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Lizzy’s heart fluttered as her party entered the ballroom at Matlock House. A hum of conversation greeted them. Bouquets of hothouse flowers scented the air. The watered silk wallpaper shone in the candlelight.
Predictably, Darcy was already there—whether of his own desire, or at his aunt’s urging. Perhaps a little of both.
Remaining calm, at least outwardly, Lizzy approached the receiving line. Greeting a family the size of the Fitzwilliam clan took some time. When she reached the end, she pressed Arabella’s hand. “How are you faring this evening?” she asked in low tones.
“Nervous,” Arabella replied, “but better than I expected. I was terrified at the Featherstone ball, but tonight it is not as bad.”
Lizzy met her eyes meaningfully. “If you need anything, do not hesitate to find me.”
“Thank you. You are so kind. With anyone else, I would feel ashamed. But you have helped me understand I am not to blame...” Her eyes glistened, but she blinked the tears away.
“Indeed you are not,” Lizzy said earnestly.
Arabella nodded, her confidence seeming to rise, and Lizzy gave her a parting smile.
Lizzy looked around to find Jane standing with Bingley and Darcy. Lizzy’s thoughts ceased a moment as she took in the stunning sight of the man she loved. Darcy was dressed in black and white, his silver waistcoat shimmering.
Their eyes met, and a flush of desire ran through her. She did not try to fight it. She recognized the carnal longing for what it was. She imagined his lips running along the curve of her neck. That need could not be satisfied until they exchanged wedding vows. But she would not wish away the craving. Nothing else had made her feel so alive.
Taking a deep breath to cool the urgency in her blood and the apprehension in her belly, Lizzy joined them. The gentlemen bowed deeply, and she gave them a matching curtsey. She stepped closer to Darcy, wanting to inhale his scent and feel his heat.
Surreptitiously, she raked her gaze over him, wishing she could do the same with her hands. She wanted to feel the soft wool and linen. Her eyes stopped at his cravat, the knot so complex she could not imagine unravelling it.
Then, suddenly, she was imagining herself unravelling it. Baring his skin, pressing her lips to the pulse of his throat...
“Miss Elizabeth,” Darcy said, waking her from her reverie, “you look flushed. Might I get you a lemonade or some other refreshment?”
“I thank you, sir, but I shall wait until after the dancing begins.”
“As you wish.” They looked at one another awkwardly. The public nature of the ballroom thwarted a more affectionate greeting.
How she ached to touch him! His hand on hers during the ride through Hyde Park had been heaven. She had allowed him to take a liberty with her, but surely it was the right sort of liberty to encourage a man to propose.
If Darcy did not propose now, he was not the honourable gentleman she believed him to be. His hints had been too pointed. Of course, a man could plan to make an offer, then something happen to change his mind. If her mother...but no, Lizzy had to put that worry aside. If her mother had not scared him off by now, he must be immune to her.
Darcy said, “Bingley and your sister have been discussing where to hold the wedding. He would like to have it here at St. George’s, and she would rather marry in Hertfordshire. What say you?”
She arched her brows. “That will not do, Mr. Darcy. I shall not be drawn into their disagreement.”
“Then let us treat it as a general question. Is it preferable to be married in town during the season, or to return to one’s country parish for the ceremony?”
Lizzy considered that a moment. “It would depend on the couple. For myself, I would rather marry in the country. That is where my friends of long-standing are. Some of them would find it a hardship to travel to London. But the fashionable set would see no difficulty in a journey to Hertfordshire.”
“It is an easy distance, to be sure,” Darcy said. “If I asked my friends to trek to Derbyshire, the situation might be different. I might find myself in the church alone with the vicar and my unfortunate bride.”
Lizzy tilted her head quizzically. “Why unfortunate?”
“Would not most women rather be surrounded by a church full of people?”
Lizzy pictured the scene. She and Darcy standing at the altar with no one else but the vicar and two witnesses. She could not find the image wanting.
“There is something terribly romantic,” she said, “about the private ceremony you describe. A woman lucky enough to win the hand of the man she loves could hardly wish for more.”
“But if he loves her, ought he not sacrifice his own comfort to give her the wedding she desires?”
“I would hope that no sacrifice would be required on either side. That they could find a solution agreeable to both.”
She turned to Jane and Bingley, who had been listening with interest. “What say the two of you?”
“I would not mind marrying at the church in Meryton,” Bingley said. “Louisa says Hurst has been complaining about the trip to Hertfordshire. He may not go to the wedding if it is held there.”
“Is that an argument for or against?” Lizzy asked. The rest of the party tittered, but Lizzy did not crack a smile. “If he cannot travel thirty miles for your wedding, then why give a moment’s thought to his preference? You owe him no more loyalty than he shows you.”
“I have been telling him the same thing,” Darcy said.
“But should not family come first?” Jane asked. “As much as I would prefer to marry in Meryton, that is only for the sake of our neighbours. Those who wish to attend could travel here.”
