21. Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-One

" L izzy, look! The chandeliers are even grander than the last time Mr Northam hosted a ball!" Lydia exclaimed, her voice bubbling with excitement as the Bennet family stepped into the entrance hall of Netherfield.

Elizabeth took in the scene before her, the room bathed in the warm glow of countless candles. The air was thick with the scent of fresh flowers, and elegant decorations adorned every surface. Why, it must have taken every waking moment of the last fortnight to perfect, and Elizabeth could hardly stop from turning around to try to take it all in. Mama had outdone herself… Well, and Mrs Nicholls.

Mr Wickham and Mr Bingley were standing at the door to greet them, but Mr Darcy was curiously absent. Elizabeth's eyes skipped up the long staircase until Mr Wickham stepped forward with a charming smile. "Mr and Mrs Bennet, Miss Bennet, Miss Elizabeth, Miss Mary, Miss Catherine, Miss Lydia, and Mr Collins—welcome. We are delighted to have you all here tonight."

Mrs Bennet, her eyes shining with excitement, immediately took her place beside Wickham, assuming the role of his de facto hostess for the evening. "Oh, Mr Wickham, everything looks splendid! I shall be happy to assist you in welcoming our guests."

Mr Bennet, who had been inching towards the refreshment table, was halted by his wife's stern call. "Mr Bennet! Do come and stand with me. It is only proper that we greet our friends together."

Wickham nodded in agreement, his smile never wavering. "Indeed, sir. Your presence would be most appreciated."

Grudgingly, Mr Bennet returned to stand beside them, offering a wry smile to Wickham. "Very well, very well. But I daresay you will have a livelier greeting line without my presence."

"You do yourself too little credit, sir," Wickham assured him. At that moment, the gentleman caught Elizabeth's eye and bowed to her with a charming, self-deprecating smile. "Miss Elizabeth, I hope you will not think me too forward, but would you object to opening the ball with me? I find myself in need of a most gracious partner."

Elizabeth's heart fluttered with relief and a touch of excitement. She had been hoping for this very invitation, particularly after her small fib to Mr Collins earlier when that gentleman asked for the same dance. "I would be honoured, Mr Wickham."

"Thank you," he said, his eyes sparkling with gratitude and mischief. "You have saved me from certain embarrassment."

Just then, Mr Darcy arrived downstairs, coming to stand a little behind the others with a slight bow towards the new arrivals. He looked distinctly pale, but his eyes were clearer than they had been in days. Wickham, noticing Darcy's arrival, moved to make the introductions.

"Well, we are not all introduced, I see," he said, extending his hand to encourage Darcy to come forward. "Mr Collins, allow me to present my friend, Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy of Derbyshire."

Mr Collins' eyes widened. "Mr Darcy? The same Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley, nephew of Lady Catherine de Bourgh?"

Darcy's eyes edged toward Elizabeth, and his throat bobbed as he nodded. "Yes, I am."

Collins beamed, practically bouncing on his toes. "Why, what a connection! I am the clergyman to Lady Catherine de Bourgh at Rosings Park. She often speaks of you with the highest regard."

Darcy managed a tight smile. "Thank you, Mr Collins."

"Oh, the pleasure is entirely mine, I assure you! Why, I shall take care to write Her Ladyship the instant I—"

Before Collins could utter many more syllables along that line, the arrival of the Lucases drew everyone's attention, and poor Collins was shoved to the side. Undeterred, he hurried over to make their acquaintance, leaving Mr Darcy in a momentary respite. And, for the moment, Elizabeth was quite alone as well.

"Mr Darcy," she said, stepping closer, "you look better this evening. Are you quite well?"

Darcy's expression softened slightly, but there was a strange intensity in his gaze as he looked at her. "Thank you, Miss Elizabeth. I am... managing."

"That is well, sir. I should hate to think of you in discomfort this evening."

Rather than make a reply, Darcy continued to stare at her, almost as if he were searching for something within her expression. He almost seemed to list forward as he did so, and for an instant, Elizabeth was struck with how very rich and thick his eyelashes were. What a strange thing to notice about a man! But there it was—dark lashes hooding even darker eyes, with the most delicious little random locks of hair poking from behind his ears. It was when he drank in a breath, and his head tilted slightly, as if he were trying to study her face better, that she blinked and stepped back.

