Pride and Proposals

by Victoria Kincaid

  He kissed Elizabeth’s hand, holding it a fraction longer than was expected. “Miss Bennet. May I tell you how love you are tonight?”

  Elizabeth smiled at the dashing young lord. “Thank you. You are too kind.”

  “On the contrary,” he said smoothly. “I speak only the truth. I cannot say enough how well that color sets off your eyes.”

  Elizabeth’s cheeks heated. “Thank you.” Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Mr. Darcy stalking toward them.

  “Are you engaged for the next set?” Lord Kirkwood asked her.

  “Yes,” Mr. Darcy said before Elizabeth could open her mouth. “She is dancing it with me.”

  Elizabeth opened her mouth and then closed it with a snap, regarding Mr. Darcy in confusion. He had said nothing about dancing with him! But she could not embarrass him by contradicting him in public.

  Lord Kirkwood nodded easily, holding Elizabeth’s eyes rather than focusing on Mr. Darcy. “Then would you honor me with the following set?”

  “Yes, of course,” Elizabeth responded before Mr. Darcy could speak. No one should answer for her!

  Darcy said nothing but looked as if he had chewed on something unpleasant. Lord Kirkwood merely nodded to them both and departed. Elizabeth glared at Mr. Darcy. “We are to dance? It must have slipped my mind.”

  He had the grace to color. “I was planning to request the next set.”

  “And you were so certain I would accept that an actual invitation was rendered unnecessary. How efficient of you,” she said archly.

  His color deepened. “Naturally, if you do not wish to dance with me, I will understand.”

  Elizabeth was immediately contrite. She wished to act as his friend, not cause him additional distress. “Forgive my teasing. I would be very pleased to dance the next set with you.” Her reward was a relieved smile. Did a dance with her mean so much? “Do you find something objectionable about Lord Kirkwood?” she asked, wondering if perhaps he saw her dancing as disloyal to his cousin.

  Darcy glanced briefly at the man in question where he stood a short distance away. “There are rumors his father left him with many gambling debts.”

  “And therefore, I should not dance with him? You are very severe, sir.”

  “He may be seeking a wife of some fortune.” Mr. Darcy addressed his remarks to the space above her left ear.

  It took a moment before Elizabeth comprehended his meaning. “While my finances have improved, I am hardly a temptation to a fortune hunter!”

  Mr. Darcy scowled at the floor but did not respond. Upon reflection, she realized with some surprise that her fortune might be considered large enough to interest a desperate man, but she would never believe such motives of Lord Kirkwood. He was merely acting as a friend in Richard’s memory. You promised to be better friends with Mr. Darcy, she reminded herself.

  “But I thank you for your concern,” she added, somewhat stiffly. Mr. Darcy’s eyes darted to her face, regarding her in surprise, but he said nothing. Silence descended on them.

  Being his friend was more difficult than she had anticipated!

  Couples were moving into position for the next set. “I believe the next set is forming,” she observed with relief.

  Mr. Darcy seemed to be recalled from a reverie, although she had the odd impression he had been staring at the flowers in her hair. Nonsense! You do have a vivid imagination, Lizzy!

  He took her gloved hand in his and led her into position for the set. As they waited opposite each other, they were silent. He did not smile at her—as almost any other dance partner would have—but his attention was wholly fixed on her face as if he would memorize her features. After a moment, she felt unequal to meeting the intensity of his gaze and had to glance away. It was a relief when the music commenced.

  The dance at Netherfield had demonstrated that Mr. Darcy was an excellent dancer. He was quite light on his feet, and they were well-matched as partners.

  Unlike at Netherfield, he made an effort at speech, particularly as they waited to take their turn in the figure. He commented on the progress of the ball and how Georgiana seemed to be faring. Was it possible he attended to her earlier reproofs about his taciturn demeanor? No, most likely he had entirely forgotten that conversation. Perhaps he was simply more at ease with her now that they were better acquainted.

