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“I’ve been considering how to arrange the parsonage rooms. There’s potential for expansion, should we be blessed with a growing family. Lady Catherine believes that four children is the ideal number for a clergyman’s family. I trust you agree?”

Mr Collins’ hand seemed to linger a moment too long on Elizabeth’s waist as they turned.

“I admire your efficiency, my dear. I am certain you’ll manage our home with the same grace you display on the dance floor.”

Mr Collins’ eyes followed Elizabeth’s every movement, his smile widening each time she glanced in his direction.

Mr Bingley however soon came to her rescue and asked her to dance for the next. Who made a much better dance partner than Mr Collins.

As her dance with Bingley came to an end a servant handed her a tall glass of lemonade. She took it thankful, her cheeks warm.

Are you well, Lizzy?” Jane whispered as they stood side by side.

Elizabeth forced a smile. “Perfectly well. And you? You seem in good spirits.”

Jane blushed. “Mr Bingley has been very attentive.”

“I am glad,” Elizabeth replied, her smile becoming genuine for a moment.

Mr Collins was of course nearly always by her side, which made conversation with others quite difficult, and though Jane and Mary engaged as much of his attention as they could, somehow he always found a way back to Elizabeth’s side.

Luckily, he was not as used to an evening of exercise as the rest of the company and was soon forced to sit down and dance no more.

Elizabeth was relieved by this and was beginning to enjoy herself again until she realised that his eyes were following her every movement.

* * *

Netherfield Drawing Room - Darcy

Darcy watched as Elizabeth entered the drawing room, her eyes scanning the crowd.

He noticed her slight frown when she spotted him, and the way she quickly looked away.

Mr Collins followed behind her, and Darcy felt a twinge of irritation at the man’s presumptuous manner.

He moved towards her to greet her. She had not been there during their call at Longbourn and Mr Collins knew nothing about the encounter in the woods, so it was only polite he told himself to enquire after her health and her father’s.

Mr Collins intercepted him and engaged him in a lengthy conversation about Lady Catherine.

By the time he managed to escape they were heading through to the dining room.

In the hope of being able to escort her through himself he deliberately positioned himself near her.

Her two youngest sisters pushed past her with two of the officers and she nearly fell into him.

Darcy was in a foul mood. It did not help that Elizabeth’s younger sisters were joining them tonight and in such a small group he was forced to listen to their insipid chatter.

Conversation withered on Darcy’s lips, his mood as dark as the wine in his glass.

Elizabeth was the only person he wished to speak to, but he feared speaking with her.

Since discovering the truth it was both easier and harder to understand her.

He could not risk paying her any attention, not right under Mr Collins’s nose. He was forced to watch her from afar.

Darcy took his seat at the far end of the table, frustration mounting as he realised his distance from Elizabeth.

He watched as Colonel Foster led her to her seat, noting with a mixture of relief and irritation that Mr Collins had been placed on her other side.

The small dinner party felt suffocating, with Elizabeth’s presence both a balm and a torment .

As the first course was served, Darcy attempted to engage in polite conversation with his dinner companions, but his attention continually drifted to Elizabeth.

He observed her subtle reactions to Mr Collins’ incessant chatter, catching the slight tightening around her eyes that betrayed her discomfort.

“Mr Darcy,” Miss King said, “I understand you have a grand estate in Derbyshire. How does it compare to Netherfield?”

Darcy’s eyes flicked briefly to Elizabeth before answering. “Pemberley is… larger, certainly. But Netherfield has its own charms.”

“Oh? And what might those be?” Miss King pressed.

“The company, for one,” Darcy replied, his gaze once again drawn to Elizabeth.

He paused, realising the danger of such open attention and continued with a perfunctory response, his mind still focused on the couple across the table.

He watched as Elizabeth skilfully deflected another of Mr Collins’ overzealous compliments, her wit as sharp as ever despite her evident unease.

Each course arrived and departed, stretching the evening into an eternity for Darcy.

Darcy found himself wishing for the informal nature of a larger gathering, where he might have had the opportunity to move about and perhaps speak with Elizabeth.

Instead, he was trapped, forced to watch as Mr Collins monopolised her attention.

The rustle of skirts signalled the ladies’ withdrawal, leaving the gentlemen to their port.

