When the ladies withdrew to the drawing room, Elizabeth was torn between getting to know Darcy’s aunts better and containing her mother. Mrs. Bennet had been, so far, oddly quiet, and like the calm before the storm, Elizabeth was making plans that could be quickly enacted should lightning strike. Her aunt reassured her that she would keep an eye on her mother, and Georgiana had led Kitty and Lydia off to her private sitting room at the back of the house.

Elizabeth sat near Lady Constance and Mrs. Gibbons. The former’s daughters, Amelia and Angela, joined them. They asked Elizabeth how she had met Mr. Darcy, whether she played and sang and if she would perform for them this evening, what languages she spoke, who her family were, what her place was among the sisters, and more questions than she could ever remember being asked. They were not as rude or overbearing as Lady Catherine, but the sheer number of questions multiplied by the people asking them was enough to exhaust her for the evening.

After what seemed like forever but had actually been less than an hour, the gentlemen returned. The ladies dispersed and Elizabeth found herself sitting alone. Before she could rise to join her sisters, Colonel Fitzwilliam sat beside her.

“How are you faring?” he asked kindly.

“Honestly, I am a bit tired, but well.”

They struck up a conversation easily and before she knew what had happened, Elizabeth was smiling and laughing at the stories he told her, just as she had done in Kent. He was a bit of a kindred spirit and owned a similar personality to herself. She had thought it then and this evening was proving her correct. They lamented on being lost in a sea of siblings, him coming from a family of four brothers while she was one of five sisters.

Darcy watched from near the window where he stood talking to his uncle. The man was going on about some sort of law involving crops or something equally uninteresting to Darcy at the current moment. He was too full of Elizabeth to think of anything else. Her eyes, her hair, her smile—she had been utterly enchanting all evening and he was thoroughly bewitched. Perhaps that could excuse his irrational behavior later, but regardless, it left him significantly less sharp than usual.

Richard was talking to Elizabeth, his Elizabeth, and making her laugh. Not polite humoring chuckles, but real, honest laughter. Darcy had never made her laugh like that. They were speaking incessantly, agreeing on nearly everything, and clearly enjoying each other’s company. Would it look strange if he were to pull her bodily away from his charming ass of a cousin?

Ah, good, there is Miss Mary, come to take Elizabeth away. I wonder if they shall perform together?