~ Excerpt from Abandoned at the Altar ~

Who is this man? Elizabeth marvelled, allowing him to lead her onto a heretofore unnoticed path into wilderness, unexplored and unknown. It was undoubtedly foolish to go, especially so eagerly. Yet, she had continuously tried to put him back into the category where once he fitted so neatly—an arrogant stick-in-the-mud. He continuously escaped.

Mr Darcy did not smile often, but when he did, every inch of her leapt into awareness. It was as if a part of him was panther-like, caged and oh-so-carefully controlled—yet patrolling its parameters, putting out its paw, testing its boundaries. Wanting to be petted.

She wanted to test his boundaries as well, although she did her best to resist. It would help if he would treat her the same as did Reginald Goulding, John Lucas, Herbert Long, or Sidney King—or in other words, as a not overly intelligent infant. Had she a fortune of ten thousand, any one of them might have asked to marry her. These young men, the best her neighbourhood had to offer, would admire her, but would never try to know her. They thought they already did.

Mr Darcy pulled her down the path, leading in a definite direction. It did not take long to see his destination. They entered a woodland glade, a smallish meadow surrounded by birch and hazel, with a few gracious old oaks standing sentinel. Mr Darcy removed his greatcoat and hung it upon a convenient branch, doing the same with his hat, as if the tree were a cloakroom. Even, and adding to her confusion, he removed his gloves. Then he gave her a courtly bow.

“Bingley is dancing with your sister, I believe, and has suggested that I cease standing about stupidly, and instead ask the prettiest girl in the room to dance. May I have the next set, Miss Elizabeth?”

She could not help her grin. “That is not a very close approximation of what Mr Bingley said.”

“I vow ’tis what I would have heard,” he said, smiling roguishly, “had my hearing been in working order that evening. But one cannot expect the hearing of a relic to always be acute.”

“One cannot expect a relic to hear anything at all.”

His smile faded as he looked down at her. “A relic might also be blind to what is standing before his very eyes.”

She felt her cheeks heat, and to cover it, she made a show of removing her coat and hanging it on another limb; on impulse, she removed her gloves as well, and turned to face him.

“Do you waltz?” he asked.

“Jane, Charlotte, and I did once, with Hortense Goulding’s dancing master,” she said. “I am certain you will find nothing lacking in my execution, with such training as I possess.”

Mr Darcy held out his arms, and she walked into them.

He was nothing like Hortense’s dancing master. Humming a tune in perfect pitch, he might have been in a ton ballroom instead of whirling her about a forest glade. Oddly, there seemed nothing remarkable in the exercise. He led flawlessly, lending his partner an expert grace; one could rest in his arms and allow him to control the steps, never worrying that one’s feet might be in danger, no matter the uneven ground.

They twirled, the glints of sunshine and meadow prettier than any ballroom she had ever imagined. He wore his poise perfectly, with a confidence fitting him like a coat from Weston. When he dipped her low, she laughed—but he did not; he just held her there, balanced, breathless, his dark gaze imprisoning, capturing her between mirth and a longing she could not explain.

Feeling her hair beginning to break free from its constraints, Elizabeth reached to rescue her hat. Before she could, Mr Darcy brought her upright in a graceful manoeuvre, and, bewilderingly, plucked the hat off her head with an expert twist of a hat pin. Her hair—never easily confined—spilled out over her shoulders with the loss of its last remaining tether. He dropped the hat to the ground, but she found herself unable to worry about its ruin.

“Your hair,” he said softly, lifting one strand, stroking gently, admiring it as if a rare jewel. “I have dreamt of seeing it this way.”

His dark eyes coasted over her, regarding her as if she was something precious; Elizabeth felt his words in her skin, in her spirit. Speechless, she could only look back at him in wonderment. This was not happening, it could not be, and yet, he was near enough that she could feel the heat of his body, hear his soft breaths.