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As the crowd bustled past the storefronts, Lizzy berated herself. Why had she thought this walk through the shopping district a good idea? A single young lady did not buy a gift for a gentleman who was not a family member. She had seen a few items she had thought might appeal to Darcy, but how could she give them to him?
She was about to despair and head home. Then, she and Sally approached the bookstore where they had stopped that fateful day. The day when Darcy had saved them from the rain. In the window was a placard reading “First Edition.” She looked closer and noted that the book was by Walter Scott. Had not Darcy been looking for a first edition of a Scott book that day? Which one had it been? She could not recall.
She and Sally stepped inside, and Lizzy asked the proprietor about the book. The price was dear, but she had enough coin with her. She could give the book to Georgiana. She could say, rightly, that it was the sort of book her brother would approve of.
As the proprietor got her change, Sally whispered, “Was that not the book Mr. Darcy was looking for? I remember thinking how romantic it sounded, ‘The Lady of the Lake.’ Does it not, miss?”
Lizzy could not help smiling at that. “It does.”
She wondered whether the poem was as romantic as it sounded. What did that say about Darcy, if it was? He seemed stiff and rational, but perhaps he had a softer side.
“Oh!” Sally cried. “I just remembered. If you do not mind, Cook asked me to get some ginger root from the market if we came this way. It should take but a minute.”
“Of course.” Lizzy watched her go, the bell on the door ringing in Sally’s wake. After a wistful moment, she turned as the owner, an Indian man of about thirty, brought the change.
Whilst she waited for Sally, she ran her hand over the book. The paperboard cover was russet red, the spine gilded with a leather panel for the title. Inside, an engraving showed Scott sitting with a dog in his lap. The sweet image touched her heart.
As she perused the poem, she found it rather more sentimental than she would have expected of Darcy’s tastes. She smiled at the thought.
Engrossed in the story, Lizzy did not notice a patron step up beside her until he spoke. “You are a fan of Mr. Scott?” Darcy’s voice asked.
She spun to face him. He must have been reading over her shoulder. Her cheeks blazed as if he had caught her in some untoward act. But in fact, he could not know her purpose in coming to the bookstore that day. She had no reason to feel ashamed.
She was about to speak when her careless words from the night before resounded in her head. Darcy and I are nothing to each other. How could she have let her guard down so completely, and spoken in such an unkind manner?
Her temper had gotten the better of her. Darcy ought to resent it. Yet here he was, speaking courteously. It was more than she deserved.
She tried to swallow, but her mouth had gone dry. “The last time I was here,” she said, “I heard you mention this book to your sister.”
She realized her mistake instantly, but it was too late. The look on Darcy’s face showed that he perfectly understood her meaning.
“The last time...” He blinked, his mouth pinched. “I do not recall seeing you here that day.”
“No, Sally and I were in the corner, behind a stack of books.” Her cheeks grew even hotter, if that was possible. She must be bright red.
Darcy’s voice was dull as he said, “And you chose not to make your presence known to me.”
She breathed deeply. Things could not get much worse between them, so she spoke honestly. “I believed you might thwart my efforts to find Mr. Bingley and inform him Jane was in town.”
He looked at her with wide eyes a moment. Then, the corner of his mouth lifted. “That was why you were in Mayfair that day? You were looking for Bingley?”
“Yes,” she confessed, head high, showing a defiance she did not feel. “His sister’s letters had convinced Jane of Mr. Bingley’s indifference. I did not believe it. You may accuse me of scheming. But it was no worse than your conspiring with his sisters to separate them in the first place.”
Oh, heavens! She was making things worse. What a charge to launch at him! Even if it was true, he must resent the insinuation.
Instead, he let out a low chuckle. “You are quite right. I begin to understand your claim last night. You have seen me as your enemy.” He leaned in closer and spoke in a low voice, his breath tickling her ear. “But as it turned out, I did not thwart your plan of finding Bingley. In fact, I led you directly to him. So I hope I may be forgiven.”
The closeness of him made her shiver. Her chest expanded as her breathing quickened. She held her hands at her sides, squeezing her skirts to avoid the temptation to touch him.
The ball of pain in her gut began to unravel. He displayed no anger—only tenderness and understanding. Where was the stiffness she had seen in him in Hertfordshire? It was all gone now.
“You were most accommodating,” she said in reply. Her lips curved into a faint smile. Then, the directness of his gaze sent a flush of embarrassment through her. She could not meet his eyes.
“So you see,” he said, lifting her chin with a gloved finger and forcing her to look at him. “Perhaps we are not enemies after all.”
