gentlemen.
“My, Miss Elizabeth,” she said in a voice sharp with forced civility. “How very popular you have become. One might think you were the hostess.”
Elizabeth opened her mouth to reply, but Fitzwilliam, ever the diplomat, swept in with a grin. “And yet no one has yet claimed your first set, Miss Bingley. What a shocking oversight.” He bowed deeply. “May I have the honor?”
Miss Bingley, momentarily caught between rage and triumph, managed a tight nod. “If you insist.”
“Oh, I do.”
Elizabeth caught the faintest twinkle in the colonel’s eyes and had to look away quickly before she laughed aloud. Miss Bingley then turned her gaze towards Darcy’s, giving him a pleading expression beneath batting eyes. The colonel, however, once again provided cover as he offered Miss Bingley his arm and led her away.
Turning his attention back to Elizabeth, Darcy asked quietly, “Are you well?”
“I am,” she replied. “Though my stomach feels like I have swallowed a flock of sparrows.”
His expression sobered slightly. “We will keep you safe.”
She nodded once, the ballroom doors opening before them to reveal a dream of light and motion.
Darcy offered his arm. “Shall we, Miss Elizabeth?”
“Yes,” she said softly, placing her gloved hand atop his. “Let the evening begin.”
∞∞∞
Darcy could scarcely believe it.
Elizabeth was radiant.
She stood across from him at the head of the set, cheeks faintly flushed with color, eyes bright with that quick, curious spark that never failed to undo him. Her gown—a rich cream silk embroidered in gold—clung to her figure in a manner that was entirely modest and yet entirely distracting. The candlelight caught in the dark waves of her hair, pulled half up with deliberate softness, and he could not stop staring.
She was, quite simply, the most beautiful woman in the room.
And she had said yes .
It still stunned him to remember. The knowledge of it burned in his chest—warm and steady, like a brand seared into his heart.
He knew was not for proposals or passion. Tonight would decide everything. Their safety, their future, Benjamin’s very life.
And yet for the length of this dance, he was determined to steal one perfect moment from the edge of chaos.
The music began, and Elizabeth stepped forward, meeting him with practiced ease. Their hands met and parted again as they turned. There was silence between them for a time—only the rustle of skirts, the glide of slippers, and the swell of violins. Each time their hands touched, a jolt shot up his arm. The heated glances between them made him wish he could sweep her off her feet, carrying her away so they could be alone.
Darcy felt all eyes on them, but for once, he did not care.
Finally, Elizabeth tilted her head and said lightly, “You are very silent, Mr. Darcy. Are you consulting your mental list of eligible young ladies to whom you will next refuse a dance?”
He smiled. “Only narrowing it down to those I have not already offended beyond redemption.”
“That will be a very short list indeed.”
“Then I had best stay close to the only one who still tolerates me.”
She arched a brow. “I tolerate you now, do I?”
“Gladly and gloriously,” he said under his breath, and her eyes sparkled in return.
They stepped apart, then back together again.
“You know,” she said in a musing tone, “you really ought to say something about the size of the room. Or perhaps the number of couples. That is the usual formula.”
Darcy tilted his head. “Would you prefer I comment on the weather, or offer a dry remark about the price of ribbons in Meryton?”
She gave a mock gasp. “You do know how to flirt.”
“Do I?”
“Barely.”
He huffed a quiet laugh, then leaned a little closer. “I confess I was too overwhelmed to remember my conversational duties. You are quite—bewitching tonight.”
Her eyes widened, but she only murmured, “That will do nicely for a start.”
They danced in silence for a few steps more, the air between them warm and charged.
“It is quite crowded tonight. I see Mr. Bingley has invited the entire regiment.”
He nodded, sobering slightly. “He is. We may have… influenced him into inviting them in order to give certain people more access. His sister did not wish to do so, and he would have acceded to her wishes had Colonel Fitzwilliam and I not… intervened.”
Elizabeth frowned. “Does he give way to his sister often?”
“I am afraid so.”
She bit her lip, drawing his gaze to her mouth. “That does not bode well for my sister’s future happiness. Jane is so good and giving, and if her husband does not protect her, she will allow herself to be walked all over.”
He grimaced. “Perhaps several hints to him would not amiss. Colonel Fitzwilliam and I will do what we can to assist in the matter.”
“Thank you. I appreciate your care over my sister.”
“She is to be my sister soon, as well. I would be remiss if I did not do what I could to secure her happiness.”
Elizabeth gave him a brilliant smile, and joy filled his chest. Then she asked, “Did Mr. Wickham accompany his fellow officers?”