"Well, sir, I hope you will find it an enjoyable evening."

Darcy's chest rose, and he straightened again. "Indeed. If I may be so bold, Miss Elizabeth, I have no partner for the opening set. Would it be too much to ask for that, in addition to the supper waltz?"

She winced. "I am afraid Mr Wickham has just solicited my hand for that set, sir."

His look flared for an instant, then cooled into detachment. "I see. Well, then, I wish you a pleasant evening. Until our dance, Miss Elizabeth."

He dipped his head politely and walked toward the ballroom, leaving Elizabeth looking after him in bewilderment.

" M iss Elizabeth," Wickham said as he offered her his hand for the Grand March, "Shall we? I must admit, I have never had the honour of opening a ball before."

"Indeed? Neither have I, but it cannot be so very difficult, for the steps could not be easier. We simply walk, do you see?"

"Ah. You will have to forgive me, Miss Elizabeth, for you see, I have only been to one ball in my life—apart from that delightful Assembly some weeks ago—and I was but nineteen."

"Goodness! And were you never invited to any balls afterwards, even by the Darcy family?"

Wickham laughed. "I think you overestimate the Darcy temperament, Miss Elizabeth. Darcy only goes to a ball when he is dragged to one, as he was this evening. "

Elizabeth cast a glance over her shoulder at the gentleman standing against the wall. Mr Darcy had sounded anything but reluctant last week when he spoke to her about attending this evening, but he certainly had the look now of a man who was only there because he had to be. His arms were crossed, and he was standing beside the Ficus plant where no one else could stand beside him. His eyes were unfocused but drifted faintly to the floor.

"There, Miss Elizabeth, I do believe we are doing exceedingly well, do not you? Ah, you are looking at Darcy to see if he approves."

She shook her head. "No, I was only—"

"You may as well give over that notion, for he approves of little. He will have opened a ball so many times that he almost certainly has perfected every step."

Elizabeth could not help one last glance at Darcy as they passed him again. This time, his eyes lifted just long enough to touch hers, then fell once more.

As they continued the procession, Wickham leaned in slightly. "Your mother has been invaluable in preparing for this ball. I must thank her for all her help."

Elizabeth laughed softly. "I am sure Mrs Nicholls deserves most of the credit. My mother can be quite enthusiastic, but the real work often falls to the servants."

"Enthusiasm is a valuable trait, Miss Elizabeth. Now, let us not disappoint our audience. I must say, Miss Elizabeth, you make this all look effortless. You must congratulate me, for I chose my partner exceedingly well."

"And here I thought I would have to guide you through the steps, Mr Wickham. You are quite the natural."

Wickham grinned. "Ah, but I have a capable partner. You see, I have always believed that dancing is much like conversation. A good partner makes all the difference."

"And do you often find yourself in need of a good conversational partner?"

"Only when I am fortunate enough to find someone who can keep up with my wit," Wickham replied with a playful wink.

Elizabeth shook her head, smiling. "I shall do my best to rise to the challenge, then."

As they proceeded down the set, Elizabeth's gaze caught on Charlotte, who stood near the refreshment table. At least she had come! She wore one of her older gowns, but it was a shade that flattered her skin. But the best part of her ensemble this evening was that faint flicker of hope that illuminated her face as she surveyed the room. That was a look that had been too long absent from her features .

Elizabeth had found only a moment to speak with her while other guests were still arriving and was relieved to hear that her friend was truly considering the scheme of attracting Mr Collins. She offered a faint smile as Elizabeth passed. But half a second later, she could not help but overhear Lady Lucas drawing to her daughter's side.

"Charlotte! You were to stand beside Maria."

"But Mama, I—"

"No, no, for I'll not have her chasing after that heedless Lydia Bennet. Come look sensible beside her so someone will ask her to dance."

Elizabeth sighed and cast a look over her shoulder… as Charlotte's head bowed in defeat.

