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That evening, Lizzy arrived at the Featherstone ball in a state of restless anticipation. Darcy’s attentions to her at the musicale had been too marked to be denied. More than once, he had looked on the verge of kissing her. She had wanted nothing more than to melt into his arms.
As she had dressed that evening in a gown of violet silk, all thoughts of caution had fled her mind. Tonight, she was determined to secure him. He must intend to make her an offer after such an obvious display. Otherwise, she would never believe in the honour of gentlemen again.
The interactions between them had not gone unnoticed by Mrs. Bennet. In the carriage, she was pointed in her remarks on the subject. She advised Lizzy in myriad ways how to wheedle a marriage proposal out of a wealthy man.
As her mother pointed out, that was a subject on which she herself had some expertise. She had been on the fringes of the gentry as the daughter of a solicitor. Yet she had married the richest man in the environs of Meryton.
Her mother’s efforts on Lizzy’s behalf were less tiresome than they might have been. Lizzy was hoping for a proposal from Mr. Darcy. Unlike the match her mother had tried to arrange between Lizzy and Mr. Collins.
Lizzy would not stoop to her mother’s machinations, but she was not without her own ideas on how to spark a man’s interest. She had taken great pains with her dress and her coiffure that evening. If Darcy was indeed thinking of proposing, she was not above giving him a nudge.
Mrs. Bennet had insisted on being fashionably late to the ball, which had tried Lizzy’s patience. She could see the wisdom in making a man wait. But she did not wish for other young ladies to have their turn with him. Not before she tantalized him with what was to come.
He had promised her a waltz. She wanted him to spend the evening imagining how it would feel to hold her in his arms again.
Yet when they finally arrived at the ball, Darcy was nowhere to be seen. Lizzy looked about, spotting the Bingleys and the Fitzwilliams, but no Darcy.
His absence filled her with sudden dread. Had he had second thoughts after their encounter earlier in the day? Perhaps he realized he had been too familiar, and now sought to avoid her.
These thoughts ran through her head as Bingley came to greet them. She listened anxiously to his explanation that Darcy was home with a migraine. Lizzy’s stomach dropped, disappointment filling her.
Her fingers ached to soothe the poor man. If they were married, he could lie with his head in her lap while she massaged his scalp. She wanted that intimacy with him, to care for his every need.
Tears burned her eyes. It was ridiculous to feel bereft at the loss of his company that evening. She had seen the man just hours before. He would almost certainly call the next day if he was feeling better.
The thought did little to cheer her. She had been looking forward to waltzing with him. To feeling his arms around her. To moving with him to the pulse of the music.
His touch brought out the most delicious shivery sensations in her. She could not get enough of it.
Was he truly ill? Worry crept beneath her skin that he wanted to elude her, that he was feeling trapped. Yet that was unkind. She would not allow herself to think him capable of such petty deception, not without proof.
To escape her musings, she scanned the ballroom, looking for a distraction. Glimpsing Arabella with her brothers, Lizzy set aside her dismay.
She went to wish them a good evening. It pleased her to see Arabella out in society. Clearly she had overcome some of her fear of attending evening assemblies. It did not hurt, Lizzy was sure, that the lady had three stalwart brothers nearby for her protection.
Colonel Fitzwilliam asked Lizzy for the first waltz. She was happy to oblige him. He was tall and sturdy, the largest in stature of his brothers. Though not precisely handsome, his features were pleasing and his movements graceful. His manners, of course, were impeccable.
“I was sorry to hear that Mr. Darcy was too unwell to attend this evening,” she said. She hoped to prompt the colonel to share some news, if he had any.
“He would not have missed it unless he were truly miserable. When I spoke to him today, he was looking forward to the dance you had promised him. Unfortunately, he has been plagued by these headaches since he was a boy.”
The colonel’s words softened her worries that Darcy was avoiding her. Yet now she was more concerned for him than ever. “Is there no remedy for the pain?”
“Resting in a dark, quiet room seems the best treatment.”
“I hope he will feel better on the morrow,” she said, feeling helpless, her heart aching.
“Do not overset yourself, ma’am. He would not wish you to worry. He will be himself again soon.”
“I believe it would be impossible for me not to worry.” She pictured Darcy lying in his room, alone and in pain, while the rest of the ton danced. How she wished she could offer him solace!
The colonel’s eyes scrutinized her face. “Miss Bennet, I shall be frank. Your kindness to Darcy has not gone unnoticed. I hope your regard for him is genuine.”
His words created a jumble of feelings in her breast, from embarrassment to deepest joy. She would not shrink from his directness. Surely the colonel had Darcy’s ear.
She replied, “I admire your cousin above any man I know. Does that put your fears to rest?”
“It does, ma’am. And your father—does he hold Darcy in esteem? My cousin says he did not endear himself to the Hertfordshire gentry last autumn.”
She could not help a soft laugh. “My mother and Jane and I—we have all seen your cousin in a different light during our time in London. I believe the three of us together can convince my father of Mr. Darcy’s worth.”
“Splendid! I hope I may be forgiven for speaking with the bluntness of a soldier. I thank you for enduring my candour with good grace.”
