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On the day of the Darcy musicale, the Bennet sisters dressed in satin pastels. Lizzy chose a pale lilac, Jane a butter yellow. The colours seemed a harbinger of spring, like a bouquet of hyacinths and daffodils.
When they and their mother arrived at Darcy House, they were shown into the drawing room. Georgiana and Bingley greeted them. The only other guests present were Caroline and Louisa.
Their brother took his fiancée to a quiet corner while Georgiana poured the tea. Lizzy attempted small talk with Bingley’s sisters. She had hoped the engagement would force a détente between the Bennets and Bingleys. The opposite seemed to have occurred. Caroline and Louisa seemed even more haughty and aloof.
When her mother joined the conversation, Lizzy excused herself. There was little point in smoothing over Mrs. Bennet’s faux pas. Their families were soon to be united. Either they would learn to tolerate one another, or they would not. It was not Lizzy’s role to make them behave.
Taking a seat next to Georgiana, Lizzy was about to ask after her brother when the man himself entered. On his arm was Lady Matlock, with Arabelle and Nerissa following.
He looked stunningly handsome. His dark jacket was offset by a gold waistcoat and buff breeches. Lizzy felt his sudden appearance like a shock to the system. Her whole body began to hum.
He had taken to calling each morning along with Bingley. A few times they had talked of riding in Hyde Park, but the weather had not cooperated. Naturally the sun had chosen this day to shine, while they had indoor plans.
Georgiana rose to greet the newcomers, and Lizzy followed. After a brief exchange of pleasantries, Lady Matlock took Lizzy aside. Walking her to the window, the countess said, “I hope you plan to play something for us today, Miss Elizabeth.”
“Yes, a Beethoven sonata.”
“Splendid.” Lady Matlock’s features shone with delight. “Darcy has told me how much he enjoys hearing you perform on the pianoforte. And you know he does not give compliments easily.”
Lizzy hardly knew what to make of that remark. She had played a few times in Darcy’s company, but only with passing skill. She did not feel equal to the praise. Nor could she fathom how she had impressed Darcy.
Hope shimmered in her breast. His kind words implied affection. Or was it only her fanciful heart that made her think so? Darcy’s attentions to herself had been noticeable while Bingley visited Jane. Was that in response to the engagement, or was there more to it?
Darcy’s diffident manner confused her. It held no particular warmth. Expressions of feeling were not in his nature. His increased sociability might be nothing more than courtesy.
Instinctively, she looked in his direction. Their eyes met. He gave her a soft smile, which she returned.
Anxiety twisted with elation in Lizzy’s stomach. To the countess, she said in a light tone she did not feel, “I hope Mr. Darcy has not misled you. I am far from expert. Music is one of my great loves, but I am not as disciplined in practicing as I ought to be.”
The countess touched Lizzy’s arm. “Sometimes love for the piece brings more joy than technical precision does.”
“I shall do my best,” Lizzy said with a coy grin. Then her eyes fell on her mother, still speaking animatedly with Caroline and Louisa. The sisters attended her with polite composure while contempt shot from their eyes.
The usual mix of outrage and embarrassment rushed over Lizzy. Her mother was a trial, to be sure. But should Bingley’s sisters not bear it with more grace? The marriage had not been their wish, but what was to be gained from their continued ill humour?
Collecting herself, she lowered her voice as she spoke to Lady Matlock. “I want to thank you, ma’am, for your graciousness towards my mother the day you met. We were all quite surprised by her arrival.”
Lady Matlock clasped Lizzy’s hand, her palms warm. “You must not thank me. Your mother seems a friendly sort of person. I know of your country roots, my dear. They are of no consequence. You and Miss Bennet will be well regarded wherever you go.”
Lizzy swallowed the pebble in her throat. Recalling the Fitzwilliams’ recent trouble, she asked, “How is Lady Arabella faring?”
The countess’s lips pursed into a thin line. “She has attended but one evening event since the unfortunate incident. We are hoping the ball at Matlock House will restore some of her confidence.”
