Page 2 of More Than You Know (The Love Conquers Pride #3)

Chapter One

Late August 1811, London

T he carriage jostled over London’s uneven cobblestones as Fitzwilliam Darcy leaned back against the leather squabs. His eyes, heavy-lidded from lack of sleep, took in the familiar sprawl that rose up around him as the distant cries of vendors selling their wares drifted through the open window—yet none of it registered.

Darcy was bone-weary, in both body and mind. The past few weeks had been nothing short of a crucible—a relentless series of trials that had left him dangerously close to the end of his tether. And to think, it had all begun with a single, unforgivably audacious letter.

His aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, had never been one for subtlety, but even by her standards, the express she had sent was nothing short of extortion. She had threatened—threatened!—to publish an announcement of his supposed engagement to her daughter, Anne, in the London papers if he did not immediately present himself at Rosings to sanction the match.

Darcy’s jaw tightened at the memory. The scheme had been as absurd as it was insulting. Did she truly believe he could be so easily coerced? Yet, to his begrudging acknowledgement, the letter had achieved its purpose; it had stirred him from the quiet sanctuary of Pemberley, compelled to put an end to the entire farce, something he should have done long ago.

But fate, in its capricious manner, had intervened. For had he not been forced to travel into Kent to confront her ladyship, he never would have had the fleeting instinct to stop in Ramsgate where his sister, Georgiana, was spending the summer under the care of her newly appointed companion, thereby averting disaster. Even now, his fingers clenched at the thought of how close Georgiana had come to utter ruin. His sweet, trusting fifteen-year-old sister, persuaded into an elopement by that scoundrel, George Wickham. Had he arrived a day later—well, he dared not even consider the consequences.

But amid the fury and the shame, Darcy could not help but feel an unbidden, bitter gratitude. Lady Catherine’s imperious summons, meant to further her own ambitions, had inadvertently saved his sister, and for that, he owed his aunt more than he cared to admit.

The carriage slowed, turning into Grosvenor Square and drawing him back to the present. Moments later, the conveyance came to a halt, and a footman hurried forwards to open the door. Descending onto the pavement, Darcy could feel the weight of the city pressing in around him as he slowly climbed the steps, where his long-serving butler greeted him with a bow.

“Welcome home, Mr Darcy. I trust your journey was without incident?”

Darcy acknowledged him with a curt nod, already tugging off his gloves as he stepped into the hall. “Yes. Thank you, Carleton. Please see to my trunks. And send Pierce to my chambers.”

“Yes, sir.”

Darcy resumed walking, but Carleton remained at his elbow.

“Sir, if I may?—”

Halting mid-step, Darcy turned to his butler with thinly veiled annoyance. “Yes, Carleton, what is it?”

Carleton, ever composed, gave a discreet cough before saying evenly, “I thought it prudent to inform you that Colonel Fitzwilliam is currently in residence. He arrived yesterday afternoon.”

Darcy startled, turning towards his butler with a narrowed gaze. “Richard is here?”

“Indeed, sir,” Carleton confirmed. “I believe he might presently be found in the saloon.”

For a moment, Darcy’s thoughts raced. His cousin was meant to be escorting Georgiana and his mother, Lady Matlock, to their family’s country estate in Derbyshire. What the deuce was he doing sitting in Darcy’s saloon?

Without another word, Darcy pivoted sharply, abandoning his original course. His boots echoed against the marble floor as he crossed the hall.

Pushing the door open with force, his eyes scanned the room until they settled upon the familiar figure slouched comfortably in a high-backed chair, a tumbler of brandy already in hand.

Richard Fitzwilliam looked up, a flicker of surprise crossing his features as Darcy strode towards him, already beginning to speak in an agitated manner.

“Fitzwilliam, what do you do here? Are you not meant to be on your way to Matlock by now?”

“Relax, Cousin, you will do yourself an injury,” Richard replied in measured tones, rising to his feet and holding out a hand in placation. “I assure you, all is well.”

Darcy dragged his fingers through his hair and forced himself to draw a steadying breath. Moving farther into the room, he came to stand before his cousin as Richard continued, “The ladies are on their way to Briarwood, as planned. His lordship accompanied them.”

