Page 33 of Penned by Mr Darcy (…By Mr Darcy #3)

The musicians were preparing to begin, the sound of tuning instruments filling the room.

There was an excited chatter in the air, and Elizabeth looked around for Charlotte.

It had been some time since she had seen her last, and she was greatly looking forward to seeing her dear friend.

As she moved through the room in her search, she was acutely aware of Mr Collins continuing to follow her.

She almost collided with someone, and as she looked up to make her apologies, she found herself speechless.

It was Mr Darcy, looking impossibly handsome.

He bowed deeply in greeting to her. She dipped in a curtsey, her cheeks heating as she lowered her gaze.

Even his boots were shined impeccably, tight to his shapely calves.

Was there a part of him that was not handsome to her now?

Heaven knows she had never found something as mundane as legs to be attractive before.

“Miss Elizabeth. A pleasure.”

“Mr Darcy.”

“Mr Darcy?” Mr Collins’ voice rang out from behind her, and it was all she could do not to roll her eyes. “I am Mr Collins, sir. I am in the service of your aunt, the Lady Catherine De Bourgh, as her parson.”

Mr Darcy observed him without expression.

After a moment, he nodded in acknowledgement.

Unfortunately, Mr Collins took this as an invitation to engage him in conversation, charging past Elizabeth and striding to Mr Darcy’s side.

As they walked on, Darcy cast a look back at her – his face was near unreadable, and she could only imagine that he was thinking ‘help me’.

“Lizzy!”

At the sound of her name, she turned around.

Charlotte, dressed in a very pretty white dress, smiled broadly.

She held out her hands, beckoning Elizabeth to her.

Elizabeth stepped closer, happy to see a friendly face.

She had been so consumed in her own troubles that she had not visited Charlotte in weeks.

“There you are! I have been looking for you.”

“And I have been looking for you! Forgive me for not seeking you out sooner. Are you well?”

“Quite well.”

“I am glad. There were rumours…Maria came to me and said the woman described sounded just like you.”

“I have heard,” Lizzy said. “Did you believe them?”

“Of course not! They were vicious nonsense, Lizzy, and everyone knows it. Nobody except the young girls amongst us have paid any mind at all to them. Did you hear Mr Wickham has been cast out by Colonel Forster? It has transpired that he owes many men here a great deal of money from the card table.”

“He does?”

“Yes! Even my father has outstanding money owed to him – my mother is quite cross about the whole thing. I have heard too that he has many people looking for him in London with far more serious accusations. Constable Jones saw him return there to face his sins.”

“I had no idea.”

“Men tend to keep these things amongst themselves,” Charlotte said.

“I am sure my father has lost just as many times – there is no shame in it, I suppose, as long as one’s debts are settled.

I have even heard that there are a long line of debtors from Mr Wickham’s past who would be very interested to know his whereabouts.

It is no wonder he departed in such a hurry. ”

“I see.”

“Never mind all that; how are you?”

“Quite well, thank you.”

“Are you sure?” Charlotte asked. “You seem rather distracted. Are you looking for someone?”

“No, no, I…”

“I see Mr Darcy has met your cousin, Mr Collins,” Charlotte said, glancing behind Lizzy. “Is there any news of Mr Bingley and darling Jane?”

Lizzy turned, following Charlotte’s gaze. Mr Bingley and Jane had found one another, and Lizzy was pleased to see Jane laughing brightly as Mr Bingley gazed upon her with adoring eyes.

“I believe there will be soon.”

“Look at the two of them! I am surprised to see Jane look upon him with such open affection; she has always been so reserved. Looking at them, there is no doubt that they are very fond of one another. The very picture of romance!”

“They are.”

“I am glad. Should we all find such happiness!”

Lizzy smiled; she wondered what had inspired the change in Jane.

Perhaps it was enough being permitted time with Mr Bingley without interference, so that they may get to know one another.

Jane was a shy creature by nature – Lizzy did not doubt that the interest in her affairs from their family would be a stifling environment in which to fall in love.

“Who will you dance with tonight, Lizzy?” Charlotte asked.

