The Eldest | F. Darcy

Chapter 17: A Dance to fall in Love

"Mr. Darcy," Adele greeted him with a radiant smile, one so captivating that Darcy felt, for a fleeting moment, as though his very breath had abandoned him. She curtsied, and he bowed, his eyes lingering upon her with an admiration he scarcely attempted to conceal.

"You look beautiful, my dear," he murmured, his voice uncharacteristically soft. His gaze traced the delicate lines of her figure, the elegant sweep of her gown, the luminous glow of her skin. She stood before him, blushing, eyes lowered, and for the first time in his life, he envied the air that dared touch her before he could.

"Thank you," she replied, her voice scarcely above a whisper. A strange fluttering had taken hold of her chest, and for a moment, the grandeur of the room, the murmur of voices, and the shifting silks of the gathered guests became too much to bear.

"And do you remember your promise, Miss Bennet?" he asked, extending his hand.

"Yes," she admitted, placing her fingers lightly upon his.

As they took their places in the set, a hush fell over the room. Whispers rippled through the crowd, a mixture of shock and intrigue darkening the air. No one had ever seen Adele Bennet and Mr. Darcy dance—least of all with each other. The neighborhood had long been convinced of their mutual disdain, ever since Darcy's infamous slight at the Meryton assembly. Yet here they stood, facing one another with an ease that contradicted every notion the gossipmongers had held.

From the corner of her eye, Adele saw Jane paired with Mr. Bingley, Elizabeth—much to her horror—partnered with Mr. Collins, and Mary standing opposite James. She did not have to look to know that Miss Bingley's glare could have scorched the very fabric of her gown. Mrs. Bennet sat in dumbfounded awe, while Mr. Bennet smirked over his glass of wine, and dear Charlotte muffled a giggle behind her fan.

Then the music began.

Darcy moved with effortless grace, guiding her as though they had danced together a thousand times before. Adele, for all her nervous anticipation, found herself gliding in perfect harmony with him. The world around them dissolved. It was just them, locked in the cadence of the music, the rhythm of their movements as fluid as water.

"You dance quite well, Miss Bennet," Darcy observed, breaking the silence.

She laughed—a bright, unrestrained sound that sent another wave of gasps through the onlookers. Darcy felt his heart stumble at the melody of it.

"And you, sir, are most graceful," she replied playfully.

"I had a fine teacher once," he mused. "A certain young lady who insisted I learn, lest I embarrass myself in polite society."

"Then you must certainly be grateful to her," she teased. "She has done you a great service."

"I am, indeed," he murmured, his voice dipping low enough to send a shiver down her spine.

Silence stretched between them, but it was not uncomfortable. It was charged with something neither dared name.

"After this set," she finally said, stepping away in the dance, "you must speak with Elizabeth."

Darcy nodded but said nothing.

"It will not be easy," she warned. "She holds a great deal of resentment towards you. You must practice patience, for if you both let your tempers loose, the ballroom may very well be reduced to ashes. And you, sir, will be the only one burned."

Darcy exhaled, nodding again. He knew she spoke sense, yet his thoughts had already drifted elsewhere—to the woman before him, to the way the candlelight danced upon her skin, to the way her lips curved ever so slightly, even when she fought to suppress a smile.