  When the set was complete, Elizabeth felt it had been too short. Dancing with Mr. Darcy had actually been quite enjoyable, and she would have been pleased to stand up with him again. However, as they left the dance floor, he was holding her hand rather tightly, and his mouth was set in a stern line. Perhaps he had not enjoyed the dancing as well.

  Lord Kirkwood emerged from the crowd to claim her hand for the next set. Mr. Darcy must have noticed the other man but ignored him. Mr. Darcy focused all the power of his penetrating gaze on Elizabeth, taking her hand in both of his. “I thank you for the dance. Rarely has anything given me more pleasure.”

  Elizabeth’s breath caught, and her heart suddenly pounded very loudly. Why was her mouth so dry she was unable to speak? So he had enjoyed the dancing, she thought inanely, but was unable to account for why his simple compliment had such an effect on her. “Would you do me the honor of reserving the final set for me?” His expression suggested her response was of the greatest urgency.

  She swallowed. “I-I thought you would dance it with Georgiana.”

  Mr. Darcy’s expression darkened, and she thought he might actually utter an oath. “Yes, you are quite right. The penultimate set then.”

  Elizabeth nodded, a little stunned. “Of course.”

  With another deep, penetrating look into her eyes, he turned and melted away into the crowd, never acknowledging Lord Kirkwood, standing only a few feet away. The other man watched Darcy’s retreating back with a frown. “I do not understand Mr. Darcy’s behavior at times.”

  Elizabeth sighed. Neither do I. Nevertheless, she could not help bristling at the implied criticism. “He was always a good friend to Richard.”

  “Yes, yes.” Lord Kirkwood seemed eager to clear up any misimpression. “Richard always spoke very highly of his cousin. I do not know him well, but I am certain he is an excellent man.”

  “He is indeed.” Why does it trouble me if Lord Kirkwood is less than complimentary of Mr. Darcy? I have voiced far less kind thoughts about the man in the past.

  In fact, two years ago, she would have been his severest critic. As they took their places in the figure, Elizabeth remembered with shame how she had allowed her opinion of him to be founded on misunderstandings and a credulous belief of Wickham’s lies. God forbid Mr. Darcy ever learned the extent of her previous dislike!

  The music started, and she and Lord Kirkwood moved through the figures. She responded automatically to his conversation about the size of the crowd and the weather, but her thoughts seemed fixed on Mr. Darcy. His behavior had altered considerably, she realized.

  The Mr. Darcy she knew today would not describe anyone as “tolerable” or “not pretty enough to tempt me.” When had he changed? And why? Had he been in a particularly foul humor in Meryton so that she formed an erroneous impression of his character? Or had he made an effort since then to become more agreeable?

  And why do I care so much?

  With a shake of her head, Elizabeth attempted to clear her mind of such unproductive thinking. Decorum demanded that she devote her full attention to Lord Kirkwood. Fortunately, he was involved in a long description of a recently purchased horse, so nothing had been lost to her inattention.

  However, his monologue unfortunately allowed her to obsess about a new and more disturbing question.

  Why can I not banish Mr. Darcy from my thoughts?

  ***

  He was pathetic. Darcy had dozens of details to address and many guests he was obligated to greet. He must placate his aunt and uncle while ensuring that Georgiana was reasonably happy and not overwhelmed. He was performing most of these tasks at least adequately.

  A
nd yet some part of his mind still managed to follow Elizabeth’s whereabouts in the enormous ballroom and catalogue in painful detail the names and attractiveness of her every dance partner. No matter where she was in the vast, crowded room, he somehow knew her location every minute.

  Unfortunately, after dancing with him and Lord Kirkwood, Elizabeth had become quite popular as a partner. And naturally, all her partners would be enchanted by her wit and vivacity. They would be thoroughly charmed and would form plans to court her. Who would not want to marry her? If Darcy had foreseen this eventuality, he might not have postponed the pleasure of a set with her until later in the evening. Or perhaps he could have locked her in a sitting room.

  Damnation! If only propriety allowed him to dance more than two sets with her! He would dance his feet raw just to keep those vultures away. Not that dancing with Elizabeth was ever a chore.

