Page 84 of The Slipper Scandal
The piece he had chosen, a sonata written for both the pianoforte and violin, was one that had always resonated deeply with him. Composed during a period of profound personal grief for Mozart, it captured a melancholy yearning that Darcy recognized in his own soul. The longing, the uncertainty, theflickering hope beneath the sorrow—all were expressed with a clarity that his own words could never achieve.
His fingers trembled slightly against the polished wood, not from fear, but from the rawness of what he was about to expose. He focused his thoughts. The crowd before him blurred until only Elizabeth remained in focus. When she offered him an encouraging smile, he raised the bow, hesitating for one moment before drawing it across the strings.
The first haunting notes filled the room.
Darcy closed his eyes for a moment, allowing the music to work its way through his heart. In that moment, all his irritation with his family's machinations fell away. He opened his eyes again, and Elizabeth’s gaze was still upon him. In that moment, as he guided the bow through a gentle staccato and the music rose stark and poignant around them, Darcy felt a connection more profound than any he had shared before, as though the violin were truly giving voice to all he could not say, to feelings too complex and overwhelming for language.
He moved into the clean, separate strokes of the detaché and then began the smooth connected bowing of the legato in the slower second movement.
He had been charmed by and attracted to Elizabeth from nearly the moment they had met, but it had not been so for her. The tempo di menuetto began softly, almost hesitantly, a question posed in tender intervals that mirrored Darcy’s own uncertainties. Did she love him now? Could she?
Each note searched and yearned, building gradually in intensity. His bow caressed the strings with increasing confidence as the melody unfurled like a confession, revealing vulnerabilities he would never express in words. The lower register resonated with a depth of feeling that made several ladies reach for their handkerchiefs.
Not that he noticed, not really. His eyes, his notes, were for Elizabeth alone.
Darcy's fingers moved with precision born of countless hours of solitary practice, but tonight he played not with technical perfection as his goal, but emotional truth. The music rose in passionate swells, his bow moving in longer, more forceful strokes as he infused the notes with all the unspoken feelings that had grown in his heart as he came to know her better: admiration, longing, respect, affection. Love.
She seemed to receive each note as a message, just as he had meant it, her expression transforming with every harmonic shift. When a tear trailed down her cheek, Darcy felt a corresponding ache in his chest, and his fingers pressed against the strings with renewed fervour.
The final section returned to the opening theme, now transformed by all that had come before, simpler but deeper, the questioning intervals now resolving with quiet certainty. The violin was giving voice to all he could not say. To feelings too large for words.
The final notes lingered in the air, achingly bittersweet, before fading into silence. For a heartbeat, no one moved or spoke, the spell of the music holding the entire company in thrall.
He lowered the bow. If Elizabeth did not know his heart now, she never would.
Then the applause began, enthusiastic and genuine.
Darcy acknowledged it, but his attention remained fixed upon Elizabeth. Her eyes still held his across the crowded room, and in that moment, he knew that the music had reached her in a way his thwarted attempts at conversation never could.
He smiled at her.
The applause lasted for a time and then everyone stood and made preparations to depart. Suddenly, Milton was at Darcy's elbow.
"Lord Spencer wishes to speak with you about that violin," he said smoothly. "He is most impressed with your technique."
Would the man never give up?
“Lord Spencer shall have to excuse me,” Darcy said flatly, and handed Milton the violin. “Return this for me if you would. Do thank him for the loan.”
Elizabeth returned his smile, offering him one of such warmth and understanding that it caused his heart to swell with joy. Whatever his family's well-intentioned interference had prevented in terms of private conversation, the music had transcended those barriers, carrying his feelings to her with perfect clarity.
As the guests began to disperse, Darcy managed to break free from his family's gravitational pull just long enough to reach Elizabeth's side as she prepared to depart.
"Miss Bennet," he said quietly, taking her hand in his. "I must apologise for the lack ofmeaningfulconversation this evening."
"There is no need for apology, Mr. Darcy," she replied.
"Darcy!" his uncle’s voice boomed across the entrance hall. "Lady Jersey is asking about that Mozart piece. Wants to know where you studied."
Darcy closed his eyes briefly. "My uncle beckons," he said with a rueful smile. "Might I call on you tomorrow? There is much I wish to say."
Elizabeth laughed, the sound warming him more thoroughly than a blazing fire. "I should like that very much," she said. "Perhaps we might even manage an entire conversation without interruption."
"I believe Mrs. Abernathy is signalling that your carriage awaits," Darcy said with real regret.
"So she is," Elizabeth agreed, and accepted his arm for the brief walk to the door.
"Until tomorrow," he said, longing for the evening he would no longer be required to bid her farewell.
