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This was the scheme within the scheme. Lady Matlock had plotted not merely a display of Darcy’s own parade of virtues but had folded Fitzwilliam’s hopes into the plan as well.

By delaying both the first performance while drawing attention towards him, she had cleared the path for Fitzwilliam to steal a rare moment with the young woman he had been ordered to avoid.

And Darcy—knowing it, seeing it—could do nothing but play his part. He stood making pleasant conversation with the Abernathys, hoping Elizabeth would find her way back to them, but she never did.

The minutes ticked on. Lady Spencer’s daughter, Lady Henrietta, whispered something to her mother.

The countess returned to the front of the room with a composed smile.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we thank you for your patience.

It seems the missing music has yet to be located.

Please feel free take a turn about the room while we search for the misplaced folio. "

Conversations reignited. A few guests stood, while others turned in their seats, fanning themselves and glancing towards the musicians’ corner with amused speculation.

Darcy remained where he was, murmuring agreeable nothings to Mr. Abernathy while his attention flicked repeatedly to the terrace doors.

Eventually, Miss Abernathy re-entered the room, flushed, but thankfully not dishevelled.

Her entrance went unnoticed by her parents, whose backs were still to her.

She held a thin sheaf of music in her gloved hands.

Within moments, a murmur passed from Miss Abernathy to her hostess, and a delighted exclamation rose from Lady Spencer.

“Marvelous news—the music has been found!” The guests began returning to their seats once more, though more slowly this time.

The performance was about to begin, but the true drama, Darcy thought with resignation, had already unfolded.

When the music was about to begin, Darcy at last manoeuvred himself towards the seating area, only to be waylaid by a gentleman who insisted that he had been saving a seat on behalf of his wife.

Meanwhile, an usher, with a mumbled apology, redirected Darcy to a spot several rows behind.

He was now separated from Elizabeth by three rows, a seating arrangement he was quite certain bore the fingerprints of Lady Matlock.

From this new vantage, Darcy saw Elizabeth had been seated beside Milton. He leaned forward to hear the conversation, which Milton considerately pitched just loud enough to be heard.

"Miss Bennet," his cousin was saying, "you may wish to know that my cousin takes literature very seriously. I, alas, am not a thinking man. Poetry gives me a headache, and I have never forgiven Byron for becoming fashionable."

Darcy shut his eyes briefly.

Milton continued with cheerful indifference.

"However, you may be reassured that Darcy has never penned a poem in his life—not even in his youth, which is more than I can say for poor Edward Pomfrey, who once sent Miss Dalrymple a sonnet about her elbows.

He did say it moved their cook to tears, though she may have been cutting onions at the time. "

Darcy glared at the back of Milton's head and strained to hear Elizabeth's softer voice.

"Mr. Darcy does not write poetry, then?"

"Quite hopelessly practical, I am afraid," Milton added. "No moonlight glades or starlit sighs. A pity, really, but we cannot all be Edward Pomfrey."

Lady Spencer's voice finally called the guests to order, and the first performer took her place at the harp.

Darcy settled back in his seat. As the first song trilled and plucked its way across the room, he brooded, devising a new approach. Elizabeth had looked troubled. He needed to speak with her.

At the interval, he rose swiftly and made for her.

He nearly succeeded.

His aunt glided across his path with remarkable speed. "Darcy, dear, how fortunate. I have just told Mrs. Abernathy about your work with the Lambton parish. She was quite impressed."

"Aunt, I must speak to Miss Bennet," he said through his teeth.

"And so you shall," she replied. "Eventually. But your uncle is currently enlightening her regarding everything you told him about your irrigation systems.” Her smile was almost wicked. “I did attempt to dissuade him, but he insisted that no woman can resist a man who understands proper drainage."

Darcy leaned to the side. Indeed, Lord Matlock was now gesturing grandly at nothing while Elizabeth nodded, her smile polite but strained.

His aunt’s smile at her husband was rather fonder.

"Aunt—"

"We are helping," she said sweetly.