“Mr Bingley has asked me for a set; he really is a wonderful partner. So light on his feet! I am selfishly glad etiquette dictates he may only dance two with one partner, for I do not doubt he would dance every set with darling Jane if he could!”

“I am sure that he would! As for me, Mr Collins has unfortunately made sure to secure the first set,” Lizzy told her. “I would be entirely in your debt if you would distract him for a set or two this evening.”

“Oh?”

“I have had too much of his company, and believe me, I have avoided it whenever possible. I fear he will spend the evening trailing after me like a lost puppy.”

“I have heard from your mother that a marriage between the two of you is all but agreed!”

“What?!” Lizzy asked in horror. “When did she say such a thing?”

“I overheard her talking to my mother when she paid a call to us earlier in the week.”

“That is not the case – not at all!”

“Perhaps you should correct Mrs Bennet,” Charlotte said with a wry smile. “I know your mother well; I do not doubt that the entire ball shall hear of this apparent arrangement by night’s end.”

“If you will excuse me,” Lizzy said. “I will search her out now and make sure she does not say another word of the ridiculous notion!”

She parted from Charlotte, making her way through the crowd as she searched for her mother.

She could not see her – she could not see any of her family, in fact.

They had no doubt separated and fanned out to terrorise as many people as possible.

She wandered in and out of the rooms, swallowed by crowds as she moved, and still could not see her mother.

The music began, and she hurried back to the ballroom.

She was not eager to dance with Mr Collins, but she would not sacrifice the rest of the night’s merriment by missing this first set.

He lingered on the edge of the dance floor, anxiously looking about.

When he caught sight of her, his face lit up in a most unpleasant way.

She took his hand and began the dance, wincing as he stumbled through the steps.

It was a miracle he was able to dance at all, she supposed, and did not doubt that he had learned the dances as carefully as he had learned his manners.

As they weaved in and out of the dancers, Elizabeth’s eye was caught by Miss Bingley and Mr Darcy dancing at the end of the line.

Her cheeks heated as she watched him; she had never seen him dance before, and though he was clearly concentrating greatly, he was a surprisingly skilled dancer.

The dance concluded, and Elizabeth sank into her curtsy for Mr Collins with all the grace she could muster, though her mind was already plotting escape.

She could not—would not—risk being claimed for the second set.

The moment propriety allowed, she stepped back, slipping free like a fish from the line, and vanished into the flow of guests.

She moved through the hallways with practiced ease, offering smiles and polite words to those who greeted her warmly.

The air was thick with laughter, the shimmer of candlelight catching on jewels and silks, the hum of merriment wrapping itself around her.

Nearly an hour passed in such pleasantries, the noise and heat of the ballroom never far from her senses.

She was making her way back toward the dancing when a sudden, firm tug closed around her wrist.

She spun around in her surprise and caught only a glimpse of a broad shoulder, a dark coat, the unmistakable set of Mr Darcy’s frame retreating into the throng. He did not look back.

Her pulse leapt.

A quick glance over her shoulder told her no one was watching. Without allowing herself time to think (for thinking would introduce rational decision making) Elizabeth followed.

He moved with long, purposeful strides, and she kept pace, her skirts whispering around her ankles. The crush of bodies thinned, voices fading until only the muffled echoes of music remained.

When they reached the library door, he opened it without hesitation and stepped inside. She crossed the threshold after him, closing the door with a quiet click.

She had barely turned before he was upon her—his mouth claiming hers in a kiss so urgent, so unrestrained, that it stole the breath from her lungs. His lean frame pressed her back into the panelled wood, the heat of him searing through the fine fabric of her gown.

She made a sound—half gasp, half protest—but her hands betrayed her, rising to his shoulders, pulling him closer. His lips moved against hers with fierce precision, the scrape of his jaw thrilling in its roughness.

When he broke apart from her, his breath was harsh against her cheek, his voice low and ragged.

“Tell me it is not true,” he demanded.

Her head spun.

“What is not true?”

“That you are engaged to Mr Collins.”