His face was so close to hers, she could almost feel the warmth of his lips. They hovered just above hers like a ghost of a kiss. “No. I have been mistaken on that score.” Excitement skittered up her spine.
She gazed into the dark depths of his eyes. He was even more handsome than usual, if that was possible.
She pulled back under the weight of his stare. “I am the one who needs forgiveness. Last night in the garden, I was overset. When that vile accusation was launched against me, I lashed out. Unfortunately, the strike hit you rather than my intended victim.”
He pressed her hand. The scent of him, bay rum and wool, filled her nostrils. She wanted to bury her face in his shoulder and feel the fabric of his jacket against her cheek.
“Apology accepted,” he said. “I wonder, though, how you could think me indifferent. I grant you, my behaviour last night was abominable. But in the past few weeks, I thought we had become friends. If I have offended you in any way, it was not done consciously, I assure you.”
She looked away, mortified. Yet she owed him the truth. She thought about the courtesies he had shown her in London. Her previous resentment of him seemed childish now.
“Last night, when you seemed to avoid me, I fear it reminded me of an old offense.” Her stomach contracted painfully. “The night we met, you refused to dance with me, despite the urging of Mr. Bingley. I must apologize for having overheard another conversation not meant for my ears—”
He clutched her arm, face pale, a look of horror twisting his features. “Good heavens! I do not remember my precise words that evening, but they could not have been complimentary. Bingley was determined to like everything he saw, and I was just as determined to like nothing. I must beg your forgiveness for any distress I caused you.”
Tears stung her eyes, and she had to turn away. “Think nothing of it, sir. I did not expect a man of your station to take notice of a nobody like me.”
She choked on the words. She tried to blink away her tears, but they fell traitorously onto her cheeks. What a fool she was! Surely she could no longer pretend to be unmoved by this man. He must see through her as if she were made of glass.
He took out a pressed white handkerchief. Instead of placing it into her hand, as she expected, he gently dabbed her face.
“I assure you,” he said, his gentle baritone growing deeper with emotion, “you are not nobody. It was ungentlemanly of me to treat you so at the time. You are a woman of taste, beauty, and intelligence. The man I was in September was a great blockhead for not asking you to dance that night. I should have done so. I wish I had.”
She could not speak. She could barely breathe. He spoke those courtly words with such fervour, they seemed sincere. But dared she believe him? Did he truly think her beautiful?
She grew more aware of his proximity. Heat radiated from him. She wanted to lean in, to be enveloped by the sensations of him. To feel his lips on hers.
Oh, she should not have come! If she had any sense, she would never leave the house again. Mr. Darcy, of all the men on earth, could surely see that she pined for him. If she allowed herself the luxury of these feelings now, she would never know another moment’s peace.
“I must go,” she said in a rush. “Sally is next door at the market. Cook will be waiting for us.”
“Allow me to escort you, then.”
She really could not refuse. In Hertfordshire, she could wander the woods alone for hours. In London she could not walk unchaperoned to the shop next door without risking a scandal.
He offered his arm, and she took it. As they headed to the door, he said, “Did you wish to buy the book?”
She looked down, remembering herself. “I already did.” She held it out to him. “It is a gift for Georgiana.”
“Oh,” he said in surprise. Then, his features softened and his eyes grew in intensity as the truth seemed to dawn on him. In a deeper tone, voice barely above a whisper, he said, “Oh.” He took the book from her and looked at it in wonder. “I—that is, I am sure she will cherish it. Thank you.”
She tipped her face up to him and smiled. “You are welcome.”
The look he gave her was one of true friendship, and a sense of absolution washed over her. However humiliating this encounter had been, she had made amends. Now there need be no ill feelings on either side. They could be friends at last.
Except now, it might be too late. Unless he made her an offer of marriage, she would have to avoid him after she left London. The love in her heart was too strong. She must forget him.
***
DARCY WALKED HOME FAIRLY skipping as he went. Good heavens, he had not been tempted to skip since he was eight years old. When was the last time his heart had felt so light? Was he mad to let Elizabeth affect him this way?
The book was a peace offering. That did not mean she was in love with him. He must not get ahead of himself.
In fact, the engagement between Jane and Bingley had hurt his chances. A week ago, Elizabeth might have felt compelled to accept an offer from Darcy. Now, the women of her family were at least saved from poverty. She no longer had to marry. She could afford to be choosy.
When he arrived home, he followed the sound of the pianoforte to the drawing room. Georgiana rose from the bench and walked over to greet him. He gave her the book, explaining it was a gift from Elizabeth.