  Surely these predators would know that she was still grieving, despite her clothing. Did they not recognize she would never love another man? Did they have no respect for his cousin?

  Darcy pulled on his stiffly starched cravat; the damn thing was choking him. Thank God the night was nearly at an end. The whole event had been exhausting, and he was heartily sick of smiling at people he barely recognized.

  The current set was drawing to completion. Darcy could now claim Elizabeth as his partner. His entire body tingled with anticipation, longing for the moment when he could again touch her.

  Elizabeth had barely departed the dance floor with her current partner, a second or third son of a duke who had been friendly with Richard, when Darcy intercepted them.

  A little startled at his sudden appearance, Elizabeth nonetheless performed introductions perfectly. Darcy gave the other man a stiff nod and a perfunctory glance. Elizabeth was his for only a brief time; he would not waste it speaking with a total stranger. Taking her hand, he hastily led her away from her previous dance partner and onto the dance floor.

  Once they arrived at the edge of the dance floor, however, Darcy realized his mistake. The musicians were playing the opening bars of a waltz!

  How could he have forgotten? His aunt had insisted on a waltz as the next-to-last dance. This new style of dance was becoming fashionable and was considered somewhat daring. Of course, it was incumbent on the earl and countess to demonstrate they were at the forefront of every style.

  However, the waltz—with its placement of hands on other’s bodies— was considered too intimate for unmarried couples to perform. Georgiana would sit it out, and naturally, Darcy had planned to avoid it as well, but he would then lose his opportunity to dance with Elizabeth. He muttered a curse under his breath.

  “Mr. Darcy?” Elizabeth asked.

  “I apologize, Miss Bennet, but I had forgotten that this dance would be a waltz.” He regarded her with dismay. He must dance the last set with Georgiana. He had a reckless impulse to dance the waltz with her anyway, propriety be damned. But he could not expose her to that kind of gossip. A small voice at the back of his mind reminded him that a lost dance was hardly a tragedy, but anger and despair drowned it out. Her presence was the only thing that had made that evening endurable for him.

  Elizabeth was watching him closely, apparently noticing his disappointment. She tilted her head to the side, regarding him archly. “I do know how to waltz.”

  “You do?” Had Richard taught her? Jealousy of his cousin flared in his chest.

  “Yes. Jane taught me, since she is a married woman. Naturally, I have never danced it in public.”

  Darcy suppressed a groan at the thought of dancing with Elizabeth, his hand on her waist, separated from her body by a thin layer of silk. He would be able to feel the warmth of her skin under his fingers …

  Desperation sparked an idea. “Would you like to dance it?” he asked her.

  “Yes. I find it extremely diverting,” she answered immediately. “But we cannot—”

  Darcy knew he would act on this impulse, even though it was a dangerous and quite possibly ruinous idea. Once the thought had taken root, he could not let it go. “We cannot dance it in the ballroom, but …” Without another word, Darcy took Elizabeth by the hand and led her to the far side of the ballroom, where a door emptied out onto a little-used corridor. From there, he opened another door into a darkened parlor.

  As he pulled her behind him, he was too anxious to glance back and notice her expression. He could only hope she trusted he did not have improper intentions.

  The parlor had French doors that opened onto a rather large balcony. Once through the doors, Elizabeth and Darcy could hear the waltz music quite clearly and could see swirling figures illuminated by the hundreds of candles in the ballroom’s chandeliers. The balcony, in contrast, was swathed in the deep shadows cast by the house, and Darcy doubted anyone in the ballroom could perceive them. The world outside was bathed in the cool light of a full moon, rendering it beautiful and foreign at the same time.

  He now chanced a glimpse of Elizabeth’s expression. Would she be horrified at the liberties he had taken? But he was relieved to see a mischievous grin on her face. She was enjoying the adventure. Then as she looked around, her face glowed with wonder at the beauty of the setting.

  He bowed briefly to Elizabeth. “May I have this dance, Miss Bennet?”

  She curtsied. “It would be my pleasure, Mr. Darcy.”