“At great trouble and expense, they could,” Lizzy pointed out. “Whereas Bingley has a comfortable coach and his family can stay at Netherfield. A property he has let for a full year, and has so far stayed in for all of two months.”
“You seem to have strong opinions,” Darcy noted, “for one who did not wish to get involved.”
She turned and eyed him disapprovingly, stung by his teasing. “I suppose so,” she said, adopting a sly smile. “I do have opinions about those who put their own comfort first. Ahead of others whose circumstances make travel more difficult.”
Heat ran up her neck. She struggled to contain herself. Her opinions were not wrong, nor her anger misplaced—but she should not express them so freely.
She took a deep breath, then straightened her spine. “Bingley, please forgive me. As Mr. Darcy has been kind enough to remind me, this is not my concern.” She gave them a curtsey and walked off.
Darcy followed. “Miss Bennet, please. I did not mean to sound as if I were scolding you.”
She turned to face him. “No, you were teasing me, as I am in the habit of doing to you. You are quite right. As it turns out, however, my feelings on this subject are stronger than I realized.”
“You are distressed.” He drew closer. “Is there something I might do for you?”
A wave of heat rushed over her. There were a thousand things he might do for her, but none of them involved a ballroom. If they could find somewhere private—
But no. Nothing good could come of that. Something wonderful, perhaps, but nothing good.
So she met his eyes and gave him a wan smile. “Thank you for the offer, but no, that is not necessary. Your kindness itself gives me ease.”
***
DARCY’S CHEST SWELLED at the words. He wanted to claim her as his own that very moment. It would be more than an hour until the waltz. The country-dances until then would be torture.
She looked a vision in pink satin, her hair swept up and adorned with silk flowers. But there was sadness in her eyes, and he did not understand it. “Pray tell me what is troubling you. It is not merely Hurst, to be sure.”
She shook her head. “When I first met you, I did not imagine that your mother had grown up in a house like this. I would have been too awed to tease you if I had.”
He briefly pressed her gloved fingers. “Then I am glad you did not. I have always enjoyed your teasing, even when it cut to the quick.”
A rosy blush touched her cheeks. “You are more patient with me than I deserve.”
He said in a husky voice, “I cannot help but think you have been the patient one.”
For long moment, she gazed at him. Then, her eyes scanned the ballroom. She seemed to deflate. “I am out of my depth here.”
He wished he could take her in his arms and soothe her sadness. “I felt out of my depth at the ball in the Meryton assembly rooms. As my abominable behaviour there can attest.”
Her eyes danced merrily. The sight eased the heaviness in his chest. He was glad she could smile about it now.
He massaged the heel of his hand with his opposite thumb. “With time and experience, you will gain your footing. One day you will feel at home here, just as I do.”
The nod she gave him was almost imperceptible. Not an agreement, per se, but more an acknowledgment of his sentiments. Did she understand what he meant? Did she share his feelings?
Tomorrow. Tomorrow he would propose, and put all these uncertainties aside.
***
PETER FITZWILLIAM CLAIMED Lizzy for the first dance, as Joshua did for the second. She would not allow herself to examine what that might mean. It was difficult to imagine, however, that they were not distinguishing her in some way.
Did they have knowledge of some intentions on Darcy’s part?
She must not think about it, she told herself as Joshua led her to the dance floor. All this rumination would ruin her peace of mind. Instead, she looked about the room—gilded mirrors, carved crown moulding, glittering chandeliers...
One day you will feel at home here. She pondered those words, holding them in her heart. Might this ballroom come to feel as familiar as her beloved Longbourn? Might her daughters be introduced into society here?
Her stomach wrenched. She wanted so badly to be Darcy’s wife that the prospect of losing him made her physically ill. Had she not done enough to encourage him? The ball this evening would be the perfect opportunity to announce an engagement. Why was he hesitating?
The music started, and the dance got underway. The steps of the cotillion were complex. She might lose her place if she let her imagination wander. To make conversation, she said to Joshua, “How does your book of sermons progress?”
He grinned sheepishly. “I find I am a better orator than a writer. When I put the words to paper, they feel flat.”
She arched her brows. “Perhaps you could enlist your cousin Mr. Darcy to assist you. I understand he is most studious in his correspondence.”
“Indeed. His letters are quite precise.”
“Not the effect you are looking for?”
The dance separated them, but when they came back together, he said, “My sermons need animation. Passion, if I may use the word, yet without becoming overwrought.”
“Perhaps a woman’s touch would help.”
He grinned. “Are you offering?”
For a moment, she contemplated his suggestion. Yes, she might enjoy reading his sermons, and even give some helpful hints. But at that moment, she had no idea what the future held.
“That depends. I am not sure how much longer I shall be in London. I was thinking of returning to Hertfordshire after Ash Wednesday. Certainly my family can stay no longer than Easter. Lady Purcell will come to London, and will want the use of her home again.”
Joshua looked at her with wide eyes. “Then you must stay here at Matlock House for the remainder of the season. My mother will insist upon it, I am sure.”