Giana cocked her head as if perplexed. She turned the book over in her hand, then paged through it. “But she knows you are the one who likes Scott. We have spoken of it.” She gasped and stared at him with wide, blue eyes. “The book is for you!” she cried, her voice full of youthful jubilation. “It is the first edition you wanted.”
Darcy spoke blandly. “Do not be absurd. A single young lady cannot offer a gift to a gentleman.” He tried and failed to suppress a smile.
Giana set down the book and paced about the room, practically jumping up and down. “Are you going to propose to her?”
He furrowed his brow and considered a moment. “Not today, at least. Her sister has just gotten engaged—”
Giana ploughed into him, wrapping him in her arms and squeezing. “Oh, Darcy, this is wonderful news!”
He brushed her wispy blonde hair away from her face. “It is not news yet. I have barely started courting her. And after a sleepless night, I forgot to send flowers this morning. Josh said that when he called on her, the drawing room was overflowing with bouquets.”
Giana planted her fists on her hips. “Why is Josh paying her more attention than you?”
“Because I am a dunce.”
Giana smiled slyly and rotated from side to side. “I like her very much.”
“I do, too.” It felt good to say the words, as if some tension in his body had opened and released.
Giana picked up the book again and hugged it to her chest. “Are you in love with her?”
“I have been these four months, I suspect. I was loathe to admit it to myself.”
“Because you are a dunce.”
“Indeed.” He shot his sister a warning glance. With a gentle smile, she left him to his thoughts.
Bingley would likely return from Longbourn the next day. Darcy had never seen his friend so eager in his life. As far as Darcy knew, Bingley had not left the house that morning intending to propose. The drawing room full of flowers and gentleman callers might have driven him to the point.
Josh had said Peter was taking it rather hard. Which was ridiculous, since he barely knew Jane. Perhaps Darcy and Josh should take Peter to the club that evening to get foxed. Probably the best thing for him.
Darcy would not ask Josh to stop his attentions towards Elizabeth. But he would tell his cousin they were rivals. Josh would likely back off amiably and find another.
Lady Cressida, for instance. The two of them would make a fine pair. She would be an excellent bishop’s wife.
Darcy went to Matlock House. The butler greeted him and said the countess was in the drawing room. Darcy showed himself back.
As he drew closer, the sound of sobs reached his ear. Rushing forward, he found Arabella crying on her mother’s shoulder. The sight of her was a punch to the gut. He had let his own happiness distract him from her troubles.
He sat beside her and took her into his arms, drawing her onto his lap. The countess silently rose, patted his shoulder, and left them alone together. Arabelle wrapped her arms around his neck and said, “I am such a fool.”
“No.” He stroked her dark brown hair, the smooth tresses hanging loose about her shoulders. “You trusted your friend.”
“Richard warned me about him. Nerissa warned me about him. I could not believe he had turned out so bad. He has always been kind to me. Now I understand why. It was my dowry he wanted.”
Darcy suspected that Peabody had wanted her for more than her dowry. In his own twisted way, perhaps he had even loved her. But telling Arabella so would be no consolation. Peabody had demonstrated a selfish possessiveness. He had been willing to hurt her in order to win her.
“You will not have to worry about the man again,” Darcy reassured her. “Six months from now, he will be on the Continent fighting Bonaparte, under your brother’s command.”
She nodded absently.
“Has Georgiana been to see you?” Darcy asked.
Arabelle shook her head. Her mouth tightened, giving her a forlorn expression.
“Send her a note,” he suggested, “asking her to come. She will be a comfort to you. She has been through something similar.”
“Wickham did not try to kidnap her.”
He hugged Arabelle closer. “I wish you had not learnt about that part.”
Her voice rose, and fire burned in her cheeks. “I saw the carriage. I knew at once what he intended. What a villain he is!”
Darcy was glad to see her angry rather than sad. He did not like her blaming herself. He hated to think this experience might calm her exuberance, but perhaps that was for the best. She had let down her guard, and a man had taken advantage.
The thought chilled his blood. His jaw tightened. When Georgiana came out into society, Darcy would not let her out of his sight for an instant. Elizabeth would be just as vigilant. Her quick action the night before had gained them valuable seconds. Time that might have protected Arabelle from ruin.
That was the sort of woman he wanted for his wife. Last night, she had looked like a warrior. Standing over Peabody’s prone figure, a club in her hand ready to pummel him if he tried to rise... He had known then that he must have her.
He had felt her hand shaking with terror when he took the club from her. But she had fought like a tigress protecting her cubs.
She was magnificent.
Richard stepped in. “Is all well here?”
Arabelle rose and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. “My hero.”
“As long as there is breath in my body,” Richard said, returning her embrace, “I shall make sure you are taken care of.”
