41. Chapter 41

All bow to my awesome beta, CassandraLowery!

Chapter 40

Elizabeth awoke to complete darkness and knew without looking at a clock that it was well before dawn. She lay still in the hope that she would drift back to sleep. After some minutes, she turned onto her back with a frustrated sigh, reluctantly conceding that she would sleep no more this night. She sat up, careful not to disturb her sister. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she saw that Jane was not beside her. Frowning, she got out of bed, her eyes searching for her sister in the darkened room.

Elizabeth entered their sitting room, and immediately saw Jane sitting on the window seat, her white nightgown glowing in the pale moonlight making her appear almost ethereal. Elizabeth approached her sister with silent steps, not wishing to disturb her quiet stillness.

Elizabeth climbed onto the window seat facing her sister, tucking her feet under her nightgown. Jane sat motionless, her face turned toward the glass. Elizabeth studied her sister's profile, waiting for her to speak. Jane had been understandably overjoyed and relieved learning of Colonel Fitzwilliam's intentions, drifting about the house with a perpetual smile on her face for the past several days. But the past two days Jane had become uncharacteristically quiet and grave, a sure sign that something was bothering her.

Jane broke the silence with a long and slow sigh. Without turning her head, she whispered, "I think Mr. Bingley took Richard's letter."

Jane's statement didn't come as a surprise to Elizabeth. She and Fitzwilliam had come to the same conclusion after hearing Simmons' account of the colonel's visit; they had decided not to tell Jane their suspicions in case there was another explanation. Fitzwilliam was still waiting for a response from the express he sent the colonel four days previously. Elizabeth knew Fitzwilliam was secretly hoping there was some other explanation to the missing letter. Elizabeth recalled with a pang the look of devastation on Fitzwilliam's face when he realized that one of his oldest friends could have done something so unconscionable.

When Elizabeth didn't respond, Jane turned and looked at her sister, studying her expression in the moonlight. "You don't appear shocked."

Elizabeth sighed. "I suspected as much."

Jane nodded, her face devoid of emotion. "I questioned Simmons myself. Not that I doubted Mr. Darcy's word, but I had to hear it for myself. At first, I didn't want to believe it of Mr. Bingley, but the more I think about his strange behavior last Friday, I always come back to the same inevitable conclusion."

Elizabeth grasped Jane's hand, squeezing gently. "You're referring to when Mr. Bingley kept touching his left breast?"

Jane nodded. "Yes. Richard's letter must have been concealed in his inner jacket pocket. If that was the only evidence, I would have dismissed it." Jane looked beseechingly at her sister. "But how do you explain my sewing basket?"

Not waiting for Elizabeth to respond, Jane continued, "I questioned all the servants to see if anyone entered the drawing room after Richard left and before Mr. Bingley's visit. I was hoping that one of them had accidentally overturned my sewing basket, and that the letter had been misplaced."

Elizabeth gave her sister a gentle smile. "But no one entered the drawing room after the colonel left, did they?"

Jane shook her head. "No, no one did."

Jane wrapped her arms around her waist. "How could he do it, Lizzy?" she cried, her expression anguished. "How could he take a private letter and…and read it?" She shook her head in disbelief. "What type of gentleman does that?"

"Someone with nothing to lose."

Jane looked at her sister in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"Isn't it obvious, Jane? Mr. Bingley stumbled over your sewing basket, found the letter, read it, thus learning of the colonel's love for you and that he was leaving for the Peninsula."

Elizabeth gave her sister a pointed look. "By taking the colonel's letter, Mr. Bingley would eliminate his competition, no doubt hoping that you'd feel abandoned by the colonel and that he didn't care for you, thereby leaving the way open for Mr. Bingley to pursue you and make his addresses without interference."

Jane looked horrified. "As if I could ever care for someone so…so…."

"Despicable? Unscrupulous? Deceitful?" Elizabeth suggested.

Jane shook her head, her blue eyes filled with sadness. "I am sorry for it, Lizzy. If only I had said something to dissuade Mr. Bingley…."

"No, Jane," Elizabeth interrupted, her voice emphatic. "Mr. Bingley alone is culpable."

Jane sighed, playing with the hem of her nightgown. "I wish that I had not agreed to dance the first two sets with Mr. Bingley at Lady Worthington's ball."

Elizabeth stared at Jane in shock, knowing that her sister had been diligent in avoiding Mr. Bingley's almost daily visits. "What? When did this happen?"

Jane looked away, embarrassed. "The last time I saw him. The day he took Richard's letter."

"Oh, Jane," Elizabeth said in sympathy.

