Page 4 of A Mismatched Compromise

Still, though, there was no cause to worry, even if he had had any reason to feel such for Elizabeth Bennet. Likely she had merely visited the retiring room, or gone for some punch. She would appear again soon, surely.

Between the second and third sets, Bingley briefly reappeared by Darcy, flushed and beaming, on his way to find refreshments.

“Darcy!” He jumped, rather violently, when his reverie was broken by his own name shouted in disturbing proximity to his ear.

Of course, it was Bingley, looking flushed and pleased. “I am bringing Miss Bennet a drink,” he told Darcy, as though it were a matter of great import. “At least I was. Hurst called me over for a moment. Tolerable people, his set, but there are rather more of them here than I can fathom. It’s been nearly a quarter of an hour and Jane… I mean, Miss Bennet must think I’ve abandoned her. Have you seen her, Darcy? She is very…she is the most… I mean to say, she is quite…” He gestured vaguely, seemingly unable to find words.

“Clearly,” Darcy said wryly.

“Indeed,” Bingley agreed. He took a breath, recovering himself. “You ought to dance, Darcy. You’ve been standing there like some sort of Atlas, who must hold up the mantle lest it come crashing down and crush us all. It will be well enough without you.”

“I danced earlier,” Darcy said, though he had no idea why he was telling Bingley this. “With Miss Elizabeth.”

“Indeed?” Bingley turned his head, grinning at his friend in surprise. “How was…”

“It was a dance, Bingley,” Darcy said. “One is very much like the next.”

Bingley shook his head. “It’s not,” he said. “Every dance with Miss Bennet is different from any I’ve ever danced before.”

“Please tell me you are not going to write a verse on it,” Darcy said dryly, though he looked at the other man with something akin to surprise. Bingley was good natured and always excited about something, but this was not like his usual blanket enthusiasm.

Bingley laughed. “No, you are safe from that.” He looked about the room. “Have you seen her, Darcy? She’s not where…” A servant limped past, and Bingley hailed him. “You there — have you been in the supper rooms? Is Miss Bennet there? Very pretty young lady, wearing a blue dress?”

The servant shook his head. “Miss Bennet is not in the supper rooms, sir. I believe she may be in the library — I was sent there to give her a note, but —”

“The library,” Bingley interrupted, focusing only on the pertinent part of the servant’s report. “Excellent. Thank you.” He nodded to Darcy, already moving, his expression bright, much of the already-warm drink spilling as he crossed the room with more energy than finesse.

Darcy frowned. The library? Why would Miss Bennet bring her sister there to calm her tears? Mary Bennet was rather bookish. Perhaps Miss Bennet thought the surroundings of the library would make her forget her issues with their mother?

Darcy lifted his hand to call his friend back, but Bingley was already too far to be hailed. Something was not right. He couldn’t say what, but the facts he knew to be true were not lining up with all of the information that had been shared. Miss Bennet had gone with Mary Bennet. He had watched her. Elizabeth had left before that — or at the same time. Had she perhaps met her sisters along the way and accompanied them to the library? But why had she left in the first place? Why must there be so very many Bennet young ladies to keep track of?

He took a step, then stopped.

This was none of his business. He was attempting to insert himself somewhere where he clearly would not be welcomed by anyone, and for what? Bingley would go to the library, find no Jane Bennet there, and would be confused and embarrassed as Bingley was when one of his impulsive decisions did not work out. Those feelings would last thirty seconds at most, and then he would resume his hunt for Miss Bennet and bring her in to supper. There was no reason to follow him.

No reason at all, Darcy told himself firmly as he crossed and exited the ballroom.

Chapter 3

The library was just as Elizabeth remembered it; hardly surprising, as her knowledge of the room was but a fortnight old. She had gone there several times during Jane’s illness, each time looking for something to while away the days spent sitting by her sister’s bedside as she slept and — considerably worse — the hours, shorter in time but more challenging to Elizabeth’s patience, of sitting with the others in the drawing room after dinner.

It had once been a very nice library, clearly assembled by someone with taste and learning, but long neglected and undisturbed, like a former war hero who had grown comfortable, if no longer so formidable, with age. In all, it was a space entirely to Elizabeth’s taste, and she had liked it very much.

She liked it considerably less at the moment, though, as she stood in the middle of it in the dark, her heart hammering, the note folded in her reticule, and the distant sound of the orchestra filtering through the three sets of closed doors between the ballroom and here.

She had not bothered with a candle or lighting any lamps. The moonlight filtering through the tall windows was sufficient for her to see by, and she did not intend to be here long. Far from it. She would remain only long enough to intercept Lydia, deliver the speech she had been composing since she had left the ballroom, a speech that would cover all the many ways in which Lydia’s behaviour was reckless, foolish, and selfish, and which would leave no room for her youngest sister to turn it into a joke, and then to march the girl back to the ballroom before the supper set ended. It was a good plan.

However, the plan could not be set into motion until Lydia arrived in the library, which she had not yet done.

Elizabeth paced, the energy of her irritation still thrumming through her veins.

The library felt quiet and cool after the noise and heat of the ballroom. In fact, it was nearly silent, and, Elizabeth thought uncomfortably, very isolated from the others in attendance.

All at once, it occurred to her — for the first time, and with an increasing sense of dread — that she was herself unchaperoned, in a house that was not hers, having left a social event without informing anyone, for reasons that she could not explain if asked without revealing everything that her sister had done. Clearly, she had not thought this through as carefully as she might have done. She had been too consumed by the thought of Lydia going to an empty room to meet a man she should not be meeting, one who was not coming for her, and she had acted out of emotion rather than from logic. She had been further hampered by the fact that usually her instincts were sound, and relying on them generally served her well. Tonight, however, they were being rather less helpful than she would like.

She took the note from her reticule and unfolded it again, though she had already read it through several times.

I look forward with the greatest anticipation to the next occasion on which you might oblige me with the opportunity to steal you away for a moment.