“His lordship? I thought my uncle had resolved to remain in town?”

Richard’s mouth twisted into a wry smirk. “He had—until I mentioned that you were bound for Rosings to put an end to Lady Catherine’s schemes concerning your supposed engagement to Anne. Then, quite miraculously, he recalled an urgent matter in Derbyshire that required his immediate attention.”

A low laugh escaped his cousin as he returned to his seat, taking a leisurely sip of brandy before placing his glass on a nearby table. “As such, I saw no reason to make the trip myself. So, I elected to wait here for your return.”

Relief loosened the tightness in Darcy’s chest as his heart slowly returned to a steady rhythm. “Good,” he murmured, pivoting towards the sideboard to pour himself a drink. The crystal decanter clinked against the glass as he filled it halfway with the amber liquid.

“And the other business?” Darcy asked quietly. “Regarding Wickham?”

Even the act of forming the blackguard’s name left a bitter taste on Darcy’s tongue, and he quickly took a long swallow of brandy to wash it away.

Across from him, Richard darted a glance at the tumbler before saying, “Everything has been arranged, exactly as we discussed.”

Darcy nodded grimly, crossing the room to sink into the winged chair opposite his cousin. The brandy burned a slow path down his throat, and Darcy closed his eyes, savouring the feeling. He rarely drank any sort of spirits, but at times like this, he was willing to take his chances.

He opened his eyes to find Richard studying him with a pensive expression. “Not that I am surprised, but you look like the very devil. I hesitate to enquire but…how did matters unfold at Rosings?”

Darcy grimaced, twisting his glass and watching the liquid swirl. “Much as I had anticipated. Anne stared at her shoes for the duration of the interview, while Lady Catherine nearly brought down the walls with her tirade on duty, honour, and family loyalty. Still, I have no regrets. The conversation ought to have occurred long ago.”

Richard smothered a sigh. “What, exactly, did you say to her?”

“What could I say? I told her the truth.” At Richard’s narrowed gaze, he continued, “At least as much of the truth as I was at liberty to share. I simply informed Lady Catherine that as soon as Georgiana was settled, I would be leaving England and that I had no intention of taking a wife before I went.”

Richard gave him a long, measured look, and Darcy sighed, running a finger along the rim of his glass.

“I am only sorry it has taken me this long to speak my piece. Anne is seven-and-twenty! She deserves the chance to marry and raise a family, if that is her desire. I have done her a great disservice by not making my position clear years ago.”

Richard released a breath, rubbing a hand over his face. “I know you and our cousin would never have made a love match. But…given the circumstances, could you not have seen your way to marrying Anne? You know she would not talk, and once you were wed, surely Lady Catherine would do everything in her power to keep your confidence.”

“Certainly not!” Darcy replied, appalled at the very thought. “I have told you—I shall never marry. I could not condemn any woman to such a fate. Besides, Anne deserves some happiness in this life, and she will not find that with me.”

“You and your blasted principles,” Richard muttered, and Darcy scowled back at him.

“Pray, do not laud me for my principles. There is little honour in what I have done. For years, I allowed our aunt to perpetuate this fiction because it suited my purposes. But it was cowardice, not virtue. Had Lady Catherine not threatened to announce the engagement, I might never have bothered to end the masquerade.”

Richard regarded him steadily. “Well, I can hardly fault you for going to Rosings. If you had not stopped in Ramsgate, Georgiana would be bound to that degenerate Wickham as we speak.” He took another slow drink, his expression hardening. “But Anne… I still say you should have left that well alone. You know how much influence Lady Catherine wields in society. Now you have turned an ally into an enemy. And there is no telling what she would do for her daughter’s sake.”

Darcy’s grip tightened around his glass. His cousin spoke the truth, and yet—what choice had he truly had?

“We must hope,” he said quietly, “that your father can keep her in check. At least until Georgiana’s future is fixed.”

Richard’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully, but he said nothing more.

They sat in silence for some moments before Darcy, seeking a change of subject, made a faint sound at the back of his throat.

“I do not believe I have properly thanked you for persuading your mother to have Georgiana to stay at Briarwood. After being so deceived by Mrs Younge, I am in no hurry to entrust her care to another paid companion. And I must confess, after this debacle with Wickham, I fear I find myself completely out of my depth where my sister is concerned.”