“He is.”
“Do you think he holds up well under the present scrutiny?”
Darcy’s eyes flicked briefly across the room, toward the back where the officers stood talking amongst themselves. “I have not had much opportunity to speak with him—he and I are meant to behave as if we still bear a grudge. But from what I can observe, he plays his part well.”
“I hope it is not too hard for him.”
“Strangely,” Darcy said, his voice gentling, “I believe he feels some purpose in it. And I have you to thank for helping us find a resolution. I owe you more than I can say.”
Her lips parted, but she said nothing—only held his gaze for a long, quiet moment.
The music slowed.
With great reluctance, Darcy stepped back and extended his arm to escort her from the floor. As they walked, she whispered, “I am quite amazed, sir. You did not cough once during our dance.”
His brow rose in amazement, and he placed his hand over hers on his arm, giving a gentle squeeze. As they approached a group of chairs, Colonel Fitzwilliam appeared, Miss Bingley clinging to his side after their own dance. He offered Darcy and Elizabeth an easy bow. “You two dance splendidly.”
“Thank you,” Elizabeth said, paying no attention Miss Bingley’s quiet snort of disgust. “You do as well.”
“It is my turn, I believe, in a few minutes,” the colonel said, also ignoring the woman smoldering with resentment at his side.
“Indeed, it is,” Darcy replied, though his eyes lingered on Elizabeth’s face a moment longer. “Enjoy yourself, Miss Elizabeth.”
“I shall try.”
“I cannot imagine what possessed Charles to invite so many soldiers,” Miss Bingley burst out, her ire evident. “I do so prefer gentlemen of refinement. Officers can be so… common.”
Darcy frowned severely at her as Elizabeth gaped. The colonel chuckled. “My apologies, Miss Bingley. I had not thought that the second son of an earl would demean any occasion, even if I am dressed in a red coat.”
Miss Bingley flushed a brilliant shade of red, which even Darcy could tell clashed horribly with her hair and dress. What is the woman thinking, putting such colors together? he wondered. It is a good thing Georgiana is too young to go shopping with her. I shudder to think what she would order.
“Oh no!” Miss Bingley gasped. “I did not mean you , sir. Certainly not! No one could ever mistake you for a member of the militia! No, I merely meant that I prefer to dance with men who are more refined and gentlemanly.”
She batted her eyes furiously at Darcy as she said this, who did his best to not blanch and shrink away. Fortunately, the first strands of the music began, and he had an excuse to leave. He inclined his head with cool politeness. “My next partner awaits. If you will excuse me.”
He did not look back to see her reaction. He did not have to. The flicker of satisfaction in Elizabeth’s eyes as he turned away told him everything.
As he searched out Miss Jane Bennet, the colonel escorted Elizabeth out.
And Miss Bingley was left alone. Partnerless. And enraged.
Nearby, a commonplace officer saw her expression and smiled.
This will be all too easy.
∞∞∞
Elizabeth moved easily through the steps of the dance, grateful to have the colonel for her partner. His energy, though tempered by the room’s tension, was as lighthearted and easy as ever. But she knew better than to assume he was only here for the pleasure of conversation. His eyes swept the crowd regularly, sharp and discerning beneath his pleasant smile.
“You look as though you are waiting for someone to jump out from behind the lemonade table,” she said softly as they turned.
“Only the usual assassins and revolutionaries,” he replied with a grin, eyes flicking to the far corner where several officers were posted. “Though the scrawny fellow by the cheese tray does look like he might collapse under the weight of his own sword.”
Elizabeth laughed. “Truly, Colonel, I do not know whether I should be reassured or alarmed.”
“Perhaps a bit of both. This is a ball, after all.”
They separated and skipped around the couple next to them. As they came together again, she tilted her head. “If I did not know any better, I would say your observations were due to a watching a young lady with her partner. So, tell me, Colonel, which of our fair Hertfordshire maidens has caught your eye?”
He blinked, clearly caught off guard. “What?”
“Oh, do not pretend,” she teased. “You watched someone very closely a moment ago. It must have been for flirtation, not espionage. You blushed.”
“I did not.”
“You did.” She peered at him in genuine surprise. “Well, you perhaps not, but you are doing so now .”
He coughed into his hand, clearly flustered, and Elizabeth laughed at the idea that her teasing had rung true. “I am sorry,” she said softly. “You do not have to say anything.”
“No,” he said after a pause, the mask sliding neatly back into place. “You were not wrong. But some things are… complicated. And some people are not yet ready to hear them.”
She understood. “Then I shall leave it be. For now.”
“Thank you.”