She kissed his cheek, then sauntered off, saying something about finding her mother. The two men watched after her for a moment.
Standing next to his cousin, Darcy said in a low voice, “She seems to be holding up.”
Richard looked at him sadly.
“Come now,” Darcy said with forced joviality, “she is a spirited girl. She will be over this in a month.”
“A week, more like.” Richard gave him a thin smile. “What brings you here?”
“I was about to look for Peter and Josh.” He listened a moment, the snick of billiard balls reaching his ears from a few doors away. “I thought we could take Peter to the club to cheer him.”
Richard nodded his approval. “I wish I could join you. Unfortunately, I have to be at the war office in the morning.” He looked Darcy over, and the corner of his mouth rose. “Something is different about you. You look oddly relaxed.”
Darcy squared his shoulders. He felt more relaxed. Joy bloomed in his chest. “I have made a decision that has been weighing on me.”
Richard raised his brows expectantly.
Darcy hesitated a moment, then said, “I am going to marry Elizabeth Bennet.”
Richard laughed, hand at his belly. “She threw down the challenge last night. Are you rising to the bait?”
“I have stopped resisting the one thing that will secure my happiness.”
“My mother will be pleased. If you manage to win the chit, that is.”
“Do you doubt me?” Darcy asked with feigned offense.
“She knocked Peabody onto the ground. Are you sure she will not do the same to you if your advances are unwelcome?”
“She might.” He grinned like a naughty schoolboy. “I shall be cautious.”
“Then I wish you good luck, my friend.”
They shook hands, and Darcy went to find his other cousins.
***
DARCY WAS AWAKENED from sleep the following day by the sound of a door rushing open. Bingley’s voice cried, “I have ridden all the way from Hertfordshire this morning, and you are still abed?”
Darcy sat up and ran his fingers through his hair, smoothing out the knots. He looked at the clock. It was not quite noon. Bingley must have left at dawn to be here so soon.
“It is your fault,” Darcy said. “I was up half the night convincing my cousin Peter that Jane Bennet is not the loveliest creature in the world.”
“I shall call out anyone who says so,” Bingley countered merrily, sitting on the side of the bed. “At any rate, Peter is the reason I had to propose. He was talking to her about blood transfusions.” Bingley shuddered. “Can you imagine anything more ghastly? I had no choice but to save her from that discussion.”
Darcy could not keep the smirk from his lips. Peter was impassioned about advancing the field of medicine. His latest obsession was blood transfusions. They had been tested on dogs with some success. If the procedure was adapted for humans, Peter said, it might save countless lives.
The subject did not make for scintillating drawing room conversation. Poor Jane must have nodded politely, too kind to let him know she was horrified. Darcy wondered what Elizabeth would have said in the same situation. The thought almost made him laugh aloud.
He lounged back against the pillows. Changing the subject, he asked Bingley, “How were you received at Longbourn?”
“Not as enthusiastically as you might expect,” his friend answered. He was still grinning like...well, like a man in love. “Mrs. Bennet did not know what to make of me. Whether to be angry at me for deserting Jane, or to be encouraging in case hope was not lost.”
“And Mr. Bennet?” Darcy asked, brows raised.
Bingley scowled. “He was so stern in his lecture on inconstancy, I began to think he would refuse my suit. Not that we need his permission—Jane is of age—but I would not like to marry against her family’s wishes. In the end, though, Bennet patted my back and welcomed me to the family.”
Darcy gave him an impish grin. “I imagine I shall receive an even more reluctant reception when I ask for Miss Elizabeth’s hand.”
Bingley’s brows rose. “Have you made her an offer?”
“No, but I want to secure her before the season is in full swing. Otherwise, she might throw me over for someone she actually likes.”
Bingley frowned, concern written in his eyes, but Darcy could only smile.
“I have been a complete blockhead,” Darcy said. “Meanwhile, Greymore has been charming and kind. And he is titled.” He scowled a moment. “She would be a fool to choose me over him. But I shall persuade her.”
“Jane will be delighted!” Bingley stood, his eyes sparkling with mirth. “I shall buy a property as near to Pemberley as I can find.”
Darcy nodded. “The sisters will both be pleased at that prospect. It might be enough to tip the scales in my favour,” he added drily.
Darcy’s valet cleared his throat, standing in the doorway with shaving supplies on the tray in his hands. Bingley made his excuses and took his leave.
While Darcy went through his morning rituals, he considered his chances with Elizabeth. Her warmth at the bookstore had said he already had a tenuous hold on her heart. He would use that to his advantage.
As for his rivals, they could go to the devil.