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Darcy withdrew his hand slowly, reluctantly, as the Abernathys settled into the seats behind them.

He found his attention drawn repeatedly to Elizabeth's profile as she watched the story unfolding on the stage, utterly absorbed.

The play of emotions across her expressive face was more captivating than any opera—delight at the opening aria, concern as the plot grew more complicated, her lips parting slightly during the most particularly moving songs.

The Peasant Boy told the story of a young couple who were separated by an unjust accusation against the hero by the very man who was responsible for the crime.

The music swelled and receded like the tide, carrying the audience through the emotional journey of the characters.

When the heroine feared that she would never see her beloved again, Darcy saw Elizabeth's hands tighten on her handbill.

Without thinking, he reached across the small space between them and covered her hand with his own.

She started slightly at his touch but did not pull away, instead turning her palm upward to clasp his fingers in return.

They remained thus, connected, as the first act built towards its climax, their entwined hands hidden in the shadows between them.

When the interval came, the Abernathys conveniently stepped out of the box to speak with some acquaintances.

Elizabeth's eyes were bright with tears. Darcy silently offered his handkerchief, a fine linen square embroidered with his initials, which she accepted with a grateful smile.

"I thought gentlemen did not carry handkerchiefs for such purposes," she teased him, her voice slightly husky with emotion as she dabbed delicately at the corners of her eyes.

"My aunt and my sister are both affected by the music," he said, amused by her gentle teasing. "I am always well supplied for the opera."

The second act began soon after, the orchestra launching into a spirited overture that signalled a change in the narrative's tone.

Darcy found himself pulled into the performance, though his awareness of Elizabeth beside him never diminished.

When their hands brushed as they both reached for the libretto he had brought, neither pulled away immediately.

The final aria swelled towards its triumphant resolution, the hero and heroine's voices blending in perfect harmony as they sang of love transcending all obstacles.

Elizabeth's eyes glistened with emotion, and Darcy was startled to feel an answering tightness in his own throat.

It was in this suspended moment, as the music reached its crescendo, that she turned to him, their gazes meeting in shared appreciation of the beauty they had just experienced.

“Marvellous,” Mr. Abernathy said behind them as he applauded. “Absolutely marvellous.”

As they all stood to make their way through the departing crowd, Darcy maintained a protective proximity to Elizabeth, acutely aware of the whispered comments that followed them.

The theatre emptied in a rustle of silk and murmur of voices, the cool night air a welcome respite from the warmth within.

When he overheard a particularly cutting remark from a gentleman who should have known better, Darcy felt his temper rise dangerously, his jaw tightening.

Elizabeth, sensing his tension, placed a light hand on his arm, the pressure gentle but firm. "Pay it no mind," she murmured, her voice carrying only to him despite the noise around them. "Remember that their opinions matter far less than those of the people who truly know us."

The simple wisdom of her words, so similar to his earlier statement to her, and offered when he most needed the reminder, struck Darcy deeply. This was what it might be like to have a true partner, someone who understood him in the moments when he needed steadying.

In the carriage returning to the Abernathys' home, conversation flowed easily among Miss Abernathy and her parents, who tactfully engaged each other while Darcy and Elizabeth held their own private exchanges.

The gentle swing of the vehicle, the muted sounds of London at night filtering through the windows, created a cocoon of intimacy within the larger group.

"I must thank you for this evening," Elizabeth said softly during one such moment. "It was truly memorable."

"I am gratified that you enjoyed it," Darcy replied. "Perhaps we might attend another performance soon?"

"I should like that very much," she said, her voice warm with genuine pleasure at the prospect, her eyes meeting his without reservation.

When they arrived at the Abernathys' , Darcy escorted Elizabeth to the door, lingering for a moment as the others went ahead. "Until tomorrow, then?" he asked, suddenly reluctant to leave her, to break the fragile connection that had been forged this evening.

"Tomorrow," Elizabeth confirmed, her gaze meeting his with new openness. "Good night, Mr. Darcy."

"Good night," he said softly and watched her slip inside the house.

As he returned to his carriage, the night air crisp against his heated skin, he felt a sense of quiet triumph.

For the first time since their engagement began, he believed there might be a path forward, not just to a marriage of convenience or mutual respect, but to the kind of partnership he had scarcely dared to hope for.

Elizabeth was beginning to see him, truly see him. He could only hope that meant she might care for the man she discovered.