“We do go to London. I imagine there are many men there who are searching for a clever wife.” Jane smiled.
“You see the world as it ought to be, Jane,” Elizabeth replied, a bit cast down. “I see it as it is.”
“I am not blind, Elizabeth,” Jane chided her. “I see the world as it is. I merely hope for better.”
Elizabeth stared at her reflection in the glass. “I am not ready, Jane.”
“You will never feel ready,” her sister concluded. “But it is time. Who better than two men we know Papa trusts and who are staying at Longbourn as his guests?”
Elizabeth rubbed a hand over her eyes. That time in her life had left a gaping hole in her heart. Papa’s wound had festered, and no sooner had he recovered than Mama had contracted an illness that proved fatal. Only weeks after they laid Mama to rest, Harry had been killed, a double blow followed soon after by Kitty falling seriously ill. They were all tangled up in her heart, the fear, the anxiety, the aching loss. Elizabeth had survived it all by wrapping it up and setting it aside. She had focused on nursing Papa, who was still recovering his strength, and then Kitty, who had contracted a winter fever that went to her lungs. When they had at last arrived in Hertfordshire, she had thrown herself into caring for everyone about her. She had not allowed herself any frivolity, and whilst that was no longer the case, she had not yet even attempted to dance with another man.
No one had dared to broach the subject. Even Jane, who knew her best, had not, doubtless fearing that any inquiry might destroy Elizabeth’s composure completely, and she would not have been wrong. Only this summer had Jane begun prompting her to examine her sentiments about Harry’s loss.
Had Elizabeth not allowed her attention to flag today, she might have found a way out of assisting Papa’s guests. All the officers knew how to dance. There had been balls and parties for them, though only Jane had been old enough to attend them before they had been exiled to Longbourn. Why did Papa insist that they help his visitors practice for the assembly?
A week later, when they finally lined up opposite each other in the largest drawing room, Mary at the pianoforte, Elizabeth had her answer.
Mr. Fitzwilliam was a passable dancer for whom a little practice would do much. A bit of polish to his steps would make him much sought after as a partner.
Mr. Darcy was more technical in his execution, but not so light on his feet. Or perhaps it was that his feet were so large he had trouble knowing where to put them. The longer they danced, the more frustrated he became.
“Careful, Mr. Darcy,” she called as she hopped out of his way again. One direct hit, and she would be unable to attend the assembly herself. Not that she ever danced there, but she did enjoy walking. She stepped back and tried to survey the issue.
Mary stopped playing.
“Why are you not dancing, Lizzy?” Jane asked as she and Mr. Fitzwilliam paused, their hands still raised in the air. “Is something wrong?”
“I am attempting to solve a puzzle,” she replied.
Mr. Darcy stepped back. “This is impossible,” he said, his colour high. “I am forever anticipating the placement of the lady’s feet when I ought to be concerned about my own.”
“It is not impossible,” Elizabeth assured him. “We simply need to consider the situation and devise a solution.”
He rolled his eyes and then caught himself.
Elizabeth was a trifle put off at the slight, but she nodded coolly at him. It must be aggravating to be expected to perform when the frolicking steps of a country dance were not designed for you. “We shall have to alter your steps a bit from the book, that is all. If you allow me to study it overnight, I am sure we can devise a plan.”
“It is a hopeless case,” Mr. Darcy said, shaking his head. “Fitzwilliam may attend in my stead.”
“Oh no,” Mr. Fitzwilliam said. “We were invited to attend by our host, and these lovely ladies are taking hours from their own pursuits to help us practice. The assembly is weeks away. We will both attend.”
“Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth said, “if we can teach you a few dances, it will be enough. Once you have partnered two or three ladies, our neighbours will be happy to allow you to retire to the card room with the other gentlemen.”
“You, Miss Bennet, and one other?” he asked hopefully, and craned his neck in the direction of the pianoforte. “Perhaps Miss Mary?”
Elizabeth’s cheeks warmed. “Not me, I am afraid. You really ought to dance with at least one lady not of your party, and I do not care to dance.”
His brows pinched together. “And yet, here you are, not only dancing with me but writing new steps so that I am able to participate.”
“It is a private matter,” she told him. She winced at the unintended sharpness in her voice.
He frowned.
“If you are concerned about unwanted notice, you need not be,” Jane reassured Mr. Darcy. Elizabeth was grateful for her sister’s interruption. “The town’s interest is fixed upon the new residents of Netherfield Park.”
“The Bingleys,” Mary supplied helpfully from across the room. “Mr. Bingley will be in residence by Michaelmas. He promises to return with six ladies and four gentlemen.”
“Papa only spoke of four in the party. A Mr. and Miss Bingley, and a Mr. and Mrs. Hurst. Mrs. Hurst is also Mr. Bingley’s sister,” Jane said gently.