"He asked me so suddenly, and I was so confused and disconcerted by his strange behavior that I found myself agreeing before I knew what I was about! I regretted it the minute I said yes. I wished to save those dances for Richard. But what could I have done?" Jane cried.

"Nothing Jane," Elizabeth said soothingly. "You were not in a position to refuse unless you didn't wish to dance at all."

Jane huffed. "I should have lied and told him that Richard had already requested those dances."

Elizabeth's responding laughter brought a slight smile to Jane's face.

Jane sobered immediately. "I miss him, Lizzy," she whispered, so low Elizabeth had to lean in to hear her. Jane looked up, and Elizabeth was struck by the utter despair in her sister's eyes. "I cannot bear the thought that he will leave without knowing…" Jane's voice faltered, and she took a steadying breath, "without knowing how much I love him."

Elizabeth's heart was filled with compassion, and she enfolded Jane in her embrace, providing comfort only a sister could give. Elizabeth prayed fervently that Jane would receive the happiness she deserved with the man she loved.

"He knows, Jane," Elizabeth responded finally. "Your Richard knows that you love him."

Jane sat up, her eyes seeking reassurance. "Do you really think so?"

Elizabeth smiled, tucking a stray lock of hair behind Jane's ear. "I know so."

"If only I could see him, Lizzy," Jane implored. "Just once before he leaves."

Elizabeth didn't respond, her mind working frantically on the possibility of taking a short trip to Brighton before they returned home. Could their uncle be persuaded? Perhaps Fitzwilliam could assist? She mentally shook her head, knowing it was hopeless. They were expected back home on Saturday, and any delay would raise their mother's suspicions. Elizabeth bit her lip, pondering how she could persuade her parents without giving away the reason for their unexpected detour.

"Lizzy?" Jane's quiet voice interrupted Elizabeth's planning.

"We should try to get some sleep, or we will be exhausted for Lady Worthington's ball tonight."

When they were settled back in bed, Jane turned on her side, facing Elizabeth.

"What do you think I should do about Mr. Bingley?"

Elizabeth was silent for some minutes as she considered her sister's question. She sighed. "At the very least, Mr. Bingley needs to admit to taking the letter and offer you an apology. But whatever you decide, I am sure it will be exactly what he deserves."

Jane turned onto her back, staring up at the ceiling. "I suppose throwing a glass of ratafia in his face would not be appropriate, would it?"

Elizabeth could hear the smile in Jane's voice. "Oh, I don't know about that," she responded with a laugh. "Although I think a cup of tea accidentally dropped in his lap might be a little more effective."

There was a moment of silence, then Jane burst into giggles. "Lizzy, that's horrible!"

Elizabeth sincerely felt that Mr. Bingley deserved far worse for putting her dearest Jane through such emotional turmoil; there was no excuse for what he had done. Elizabeth forced such unpleasantness from her mind, turning her thoughts to something much more agreeable: tonight she would dance with Fitzwilliam for the first time. Elizabeth was smiling as she drifted to sleep.

~oOOo~

The morning of Lady Worthington's ball began fortuitously with a refreshing rain, cleansing the city of the foul odors that had plagued London for the past sennight. Elizabeth escaped to the garden as soon as the rain ceased its persistent drizzle, and a reluctant sun peeked from behind the clouds. She was not expecting Fitzwilliam to call as he had informed her the day before, in a rather vague manner, that he would be occupied with some pressing matters of business. With the entire day stretching out before her, she decided to try and write her father. Again.

Elizabeth crumpled another sheet of paper, throwing it to the ground with a groan. She stared at the pieces of paper littered at her feet, her brow lowered in frustration. Her attempts were proving to be futile. Each time she began, the anger and betrayal she felt towards her father rose up within her like an uncontrolled storm, and she couldn't form a single sentence in a courteous manner. She placed her lap desk on the bench beside her with a resigned sigh, and leaning back, she closed her eyes, feeling her anger drain away as she breathed deeply of the fresh air.

A gust of wind swept through the garden, rustling the leaves of the oak tree spread above her like a comforting embrace. As she gazed up into its expansive canopy, memories of all moments she had shared with Fitzwilliam under, and in this tree flew through her mind until her thoughts stopped and lingered on the memory of the planting of their oak sapling in the garden of Darcy House.

Elizabeth opened the lid to her lap desk and removed Fitzwilliam's letters, smiling as she fingered the green ribbon that bound together his words of love and adoration. She placed her lap desk on the ground, and turned to lean against the arm of the bench, adjusting the pillow at her back. Stretching her legs out in front of her, she settled down to read each of Fitzwilliam's letters, beginning with the first letter he had written her. Some letters were short while others were several pages long, but each one bore witness of his love and devotion to her and their future life together. She paused as she came to the letter she had received just that morning, accompanied by a dozen perfect crimson roses, one for each day they had been engaged.

