Chapter 18

E lizabeth felt nothing but profound anxiety in the carriage taking them to the grand ball.

What if he is not there? she mused. Such thoughts gnawed at her, making her heart ache with the painful uncertainty. She yearned for a chance to see him, for them to be alone in each other’s company, even amidst the crowd, to have more meaningful conversations than those they had snatched since her arrival in Bath. Although she agreed that they needed a period of amicable discussions and the reinstallation of peace, that had already been done. Even in London, during their first meeting, it did not seem that there was a heavy resentment between them. Bath, she had hoped, might offer a change, yet the week they had spent there thus far had not brought such a transformation.

Time was running short. Mr Darcy and his family would soon depart for London and Pemberley, which would mean the end of her hopes .

With trepidation, she entered the magnificent ballroom. There, they encountered Lady Matlock and Mrs Barstow, who in turn introduced them to the hosts. Thankfully for her peace of mind, she caught sight of Mr Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam in the distance.

Miss Darcy arrived hurriedly to greet her friends, and the three young ladies made their way towards the gentlemen.

When she met his eyes, some of her apprehension melted away. He was indeed waiting for her. They exchanged pleasantries while Mary and Miss Darcy chattered away, obviously delighted to be in each other’s company.

Mr Darcy turned to his cousin, much as he had turned to Mr Bingley in Meryton, and remarked, “I do believe I have spotted a young lady whose handsomeness might tempt me.”

Elizabeth’s heart pounded dangerously at his bold words, yet she made an effort to hide her stirring and joined the gentlemen in smiling. But her impatience did not allow her to hide her curiosity. She looked at him, indifferent to the people around them, asking his eyes to tell her what he had just said in words. Was it true that, finally, they could enter a new phase of their relationship? But besides humour and joyfulness, she did not see anything.

She turned her gaze to the colonel, who bowed as if to confirm his cousin’s daring statement and, as on previous occasions, he led Miss Darcy and Mary away from the couple.

“Is your next dance already spoken for, Miss Elizabeth?” he asked, his eyes locked deeply onto hers .

“I have just arrived, yet I remember a gentleman who decided to come to the ball merely to dance with me. I was waiting for him to choose the dances we shall share.”

“If it were solely his choice, your sets would be filled by him alone,” he declared unexpectedly.

Surprised by his directness, she paused, but her hesitation was brief. She responded forthrightly, “That is precisely how I would prefer my night to be filled.”

They did not move, looking at each other, overwhelmed by the intensity of their mutual declaration. Then, Mr Darcy extended his arm to her, and they descended a few steps into the fragrant garden behind the house.

“Is what you just said the truth?” he asked, relieved that the darkness concealed his inner turmoil.

“Yes, it is.”

“I am surprised,” he said.

“Well, Mr Darcy, I could not ask you to change whilst I remained the same woman I was in the Parsonage. I have observed your transformation, and it is only fair to allow you to witness mine.”

“Fairness plays no part in this, Miss Elizabeth.”

“It was a manner of speaking. I could not find better words to convey that I have changed, and I wished for you to perceive it.”

She felt his arm gently squeeze her hand. And it was not her imagination; he repeated the gesture when she gazed into his eyes.

“Good! Most unexpected but entirely satisfying,” he remarked.

“And the news from Hertfordshire is also favourable. ”

“I am genuinely pleased—for Bingley and Miss Bennet.”

“And I am pleased you believed me regarding my sister’s honesty.”

Without words, he once again squeezed her hand.

They strolled in silence, savouring the new connection between them, trying to imagine the depth of the other’s emotions and of the sentiment they both felt.

“Shall we dance?” he proposed, and she nodded, eager to see him in the light, to scrutinise his countenance and gaze, and to be certain, at long last, that there was only love flowing from him.

She observed Mary lining up opposite the colonel at the far end of the room. For a moment, she was amused by the thought of tender feelings blossoming between the two. However, as the music commenced, everything else faded but the man before her. His gaze, filled with intensity, met her own, and they both smiled. They danced, and the steps drew them into each other’s orbit, then separated them before bringing them back together again and again.

“Are you familiar with The Dance Collections of William Campbell?” he asked. They had chosen not to join the next set and instead to stroll in the vast and beautiful gardens.

“Yes, we have some of his books at home.”

“In one of his most recent works, he features a dance called The Russian Ambassador’s Waltz .”

He paused, studying her face, but she shook her head.

“It is a rather audacious dance, but I know of your inclination for daring endeavours,” he remarked. “Although it is a country dance in form, it includes a figure unlike any we have encountered.” He paused and looked at her intently. “You were already smiling before I had the chance to explain,” he chided playfully.

“I apologise. It took me by surprise. I expected it to be quite unconventional—that is why I smiled.”

“Indeed, at one point, the gentleman nearly embraces the lady—though the dance provides explicit instructions for the proper placement of hands. A totally indecent posture if we are to believe the rules of decorum. Nevertheless, this dance is gaining popularity.”

“Fascinating. And why do you mention this to me?” she asked.

