since my father’s death, I will go back to wearing my other dresses.”
Emily’s lips turned down in a pout. “I wish you could look pretty tonight. Everyone downstairs will be dressed so finely.”
“Just a little while longer,” Elizabeth answered, surprised by the young girl’s comment.
At length, just as Emily was about to begin her third book, there was a tap on the door.
“Yes,” Elizabeth answered.
It was Lilia, and she peeked her head in. “They are ready for Miss Emily to sing now.”
Emily quickly stood up, and the maid clasped her hands together. “Why, don’t you look simply beautiful and all grown up!”
A smile graced Emily’s face, and in a very adult manner she said, “Thank you, Miss Lilia,” followed by a gracious curtsey. “Miss Bennet cannot look beautiful yet, for she is still in the morning.”
Elizabeth and Lilia chuckled at her innocent mistake. Elizabeth took the opportunity to gently correct her. “I am in mourning, Emily, not in the morning.”
“In mourning,” Emily repeated to Miss Lilia. She reached up for Elizabeth’s hand and the two walked downstairs.
As they came into the room, people were visiting with each other as they stood or sat around the parlour. This gave Elizabeth a few moments to go over some things with Emily, position her where she ought to stand, and then arrange her music at the piano. While she did so, her gaze swept quickly over the crowd. She let out a brief sigh of relief when she saw neither Miss Darcy nor Mr. Bingley.
Emily’s father walked over to his daughter and cleared his throat. Speaking to his guests, he said, “Our precious daughter, Emily, loves to sing, and we have asked her to entertain you tonight with one of her favourite songs.” He looked at Emily and then at Elizabeth, nodding for them to proceed.
Elizabeth played a short introduction, and then Emily began to sing. Her voice, mature beyond her youthful age, was clear and steady. Elizabeth was proud to see that the young girl remained poised, had a pleasant countenance, and seemed ever so confident.
Having completed the first verse, Elizabeth adeptly reached up to turn the page of her music. Her gaze was momentarily distracted by someone walking through the doorway. It was Miss Darcy.
Elizabeth forced her gaze back down to the music score to relocate her place; only a few errant keys brought her back nicely without doing the piece too much harm. But she did not have to look back up to see who had walked in with the young lady. As her eyes scanned the music, she could easily determine that it was not Mr. Bingley. It was Mr. Darcy!
As her gaze drifted unwittingly back up, their eyes met, followed by a slight jarring of the keys and an involuntary lowering of her head.
A look from Emily, however, displayed the young girl’s surprise at the sudden rearrangement of the piece.
When they finished with the song, Elizabeth collected herself and slowly closed the piece of music, taking it in her hands and forcing a smile upon her face before standing. It need not have mattered. The guests were all standing and clapping their hands in appreciation for Emily’s song. No one likely noticed Elizabeth’s blunder. Except Emily.
Elizabeth remained at the piano while the applause continued, allowing the young girl to receive all the adulation. It also gave Elizabeth a moment to gaze back over the crowd. She had not seen where Mr. Darcy and his sister went after she lowered her head, but she was curious to look upon him now that she was somewhat more composed.
Her eyes turned toward the left, sensing a pair of eyes upon her. He stood taller than those around him. She lifted her head, took in a deep breath, and acknowledged him with a brief, polite smile, as if she was merely seeing an old acquaintance. He
Mr. Darcy nodded slightly, causing Elizabeth to blush faintly. His eyes held hers, and she could only guess as to the meaning in his intense stare. She finally looked away and turned back to Emily.
The young girl ran into her arms, thrilled by the response of the crowd. Elizabeth leaned down to give the girl a hug, and then the two hurriedly returned upstairs.
Once up in Emily’s room, the young girl turned to Elizabeth. “What happened? You played the song differently than we had practiced!”
Elizabeth drew her hand over the young girl’s head, combing her fingers down her long hair. “I am so sorry, Emily. I lost my place for a moment, but I do not think anyone noticed. You did a fine job disguising my mistake.”
A satisfied smile graced Emily’s face. “I did, did I not?”
“You certainly did.”
After readying Emily for bed and allowing her to read a few more books, Elizabeth returned to her room. She was grateful for the solitude as she thought back to that moment when she saw Mr. Darcy walk in. While she had prepared herself for seeing Miss Darcy and Mr. Bingley, she was certainly not expecting to encounter Mr. Darcy. She was surprised that it was not anger she felt when she first saw him. Perhaps all of Rosalyn’s words of praise about the man had begun to soften her prejudice against him. Certainly she knew, both from his letter and a year of reflection, that he was basically a good man, just as she had affirmed to Rosalyn.
As she thought about the moment she saw him walk in, she realized that she had been struck by the intensity of his eyes. When his gaze met hers, every thought about where she was and what she was doing vanished. While knowing the song well, it took her a moment to compose herself. She could only do that by averting her eyes and lowering her head so as not to see him.
She turned and saw a reflection of herself in her mirror. Confusing emotions began to swirl within as she noticed the grey dress. She recalled Emily’s words earlier, wishing she could have been prettier tonight. She was suddenly gripped with distress that Mr. Darcy had seen her that way. Perhaps that was the reason for the look in his eyes. He was appalled at how much she was altered.
She shook her head and pounded her fists against her dress. She must not allow herself to think this way. “I have no reason to fret about what he thinks of me,” she whispered to her reflection, “whether he thinks I am altered or not!”
When she finally crawled into bed, after listening for some time to the gaiety coming from downstairs, she could not help but wonder who Mr. Darcy would talk to, what he would say, and how Rosalyn would behave around him.
She closed her eyes as she thought how desperately Rosalyn might conduct herself if indeed she felt this would be her only opportunity to secure his notice. Elizabeth knew Mr. Darcy well enough to know that he would not look kindly upon any behaviour displayed to attract his notice. She hoped Rosalyn would behave in a prudent and artless manner.
It was difficult to fall asleep, even after voices became subdued and guests began to depart. She found herself waiting for Rosalyn to come bursting into the room to give her an account of the evening. While she dreaded it, she was surprised to realize that a small part of her hoped to hear all that transpired over the course of the evening.
In the early hours of the morning the house was dark and quiet. Rosalyn never came to Elizabeth’s room, and Elizabeth lay in bed wide awake. Images of Mr. Darcy’s face, his nod, and his tall, handsome demeanour flooded her thoughts. She knew that even if she were spared these thoughts by sleep coming upon her, he would invade her dreams. And when she did fall asleep just before dawn, he was there just as she had expected.
A spattering of raindrops against the window woke Elizabeth. Pulling her coverlet up over her shoulders, she curled up, grateful that it was Sunday. She could sleep in a little longer before setting out for her aunt and uncle’s.
Her mind swirled with thoughts of last night and the dream that had been so vivid. It did not surprise her that Mr. Darcy was prominent in her dream, but the nature of it came as a surprise to her. She was at his wedding. He
