Page 21

Chapter Twenty

November 26, 1811 Longbourn Elizabeth

D readfully wet weather kept everyone indoors for four days prior to the ball. Elizabeth chafed under the confinement. She abhorred being denied her daily walk. Longbourn lacked both a portrait gallery and a ballroom in which to exercise. Pacing only served to heighten her vexation. At last, the rain ceased the day before the ball, and she eagerly escaped the house to walk out.

It came as no surprise to find Mr. Darcy atop Oakham Mount, his hands clasped behind his back as he looked out over the fields. When she stepped on a fallen branch, the sharp crack prompted him to turn.

“Miss Elizabeth.” His voice, warm and low, washed over her, sending a shiver down her spine.

“Good morning, sir,” she replied, moving to join him. “Are you as relieved as I to be out of doors again?”

“I share your distaste for being shut up inside,” he said agreeably. “I knew you would walk out this morning, even if the paths were muddy.”

She laughed merrily. “My maid will be dismayed when she sees the state of my boots and skirt,” she admitted. “She is accustomed to it, and I do attempt to tidy myself before she sees my things.”

“I am certain she is grateful for your consideration. Many would not take such care.”

Elizabeth looked at him with curiosity. “Do you?” she asked. “I confess, I cannot picture you scraping your own boots or brushing your own coat before going indoors.”

“My father had a boot scraper placed by nearly every door. And just inside, heavy rugs with stiff bristles were laid to remove the worst of the mud. A wise landlord keeps his servants content–or he risks resentment in his own halls.”

Elizabeth nodded, and for a while they stood in companionable silence, their arms nearly brushing. The wind blew the hem of her gown against his legs, and though no words were spoken, the moment felt unexpectedly intimate. She longed to take his hand; her fingers twitched at her side, but she resisted the impulse.

Darcy turned toward her, and she met his gaze. “Elizabeth.” Her name left him on a breath, quiet and rough with feeling, as he lifted a hand to her cheek. Slowly, he leaned down, and her eyelids fluttered shut in anticipation of his kiss—

“Ho there! Darcy!”

They sprang apart. “Blast,” Darcy cursed under his breath. Then louder: “My apologies for my language, Miss Elizabeth.” Turning, he raised a hand in greeting to Mr. Bingley, who had reined in his horse nearby.

“There you are! I thought to ride out with you, but when I woke, you had already gone. Good day, Miss Elizabeth.” He tipped his hat, though he did not dismount.

“I shall ride back to Netherfield with you,” Darcy replied.

Elizabeth could hear both resignation and regret in his voice. Interrupted again, she thought, with wry amusement. “I shall return to Longbourn,” she said aloud. “Good day, gentlemen.” Turning, she walked back down the hill, wondering whether some unseen force had conspired to ensure she and Mr. Darcy would always be interrupted at the most inconvenient moments.

Darcy

Riding back to Netherfield, Bingley suddenly demanded, “What are your intentions toward Miss Elizabeth?” He appeared angry, and his reaction confused Darcy.

“I assure you, my intentions are honorable!” he replied, a touch defensively.

“How can you say that? Have you not always spouted nonsense about duty and honor when choosing a bride?” Bingley rolled his eyes. “Do not tell me you have now changed your long-held opinions.”

“I have…changed them, that is—at least, I have reconsidered them. My time in Hertfordshire has taught me that there are more important things to weigh when selecting a wife. Miss Elizabeth is…vibrant, and I find I cannot do without her.”

Bingley arched a brow. “And does she feel the same?”

“If we ceased getting interrupted, I could answer that.” Darcy gave his friend a pointed scowl. “I have been trying to find a private moment, but inevitably someone intrudes before I can declare my sentiments.”

“So long as you are not trifling with her affections,” Bingley replied, frowning still.

“You seem rather protective of her.”

“I am marrying her sister.”

Darcy laughed. “You have not even proposed yet! Admirable though your intentions may be, they are a touch premature. You know me, Bingley. Would I behave dishonorably with a lady?”

Bingley sighed. “No, you are a man of honor, especially where ladies are concerned. I cannot fault your conduct.” He fell silent, his brow still drawn in thought.

Comprehension dawned. “This is about what we spoke of before, is it not?”

Bingley shrugged. “I do not know—yes, I suppose. I feel protective of Miss Elizabeth. It is not the same as what I feel about her sister. With Miss Elizabeth, it is as though my younger sister is in danger, and I must save her.”

Darcy knew precisely what he meant. “I understand, and shall not abuse your trust.”

The remainder of that day and the one following were consumed with the menial tasks Bingley wished completed before the evening of the ball. They inspected drainage near the lower fields, discussed crop rotations, and rode out to assess which sections of land might best accommodate future plantings. By the time the hour came to dress for the ball, Darcy felt exhausted. Part of him suspected that Bingley had contrived to keep him occupied—perhaps to prevent him from seeking out Miss Elizabeth.

He really ought to resolve his feelings where she is concerned, he thought in amusement. I shall not tolerate such uncertainty when Elizabeth and I are married.

He looked forward to their set that evening, and as he bathed, he contemplated the pleasure her fine eyes brought him whenever they turned in his direction. They always sparkled brightly with mirth, cleverness, challenge, or mischief. He could not say which look he most preferred—perhaps the one that seemed to hold a particular warmth meant only for him.