“Your affection for your cousin becomes you.”
He returned her to her mother at the end of the dance. Lizzy could not stop running the conversation over in her mind. Was the colonel conjecturing about his cousin’s feelings? Or had Darcy confided in him? If Darcy did not propose soon, Lizzy might develop one of her mother’s nervous complaints.
In the carriage on the way home, Mrs. Bennet offered advice. It only exacerbated her daughter’s state of unease. “Now Lizzy,” her mother said, “it is unfortunate that Mr. Darcy was not at the ball this evening. But you must not give up hope. The attentions he showed you at the musicale today could mean only one thing. And if he does not come to the point, I shall write your father. He will come to town to fight Darcy and make him marry you.”
Lizzy’s jaw fell open. She eyed Jane a moment, then stared at her mother. “Mama, you cannot mean for Papa to do anything so rash. Mr. Darcy is an athletic man twenty years my father’s junior. And besides, I do not wish Darcy to be forced to marry me—”
“He took liberties with you my dear, in front of the Countess of Matlock. Of course he must marry you, by force if necessary.”
Her spine tingled with alarm. “Mama, if you have any regard for my happiness—”
Lizzy broke off, chagrined. Of course her mother had no regard for Lizzy’s happiness. At least not in the terms Lizzy meant. Her mother wanted her daughters to live a comfortable life as gentlewomen. That had been her own goal in marrying. Surely love had not entered into the equation. No two people could be less suited than her parents, by both affection and temperament.
Jane stepped in. “Papa cannot come to London. Mary, Kitty, and Lydia would be left without a chaperone.”
“They can come, too,” Mrs. Bennet said. “Perhaps we can find husbands for them as well.”
Now Lizzy truly began to panic. “Lady Purcell did not give permission for our entire family to take up residence in her home. If we take advantage of her hospitality in that way, it could cost aunt Gardiner her friendship. And who knows when we might want to make use of that connection again?”
Lizzy hated to resort to such a callous argument. But an appeal to her mother’s better nature...that would assume her mother had a better nature.
“Lizzy is right,” Jane offered. “Besides, as you say, we must not despair of Darcy coming to the point on his own. Mr. Darcy was not making excuses—Bingley said he truly did have a terrific headache. Mr. Darcy was sorry to disappoint Lizzy after promising her a waltz.”
“We shall see,” Mrs. Bennet said tightly. “We shall see.”
***
DARCY WOKE THE NEXT morning in a dark room, the curtains drawn. The memory of the migraine came back to him. The pain had been so intense, he had taken to his bed and forgone the evening’s activities. Thankfully, a good night’s sleep had driven off the worst of it.
He sat up and assessed the situation. Yes, he was much better. Sliding on his dressing gown, he walked to the windows and cast the curtains aside.
Street traffic was light this time of day. The sky was overcast but did not appear as if it might storm. Darcy rang for his valet, thinking he should call on Elizabeth. Greymore certainly would.
He had to admit to himself—Greymore was a serious rival. Darcy could not afford to let his guard down. He must make an offer before Greymore did.
The earl’s feelings for Elizabeth could not equal his own. The man had a new favourite every month or two. Darcy had never felt this way about a woman. Elizabeth deserved a man who loved her with the same intensity as she gave love. Greymore might admire her, but he could not cherish her as Darcy did.
He went down to breakfast to find Bingley filling his plate with baked eggs and toast. Darcy’s stomach growled at the aroma. He had barely eaten the night before.
“You look a hundred times better,” Bingley said.
“I am, thank you.” Darcy filled his own plate. “How was the ball?”
Bingley snickered. “Shall I regale you with how lovely Jane looked in her gown? How heavenly it was to dance with her? I suspect you have something else in mind.”
Darcy gave him a level look.
“Let me see,” Bingley said. “Where might your curiosity lie? Ah, yes. Elizabeth. I fear she was upset by your absence. I have never seen her so out of sorts. Without exaggeration, I could describe her as stricken.”
Darcy’s heart lurched. “Truly?”
Bingley waved his hand. “You know her temperament. Usually, she casts off any bad feelings by making a joke. Last night, nothing seemed to cheer her.”
Darcy contemplated that, wondering what it meant. He hated to think he had ruined her evening. At the same time, her lack of spirits showed a welcome attachment to himself.
They sat at the table, and Darcy sipped his coffee. Rather than soothing his hunger pangs, the sweet-nutty flavour intensified them. “Did Miss Elizabeth dance with Greymore?”
Bingley stirred his tea. He replied wearing a cheerful expression that was surely meant to taunt his friend. “Twice, including the supper waltz.”
Darcy set his jaw. The very dance he himself had promised her. The situation was intolerable. He must see her at once.
“I assume you are calling at Berkeley Square this morning,” Darcy asked.
“Of course. Directly after breakfast.”
“Good. I shall be ready to join you without delay.”
***
LIZZY COULD NOT THINK. She had never found Lord Greymore’s company so tedious. When he spoke, she could not attend to more than half a sentence at a time. Images of Darcy kept floating through her mind. Her fevered thoughts made it impossible to carry on a conversation.