They moved together in companionable silence for a few moments, then Elizabeth glanced at him slyly. “So, if you will not tell me who you admire, you must at least tell me what Darcy was like growing up.”
“Oh, you wish for scandal, then.”
“Of course. Any stories of rebellion? Mischief? A youthful prank or two?”
Fitzwilliam chuckled. “We were not entirely without mischief. There was the time he and I climbed onto the roof of the Matlock estate to prove we could see the Irish Sea—”
“You could not.”
“We could not. And we nearly broke our necks proving it. But for the most part, Darcy was not a child given to recklessness.”
She frowned. “Because of his illness?”
“Because of his father,” Fitzwilliam said quietly. “You know about the illness, of course. His mother had not been dead a year, and her passing took away any ounce of compassion known at Pemberley. My uncle was a rather hard man.”
“I see,” she murmured.
“His first Christmas home after having been at school, he played outside with Georgiana. They came inside when his lungs seized up, and he was in the foyer coughing like nothing I had ever heard—we were visiting, you see. My father was attempting to help him, and several servants hovered around. Uncle Darcy came into the room, saw the scene, and rather than being alarmed for his son, he—” Fitzwilliam paused. “He blamed him. Said it was a performance. Said he was weak. Every time Darcy coughed after that, he tried harder to hide it. To bear it in silence. It only made him worse.”
Elizabeth’s throat tightened. “How horrible.”
Fitzwilliam appeared to not hear her; he was lost in his memories. “After that, Darcy was sent away to school, and he only returned home in the summers when it was warm. Each winter, my uncle refused to let him come home for the holidays—he did not want his malady disturbing the house—or rather, himself.” Fitzwilliam’s mouth tightened. “So instead, Darcy was sent to stay with us in London.”
Elizabeth’s heart ached. “That must have been difficult.”
“It was. He would never say so, of course. But I could see how much it hurt. One afternoon, just after a walk, he had a bad fit—he went into the drawing room, thinking it was empty. But my mother was there, seated in the corner. She called his name and tried to reach him—wanted to help—but the sound of his deep, wracking attack upset her nerves too much. She has always been delicate, and… she swooned.”
“Oh no,” Elizabeth groaned softly.
“He was still coughing too violently to do anything. He managed to make it to the bellpull and ring for a servant. When a maid finally arrived, his body was still wracked with the coughing fit, leaving him unable to do anything but gesture towards my mother. He could barely breathe, let alone explain.”
Her hand tightened slightly in his grip as the clasped hands to spin.
“My mother was mortified once she recovered. She tried to reassure him that it was not his fault—she even wrote to him afterward—but I do not think he ever really let it go. He blamed himself. He always did. I will never forget the look on Darcy’s face when I joined them in that room: mortified, silent.”
They danced in silence for a few steps, her heart breaking a little more with each beat.
“I never knew.” She swallowed past the lump in her throat. “Thank you for telling me.”
“I knew he never would himself, but as you are to be married, it is important that you know,” Fitzwilliam said simply. “But it is part of him. The reason he holds the world at such a distance. The reason he does not speak unless he has something worth saying. You are one of the few to cross that wall. I am very glad he has you now.”
Elizabeth swallowed hard, blinking back tears. “Then I must be very careful not to wound him.”
Fitzwilliam smiled gently. “He is stronger than you think. But thank you. For loving him.”
“I will take good care of his heart.”
Any reply was swallowed in the gentle applause of the crowd at the end of the set. He took her arm and began to guide her towards her father. “Are you ready to do what must be done?” he asked gently.
Elizabeth nodded, though her voice trembled. “Yes. But if anything goes wrong—if this all fails—you must promise me something.”
“Anything.”
“Tell him I loved him. That it was not his fault. He will blame himself—I know he will—but he must not. Not for this.”
Fitzwilliam’s eyes softened. “Audentes Fortuna adiuvat.” Fortune favors the brave.
Elizabeth smiled, blinking quickly to keep the tears from falling. “Ave, imperator; morituri te salutant.” Hail, Emperor; those who are about to die salute you.
He gaped at her. “You speak Latin? And have read Suetonius.”
“I had a very curious childhood.”
He shook his head in amazement. “You and Darcy are well matched indeed.”
She was laughing as they reached Mr. Bennet, who looked at them curiously but said nothing. Darcy approached from the other direction, having left Jane to Bingley’s attentive care.
“It is time,” Fitzwilliam said quietly.
Elizabeth’s heart beat like a drum, but she met Darcy’s gaze without flinching.
“Let the games begin,” she said.
And may we be the ones to win.