"You are interfering."

"Is there a difference, when the result is marriage?"

How was keeping them apart meant to help him convince her to marry?

His next three attempts to reach her were likewise neatly foiled.

Each time he made his way towards Elizabeth, someone intercepted him with unnatural precision.

An enthusiastic gentleman wished to discuss a wager at their club.

A determined matron insisted on his opinion regarding her daughter’s gown while the daughter in question shot him apologetic looks.

A young miss in her first season, encouraged by Lady Matlock’s pointed glance, asked if he truly read Latin for pleasure.

He did not.

An elegant footman lingered near the refreshment table, balancing an empty tray and casting anxious glances across the room.

Darcy's gaze, idly scanning for his next opportunity, caught Lord Matlock in casual conversation with the young man.

It seemed a benign interaction, until the footman began to move away with uncharacteristic haste.

Darcy took a step forward, intending to cross to the far side of the room and Elizabeth, when the same footman, now clearly flustered, collided with a passing servant bearing a fresh tray of glasses.

The second servant spun around in an attempt to prevent his tray and the glasses from crashing to the floor, while a burst of shocked laughter rose from the onlookers.

Darcy halted mid-step and reached out to grasp the tray.

For a moment, he was the only one holding it.

Even his uncle appeared shocked. At least damaging the glassware had not been a part of his aunt's plans.

He waited a moment until the servant had righted himself and then handed it back, glancing up just in time to see Elizabeth pass serenely past him on the other side of the disturbance, her head tilted in conversation with Lord North.

Her expression was composed, but her eyes flicked in Darcy’s direction. She had not missed the incident.

Darcy turned back to his uncle. Lord Matlock merely lifted his glass to his lips and pretended that nothing was amiss.

The performance resumed. With the efficiency of a man navigating a battlefield, Darcy secured a seat near Elizabeth before anyone else could intervene.

He was not beside her, but behind her and over one chair, close enough to speak without being overheard.

Milton glanced back at him with mock sympathy, as though Darcy were a guest denied entrance to his own drawing room.

Darcy inclined his head towards Elizabeth. "Miss Bennet, I offer my sincerest apologies. My family has evidently formed a committee."

She turned her head in his direction, though she could not look directly at him. "And their charter is most ambitious. I have never heard so much about chimney flues, parishes, and heroic puddle crossings in one evening. Do they disapprove of me?"

"What? No. They mean well. Though I cannot say I approve of their methods."

"Indeed? I confess I was rather hoping to hear more about Edward Pomfrey's poetry."

His laugh was soft. "I believe you have already heard the best that can be said of it."

Before he could say more, a young lady dropped her fan two rows ahead, setting off a small flurry as several gentlemen leaned in to assist. Darcy strongly suspected Fitzwilliam's hand in the commotion.

Darcy thought to guess at what had discomposed her, and as his family was the source of most of his own disquiet, he began there. Leaning close, he asked gently, "Have you heard from your family?"

Elizabeth's amusement faded, replaced by the tension he had observed earlier. "Yes," she said quietly. "From my mother."

Darcy sensed they had reached the heart of her distress. He was pleased that he had guessed correctly, but sorry that there was indeed something bothering her. "And your family is well?"

"My mother intends to join me in town," Elizabeth replied, her fingers twisting together in her lap. "Much sooner than anticipated."

"I see," Darcy said. She was unhappy, and now he understood why. He must reassure her, but he could not do that here.

The next performer was announced. Darcy took advantage of the respite to lean towards Elizabeth once more.

"Miss Bennet," he said urgently, "might I speak with you alone at the second interval?”

Elizabeth nodded, her eyes meeting his with a warmth that gave him hope. "I should like that very much, Mr. Darcy."

Milton shook his head as the music began again.

Turning his head to speak over his shoulder, he muttered to Darcy, “Approve or not, Mater’s already two schemes deep, and she says if you interfere, she shall make me play the pianoforte.

I am indifferent, of course, but you remember Vienna. You might not survive it.”