Careful, man, he cautioned himself. You have no assurance that she feels the same. Do not misinterpret the lady’s feelings. He had always struggled in that regard. Unlike Richard, who possessed an easy confidence in society, Darcy found it difficult to catch the tone of conversation or to understand the subtleties woven into drawing room talk. Socializing left him fatigued, and over time, he had developed a decided aversion to it.

But if she were by my side, it would be no trial. Elizabeth is intelligent enough to manage any barbs or petty slights that might come her way. Yes, she would be a credit to the Darcy name, even if she did not belong to the first circles of society.

As the guests began to arrive, Darcy cast a final glance at his appearance in the mirror one last time before descending the stairs. Thankful that he was not obliged to stand in the receiving line with Bingley and the Hursts, he positioned himself near the ballroom doors—close enough to observe the arrivals and see the moment Elizabeth arrived.

The Longs, the Gouldings, the Lucases…still no Bennets. Darcy waited, barely suppressing his impatience, as one red coat after another entered the hall, followed by two or three more families. At long last, he caught sight of Jane Bennet on the arm of her brother as they stepped into the room.

Mr. Collins and Miss Mary followed behind, and then—he saw his Elizabeth, her gloved hand resting lightly on her father’s arm, Mrs. Bennet on his other. She looked around the room, and Darcy flattered himself that she searched for him. When their gazes met and her countenance first relaxed, then brightened, he knew he had the right of it.

Pushing away from the wall, he made his way to their side. “Mr. Bennet, Mrs. Bennet, Miss Elizabeth, how do you do this evening?” He spoke cheerfully, bowing to the trio.

“We are well, sir,” Mr. Bennet replied. “We have looked forward to this evening.”

“I hope you enjoy it,” Darcy said sincerely.

Elizabeth separated from her parents, who drifted toward the Lucases and were quickly engaged in conversation.

“Miss Elizabeth,” he said, addressing her. “You look lovely this evening.”

“I thank you, sir.” She blushed, bit her lip, and cast her eyes briefly aside. “Have you kept busy since we last met?”

“Bingley has kept me more occupied than I would wish. I could not ride to Oakham Mount this morning.” He hoped the meaning behind his words was understood.

“I, too, was unable to walk out.” Leaning closer, she whispered so only he might hear. “I feared I had left you waiting. I am pleased that was not the case.”

His heart gave a sudden leap. She cares. I knew it. “I am looking forward to our dance later,” he replied.

“Have you secured partners for the rest of your sets?” she asked lightly.

“I have not, though there is no shortage of partners.” He nodded toward the crowded room. “Mrs. Hurst saw fit to invite all four-and-twenty prominent families in the area, along with the officers.”

“And my neighbors have a surplus of daughters, as I am sure you noticed.” She chuckled, the rich sound washing over him and making his heart pound.

“It will be torture to watch you stand up with other gentlemen.” His impulsive words he did not regret, for she drew in a breath and dropped her gaze to her slippers. When she lifted her eyes to him, they were alight with feeling—hope, longing, perhaps even desire—tempered by something more elusive. Was it uncertainty? Or fear?

The first set began to form, and John Lucas appeared at her side to claim the set. Darcy watched with barely concealed jealousy as he led her away to take up their positions for the dance.

He looked around frantically, approaching Miss Lucas and requesting her hand. She accepted, and they joined the line two positions down from Elizabeth.

At least I shall be near her whilst she dances. But he would make every effort to give Miss Lucas his full attention. It would be abominably rude for him to ignore his partner in favor of another.

And so, the evening wore on until the supper set was announced. Darcy had danced with a number of different ladies, each seemingly gratified by his attention. Thankfully, none sought to flatter him with compliments.

At last, the supper set was called, and he offered his arm to Elizabeth, escorting her to the floor. The slow, stately figures of the dance allowed ample opportunity for conversation, yet neither spoke. Instead, their eyes remained fixed on one another as they moved through each step, looking away only when the movements of the dance made it necessary.

Without uttering a word, they conveyed feelings more than any dialogue could express, and Darcy absorbed every moment. She was, to him, the most captivating woman he had ever known. Her perfectly arranged curls framed her face, drawing attention to her fine cheekbones and her luminous complexion. Her dark eyes held him fast, and he found himself imagining the taste of a kiss placed on her cupid bow lips.

The dance ended, yet it had felt more intimate than any he had known. Darcy had never danced the waltz, but he doubted it could surpass what he had just experienced. With his determination to propose now fully restored, he led Miss Elizabeth to the supper room.

“Jane seems very happy,” Elizabeth remarked as they ate white soup.

“Bingley as well. They are a good match.” He moved his foot under the table until it came to rest lightly against the side of her slipper.

Elizabeth drew in a soft breath and glanced at him sidelong. She did not withdraw. Instead, she lifted her foot and pressed it gently on the toe of his boot. Darcy’s pulse surged, and he took a measured spoonful soup to keep a love-struck grin from taking over his face.

Halfway through the meal, they were obliged to change conversation partners, and Darcy found himself speaking with Mrs. Goulding, the wife of a nearby landowner. She was of an age with Mrs. Bennet, and informed him that she had lived in Meryton all her life, never having ventured even so far as London. He was not required to say much—an occasional nod or murmur of agreement sufficed to satisfy her.

His anticipation to rejoin Elizabeth could scarcely be disguised, and as the ladies rose to excuse themselves, he leaned discreetly toward her. “Will you speak with me on the terrace?”

She nodded. “I shall go there directly.”

Darcy waited only until the ladies left the room. He offered a vague excuse, then slipped through a side door. The gentlemen might linger over their port, but he had more urgent business. His lady awaited.