Elizabeth was so absorbed in Fitzwilliam's words that she startled when she felt the back of a hand lightly touch her cheek. She looked up in surprise, blinking in the late afternoon sun.

"Fitzwilliam!" Elizabeth sat up in haste, dropping her legs to the ground, a faint blush staining her cheeks at being caught in such an unladylike position.

Fitzwilliam leaned down, bestowing a soft kiss on her astonished lips. "Good afternoon, my love." He sat beside her, glancing down at the discarded pieces of paper at their feet, a frown marring his face. He looked at her with a sad smile. "Letters to your father?"

"I have been unsuccessful, as you can see."

Fitzwilliam nodded in understanding. "Perhaps if you simply write what you feel, it will aid you when you finally face him."

Elizabeth stared at him in astonishment. "But I couldn't possibly send my father such a letter!"

"Not to send. I have found that it helps to write down everything you wish you could say, but cannot. It may help you work through your feelings."

Elizabeth's expression was thoughtful. "I will." She smiled warmly at Fitzwilliam. "Thank you."

Fitzwilliam glanced at the letter in her lap and raised his brows; plucking it from her lap, he gave her a satisfied grin. "Ah, reading my letters, I see. Could it be because you missed me? Hmmm?"

Elizabeth laughed, delighted at his playful mood. She tried to retrieve her abducted letter, but his long arms kept it out of reach. "Insufferable man. Would you be so kind as to return my letter?"

Fitzwilliam's grin grew wider. "Only after I hear how much you missed me."

Elizabeth huffed, folding her arms in mock irritation. Unwilling to give in so easily, she glanced at Fitzwilliam from the corner of her eye, a mischievous smile on her face. She bit her lip to hold back a laugh as his confident expression became wary. She angled her body toward him, sliding her hand up his arm to rest on his shoulder. Fitzwilliam closed his eyes with a groan as her fingers tangled in his hair. As she drew his head down to hers, she placed her other hand on his thigh, her eyes glowing with triumph as the hand holding the letter dropped. With an exultant cry, she snatched it from his limp hand.

Fitzwilliam's eyes narrowed. "You, my love, are a very cruel woman."

Elizabeth gave him a cheeky smile. "You deserved it, Fitzwilliam, for taking a lady's letter."

A brief shadow clouded Fitzwilliam's features, and Elizabeth felt a pang of guilt for inadvertently causing him to think of Mr. Bingley's deception.

"I defer to your superior method of manipulation, Elizabeth." He bowed his head. "Now, how shall I make amends? What punishment shall you bestow?"

Elizabeth knew exactly what she wished. "Read your letter to me?"

Fitzwilliam looked at her in surprise. "With pleasure." He cleared his throat, placing his arm around Elizabeth as she settled against him.

Elizabeth sighed in contentment, closing her eyes when he began to read, the deep timbre of his voice reverberating through her body. His tender words of adoration infused her heart with a glowing warmth that filled her entire being. A wave of gratitude swept through her that such a true and enduring love was hers. She didn't know what she had done to deserve such devotion, but she would be forever thankful for the unseen angels who brought Fitzwilliam into her life. How could she have ever doubted that Fitzwilliam loved her? That they were meant to be together?

When Fitzwilliam finished reading, Elizabeth opened her eyes to see him looking down at her with a tender smile. She reached up and cupped his face, her thumb stroking his jaw. "I believe I will have you read my letters from now on. Thank you, my love. That was beautiful."

Fitzwilliam pressed his lips to hers. "You are welcome. I have something for you."

His expression reminded Elizabeth of a little boy receiving a long desired toy or favorite treat. She watched in anticipation as Fitzwilliam picked up a blue velvet jewelry case lying on the bench beside him and placed it in her lap. Elizabeth ran her fingers over the smooth velvet, glancing up to see Fitzwilliam looking at her with barely concealed excitement.

Elizabeth took a deep breath before opening the jewelry case in one smooth motion. She stared, mouth agape when she saw what lay nestled within its satin interior. "Fitzwilliam," she gasped in awe. Laying before her was the most exquisite necklace she had ever seen, composed of opals and diamonds in a detailed and intricate ribbon design. The predominant color of the opals was a deep green, but within the stones flashed colors of red, blue, and violet, making them appear to shimmer with an inner fire that was mesmerizing.