“Oh, that was nothing,” his cousin replied, waving Darcy’s gratitude away with a flick of his wrist. “You know how Mother is. She cares deeply for Georgiana, and she does love to be of use.”

Darcy hesitated, then asked cautiously, “And you did not…tell her anything?”

“About Ramsgate?” Richard’s expression sobered. “Certainly not. The fewer people who know about that, the better. And from what I have gathered, Georgiana wants nothing more than to put the entire ordeal behind her. So, I do not think we have anything to fear from that quarter.”

Darcy nodded slowly. As Georgiana had scarcely said two words to him since he had dragged her back to town, he would have to take his cousin’s word for her state of mind.

“And what of Wickham?” Darcy continued. “Are you certain he will not talk?”

“Not if he wishes to retain all his limbs. I threatened him within an inch of his life.

I still wish you had let me run him through.”

Darcy exhaled sharply. “You know full well why I could not—much as I might have wished it. We cannot risk drawing attention to the matter. Georgiana’s reputation is in a precarious enough state as it is.”

Richard muttered something unintelligible under his breath before slumping back in his chair. “I still say you let him off far too easily. But at least the commission I purchased for him—or I should rightly say the commission you purchased for him—places him under the command of Colonel Bartholomew, one of the most exacting officers in His Majesty’s Army. Wickham will find no leniency there.”

“Good. As much as it galls me to have had to spend yet another sum of money on that reprobate, at least this time I know he will not gamble or drink it away. Perhaps the army will teach him a lesson or two.”

Richard smirked darkly. “Doubtful. But at least we have got him out of the way, for now. In any case, one good thing has come of this entire disaster—it has flushed you out of hiding. How long do you intend to remain in town?”

Darcy’s shoulders stiffened. “No longer than necessary. I shall depart for Pemberley as soon as Walsh returns.”

“Ah, yes. I meant to ask how you were faring without your faithful shadow. Where has he gone off to, again?”

Darcy forbore to comment on his cousin’s sarcastic tone, saying only, “He is in Bedfordshire, visiting relations. He will return to London on Tuesday week.”

Regarding him with a thoughtful expression, Richard began slowly, “Hmm…that does not give us much time, but we shall make the best of it. Granted, the Season is well and truly over, but there must still be a few soirées we can attend. I believe Lady Copley’s ball takes place on?—”

“No,” Darcy cut in sharply.

Richard blinked back at him. “Oh, very well. A ball might be a bit much, but surely?—”

“Richard, desist!” Darcy’s tone was clipped. “Once and for all, the answer is no—to all of it. I have no intention of going out into society.”

Richard stared at him for a long moment before leaning back with a sigh. “Then, might I be so bold as to ask, what do you intend to do while you are in town? Lock yourself away in your study?”

Darcy said nothing, setting his glass down with a quiet thud. Moving to the window, he pulled back the heavy curtains, staring out at the street below. His thoughts, however, were far from London.

“I thought I might travel to Hertfordshire for a few days…”

His voice faltered, and behind him, Richard mumbled an oath under his breath.

“Not this again! Darcy, you must abandon this folly. I should imagine you have searched every inch of that county by now, and to what purpose? There must be a thousand women named Jane in Hertfordshire alone. And even if—by some miracle—you did stumble upon the one you seek, what then?”

Allowing the curtain to fall back into place, Darcy turned once again to face his cousin. “I do not know. I simply wish to see her. I cannot explain it.”

Richard sighed heavily, shaking his head in exasperation. “And she gave you nothing else to go on? No surname, no mention of her family?”

“No. I only know that she came from Hertfordshire and was travelling with her aunt and uncle. She did not even reveal her Christian name until the moment before she left.”

Richard quirked a brow. “She must have been quite a beauty to leave you in such a state after all these years. Of course, you know what they say about country girls,” he added with a wink and an exaggerated smirk.

Darcy narrowed his gaze. “Do not be crass.”

He turned away, staring into the cold, empty hearth. He could hardly expect Richard to understand when he did not. But it had not been Jane’s physical beauty that had so captivated him—though she had been undeniably handsome. No, it was something else…something far more elusive, something in her very bearing that was impossible to name.