Wickham followed her gaze and remarked, "Miss Lucas is looking radiant this evening."

Elizabeth nodded slightly. "Yes, she is. If only she would find a bit of kindness in the room."

"Oh, I should not be too concerned about that. I intended to ask for the honour of her company for the supper set, as I must surrender yours to Darcy."

Elizabeth snapped her gaze to him. "But she has already—" She closed her mouth. "That is to say, I… I believe my cousin Collins meant to ask her."

Wickham laughed. "Will he not step on her feet? Come, you would not condemn your friend to a lumbering partner for all that while, would you?"

"No, I… well, I suppose it is not for me to decide, is it?"

"My philosophy exactly, Miss Elizabeth. Why, if I had the arrangement of the evening to my liking, you would have a different partner as well."

She smirked faintly. "You object to my intended partner, sir?"

"Not at all. No, Darcy is a fine gentleman. It is only a pity he cannot appreciate your liveliness and charms as well as others might."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Sir, I cannot know what you mean by that."

Mr Wickham chuckled as he turned her at the end of the set. "Ah, Darcy. Always the enigma. I fancy he thinks very little of admiring a lady's finer qualities, but then, he can afford to be overly choosy. You know, his presence here has disappointed quite a few ladies in London."

Elizabeth swallowed. "Disappointed? How so? "

"Oh, it is not that unusual. He merely has a habit of charming ladies and then withdrawing his interest. It is especially surprising given that he is supposedly engaged to Miss Anne de Bourgh."

Elizabeth's heart skipped a beat. "Engaged? I had no idea."

"Indeed," Wickham continued, as if sharing a secret. "It is a long-standing arrangement, though I doubt he will honour it. His popularity with the ladies is quite remarkable, despite this well-known engagement."

Elizabeth's thoughts churned with this new information. She glanced again at Mr Darcy, whose intense gaze seemed to pierce her across the room. "But surely my cousin Mr Collins would have mentioned such an engagement if it were true?"

"Oh, I am sure he will. It sounded as if he only learned of Mr Darcy's presence when he arrived." Wickham laughed. "I daresay you will hear far too much of the engagement when next you speak to the man! But whether Mr Darcy intends to fulfil that promise is another matter entirely. Many think he prefers to keep his options before him, and well, he might. As I said, he is quite sought after. But I should be surprised if Darcy dishonoured the lady, no matter what the gossip may be."

Elizabeth felt a pang of doubt. Wickham's words, though cloaked in admiration, cast a shadow over Darcy's character. She turned her attention back to the dance, but her mind was far from settled.

D arcy watched as Elizabeth's previous partner returned her to the side of the room. Her gaze flicked around, and for a moment, their eyes met. She looked guarded, but Darcy steeled himself, determined to claim this dance as they had agreed. His head had been relatively clear tonight, thanks to a day spent in a dark room swimming in laudanum. He approached her, his heart pounding.

"Miss Elizabeth," he said, bowing slightly as he reached her. "Shall we? "

She offered a polite smile, though there was a hint of reservation in her eyes. "Of course, Mr Darcy."

He took her hand, and a tremble of nerves travelled up the cords of his arm at the contact. "You said you have never waltzed before?"

She lifted her shoulder. "Neither have at least half the other people in this ballroom. But I daresay that will not prevent some rather valiant—and perhaps clumsy—efforts."

"It is simple enough. Just follow my lead. Start by placing your right foot behind your left," he instructed softly. "Then glide smoothly forward. One, two, three… Yes, that's it."

Elizabeth followed his guidance, her brow furrowed in concentration. "Like this?" she asked, her steps hesitant but graceful.

"Exactly. You are a quick learner, Miss Elizabeth."

She nodded her gratitude, but she was murmuring the count to herself and did not reply for a moment. Darcy studied her knit brow, the squint with which she stared fixedly at his chest as her head bobbed faintly in time with their steps. Any moment now, she would feel herself master of the art… and she would look up into his face.