Fitzwilliam stroked a perfect opal with reverent fingers. "Three generations of Darcy brides have worn this necklace." He reached for her hand, bringing it to his lips for a kiss before holding it against his heart. "You will be the fourth bride to wear it."

Elizabeth gazed at Fitzwilliam, her eyes bright. "I would be honored to wear an heirloom of your family, Fitzwilliam," she said in an unsteady voice. A thought occurred to her. "Everyone at Lady Worthington's ball will know the significance of this necklace, will they not?"

"Yes, they will. Is that agreeable?"

Elizabeth's responding smile broke over her face like the sun peeking from behind a cloud. "Yes, very agreeable." She gave him an impish smile. "I want every young lady to know that you are off the marriage market."

Fitzwilliam cupped her face with his hands, gazing at her with an intensity that stole her breath. "I want all of society to know that I am yours." He pressed a kiss to her temple. "Completely," he whispered in her ear. "Irrevocably." He trailed light kisses down her jaw, before meeting her gaze. "Yours."

"As I am yours," Elizabeth whispered, meeting his lips with her own.

~oOOo~

Darcy shifted restlessly from one foot to the other, impatient for Elizabeth to arrive. He cursed himself for agreeing to Lady Worthington's scheme of arriving early to the ball without Elizabeth. He must be mad. Only madness would induce him to remain in the entrance hall under a Greek statue of questionable taste in full view of every simpering young miss. He had lost count of the number of times he had been approached by gentlemen with whom he had barely a passing acquaintance for the purpose of introducing him to their daughters, nieces, or granddaughters. Either they had not heard the rumor spread by Lady Emily that he was engaged, or they were choosing to ignore it and pretend it was not true. He couldn't help but feel a perverse sense of pleasure at seeing the looks on their faces when they realized their posturing and preening were for nothing.

It was at times like this that Darcy especially missed Richard's presence. His cousin always had a way of distracting him from unpleasant social situations and was expert at diverting unwanted attention away from Darcy. He frowned, worry creasing his brow at Richard's uncharacteristic silence. He had expected a quick response to his express, especially considering the content of his message. His countenance darkened at the thought of his friend's deception. Bingley had much to answer for if he had indeed taken Richard's letter. He would have to confront Bingley. Soon.

Thus lost in his thoughts, his gaze riveted to the door, he was unaware that a small party had paused near his location until a loud, grating voice interrupted his concentration. An elderly couple and a young gentleman whom he knew only by sight were conversing in loud voices. He stiffened as he heard his name, spoken by the elderly woman. The young man met his eye and upon recognizing Darcy, flushed an unbecoming vermillion, and he tried unsuccessfully to hush his elderly female companion. He listened with growing anger as she proceeded to talk openly about the rumors circulated by Lady Emily, and the likelihood of whether or not they were true. He resisted, with herculean effort, the urge to march over and put the woman in her place.

Darcy groaned as yet another young lady openly admired him, coquettishly looking over her shoulder as she passed.

"Perhaps it would help if you weren't standing beneath a statue of Aphrodite. I expect it is sending the wrong message," Lord Matlock observed, coming to stand beside Darcy, Lady Eleanor on his arm.

Darcy scowled at his uncle who chuckled, slapping him on the back. "Cheer up, Darcy. Miss Elizabeth will arrive soon and put all these hoity-toity misses in their rightful place."

Lady Eleanor shook her head, a mild look of exasperation on her face. "Really Henry, don't tease the boy so. You know how he despises society events." She turned to Darcy, her expression eager. "Did you give it to her?"

"Just this afternoon, Aunt."

Lady Eleanor beamed. "Wonderful! And she will wear it tonight?"

Darcy bowed his head. "She will." Just then, he spied Bingley ascending the staircase as if the devil were at his heels. Darcy narrowed his eyes, debating whether to speak to Bingley now or wait. He hesitated briefly before making a decision.

~oOOo~

Elizabeth glanced up at the imposing façade of Worthington House as she followed her sister, aunt, and uncle up the steps. The house was ablaze with light, and it appeared as if all of London society had turned out for the most talked-about ball of the season. There was a small queue to enter the house, and she sighed at the unwelcome delay.

Jane smiled in understanding. "Patience, Lizzy. Mr. Darcy can wait a few moments longer."

Upon hearing Mr. Darcy's name, an elegantly dressed woman standing in front of them turned, blatantly looking Elizabeth and Jane up and down with a haughty expression for longer than was considered polite. She sniffed and turned to her companion with a condescending remark about them being "presumptuous" and "nobody of consequence." Elizabeth resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

Jane leaned in and whispered, "I cannot wait to see the look on all their faces when they realize it is you who is engaged to Mr. Darcy. That will wipe the superior smirks off their faces." She glanced pointedly at Elizabeth's neck concealed by her pelisse.