“She was different,” he said quietly, choosing his words with care. “I do not know how to explain, exactly, but she was so lively and clever. She did not dissemble, nor put on airs. And she noticed things—things that would have seemed insignificant to the ordinary person. She had the most expressive countenance…”

Richard snorted, breaking the moment. “You sound like a lovesick schoolboy.”

Darcy stiffened, but his cousin pressed on. “Honestly, Darcy, I think you have built her up into some paragon inside your mind. If you ever did find her, I doubt she would live up to the fantasy you have created. For all you know, she could be the daughter of a shopkeeper or a tradesman,” he continued with a theatrical shudder. “You said yourself her manner of dress was not that of someone in the first circles.”

Darcy’s frown deepened. “She was out for a morning walk. One could hardly expect her to be dressed in satin and lace.”

“Yes, a morning walk,” his cousin repeated, “without even a maid to accompany her. That alone says something about her upbringing.”

A flicker of annoyance rose in Darcy’s chest. While he had thought the same himself upon their first meeting, it sat ill with him to hear his cousin speak so disparagingly of the lady he admired.

His jaw tightened. “Say what you will, but as you have made abundantly clear, the point is moot, as I shall likely never see her again.”

Richard opened his mouth to speak, but before he could reply, a sharp knock echoed through the room, granting Darcy a welcome reprieve.

“Enter,” Darcy called out curtly.

The door opened to reveal Carleton, ever the model of composed efficiency. The butler inclined his head in a respectful bow.

“Forgive the interruption, sir,” Carleton intoned smoothly, “but a Mr Bingley is calling. Shall I inform him that you are not at home?”

Inwardly, Darcy stifled a groan. How the devil had Bingley discovered his presence in town so quickly? He had only just arrived! Darcy sighed. Despite his weariness and general distaste for company, he could not bring himself to turn his friend away. Bingley’s good-natured persistence was difficult to rebuff.

“No,” Darcy replied, schooling his expression. “Show him into the library. I shall be with him directly.”

Carleton bowed once more and withdrew, the faint click of the latch marking his departure.

Out of the corner of his eye, Darcy saw his cousin lean slightly forwards in his chair, a curious glint in his eyes.

“Well, this is unexpected,” Richard mused. “An outsider permitted entry into your sacred hermitage? Who is this Bingley? Your solicitor or some such?”

“No,” Darcy responded tersely. “He is an old friend. We were at university together.”

Richard cast him a sidelong glance. “At Cambridge? I cannot recall you ever mentioning him. In fact, I was under the distinct impression that you had no friends beyond Walsh and myself.”

Disregarding his cousin’s gibe, Darcy stood, adjusting his cuffs with measured precision.

When it became clear he had no intention of elaborating, Richard continued, “How did he know you were in town? The knocker is not on the door.”

“I haven’t the vaguest idea. But I know Bingley—if I do not see him now, he will only come back again.”

Richard frowned. “I cannot see that as a problem. If you wish to avoid the connection, why not simply instruct Carleton to say you are not at home?”

Darcy exhaled slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I am not trying to avoid the connection, precisely. Bingley is a good man, and we were quite close at one time…before circumstances interfered. In any case, we have maintained a correspondence. Last summer, he and his sisters visited Pemberley for a few days when they were travelling to some relations in Scarborough.”

Across from him, Richard straightened in his chair, surprise flickering across his face. “You had guests at Pemberley?”

“Only for a brief stay. Bingley requested permission to break their journey there, and I could see no polite way to refuse.”

Richard gave a low whistle. “Well, I’ll be… I should have paid good money to see that. You, entertaining guests.”

Darcy shot him a withering look. “As much as I would love to stay and listen to more of your witty rejoinders, I believe I have kept Bingley waiting long enough. If you will excuse me?”

He turned towards the door, but before his hand closed around the latch, Richard was already rising to his feet.

“I believe I shall accompany you,” his cousin declared, straightening his coat with a practised tug. “After all, we would not wish to take any chances. And besides, I think I should rather like to meet this Mr Bingley.”

Darcy sighed, inwardly resigned. There was little use arguing when his cousin’s curiosity was piqued.