“I hope so as well. I am quite looking forward to it. I shall be happy to do my part to help Lady Arabella, whatever that might be. Whether encouraging her to dance, or sitting out a few sets with her.”
The countess shook her head. “That is kind of you, but I would not have you miss out on opportunities to dance. A London season is an expensive enterprise. Do not waste it, my dear.”
Lizzy’s chest felt as if it were weighed down by a sack of stones. Unless Darcy gave her a reason to stay, the Matlock ball would be Lizzy’s last event of the season. She could not let other men court her when her heart belonged to him alone. She would remain in town for the Ash Wednesday services, then return to Longbourn the next day.
She turned to Darcy again, and found this time that his gaze was fixed on Mrs. Bennet. His brow was furrowed and his lips pursed.
That was all the sign she needed. Sorrow gathered in her throat, and tears pricked her eyes. No reprieve would come for her.
For three days, Darcy had grown increasingly restless as he sat in a drawing room with Mrs. Bennet. The rain prevented the relief of an outdoor excursion. Mrs. Bennet’s nonsensical remarks elicited incredulous looks and sullen silences from him. He seemed to school his features better now than he had in Hertfordshire. But Lizzy did not think him any less appalled by her mother’s behaviour.
If any chance had existed of Darcy proposing, Mrs. Bennet had driven it away. He was not so unkind as to drop the acquaintance. But his manner was stiff again, as it had been in Hertfordshire. Could she blame him? Mrs. Bennet vexed her own family, who loved her. How much more wearisome must she be to a stranger?
Lizzy had to be realistic. Marriage to one of the most eligible men in the kingdom had always been an unlikely outcome. More the fool her, for pinning her hopes—and her heart—on a man who had disliked her family from the beginning.
***
DARCY PULLED HIMSELF from his musings. He had been studying Mrs. Bennet’s face for hints of Elizabeth. The daughter strongly favoured her father. Barely any evidence of her mother showed in her features. The high cheekbones, perhaps. The upturned nose that on Elizabeth looked like defiance.
He dared a look at Elizabeth, and her fierce beauty lanced him. What a fool he had been to ever think her relations should be an impediment to a match between them!
He had begun, over the past few days, to feel a sort of compassion for Mrs. Bennet. An entailed property and five daughters to marry off. What mother would not turn into a ridiculous husband-hunter?
Her impudence had become a sort of amusement to him. He could not condone a lack of propriety. But a cleverness in getting one’s way by skirting the rules held a certain appeal for him.
After all, the rules had robbed Mrs. Bennet’s children of their inheritance. She was not idle in seeking a remedy—the only remedy available to gently bred young ladies. He could see no fault in that.
True, she was crass and provincial. Stunningly so sometimes. It was all the more astonishing that Elizabeth and Jane were so cultured. Crediting their natural intelligence and sensibility, he admired them the more for it.
His eyes wandered again to Elizabeth, watching for an opening so he could speak with her. At last the countess took a seat with Georgiana, and he made his way to Elizabeth. He pressed her hand in greeting. “How lovely you look, Miss Elizabeth. Purple becomes you.”
She smiled. “Thank you. You look rather stunning yourself.”
“Oh,” he said stupidly, taken aback. His thoughts became muddled as a powerful longing gripped him. Finally, he remembered to speak. “Thank you.”
A coy smile curved her lips. “Jane and I were happy to be invited today, even though we will have to sing for our supper, so to speak. I am always pleased to see Miss Darcy and your Fitzwilliam relations.”
“The feeling is mutual, I assure you.” He realized he was still holding her hand. She had not let it drop, nor had he released it. But he must, he realized. People would be looking at them, speculating.
He patted Elizabeth’s hand and reluctantly let it go. The break in contact seeped into him like icy water. He had the strongest impulse to reach for her again, to feel her warmth.
Instead, he crossed his wrists behind his back. “I am eager to hear you play.”
She gave him a wry grin. “I hope that once I have begun, you are not eager to hear me finish.”
“Nonsense, you play beautifully. I cannot explain why one musician’s performance is stiff, while another’s flows. Perhaps you focus on the music as a whole and not just on the individual notes, so it has a more coherent feel.”