Elizabeth raised a brow in amusement. "I hardly think the necklace will create quite the stir you are hoping for, Jane."

Aunt Gardiner shook her head. "Jane is right, Lizzy. It is not just any necklace as I am sure Mr. Darcy explained to you; it is called 'the bride necklace' for a reason." Seeing Elizabeth's skeptical look, she added with a knowing smile, "Just you wait."

The entrance hall of Worthington House was designed to impress and intimidate. Elizabeth was extremely grateful that she had already seen it, or she would have stood and stared like a simpleton at its sheer size and opulence. The floor was of imported Italian marble; Greek and Roman statuary lined both sides of the hall leading to a magnificent split staircase, the ballroom entrance located at the apex. The ladies' gowns were a cascade of color as they ascended the staircases, their jewels sparkling in the soft light of the enormous chandelier. A footman approached to take their outerwear, and after receiving significant looks from Jane and her aunt, Elizabeth removed her pelisse.

While her aunt and Jane discarded their outerwear, Elizabeth began discreetly scanning the entrance hall for Fitzwilliam. She was unable to see him amidst the throng of society's finest, so she walked further into the entrance hall, pausing near the receiving line. As she searched, she met the eyes of a young gentleman less than three meters away who was observing her with frank admiration. Suddenly he froze, his eyes growing wide. With obvious excitement, he turned to an elderly couple next to him and began speaking, gesturing animatedly in her direction, causing others nearby to look at her. Elizabeth flushed and turned away, adjusting her gloves as a distraction. Thankfully, her uncle approached, escorting her aunt with Jane following closely behind.

Jane grabbed Elizabeth's arm as they went to greet their hosts. "Have you seen Mr. Bingley?"

Elizabeth looked at her sister, unsurprised at Jane's tense expression. "No, I have not. Perhaps he decided not to attend?"

"If only I could be so lucky," Jane muttered.

Elizabeth squeezed Jane's arm in sympathy before turning her attention to their hosts. Both sisters curtsied to Lady Worthington.

Lady Worthington greeted Jane warmly before turning to Elizabeth with a knowing smile. "Your Mr. Darcy is already here, my dear. One of the first to arrive, in fact. Quite uncharacteristic of him. Although I am sure he had his reasons." She winked at Elizabeth.

Elizabeth let out a low laugh. "I was not going to ask, Lady Worthington."

Lady Worthington quirked an eyebrow, her eyes twinkling. "No? But I'd bet my favorite turban it was what you were thinking." She glanced behind Elizabeth, her lips pursing in annoyance. "I cannot imagine what became of him." She pointed her fan behind Elizabeth. "The last I saw him he was lurking behind that statue over there."

Elizabeth turned, her expression hopeful. But instead of her betrothed, she encountered several ladies and gentlemen, all staring at her with varying degrees of incredulity. As she met their gazes, hushed whispers trickled through the entrance hall. She touched the necklace around her neck self-consciously.

Lady Worthington chuckled. "Don't pay them any mind, my dear. Soon they'll be singing a different tune." She rapped Lord Worthington on the arm with her fan. "Isn't that right, Roger?"

Lord Worthington, who had just finished greeting her uncle and aunt, turned to his wife. "What's that, my life?" Upon seeing Jane and Elizabeth, he smiled, raising his quizzing glass. "Ah! Miss Bennet, Miss Elizabeth. Pleasure to see you, my dears."

Elizabeth graciously thanked Lord Worthington, and after she and Jane had promised to save him a dance, they left the receiving line.

Elizabeth began to look for Fitzwilliam in earnest, grasping Jane's arm for support as the whispers and not-so-subtle glances in her direction became impossible to ignore. She saw the woman who had acted so condescendingly upon her arrival staring at her with a look of shock on her overly-rouged face. In every direction she was confronted with staring faces, expressions of shock, envy, and dismay mixed with confusion and even anger. Refusing to be intimidated, she smiled, her countenance composed, pretending that half the guests were not staring at her as if she were some rare and bizarre attraction on display. Fitzwilliam, where are you?

~oOOo~

Darcy excused himself after receiving his aunt's assurances that she would watch for Elizabeth. Thus appeased, he followed his long-time friend. As he neared the top of the stairs, he saw Bingley disappear into the throng entering the ballroom. His attempt to follow Bingley was thwarted by Mr. Astley, another "close" acquaintance who no doubt wished to parade his female relative in front of him like a horse at Tattersall's. Darcy's mouth twitched as he imagined what would happen if he asked to inspect the young lady's teeth.