Darcy felt a moment of relief the dinner was finally over, followed quickly by frustration at being separated from Elizabeth once again.

He sipped his port mechanically, barely tasting it as he pondered his next move.

How could he engineer a moment alone with her? And what would he say if he did?

The revelation about Mr Bennet’s illness brought understanding but no solution. Darcy cursed himself for his earlier inaction. If only he had courted her sooner, it might be them engaged now, not her and Collins. The weight of missed opportunities pressed heavily on him.

If he spoke to her now, it could change everything - for better or worse. The weight of that decision pressed heavily on Darcy as he stood, frozen in indecision.

As they rejoined the ladies in the drawing room, the sight of Elizabeth sent Darcy’s heart racing. The small gathering moved seamlessly into dancing, and he watched with growing agitation as Mr Collins immediately claimed Elizabeth’s hand.

As the dancing began, Darcy found himself unable to look away as Mr Collins led Elizabeth to the floor. Mr Collins hovered over Elizabeth, his proximity setting Darcy’s teeth on edge, and Darcy felt a surge of protectiveness. He wondered if Elizabeth felt as uncomfortable as she appeared.

“Darcy, why aren’t you dancing?” Bingley asked, approaching his friend.

Darcy merely nodded towards the dance floor, where Elizabeth was still dancing with Mr Collins. Bingley followed his gaze and frowned slightly.

“Ah, I see. Well, perhaps the next set then?”

“Not yet.” Darcy said non-committally, his eyes never leaving Elizabeth.

Throughout the evening, Darcy watched with growing agitation as Mr Collins hovered over Elizabeth.

Each possessive touch, each overly familiar gesture, made Darcy’s blood boil.

Yet he remained outwardly calm, acutely aware that any intervention could jeopardise Elizabeth’s position.

His fingers itched to cut in, to rescue her from the clergyman’s clumsy attentions.

Darcy debated approaching Elizabeth all evening.

The urge to speak with her warred with his awareness of the delicate situation.

Any overt attention from him could compromise her position, especially with Mr Collins watching so closely.

So he remained on the periphery, a silent guardian, his eyes never straying far from Elizabeth as the evening wore on.

Noticing Elizabeth’s flushed face after her dance with Mr Collins, Darcy discreetly asked a servant to bring her a glass of lemonade.

Bingley asked her to dance next, and he was relieved to see her much more comfortable in his company than in Mr Collins. If only Mr Collins could be distracted.

His relief was short-lived as Mr Collins asked Elizabeth to dance again, overwhelmed by the sight of Elizabeth in Mr Collins’ arms, Darcy excused himself and stepped out onto the terrace, taking a moment to compose himself before returning to the party with renewed determination.

Darcy deliberately engaged Colonel Forster in a discussion about the militia, positioning himself so that Elizabeth could easily join their conversation if she wished to escape Mr Collins’ attentions.

“Fine affair, isn’t it?” Colonel Forster remarked to Darcy.

“Indeed,” Darcy replied tersely, his eyes scanning the room.

“Looking for someone in particular?” the Colonel asked, following Darcy’s gaze.

Darcy straightened. “Not at all. Merely observing the… festivities.”

As the evening wore on, Darcy made a firm decision. He would find a way to speak with Elizabeth alone, even if only for a moment. He began to watch for an opportunity, his eyes tracking her movements across the room.

When Elizabeth dropped her fan, Darcy was quick to retrieve it, handing it back to her with a bow that allowed him a brief moment of eye contact.

Darcy’s eyes followed Elizabeth as she slipped away from the crowded drawing room. His heart raced as he debated whether to follow. The evening had been torture, watching her from afar, unable to speak freely. Now, seeing her alone on the balcony, he knew this might be his only chance.

“This is madness,” Darcy told himself, even as he moved closer to the balcony. “And yet, can I truly stand by and do nothing?”

With a deep breath, he moved towards her, the cool night air a sharp contrast to the warmth of the drawing room. As he approached, he could see the tension in her shoulders, the way she gripped the balcony railing. He was close enough now to catch the faint scent of lavender.

“You cannot abide the sight of him, can you?” he found himself saying, his voice low and intense.

* * *

Netherfield Drawing Room - Elizabeth