“Very well. But do try to behave yourself.”

Richard chuckled, falling into step beside him. “When have I done otherwise?”

Darcy merely pressed his lips together and led the way from the room.

The cousins had scarcely crossed the library’s threshold before an enthusiastic Bingley sprang to his feet, bounding in Darcy’s direction and pumping his hand with a boyish grin.

“Darcy! Well met, old friend!”

Turning to his cousin, Darcy proceeded to perform the necessary introductions, and the three gentlemen then made their way to a cluster of comfortable sofas in the centre of the room.

“Well, I must say, this is a surprise!” Bingley began as soon as they were seated. “When Caroline told me she had seen your carriage, I thought she must have mistaken the matter, but then my sister has always possessed a sharp eye, and an even sharper memory—particularly where gentlemen of good fortune are concerned.”

He laughed lightly at his own jest, though Darcy could not quite suppress the flicker of irritation at Miss Bingley’s meddlesome attentions. Yet, despite this, the familiar ease in Bingley’s demeanour tugged at Darcy’s composure, tempering his usual reserve. Although they had drifted apart over the years, Bingley’s open and affable nature remained unchanged—a trait that had always made him well-liked in every company.

“I trust you do not mind my calling unannounced,” Bingley continued with his usual exuberance. “Caroline was most emphatic that I pay my respects as soon as may be.”

Darcy felt the corners of his mouth twitch upwards despite himself. “No, I am glad you came,” he admitted, surprised to find the words sincere. “My stay in London will be brief, but it is always agreeable to see old friends.”

Bingley’s expression instantly brightened. “Well I do hope you will be here long enough to dine with us in Berkeley Square.”

Obviously noting the shift in Darcy’s expression, Bingley added eagerly, “Ah, yes! I do not believe I mentioned—my sister Louisa is recently married to Mr Arthur Hurst. We are making use of his townhouse for the time being. You must come—we are practically around the corner.”

After extending his good wishes to the newly wed Mrs Hurst, Darcy replied, “As for dining, I thank you for the invitation, though I am not certain it will be possible. My time in town is limited, and I have several matters that require my attention.”

Bingley’s expression faltered only slightly before his natural optimism recovered. “That is a pity,” he said, though his tone remained light. “Although this is not the fashionable time to be in London, there are still some delightful diversions to be found. Why, not a fortnight ago, I attended an assembly and met the most enchanting young lady! Truly, Darcy, she is an angel! And I have every reason to believe?—”

Darcy sank deeper into the cushions, allowing Bingley’s rhapsodizing to wash over him. His friend had not changed in the least when it came to women. Even through their infrequent correspondence, Darcy had counted no fewer than half a dozen ‘angels’ who had captured Bingley’s fleeting affections since their university days. It was, in truth, a wonder the man had not been leg-shackled long ago.

The sudden sound of his cousin clearing his throat jolted Darcy from his inattentive reverie. He straightened abruptly, realizing with some embarrassment that Bingley had ceased speaking and was now regarding him expectantly.

Drawing a steadying breath, Darcy attempted to slow his rapidly beating heart.

“Pray, forgive me, Bingley,” he began with as much equanimity as he could muster, “my mind was elsewhere. What was it that you were saying?”

“Bingley was speaking of Lady Copley’s ball,” his cousin supplied, lounging back with practised ease. “He and the enchanting young lady he has just been telling us about will be in attendance, and he wonders whether he might have the pleasure of seeing you there.”

“Ah. I am afraid not. Walsh is travelling with me, and I am only in town until he returns from a brief sojourn to Bedfordshire. We depart for Pemberley within the week.”

To Darcy’s mounting irritation, Richard’s lips curled into a slow, knowing smirk. “How fortunate then that the ball is in two days’ time.”

Darcy cast his cousin a withering glance, but Bingley remained blissfully unaware, his enthusiasm undimmed.

“I hear it will be a grand occasion!” his friend declared eagerly. “Of course, my sisters and Mr Hurst will be joining me. Caroline, especially, would be most pleased to see you again.”

Inwardly, Darcy suppressed a groan, but Richard fairly beamed his approbation.

“Splendid! We shall both be delighted to attend.”