Darcy clenched his jaw, his face an imperturbable mask as he endured the pompous fool's effusions. To make matters worse, the man had the unfortunate habit of bouncing on the balls of his feet as he talked, making it difficult to focus on the man without becoming dizzy.

Before Darcy could politely extract himself from a rather nauseating one-sided conversation, Astley grasped his arm, and leaning in much too close, whispered, "I hear rumors that you're to be leg-shackled (1)." Not waiting for Darcy to respond, he continued, "I told the missus that it couldn't be true as Darcy has not yet met our Rebecca." Astley winked. "She won't make her curtsey for two more years, but…." Astley's conversation stopped abruptly as his attention was diverted; he grasped the banister, his eyes wide as he stared below.

"Upon my word! Is she wearing…? Is that…?" Astley stammered, mouth agape.

Darcy turned, following Astley's gaze. He inhaled sharply. Elizabeth! She looked up as if he had shouted her name, and their gazes locked. Hundreds of faces looked up at him, but he saw only Elizabeth. Darcy stood motionless as he stared in awe and admiration at the woman he loved. From his high vantage point, he could clearly see his necklace adorning her slender neck; the lustrous green opals a stark contrast against her ivory silk gown. She was radiant. He swelled with pride that he belonged to her. With that thought he felt a pull to her, an irresistible force that propelled him forward.

Darcy descended the stairs, excited whispers spreading out like ripples in a lake as he passed. When he reached the bottom, the crowd parted before him, creating an unobstructed path to Elizabeth. As he walked towards her, an expectant silence fell as if all present were holding their breath, waiting for…something.

Darcy stood before her several heartbeats later, their gazes locked. He smiled, unable to conceal his joy. Gasps echoed through the entrance hall. Elizabeth offered him her hand and curtsied, her warm brown eyes filled with love. He raised her gloved hand, holding it to his lips in an attitude of adoration. There was a long beat of silence before the crowd released their collective breaths in a rush of sound, vibrant in its intensity.

Darcy offered his arm to Elizabeth, and as she tucked her small hand into the crook of his elbow he felt her trembling, whether from nervousness or heightened emotion he couldn't discern. He laid his free hand over hers, squeezing gently in reassurance. He looked down at her, and when she met his gaze, he smiled. The effect of his smile on the young ladies went unnoticed by Darcy, but not on his betrothed.

Elizabeth shook her head. "You really should not do that, you know."

"What should I not do?"

"Smile."

Darcy blinked in confusion.

Elizabeth glanced up at him through her lashes, her eyes sparkling with mirth. "I recall telling Jane it was hazardous to women's health."

Darcy laughed, causing people to stare in shock, wondering what happened to the normally reserved and imperturbable Mr. Darcy.

Darcy escorted Elizabeth up the stairs, taking notice for the first time the faces of those he passed. He was unsurprised to see expressions ranging from shock and excitement to envy and disapproval. What he was not expecting, and which alarmed him greatly, were the calculating looks some of the gentlemen were giving Elizabeth. He stiffened as more than one gentlemen eyed her with unusual interest. He glared at the offending gentlemen until one by one they looked away.

Elizabeth, sensing his unease, asked, "Is something bothering you, F…, ah, Mr. Darcy?" She blushed at her almost faux-pas.

"Not at all, Miss Elizabeth." He leaned in, and in a low voice said, "But I wish to remain close to you throughout the evening."

"That may prove difficult, sir, as I plan to dance every set."

Darcy was prevented from explaining his reasons why he wished to remain close by the hurried approach of their hostess.

"Well, I must say, Darcy, you quite exceeded my expectations," declared Lady Worthington with a satisfied smile. "There can be no doubt in anyone's mind as to the nature of your relationship." She eyed the bride necklace, the soft glow of the candles reflecting off the stones with a brilliant light. "Everyone knows that you are smelling of April and May (2)." She clapped her hands with unrestrained delight. She leaned toward Darcy, brushing Darcy's forehead with one of the many feathers on her turban. "The first dance will be the waltz (3)." She winked, departing in a swirl of puce silk and feathers.

Elizabeth looked rather alarmed. "Is she allowed?"

"Lady Worthington does what she wants. No one dares gainsay her."

Elizabeth gave a sly smile. "How convenient."

Darcy raised his brows. "Indeed."

The announcement of the waltz created quite a stir amongst the guests; it was understood that it was only allowed at Almack's with the permission of one of its patronesses. When no one took the floor, Lady Worthington waved her arm. "Come, no need to stand on ceremony!"