  Darcy took one of her hands in his and carefully placed his other hand on her waist. Touching her was unlike touching any other woman. His hands trembled with the realization that they had come into contact—so long denied—with the object of his affections. Electric shocks fired all of his senses and compelled thoughts about where else he might touch her.

  In part to forestall these completely inappropriate musings, Darcy launched them into the circular patterns of the waltz.

  The experience was hypnotic, transcendent. The cool, crisp night air rushing past, the warmth of her body in his arms, the slight rosewater scent of Elizabeth’s skin, and the gentle, insistent rhythms of the music. She fit perfectly into his arms and followed his lead effortlessly, as if they were made to be together—two halves of a whole. Why had he never danced a waltz with her before? What a fool he had been!

  He could easily lose himself in these sensations. With the entire balcony at their disposal, Darcy could maneuver them in a circular pattern as they twirled on their own axis.

  A delighted laugh bubbled out of Elizabeth, provoking a swell of joy and pride in her companion. Nothing could please him more than to know he had given her pleasure. “Mr. Darcy,” her tone was playful, “I believe you have waltzed before with someone not your wife.”

  Darcy was delighted to be teased by her. “Indeed, madam.” He nodded solemnly.

  “Oh?” She arched a brow at him.

  “Yes. With my Aunt Fitzwilliam and Georgiana and—upon one memorable occasion—my Aunt Catherine.” Elizabeth’s brows rose at this revelation. “And, I can assure you that although my aunt may appreciate music more than most, you are far more adept at keeping a beat.”

  He was rewarded with Elizabeth’s ringing laughter. Warmth spread through his chest. So this is how pure happiness feels.

  Instinctively, he drew her closer so they could more easily move in harmony. Briefly, he closed his eyes, savoring the sensations … her warmth, her soft skin, the silky slide of her dress. When he opened them again, he drank in the sight of her radiant smile, the flush in her cheeks, the bright shine of excitement in her eyes. He must catalog these sights and sensations to remember at a later date.

  She is happy. I have made her happy, he marveled. He was seized by a strong impulse to want to make her happy again—to find ways to make her happy for the rest of her life. This could become an addiction. But firmly, he put worries of the future aside and focused on the moment here before him.

  Finally, the music came to an end, the last notes of the violin dying on a breeze wafting through the ballroom’s windows. Darcy did not want it to end. How could he
bear to release Elizabeth’s hand?

  Glancing down at the positions of their bodies, he realized he was holding Elizabeth quite close indeed. They had started with enough distance between them to fit a third person, but now …

  Mere inches.

  Good Lord! The distance between them would be considered inappropriate in public even for a married couple. If anyone were to see them … he could be justly accused of compromising her reputation. Darcy was appalled at himself, in part because his first reaction was not nearly as horrified as it should have been. Despite the gross impropriety, part of him wished to remain like this forever.

  He should release her immediately.

  Yes. Let her go… and gently push her from him….

  And yet … her luminous eyes were looking up at him. She did not seem alarmed at his proximity, but he could not read her expression. She was breathing hard from the exertion, her lips slightly open, soft and pink. The dance had affected her as well. Even across the inches that separated them, he could feel the heat radiating from her body.

  He was lost.

  His gaze was again pulled to her lips, full and enticing …

  How could he be expected to resist?

  He tilted his head down, preparing to kiss her—imagining how her lips would taste. How would she respond? In the back of his mind, he wondered if Richard had ever held her thus … had ever kissed her with such passion …

  Oh, Good Lord, Richard!

  Darcy whipped his head away and staggered backward, practically thrusting Elizabeth from him.

  How could he have—? What was wrong with him? He had lost all control!

  His heart beat double time, and his chest heaved, his breath coming in gasps as he tried to master himself.

  Elizabeth’s expression held utter bewilderment. Her mouth opened in shock, but she seemed to be at a loss for words. His wildly inappropriate behavior must have elicited her deepest disgust.

  He owed her an abject apology. He opened his mouth to deliver it, but all he could imagine was blurting out a confession and a declaration of the deepest, most enduring love.