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.