Without hesitation, Darcy escorted Elizabeth to the floor after Lord and Lady Worthington. Slowly, other couples joined them, some reluctantly. The scandalized majority remained around the perimeter of the ballroom. Darcy noticed Bingley escorting Miss Bennet to the floor; he frowned.

Elizabeth followed his gaze, and, seeing her sister, sighed.

The music began, and Darcy forcibly pushed thoughts of Bingley aside, focusing all his attention on Elizabeth and their first dance together. Nothing else mattered. He offered his left hand, smiling as she placed her small hand in his. He closed his fingers around hers in a firm grip, her eyes luminous as they stared into his. His right hand slid around her waist, drawing her closer than the dance demanded, his hand resting on her lower back. She placed a trembling hand on his shoulder, closing her eyes for a brief moment as he moved his right foot forward, his leg brushing against hers; she mirrored the action. They waltzed in euphoric silence, neither wishing to taint the perfect moment with words. Darcy turned his head, breathing deeply of Elizabeth's jasmine scent, his breath brushing the curls on the side of her face. Her dark eyes were alive with emotion, her tempting lips mere inches away. Remembering they were not alone, he pulled away with a deep sigh of regret. Elizabeth's face was flushed becomingly, and he thought she had never looked so beautiful, so enticing. He marveled anew how perfectly she fit in his arms, and would thank God for the rest of his days for bringing her into his life. As the music ended, he drew her to him possessively, wishing the moment would never end.

Darcy whispered low in her ear, "Thank you, my love. I hope to repeat this often in the future."

"As do I," she breathed.

Darcy escorted Elizabeth off the floor, encountering several young ladies fanning their flushed faces, staring at him with dazed expressions. His imperturbable mask dropped firmly into place as he positioned himself protectively behind Elizabeth, his eyes scanning for Bingley as Elizabeth conversed with her sister; Mrs. Gardiner was nearby, in deep conversation with his Aunt Eleanor.

As he perused the ballroom for Bingley, his ears picked up on Elizabeth's hushed conversation with Miss Bennet.

"…nerve of the man! How dare he solicit your company in such a manner?" Elizabeth's shoulders were tense, her back rigid with indignation. "Ignore him, Jane. You are under no obligation to that man."

Miss Bennet, in a fit of pique, exclaimed, "Where's a glass of ratafia when you need it?"

Elizabeth looked askance at her sister, her expression sly. "Or a cup of tea!" They laughed. Darcy frowned, confused.

"Pardon me, Miss Elizabeth, Miss Bennet, but are you speaking of Bingley?"

"Fitz…Oh! I mean, Mr. Darcy…." She became flustered, her brow puckering adorably.

Elizabeth took a deep breath. "Mr. Darcy, have you spoken with Mr. Bingley lately?"

"No, I have not."

"Would you? He asked to speak with Jane later this evening…privately." Elizabeth gave Darcy a knowing look.

Darcy clenched his jaw, his countenance grim. Perhaps Miss Bingley was not the only one fit for bedlam in that family. His friend's most recent behavior puzzled him exceedingly; it was not in Bingley's nature to be so dishonest. He was convinced that Bingley was avoiding him, no doubt due to his guilty conscience. But why speak with Miss Bennet tonight? There was only one reason a "respectable" gentleman solicited a private audience with a young, unmarried lady. Bingley's intent was clear: he was going to ask Miss Bennet to marry him or the very least ask for a courtship. But surely he knew Miss Bennet's heart was engaged elsewhere? What was his friend up to? He must know that Miss Bennet would refuse his offer of marriage or courtship. Unless…Darcy's face drained of color as a likely possibility entered his thoughts.

Elizabeth touched his arm. "Fitzwilliam? What is it?"

Darcy looked at Elizabeth, unable to hide his dismay. Surely his friend would not do something so despicable? He turned to Elizabeth's sister. "Miss Bennet, when did Bingley ask you for a private audience?"

"Before going in to supper."

"Are you engaged to dance the supper set with Bingley?"

Jane hesitated, glancing at Elizabeth. "He did not ask me, Mr. Darcy; he assumed I would dance the supper set with him."

Darcy's eyes flashed with anger. Bingley's noose was getting tighter. "Do not dance with Bingley, Miss Bennet. Miss Elizabeth is correct; you are under no obligation to him. I must ask that you do not allow him to speak to you, or coerce you into going somewhere alone with him."

Elizabeth shared a look of alarm with her sister before turning to Darcy. "What do you believe Mr. Bingley will do, Fitzwilliam?"