He swallowed. Please, heaven, let the nausea gnawing at him abate . Just long enough to survive this dance and enjoy the supper afterwards. The waltz demanded precision, and he needed every ounce of his focus on the steps—and on Elizabeth. If the rest of life's pleasures were to be denied him, if his future were to be cut short, he would add this night to his bank of memories—things to pull out of the trove and smile over when that day came that he discovered his time was at an end.

But he would push that day back as long as he could. Tonight, he would lose himself in the making of that memory… in admiring a lady merely for herself, for once in his life, because his habitual standards—the duty of marriage to a society heiress and founding a new generation of Darcys to carry on after him… well, those were no longer considerations.

He showed her the next movement, his hand steadying her as they turned. "Now, step to the side and then forward again. One, two, three… Yes, very good." Her touch grounded him and sent shocks of pleasure rather than pain down his spine. Was it the lingering traces of laudanum, or was it the warmth of her body through the fabric of her gown that intoxicated him? He marvelled at how quickly she picked up the rhythm, her movements becoming more fluid with each step.

And that was when she looked up into his eyes, and his heart might well have stopped .

Egad, this was lunacy. What madness had persuaded him to think he would be satisfied with one dance? Perhaps… Perhaps there remained before him… possibilities he had not considered carefully enough.

Darcy's thoughts swirled, a chaotic blend of admiration and longing. Every graceful turn, every twirl brought them closer as Elizabeth eased into the dance. The scent of lavender in her hair, the soft rise and fall of her breath, the way her fingers rested lightly on his shoulder—all of it captivated him completely.

"You are doing wonderfully," he murmured.

Elizabeth's gaze faltered, and he realised he had been staring without blinking. "Thank you, Mr Darcy. It really is rather… ah…" She cleared her throat. "Engaging."

He could hardly think of anything to say, the words caught in his throat as he became more aware of the rising tension in her eyes—a blend of anxiety and something he dared to hope was confused desire. She certainly looked … well, she had not looked at anyone else the way she was looking at him. He had been watching her all evening—he knew all too well how she looked at other men. There was something there when she lifted her eyes to him that had been absent in other men's arms.

Perhaps… it was not lunacy, after all. Perhaps…

"Miss Elizabeth," he began, his voice low and halting. "I… must confess something. I have been considering... many things of late."

Her eyes flickered with confusion and curiosity. "Oh? And what matters occupy your thoughts so deeply, Mr Darcy?"

He hesitated, searching for the right words. "I find myself... considering the future, and what it holds. I thought I would not have the time for..." He stopped. How was she to understand that? He had told her nothing of his fears, but she was not entirely ignorant of the fact that he was unwell. Perhaps that was enough. He filled his lungs and tried again.

"I had thought certain pleasures would be denied me, and yet, I am… utterly tempted."

Elizabeth's brow furrowed slightly. "Tempted, sir? By what?"

"By the prospect of... securing my family's future," he replied, his eyes searching hers. "Of finding someone who might… partner me, who might..." He trailed off, his throat tight with unspoken words.

Her expression hardened slightly, a flicker of something cold passing through her eyes. "I see. You speak of Miss Anne de Bourgh, do you not? Everyone knows it has long been arranged."

Darcy blinked, startled by her assumption. How had she even heard of that? "No, Miss Elizabeth, you misunderstand—"

She interrupted, her tone becoming warmer yet defensive. "If there is any misunderstanding, it is my comprehension of your character. You would not, sir, be the man to withdraw from his commitments? No? I wondered when I first heard of it, but Mr Wickham speaks highly of your character, Mr Darcy. He believes you to be an honourable man, despite what others might say. I find his perspective... enlightening."

Darcy's chest tightened. "Wickham... he is not what he seems, Miss Elizabeth. There are things you do not know about him."

Her eyes flashed with indignation. "And what do I not know, Mr Darcy? That he is kind, charming, and considerate? That he has spoken of you with nothing but respect and admiration?"

"He is…" Darcy's head panged, and he closed his eyes against the shot of light across his vision. A hiss escaped him, and he felt Elizabeth stiffen in his arms.

"Are you well, sir?"