“Only because I know of your thirst for knowledge,” he replied. “Or perhaps because we live in a time when certain conventions may be reconsidered, and the relationships between men and women may evolve.”

“And men are willing to accept such changes?”

“Why not? Holding a lady in one’s arms can be a delightful experience. And doing so in a room filled with onlookers…makes it even more intriguing.”

“But would such a departure from tradition not risk damaging a lady’s reputation? There will undoubtedly be those who oppose such liberties for women.”

“Well, Miss Elizabeth, you know me. I am not among those.”

“I know you are not. It is one of the reasons I…appreciate you,” she responded, hoping Mr Darcy would interpret her brief pause as a sign that appreciation was not the only sentiment occupying her thoughts. Indeed, he seemed to understand.

It was a blissful existence where a brief pause could hold a more significant meaning than a hundred words. He was the only man in the world with whom she wished to engage in this silent exchange. While observing him converse with a friend, she felt her heart flutter. And it was not just her heart that was affected; once again, her entire being was stirred by him. He was a handsome and powerful man. She would gladly dance the Russian Ambassador’s Waltz with him without hesitation, even if they were the sole participants in a room filled with onlookers.

“Have you ever tried that new and shocking dance?” Elizabeth asked boldly as they stood in the dimly lit garden. She turned to look at him, but his feelings were hard to read. The garden was mostly empty, with younger guests dancing and the older ones talking or eating inside the house.

“No, never,” he replied quietly, and they both smiled. “I think the lady begins by extending her right hand to her partner,” he continued.

Unexpectedly, Elizabeth offered her right hand, which he took without hesitation, and the next moment his lips were on her gloved palm, the sensation of his kiss lingering long after they had composed themselves.

“What happens next,” she whispered, her eyes fixed on their entwined hands.

“The lady puts her left hand on her partner’s shoulder.”

Elizabeth did so gracefully and without hesitation, and his right hand rested on her waist. A shiver ran through her as he held her tenderly.

“I must admit, I am not entirely sure of the steps,” he murmured, moving closer to her. But at that moment the music stopped, and the dancers began to pour into the park in search of cooler air.

A little more time alone, and she might have been in his arms. The disappointment engulfed her body like a pain that could only be healed by his touch.

Her inner turmoil caused her to remember a conversation with Charlotte about Mr Collins. Elizabeth’s knowledge of what happened in the bedroom between a man and a woman was limited to her father’s books on anatomy that she perused secretly. But as she looked at Mr Darcy, remembering the fleeting moment they had shared, she believed that being with him intimately would be a sublime joy, with far more meaning than just procreation.

“What are you musing about, Miss Elizabeth?” he asked with familiarity and joy, making her blush as if he could read her innermost thoughts.

In a sense, he could, as evidenced by his smile and the soft murmur that followed. “Are you intrigued by this new dance?” She experienced a blend of shyness and delight. Still, she ultimately decided that it was time to cast aside her shyness and embrace the daring spirit he saw in her.

“I was reflecting on what you said about the waltz bringing a new era in the relationships between men and women. I have only accepted your prediction of the future.”

“You—the submissive lady—”

“Yes, is that not the opinion you have of me?”

The sound of his laughter was lost in the voices around them, and both knew that their solitude was over for that night.

?? ?

“Well?” asked Mrs Gardiner, her impatience apparent as she entered Elizabeth’s chamber after the ball, even though it was almost dawn.

“What do you want to know, Aunt?” Elizabeth responded with a smile that gave Mrs Gardiner all the information she sought. “We have reconciled. We are friends again, I assure you.”

“Very good,” her aunt replied, masking a hint of disappointment; she had hoped for more than mere friendship after a night spent dancing and talking.

“I also believe that we have left behind the unpleasantness of our time in Kent,” Elizabeth continued.

Once again, Mrs Gardiner’s feelings were evident on her face, and Elizabeth could not help but burst into merry laughter. “I know I just used the term ‘unpleasantness’, when only a month ago, I spoke about the events in Kent as ‘horrible’—”

“No, my dear, I am genuinely pleased for you,” her aunt interjected. “This is the miraculous power of love. However, I am curious about something else. Did you in any way convey to him that your sentiments have undergone a transformation?”

Elizabeth was silent for a long time, revisiting the events of the past hours. Still, the answer eluded her, not present even in the depths of her soul.

“You may recall our discussions about Jane’s situation with Mr Bingley,” Mrs Gardiner gently reminded her. “Her one failing was her excessive reserve in not revealing her affection.”

Elizabeth sighed, tortured by the thought. In the tranquillity of her chamber, she could imagine countless ways to show her feelings, but she was not sure she had done so in the ballroom.

“It is of no great consequence,” her aunt reassured her. “You will meet again tomorrow, and I am confident you will find the appropriate course of action.”

With that assurance, Elizabeth bid her aunt goodnight and finally fell into a deep sleep. In her dreams, she found herself in the arms of Mr Darcy, moving together through the steps of the waltz, which granted them the privilege of holding each other in a crowded ballroom.

She woke up determined to be more daring and finally let him see how her feelings had changed.