"I do not know for certain," Darcy said in a calm voice, not wishing to cause them further anxiety. "I have my suspicions." Although Darcy was fairly sure that his suspicions, if allowed to come to fruition, would prove correct. He would not allow Bingley to succeed. The outcome would be devastating, not only for Miss Bennet, but Richard as well.

Elizabeth nodded, her eyes betraying her anxiety.

"Do not worry." Darcy clasped Elizabeth's hand, unmindful of who may be watching. "I will not let anything happen to your sister." Darcy looked at Miss Bennet. "I promise. I will deal with Bingley." He squeezed Elizabeth's hand before letting go.

Darcy scanned the ballroom again to see if his "friend" had reappeared. From his current position he could not see the entire ballroom; Bingley could be lurking in some hidden corner. The only way to find out would be to leave Elizabeth's side which he was hesitant to do. He had to quell his jealousy every time a gentleman even looked at Elizabeth with mild interest. He knew his fears and jealousies were unbecoming of a gentleman, but the thought of one of them touching her in any way was abhorrent.

Darcy stepped up closer to Elizabeth, placing his hand on her lower back; she stiffened in surprise, before relaxing against his hand, with a soft sigh. He rubbed his thumb in slow circles against the small of her back, the silk of her gown smooth against his fingers.

Darcy tensed, his hand dropping away from Elizabeth as he watched a gentleman approach, his gaze focused on Elizabeth. As the man drew closer, he encountered Darcy's forbidding glare causing him to falter before making a hasty retreat. His posture relaxed, his expression once again imperturbable. He glanced at Elizabeth and her sister. They were staring at him; Miss Bennet looked amused, his betrothed, however, did not.

Miss Bennet looked between himself and Elizabeth, her expression uncertain before moving a short distance away to stand closer to Mrs. Gardiner and his Aunt Eleanor.

Darcy cleared his throat. "Forgive me, Elizabeth."

Elizabeth didn't answer for some minutes, her gaze fixed on the couples performing a country dance, the movements both graceful and lively. Each heartbeat seemed like an eternity as he waited for her to speak.

Finally, Elizabeth turned to face him, her expression composed. "I have just one question, Fitzwilliam." Darcy nodded his head in response. "Why did you do it?"

Darcy paused, considering his response. He could tell her that he didn't trust most of the gentlemen present, or that he wished to protect her, all of which were partially true. But he had promised that he would never lie to her, so he told her the absolute truth.

"I was jealous; the idea of another man touching you, being the recipient of one of your smiles…." Darcy took a deep breath. "I told you the day I asked to court you that I have never learned to share."

Elizabeth sighed, laying her hand on his arm. "Fitzwilliam, I love to dance, and until etiquette dictates that it is permissible to dance every dance with one's betrothed, I will be dancing with other gentlemen." She smiled, her eyes soft. "But I promise I will never dance the waltz with anyone but you."

"I should hope not," Darcy declared, his eyes flashing with anger at the mere thought of another man holding Elizabeth in his arms.

"Now, please go and find something to occupy yourself for the next hour or so. I cannot have you intimidate my dance partners." She tilted her head to the side, her eyes dancing with humor. "You could dance. I know there are a number of young ladies who would likely sacrifice dancing for the rest of the evening if they could stand up with you for a single dance."

"I have no desire to dance with anyone but you," Darcy stated honestly.

"That is good, for I don't believe I could bear the jealousy of seeing you stand up with another woman."

"Minx."

Elizabeth laughed. Her expression turned grave, the laughter fading from her eyes. "You could find Mr. Bingley and talk to him."

Darcy nodded. "Yes, I believe I shall." He bowed, bestowing a kiss on the inside of Elizabeth's gloved wrist, and with one last lingering look, he went to find Bingley. It was time to confront his friend.

A/N:

My profuse apologies for the long delay; RL has been crazy. I am still writing (almost every day) when I get a few minutes to rub together, and am working feverishly on the second half of the ball, so I hope it won't be too long until you get its conclusion. I appreciate your patience, and your support. You are all amazing! I would *love* to hear your thoughts!

(1) Leg-shackled: married

(2) Smelling of April and May: madly in love

(3) The earliest mention of the waltz I could find being performed in London was not until Autumn of 1812, so I've moved up the date by six months. Lady Worthington is just the type of person who would flout society and its strict rules to have the waltz performed at her ball, and as the first dance of the evening. I wanted Elizabeth and Darcy's first dance to be a waltz, so I hope you will forgive me for taking such artistic license.

Go to my profile page for the link to what I had in mind for the bride necklace.