Red roses. Darcy had sent another bouquet that morning. Did he know that red roses meant love?
Her stomach tightened. She jumped to her feet, thinking she might cast up her accounts. Why had no one warned her that falling in love felt like a dreadful illness?
Greymore stood up beside her. “Miss Bennet, are you well?”
“Pardon me. I was queasy for a moment, but the feeling has passed.”
He looked at her with concern in his eyes. “Can I get you anything? A cup of tea?”
She gave him a soft smile. “That would be most welcome.”
He bowed and stepped over to the sitting area where Mrs. Bennet was serving the guests. Lizzy was grateful for a moment alone so she could collect her thoughts. Perhaps she ought to pay attention, to make sure her mother did not say anything to offend the earl. But at the moment, Lizzy could not force herself to care about that.
She liked Greymore immensely. She hoped they would remain friends. But he was not the man she loved. Her other suitors felt like an encumbrance to her.
It was getting close to the time Bingley generally called. Would Darcy come with him? If so, what would she say?
Surely farming families did not go through these intrigues when it came to courtship. No, that was a special torment saved for the gentry. Her father’s tenants seemed to fall in love and marry with little fuss.
But men and women of her class could not simply say what they felt. Oh, no. Because marriage was not just a man and woman coming together to join their lives and raise a family. It was an alliance. There were dynastic considerations.
And one of those considerations was handing Greymore a cup of tea. Did Lizzy have any hope of winning Darcy, with her mother here to remind him of how provincial she was?
Greymore brought Lizzy the beverage, sitting next to her as she lifted it to her lips. It was prepared with milk, exactly as she liked. A memory floated back to her of a time when she was about six years old and came down with influenza. Her mother had cooed to her, feeding her tea and toast, placing cool compresses on her head.
Lizzy swallowed down the lump in her throat. If Darcy could not accept her family, then she did not want him. Though it pained her to think it, he must accept her for who she was.
“Miss Bennet, you are unwell,” Greymore said with a sudden urgency in his voice.
“No, I assure you, I am fine.” Then she realized tears were streaming down her cheeks. She set down her cup and took the handkerchief he offered. “It is the oddest thing. Ever since my sister’s engagement, I have been growing emotional without warning. One expects that of a bride, but not the bride’s sister.” She handed the handkerchief back to him.
He smiled at her as he slid it back into his pocket. “I imagine you will be a bride yourself, soon enough.”
“If I am so fortunate,” she said absently. Then, her eyes went wide, and she looked away from him.
He let out a little chuckle. “Never fear, Miss Bennet. This is not the first time I have found myself in the company of a woman in love with a man who was not me. I bear you no ill will, I promise.”
She clasped his hand. “Forgive me. I have not been very good company today.”
“You are always good company. I hope we shall remain friends.”
“Oh yes, I was thinking the same thing. I hold you in the highest esteem.”
Before he could respond, the butler announced Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy. She looked up. She felt as if she were underwater, trying to rise to the surface to breathe while heavy clothing pulled her down. But when Darcy’s eyes met hers, everything inside her bloomed. She turned into a feather, lighter than air. The rest of the room fell away, and Darcy gave her a smile.
***
GREYMORE. Darcy should have known. The man was stuck to Elizabeth like a clod of clay to her shoe.
To Darcy’s surprise, however, Greymore rose and bowed to her. As he walked past on the way out, he patted Darcy’s back and said in low tones, “She is all yours, my friend. Do right by her, or you shall answer to me.”
Greymore met Darcy’s look of astonishment with a wide grin. Then, he donned his hat and headed out the front door.
Before his mind could process this change in circumstances, Elizabeth was by his side. She looked up at him so earnestly, his mouth went dry and his eyes could see only her. Without bothering to offer a formal greeting, she said, “You must be feeling better.”
“Much, thank you. I am sorry I missed our waltz last night.”
Her eyes glistened, and she looked away. “I shall not insult you by laughing and pretending it was nothing. I worried about you dreadfully, probably more than I should have. Colonel Fitzwilliam assured me your condition would pass.”
“Such headaches always do, although they are deuced unpleasant while they last.” Blood drained from his face. “Pardon my language, Miss Bennet.”
She smiled warmly. “I am not such a stickler as to deny a man the use of a mild oath. We are friends enough that we can dispense with such strict social niceties.”
“Friends indeed,” he said, and squeezed her hands. The feel of her skin was soft and inviting, but he did not allow himself to linger. She was too much of a temptation.
Jane poured him a coffee, then he and Elizabeth sat on the window seat. It was set away from the others and big enough for only two. Lizzy greeted new guests as they arrived, but always returned to Darcy.
All his misgivings were removed. Even the most objective onlooker would believe her to be encouraging him. If she did not mean to have him, he could not be called a fool for thinking she did.
He pondered when the right moment might be to make his proposals. He could do it now and announce the engagement at the Matlock ball that evening. But what if she did refuse him? He could not endure his aunt’s ball under those circumstances. Lady Matlock would be displeased if he cried off.
He would wait until the morrow. After all, what difference could a day make?