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“It was no hardship,” Darcy replied, which was not entirely a falsehood. While not pleasant, the experience had been far less excruciating than he might once have found it. “Your mother takes natural pride in her daughter’s advantageous match.”

“Natural pride would be a modest acknowledgment of your consequence,” Elizabeth countered wryly. “Mama’s exhibition borders on the theatrical. I believe she informed Lady Lucas that you dine regularly with the Prince Regent.”

“An honour I have yet to experience,” Darcy noted dryly. “Though according to your mother, I apparently also possess a castle in Scotland and maintain a personal correspondence with the Tsar of Russia.”

Elizabeth’s laughter was worth every moment of discomfort he had endured. “You bear it remarkably well. I remember a time when such attentions would have had you seeking the nearest exit within minutes.”

“I have had excellent instruction in forbearance this past year,” he replied with a meaningful look that made her smile deepen.

Their attention was drawn then to the dance floor, where a new set was forming.

Colonel Fitzwilliam led Jane Bennet to the head of the line, his military bearing lending him a natural grace as he took his position.

Several couples down, Bingley stood with his sister, though his gaze continually strayed toward Jane.

“I see your sister continues to be well attended,” Darcy observed quietly.

“Indeed,” Elizabeth agreed. “Though I believe her preference grows increasingly clear.”

It was true. Even from across the room, Darcy could discern the subtle but unmistakable signs of Jane’s partiality.

While unfailingly polite to all, her countenance visibly brightened when Colonel Fitzwilliam spoke, her customary serene smile warming into something more animated.

By contrast, her interactions with Bingley, while perfectly cordial, lacked that same spark of genuine pleasure.

The dance began, bringing the two couples into occasional proximity as the figures required.

Darcy watched with interest as Colonel Fitzwilliam said something that made Jane laugh, her usually composed features lighting up with genuine mirth.

When Bingley attempted a similar pleasantry minutes later, her response, while polite, was noticeably more restrained.

Caroline Bingley’s reaction to these proceedings was transparent to anyone who cared to observe.

Her mouth tightened to a thin line each time Colonel Fitzwilliam and Jane exchanged smiles, and she spoke to her brother with increasing animation, clearly attempting to recapture his wandering attention.

Her efforts met with limited success; Bingley responded absently to her remarks, his gaze inevitably returning to Jane whenever the dance brought her near.

“Miss Bingley appears less than pleased with the colonel’s attentions to your sister,” Darcy noted.

“I suspect it is his noble lineage that primarily engages her interest rather than the colonel himself,” Elizabeth said cynically.

“Richard will never encourage her,” Darcy said. “Though he maintains perfect courtesy, as his character demands.”

“Unlike some gentlemen of my acquaintance,” Elizabeth teased, “who once found it impossible to maintain even basic civility toward those they deemed beneath their notice.”

“A fair observation,” Darcy acknowledged, accepting the gentle rebuke with good grace. “Though I hope I have made some improvement in that regard.”

“Remarkable improvement,” Elizabeth assured him warmly. “So much so that I hardly recognise the proud, disagreeable man who once stood against that very wall, refusing to dance and finding fault with every person present.”

As the dance concluded, Darcy observed Bingley approach Jane with unmistakable purpose, clearly intending to secure her for the next set.

Colonel Fitzwilliam, with characteristic tact, withdrew to the refreshment table, though his gaze lingered on Jane with evident admiration.

To Jane’s credit, she accepted Bingley’s invitation with perfect politeness, though Darcy noted she glanced briefly toward Colonel Fitzwilliam before taking her place in the new set.

“Your friend maintains an admirable cheerfulness,” Elizabeth observed as they watched Bingley lead Jane into the dance. “Though I fear it grows increasingly strained.”

Darcy nodded, noting the slight tension in Bingley’s smile, the determined brightness in his manner that seemed more forced than natural. “Bingley has always prided himself on his agreeable temper. He would consider it a personal failure to display disappointment publicly.”

“Yet he must surely recognise Jane’s preference by now,” Elizabeth said. “She makes no attempt to disguise it, though her natural gentleness prevents her from being excessively direct.”

“Recognition and acceptance are different matters,” Darcy replied. “Particularly when one’s hopes have been fixed in a certain direction for so long.”

They observed the progress of the dance in thoughtful silence.

Bingley performed his part with technical correctness, maintaining his characteristic smile throughout, but even at this distance Darcy could perceive the effort it cost him.

Each time Jane’s gaze strayed to Colonel Fitzwilliam, a momentary faltering in Bingley’s expression betrayed his awareness of her divided attention.

“I feel for him,” Elizabeth said softly. “He is a good man who deserves happiness.”

“He will find it,” Darcy assured her. “Perhaps not where he initially sought it, but Bingley’s resilient nature will serve him well. He has never been one to dwell on disappointment.”

The evening continued, with Darcy eventually leading Elizabeth into a country dance himself, an activity he would once have considered beneath his dignity at such a gathering.

Now, with Elizabeth’s hand in his, her eyes bright with pleasure as they moved through the figures, he found himself enjoying the simple melody and lively steps.

As they took their place for the final dance, Darcy found himself reflecting on the remarkable transformation that had occurred in his life since that first Meryton assembly.

Then, he had stood apart, judging and dismissing the very people who now greeted him with genuine, if curious, regard.

He had considered Elizabeth “not handsome enough to tempt him” and had scarcely noticed Jane beyond categorising her as “the only pretty girl in the room.”

Now, Elizabeth was his wife, the centre of his world, while Jane stood at the precipice of a choice between two worthy men. Even Bingley had changed, his perpetual cheerfulness now occasionally giving way to moments of thoughtful gravity that suggested growing maturity.

The musicians struck up the final notes, bringing the assembly to its inevitable close.

As Darcy escorted Elizabeth to farewell her family for the evening, he felt a profound sense of contentment despite the complexities that still surrounded them.

Whatever challenges lay ahead, whatever resolutions awaited Jane, Bingley, and Colonel Fitzwilliam, he faced them now not as an isolated observer but as part of something larger than himself.

This transformation, more than any other, was Elizabeth’s true gift to him: the understanding that connection, with all its complications and occasional mortifications, was infinitely preferable to the cold perfection of solitude he had once mistaken for dignity.