“Richard.” Darcy’s tone was low, clipped, and laced with warning. “I believe you are well aware of my feelings on the matter.”

At last, Bingley seemed to sense a shift in the air, glancing cautiously between the two cousins. However, Richard, undeterred, leaned forwards with a conspiratorial gleam in his eye.

“Darcy has been studiously avoiding all social engagements of late—too many ambitious mamas thrusting their marriageable daughters into his path.” He chuckled, casting a wink in Bingley’s direction. “But never fear, Cousin. I shall be on hand to keep you out of trouble.”

Darcy’s jaw tightened, the muscle in his cheek twitching, but Bingley’s broad smile only widened.

“Well, it is settled, then! We shall see each other at the ball!”

Darcy exhaled slowly, resigned to his fate.

“Indeed,” he muttered, though his tone suggested anything but enthusiasm.

Richard said nothing more, merely settling back with a look that suggested he had won far more than the argument.

“I do not know why I let you talk me into this,” Darcy muttered two days later as their carriage jolted through the crowded London streets.

“Yes, you do,” his cousin replied with a satisfied grin. “It is important for you to be seen, for Georgiana’s sake, if not your own. People are beginning to talk.”

“Well they will certainly have something to talk about if this goes wrong!” Darcy spat back at him. “You will have to take Georgiana abroad to find a husband, for I shall be in Bedlam.”

“Nonsense,” Richard replied with his usual good humour, “all will be well. As I have already told you, you need not dance. But it will be good for you to be seen while you are in town. We agreed on the importance of laying the groundwork for Georgiana’s Season, and you will have to begin sometime. The longer you stay away, the more difficult it will be.”

To this, Darcy gave no answer, merely staring out of the window at the passing carriages. He knew Richard was right, but that did not make the prospect of spending the evening being gaped at like a public curiosity any more palatable.

Turning away from the darkened glass, he looked back at his cousin. “What is it they say about me?” he asked with some trepidation.

“I beg your pardon?”

Darcy sighed, barely refraining from rolling his eyes. “You said people were beginning to talk. What do they say?”

“Oh, you know, just the usual,” Richard replied with a wave of his hand. “That you are a recluse, that you think yourself superior to the rest of polite society, that you are consumed by grief.”

Darcy frowned. Although he had been close to both his parents, his father had been gone above five years now, and his mother had died three years before that. It hardly seemed likely that he would still be mourning their deaths. However, he supposed when it came to his avoidance of society, grief was a preferable explanation to some of the other alternatives.

“Nothing else? Nothing about Walsh, or…?”

Richard’s eyebrows lifted. “No. But you will not be able to bring him with you when you return for Georgiana’s Season. It would be noticed. I shall request leave so that I can accompany you whenever you go out. No one will think anything of that. I am Georgiana’s second guardian, after all.”

Once again, Darcy sighed, sinking farther into the plush squabs. “Perhaps I ought not to come at all. As you said, we share guardianship of Georgiana. You could be the one to escort her to all the necessary events…” He lapsed into silence as his cousin stared at him incredulously.

“You cannot be serious. It is one thing for me to accompany you, but you are her nearest relation! How would we explain your absence?”

When Darcy did not answer, his cousin leaned in, resting his elbows upon his knees. “Darcy, you promised you would see this to completion. You must make more of an effort. If you ask me, you have already left it too long. It was one thing the year or two following your father’s death. Back then, it was easy to make excuses—you were grieving, and you had Georgiana to look after and Pemberley to manage. But you have scarcely been seen in public these last five years. Georgiana will never make a suitable match if you have the reputation of being some sort of recluse.”

“It is preferable to anyone learning the truth,” Darcy muttered. “Besides, Georgiana has a dowry of thirty thousand pounds—she will have no trouble finding a husband.”

“Is that what you want for her? A fortune hunter? Another George Wickham who will marry her for her money and make her life a misery?”

“Of course not!” Darcy snapped, his countenance hot with anger. “Why do you think I am sitting in this carriage, even now!”

He turned away, drawing a ragged breath before fixing his cousin with a steely gaze.

“Very well, I shall keep my promise. I shall do everything in my power to see Georgiana settled. But mark my words—if we are successful in this, I shall leave England the moment she is married. And I will not be coming back.”