Her brows arched. “I have not heard it put that way before.”
“When one focuses on the notes,” he said more earnestly, “one is aware of every imperfection. But little imperfections do not always harm the music. They may even enhance it. They give it humanity.”
Her eyes locked with his so intently he could scarcely breathe. She was a revelation to him. If he had been asked to describe the perfect woman, he would not have described Elizabeth. And yet, as she stood in front of him, in flesh and bone, she was perfect—or at least, perfect for him.
After a long moment, she said in a sultry tone, “I have not known you to speak so poetically, Mr. Darcy.”
“I credit the company. You have warned me more than once to worry less about perfection and more about enjoying life.”
She smiled, her lips slightly curved but her eyes shining brightly. “And have you come to my way of seeing things?”
He considered a moment. “I have. Something happened yesterday, and...well, a few months ago, I would have been put out by it. Instead, I was amused.” He contracted his brows. He might have made an error in bringing the subject to Elizabeth’s attention. He kept his tone light, however, as he said, “Although I am not certain you would be as entertained by it as I was.”
“I should be the judge of that,” she replied teasingly. “You have piqued my interest, sir. You cannot back out now.”
He lifted his chin. “Only if you promise you will not distress yourself over it.”
Her face fell. His gut tightened at the sight of her expression. He had distressed her.
The only thing for it now was to tell all. Pressing her hand again, he said in a gentle tone, “I received a bill from a modiste’s shop.”
Lizzy gasped and tried to pull her hand away. Darcy clung more firmly. He would not let her shrink in embarrassment. He would ease her discomfort, soothe and reassure her. He did not wish her to ever feel embarrassed—not with him.
She turned away, but he lifted her chin and looked into her eyes. With a smile, he said, “You can imagine my confusion. I confronted Mrs. Annesley about allowing Georgiana to make such extravagant purchases.”
Lizzy groaned.
He caressed her cheek with his thumb. She was exquisitely soft. “You promised me, Miss Elizabeth, that you would not distress yourself.”
Her features eased somewhat. “As I recall, I made no such promise.”
He smiled at her taunt. Hoping to soothe her, he let his hand drop from her face to her shoulder and down her arm. With the thumb of his other hand, he massaged her palm. Flame rushed across his skin, and her cheeks pinked as well.
Continuing the story, he explained, “I went to the shop to inquire about the error. We sorted the confusion to everyone’s satisfaction.”
“I begged my mother not to be so bold,” Elizabeth said in a rush. “Jane knows nothing of it.”
He smiled warmly. “I am glad of that, at least. I would not wish her to be embarrassed.”
“Yet you do not mind embarrassing me,” Elizabeth teased, then looked away.
He clasped her other hand in his. “Have I told you how much I admire you and your sister? Your manners are impeccable, for which the two of you deserve all the credit. Your sister will make Bingley a brilliant wife. As for yourself...” He had to swallow down the knot in his throat before he could continue, “I have never been so impressed by anyone.”
Her eyes widened, giving her a look of astonishment. Neither of them spoke. He longed to take her into his arms and kiss her. The moment seemed to demand it.
But of course, that was impossible. Nor could they continue standing there in that pose. They had been holding hands through nearly the entire conversation. They both seemed to need the contact.
What a sight they must be! Her mother likely already had the wedding planned in her head. But what of it? Marrying Elizabeth was what he wanted.
If he kissed her now, what would happen? It would seal the matter, certainly. But he did not wish to force her. If—when she became his wife, it would be of her own volition.
And so he let her go, though his chest ached at the absence. Every part of him wanted to know every part of her. With a license, they could be married in a matter of days. Was it madness to think so?
They would need her father’s permission, since she was not of age. If Elizabeth consented, her father would be a fool to stand in their way. No, Darcy had no fear where Bennet was concerned. The only question was Elizabeth. Words of love were on his lips, but was she ready to hear them?
Regardless, a drawing room in front of witnesses was no place to propose. He would wait for a better time, a time when he could be more certain of her answer. As comfortable as she seemed with him, she was not yet his.