He forced a smile… or the closest expression he could approximate. "Well enough. Miss Elizabeth, I cannot say with any degree of certainty what Mr Wickham is at present, but the man I knew from my youth is not as honourable as you believe."

Elizabeth's brow furrowed, her steps faltering slightly. "Then, you believe people cannot change?"

"In my experience, they do not."

"But you have nothing specific of which to accuse him?"

Darcy's jaw tightened. "No. I can only say that your trust should not be lightly given."

Elizabeth lifted her chin. "You expect me to take your word over my own experience? When he has shown nothing but integrity since his arrival?"

Darcy's grip on her waist tightened slightly as they turned. "I have known Wickham for the whole of my life. His charm masks his true nature."

"And what, pray, is his true nature?" Elizabeth's voice was sharp, cutting through the music around them. "I have seen no evidence of deceit."

Darcy drew in a deep breath, struggling to convey the gravity of his words. "He squandered his inheritance, lied about his circumstances, and has a history of wild and reckless behaviour."

"Oh! And I am certain none of your other friends have a history of wild behaviour. I am not entirely ignorant of the way young gentlemen pass their university years, Mr Darcy. Have you any shadows upon your past that might smack as unsavoury now?"

"It is not merely that," he growled.

"Ah, yes, you claim he lied about his circumstances. Which, pray tell, are those? The same circumstances that allowed him the means to lease Netherfield? A man may say anything he chooses, but his bank balance must agree."

"A strange chance," Darcy gritted through his teeth. "But the whims of fortune aside, he was always a spendthrift."

"Why, how fortunate that he appears to have mended his ways! You saw, I am sure, sir, how he has ‘squandered' his money since arriving here? Paying for repairs to a broken weir, helping our neighbours, hosting us all here tonight? Truly, the actions of a madman, sir."

Darcy bit back a rather unwise retort, choosing instead to stare over her head across the room—where George Wickham was making Charlotte Lucas laugh. And a spear of white, hot… jealousy? shot through his core.

He shook his head and ground his teeth against the tight jarring inside. "I only urge caution, Miss Elizabeth. A man does not change overnight, nor so drastically."

Elizabeth's steps grew more hesitant, and her movements became less fluid. "And yet, he speaks of you with such respect. Why would he do that if he did not admire you or desire to win your approval after a lifetime of being looked down upon?"

"I…" He swallowed. "I do not know."

Her expression softened for a moment, then steeled again. "And how do I know you are not simply trying to discredit him out of jealousy or spite?"

Darcy's jaw clenched, the frustration boiling beneath his calm exterior. "Because, Miss Elizabeth, I have nothing to gain from lying to you."

Elizabeth met his gaze, her eyes searching his face for any hint of falsehood. "You ask a great deal of me, Mr Darcy. To doubt the character of a man who has shown me only kindness, based on your word alone."

"Yes," Darcy admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "I ask you to trust me."

For a moment, they moved in silence. Darcy's heart hammered with each step. He had intended to speak of his own feelings, to hint at the possibility of something more between them, but now everything seemed to be falling apart. He desperately wanted to bridge the gap, to change her mind. The thought of proposing had seemed so clear— it was the perfect answer for them both! Delight and hope for his remaining days and a comfortable future for her. He could give her that, even if there was no child born after him.

But now, any such notion felt impossibly distant. Conflict flickered in Elizabeth's eyes as she tried to reconcile the man she admired with Darcy's accusations, and unfortunately, most of the shadowed looks she gave were reserved for him.

He had not convinced her. He would have done better not to speak at all, but what was he to do when he tried to talk to her of marriage, and she flung Anne de Bourgh in his face? All he could think of was how very much he would like to make Wickham's headache and throb the way his was doing at that moment.

"Thank you for the dance, Mr Darcy," she said curtly as the final notes played. She stepped back, her polite facade firmly in place. "I believe supper is about to be served."

Darcy nodded stiffly, his chest aching with the unspoken inspiration that had somehow possessed him in the last half hour. "Indeed, Miss Elizabeth. Shall we go to supper?"

Elizabeth gave a brief, noncommittal smile as he offered her his arm to escort her to the dining room. "Indeed, sir."