The heat of the ballroom pressed in from all sides, thick and suffocating. As they made their way through the shifting crowd, Darcy tugged at his cravat, though the gesture did little to ease the constriction in his throat. The air was heavy with the mingled scents of beeswax, perfume, and too many bodies packed into too small a space. Candles blazed from the chandeliers overhead, their flames flickering against the gilt-framed mirrors and casting sharp, unrelenting light that caused beads of perspiration to instantly dampen Darcy’s brow. He could not recall the last time he had been in a ballroom. Certainly not since his father’s death, and everything that had followed.

Beside him, Richard navigated the crowd with confident familiarity, offering clipped greetings and charming smiles. But at length, he glanced back at Darcy, and his expression faltered.

“Are you well?” Fitzwilliam murmured, and Darcy responded with a curt nod.

His cousin regarded him with a wary expression before saying, “Well, let us get out of this crush, in any case. We shall find Lady Copley and pay our respects, then adjourn to the card room. It will be quieter in there.”

Again, Darcy nodded, his mind on steadying his breathing as his cousin led the way through the throng of merrymakers. The swell of conversation and the strains of the orchestra tangled into a cacophony that grated on his already frayed nerves. All around him, ladies in richly-coloured silks and men in stiff evening coats moved in an endless, glittering tide. Laughter rang out in shrill bursts, ribbons of gossip curling through the crowd like smoke. Over the din, he could hear the sharp gasps and hushed whispers that followed their slow progress, and it was all he could do to keep his gaze fixed upon his cousin’s back.

They were halfway to the edge of the room when the sound of his name being called caused Darcy to startle, his head snapping up instinctively.

“Fitzwilliam! I thought that was you!”

A gentleman in military dress emerged from the crowd, striding towards Richard with unmistakable good cheer.

“Captain Hargrove,” Richard greeted him heartily, clasping the man’s hand. “What the devil are you doing in town?”

Darcy exhaled, feeling foolish. Of course, it was Richard who was being addressed, not him; no one here would be calling out his Christian name.

Fitzwilliam, ever the gentleman, turned to perform the necessary introductions. But after offering a polite bow and the briefest greeting civility would allow, Darcy promptly angled his body away. He had never been comfortable making conversation with strangers, and tonight, more than ever, he wished to remain unnoticed.

Hoping his cousin’s conversation would be mercifully brief, Darcy let his eyes drift across the crowded ballroom. Although many faces were unfamiliar, several stood out. Across the room, he spotted Bingley’s two sisters standing beside a portly gentleman with a ruddy complexion—Mr Hurst, Darcy presumed. As he watched, Miss Bingley lifted her fan, leaning in to whisper something to her elder sister. Mrs Hurst frowned, glancing towards the dancers as her younger sister’s feathers bobbed emphatically with a determined tilt of her chin.

Darcy followed her gaze.

There was Bingley, beaming as he led his partner through the steps with easy confidence. His friend’s face was flushed with good cheer, his smile broad and unguarded.

Darcy’s attention shifted to the lady at Bingley’s side. He could not make out her features at this distance, but there was something about her—the effortless poise in her movements, the graceful tilt of her head—that caught him off guard. She was slender, light on her feet, moving through the dance with practised ease.

Something about the lady seemed familiar… Unsettlingly so.

The music swelled and then slowed, signalling the dance’s end. Bingley leaned in, saying something that made the lady laugh. Then, as though sensing eyes upon him, Bingley glanced up. Darcy felt his cheeks burn to be caught staring, but his friend’s face brightened instantly, and he murmured a few more words to his companion before offering his arm and leading her in Darcy’s direction.

Darcy straightened at once, casting a glance at Richard, who was still engrossed in conversation and heedless of the rest of the room.

The crowd seemed to part as Bingley approached, the unknown lady’s head tilted towards his as the pair engaged in quiet conversation.

Darcy’s pulse quickened, a disquieting tension settling in his chest.

And then she looked up, and their gazes locked.

Darcy froze.

A jolt—sharp and startling—shot through him as recognition struck with blinding clarity.

His breath caught, and before reason could intervene, the name tore from his lips in a ragged whisper.

“Jane!”