Darcy found himself locked into a gaze with Elizabeth, completely unsure what was passing between them. Several times since their dance together, he had noticed her looking at him. Each time, excitement flooded his veins—surely these continued looks could not mean nothing? He, perhaps, might have imagined one or two. But not this one, this intense gaze could not be by accident. This was the look that said something more and Darcy wished he knew what it meant.
Bingley walked in front of him, breaking the line of sight between Darcy and Elizabeth. Darcy knew he should feel annoyed with his friend, but Charles’ expression of pure joy in the moment drove all such thoughts away.
In fact, Darcy admitted to himself, he was even a bit grateful for Bingley’s intervention: the mounting tension Darcy felt between himself and Elizabeth would break eventually, and he hated to think what might happen if he handled such things incorrectly. He must handle everything perfectly, and he needed more time to determine what that perfect course of action would be.
“You were right,” Bingley said softly. “Tonight was the perfect night to propose. The full moon, the stars—it was romantic.”
Bingley sighed, and Darcy smiled. He did not possess Charles’ poet’s heart and he had not suggested tonight out of romance. He had suggested tonight so his friend might begin down his path towards marital bliss. Timing, not romance, had been at the forefront of his mind.
“I am glad,” Darcy said with a chuckle. “And the speech? Did that win her over?”
He and Charles had agonised for hours that afternoon about what his friend should say. They had practiced and rehearsed until Bingley felt confident, and Darcy thought the man’s work would be evident. Even if he could not judge the romance of the words, he could attest to the romance of the effort.
The only part of the plan they left to fate was the chance to be alone. But both men thought it was likely that Mrs. Bennet would allow such a freedom—Darcy had never known a mother so eager for her daughters to be engaged. However, where once he could only see such desires with judgement and scorn, he could now see how deeply Mrs. Bennet loved her daughters and wished the best for them.
“Oh, I forgot the speech as soon as we stepped outside,” Bingley said with an embarrassed grin. “I do not actually know what I said. I cannot remember. All I know is I must have asked her to marry me, because she said yes and here we are, engaged!”
“I suppose that is all that matters,” Darcy said, clapping Bingley on the shoulder. “You are a blessed man, indeed.”
“That, I truly am,” Bingley agreed, turning to look at his bride-to-be. “And now, Darcy, it is time we began to work on you.” Darcy turned to follow Bingley’s gaze and saw that Elizabeth was now laughing and hugging Jane. “I may have been preoccupied tonight, but even I could not miss the looks between you two.”
“Oh?” Darcy said uncomfortably. “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”
He knew what Charles meant, of course, but now that they had begun to discuss it, he felt his own cowardice begin to take over. So long as he did not vocalise his hopes, perhaps he could avoid the pain of which he was so afraid.
“My dear friend,” Bingley said sympathetically. “I sense you are afraid. You have suffered far too much heartbreak to go forward without some hesitance. But, if you will allow me to offer some much-needed advice?”
Darcy looked at his friend, and nodded his agreement. Whatever Charles’ advice, he wished to hear it.
“My advice is this,” Bingley said. “Move past it. Stop being afraid.”
“Oh, is that all?” Darcy said dryly. “I had no idea that it would be so easy.”
“Careful, friend,” Bingley said affably. “It is bad luck to offend a friend on the day he becomes engaged.” Darcy raised an eyebrow. “At least it should be,” Bingley amended with a laugh. His next words took on a sober tone. “I know it is difficult, but you will never get what you truly want, you will never be truly happy while you are bound by fear. So, move past it.”
Darcy sighed. His friend was correct: if they were in opposite positions, he would say the same thing. In fact, he probably had said the same thing at one time or another. He watched Charles’ happiness, Jane’s countenance of pure joy, the happy tears running down Mrs. Bennet’s face—he saw all of this, and desperately wanted it for himself. And he would do whatever it took to accomplish that. A new determination settled over him.
“Charles,” he said, squaring his shoulders. “You are correct. And now seems like an excellent time to face that fear.”
“Good for you!” Bingley said enthusiastically. However, Darcy saw Charles’ eyes move to something behind him, and he watched his face fall.
“What’s the matter?” Darcy asked, turning to see what had so impacted his friend.
His eyes met Mr. Bennet, hurrying through the crowd towards them. Just while Darcy watched, he saw Mr. Bennet knock a captain’s arm, causing the man to spill a drink all down the front of his pristine uniform. The captain angrily mouthed something after Mr. Bennet, but he did not stop. He seemed to neither notice nor care the effect he was having upon the people he rushed past.
“What is Mr. Bennet doing here?” Bingley asked, perplexed. This was the third ball the two men had attended while in Hertfordshire and Mr. Bennet had not been present at any of them.
In private, Mr. Bennet had told Bingley that the best part of being married was that he no longer had to go to the balls he hated so much. Bingley had considered this to be quite funny, as he loved balls so much and could not imagine avoiding attending, and shared the story with Darcy. Darcy remembered understanding Mr. Bennet exactly. Which made the mystery of Mr. Bennet’s sudden appearance all the more intriguing.
“Mr. Bennet?” Mrs. Bennet had seen her husband now. “What on earth are you doing here?” A look of understanding fell over her face. “You must have heard already, though I cannot imagine how the word came so quickly. Jane is engaged to Mr. Bingley!”
“Yes, I know,” Mr. Bennet said distractedly. “He asked me last week if he might propose. I gave my permission. Congratulations, my dear.” Darcy could see, however, that Mr. Bennet’s congratulations were not genuine. Something was wrong.
“You knew and you did not tell me?” Mrs. Bennet asked indignantly. “How could you do such a thing, Mr. Bennet? You know how this process has been upon my nerves…”
“Leave the scolding for later,” Mr. Bennet interrupted. “For I must know: Is Lydia here with you?”
“Lydia?” Mrs. Bennet asked, looking quite confused. “No, of course not, she is home in bed.” Mr. Bennet’s face fell and Elizabeth hurried to his side.
“Papa?” She said uncertainly. “Lydia is safe at home, isn’t she?”
“No,” Mr. Bennet replied, his hands over his face. “I went to check on her, but found her bed empty. I was hoping she was here with you, but if she is not, then I don’t know where she might be!”
Darcy saw Elizabeth’s face go white.
“Surely, she is just elsewhere in the house,” Elizabeth said desperately.
“We searched everywhere,” Mr. Bennet said, his words muffled by his hands. “She is not there! And if she is not here, then I do not know where else to look.”
Darcy immediately saw the danger of the situation. It was a five mile walk between Longbourn and Meryton, and Lydia could have wandered off and collapsed anywhere along the way. The night was chill and Lydia was still recovering from a serious illness. If they did not find her soon… Well, Darcy did not dare think of the consequences.
“My Lydia is missing?” Mrs. Bennet asked softly, clearly not quite believing what she was hearing. Mr. Bennet passed a look between Elizabeth, who nodded slightly, and his wife. It seemed as though he was wordlessly asking his daughter if he should be honest with his wife.
“She is,” Mr. Bennet said at last. Darcy saw Elizabeth nod in approval, her jaw set tight. It seemed that she too grasped the serious nature of the situation. “And we must find her at once. For if we do not, I am not sure what will happen with her.”