Page 2 of A Different Impression

“Happiness in marriage is a matter of chance,” Charlotte replied with calm pragmatism. “The less one knows of one’s future husband, the better. Longbourn is entailed, Eliza, and that makes an advantageous match all the more necessary for you and your sisters. If Mr Bingley is inclined towards your sister, she ought to make it clear that his feelings are returned, lest he hesitate and look elsewhere. The sooner he proposes, the more secure all your futures will be.”

Elizabeth fell silent, uncertain how to respond. Instead, she cast her friend a pointed glance and turned her attention elsewhere. As the music came to an end, Mr Bingley and Jane began making their way towards them, their faces alight with pleasure.

Mr Darcy approached at a measured pace. His expression appeared less forbidding than before, though whether that owed anything to their earlier exchange Elizabeth could not guess.

Though she feigned indifference, Elizabeth had been keenly aware of the tall gentleman’s presence since their brief exchange and observed his approach with curiosity. She also caught the shy smiles shared between Jane and Mr Bingley, and when the pair realised they were being watched, both blushed. Elizabeth and Charlotte exchanged an amused glance, their earlier disagreement momentarily forgotten.

“Thank you for the dance, Miss Bennet,” Bingley said. “Here are your friends—would any of you ladies care for a glass of punch?”

All three women nodded and offered a quiet “thank you” as Bingley moved to walk away.

Spying Darcy approaching, Bingley immediately turned back to the ladies and began the introductions before his friend could decline: “Ladies, might I introduce you to my good friend, Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley in Derbyshire? Darcy, meet Miss Jane Bennet, Miss Elizabeth Bennet, and Miss Lucas.”

Darcy bowed, and the ladies curtseyed.

“It is a pleasure to meet you all,” he said. Then, turning directly to Elizabeth, he asked, “Miss Elizabeth, are you free for the next dance?”

Bingley stared at him, plainly astonished by his friend’s sudden reversal of his earlier refusal to dance.

Elizabeth hesitated, searching Darcy’s expression before replying softly, “Not for the next, sir, but I am free for the one after.”

“Then might I have the honour of your hand for that set?” Darcy asked with a gentleness that surprised Elizabeth.

When she nodded, Mr Bingley looked from her to his friend with undisguised astonishment, as though he could scarcely believe what he had witnessed.

“Miss Bennet, Miss Lucas, might I also claim a set with each of you?” Darcy asked.

Both ladies accepted. Miss Lucas agreed to stand up with him for the dance soon to begin, while Miss Bennet promised him the penultimate set of the evening. After that was accomplished, Bingley recalled his intention to fetch a glass of punch for the ladies, and left to do the office. Darcy offered to assist, but Bingley assured him he could manage on his own.

As the musicians prepared for the next dance, the group remained together for several minutes. Jane and Bingley soon became absorbed in conversation with one another, while Darcy divided his attention between Elizabeth and Charlotte, directing his questions with careful impartiality to them both.

When the opening chords of the dance he would share with Miss Elizabeth began half an hour later, Darcy offered his hand to her. He had returned Miss Lucas to her side only moments before, following the conclusion of their set.

At the touch of their gloved hands, Elizabeth felt an unexpected warmth pass through her. Her breath caught and, when Mr Darcy’s fingers tightened briefly around hers, she wondered whether he had felt it as well.

For Darcy, it was akin to the feeling he experienced upon returning to Pemberley after time away—a quiet sense of belonging. The impression was so striking that he found himself more attentive to his partner than usual.

“Thank you for agreeing to dance with me,” he murmured as he led her towards the line.

She smiled up at him. “I thought you did not mean to dance tonight?”

“I did not, yet somehow could not help myself after our brief conversation earlier,” he admitted, with a quirk of his lip that might have been the beginning of a smile.

She gave him an arch look, but the dance separated them before she could reply. When it brought them back together, she asked gently, “Is your headache better?”

“Remarkably so,” he admitted, with that rueful half-grin again.

She regarded him with an expression that suggested she remained unconvinced. “Was the headache invented to excuse bad behaviour?”

“Whose bad behaviour, Miss Elizabeth?” he asked, raising his brow slightly. “Could it be someone else’s poor behaviour that caused my head to ache?”

“Ahh, well, I cannot deny that the actions of others have occasionally affected my own disposition, particularly some members of my own family.” Now it was her turn to quirk her lip at him. “There has been a time or two that I have developed a sudden headache to avoid an uncomfortable situation.”

“So,” he said, arching a brow at her with playful reproof, “are you often given to such dissembling?”

“Dissembling?” she repeated, clearly feigning indignation. “Surely you are not accusing me of that which you yourself are guilty.”

“Not at all,” he replied with mock solemnity. “My head truly did ache earlier. Between fending off unwanted attention—and certain other concerns—I was in considerable discomfort when I arrived. But then I was granted an unexpected reprieve, and my spirits have improved remarkably.”