She stared at him. “Good heavens. That is a generous offer, but I could not intrude.”
“It would be no intrusion at all. Arabelle and Georgiana are attached to you, and would be sad to see you go. I shall speak to my mother as soon as the dance ends.”
“Oh, but Mr. Fitzwilliam, you must not! I would not wish to put her out.”
He furrowed his brows. “Do you not wish to stay in London for the season?”
Her eyes burned. She blinked a few times to stop her tears. Before speaking, she swallowed the knot in her throat. “Little could appeal to me more than enjoying your mother’s hospitality for the London season. But you must not offer on her behalf. Pray, do not let her know you have spoken to me already. I would not wish her to feel obligated.”
“As you wish, ma’am. But only to ensure your own peace of mind. I have no doubt of what her reaction will be.”
She nodded and gave him a grateful smile. In her state of confusion and overwhelm at this new prospect, she forgot to be anxious about the next dance. Until the first chords of the waltz played, and Darcy came to claim her.
When he appeared at her side, offering his hand to lead her to the dance, she could think of nothing else. Looking at her with those intense dark eyes, he became her whole world. The man was achingly handsome. When he set a hand on her waist, she turned lightheaded a moment until she remembered to breathe.
She tried to speak, but words escaped her. Her brain kept echoing Darcy, Darcy, Darcy. Yet when the waltz got underway, her body knew exactly what to say.
They glided around the floor in time to the music, their gazes locked, and words were unnecessary. His hands were strong, his movements graceful, his expression open and happy. He was not smiling exactly—he hardly ever smiled. But his chiselled jaw had an easy set to it, and the corners of his mouth were upturned.
Now she was staring at his lips, thinking of all the wonderful things he could do to her with them. If the novels were to be believed, a man’s lips could drive a woman mad with desire. No, she must not think about that. If she let him kiss her, Heaven knew where it might lead.
A woman’s virtue was theoretical until put to the test. Lizzy was wildly, madly in love with this man. She vibrated with pure pleasure at the feel of his hands on her body in this most genteel of poses. If he took her into his arms, if he kissed her, could she resist whatever desires he pressed on her?
But the moment the thought came to her, she knew that the answer was moot. Darcy would not press his advances. He was a gentleman. It would not fall on her alone to resist.
She must put these thoughts out of her head, and now. She grabbed the first idea that came to her as if it were a lifeline. “Earlier you spoke as if this house were a second home.”
“It is,” he conceded.
“Will Miss Darcy make her come-out here, do you think? Rather than at Darcy House?”
He seemed to consider that a moment. “That depends on whether she wants an intimate gathering, or to make her debut in front of the entire ton. Knowing Georgiana, she would prefer the former.”
“You are right, of course. Perhaps your daughters might one day make their come-out here.”
A sly smile curved his lips. “Perhaps.”
As she realized what she had implied, her face heated. What was she thinking—her daughters making their debut in the home of an earl?
She was struck again by how little she belonged in this place. Should she not flee to Hertfordshire for Lent, as she had originally planned?
No, she must not think such nonsense. She loved this man. She would not give him up over a bout of insecurity.
Lizzy Bennet was made of sterner stuff.
***
THE DANCE ENDED ALL too soon. Darcy’s arms felt empty without Elizabeth in them. When he accompanied her to her mother’s side, he said, “Mrs. Bennet, Miss Elizabeth appears flushed. Might I take her onto the terrace for some air?”
“Of course!” Mrs. Bennet said with a smile on her face and a gleam in her eye. She handed Elizabeth her wrap, an Indian shawl woven of cream and pink that matched her gown. Darcy led her outside.
A few couples stood talking on the broad flagstone terrace, which was well lit by torches. He escorted her out into the garden, where they could talk more privately.
Chinese lanterns edged the path, illuminating boxwood topiaries and urns of winter-flowering heather. Lenten roses blooming in pure white dotted the flowerbeds. The sweet scent from unseen shrubs of daphne wafted into the air.
“It is like something out of a fairy tale,” Elizabeth said as they ambled along the brick walkway. Yet she did not sound happy. “This night...I feel like Cinderella, an imposter at a ball. And the clock is about to strike.”
“You are no imposter.”
She stopped and looked up at him, blinking back tears. “Mr. Darcy, the truth is, Jane and I do not belong here. Our father is a gentleman, that is true, but we have led a retired country life. Life in Mayfair has been a revelation. I have seen how extraordinary wealth is taken for granted by those who possess it. Mr. Hurst cannot comprehend the difficulty of a London wedding for our friends in Meryton.”
“Hang the man.” Anger rose in Darcy’s chest. “He is not worth the unhappiness he has caused you.”
“It is not just him.” She hesitated a moment, her throat working. Her next words escaped in a tight whisper. “Jane and Bingley are well-matched. He would never look down on her for her lack of fortune, nor she on him for his heritage. But I...”
He took her hand, but she withdrew it.
She moved further down the path. “Lord Greymore has called on me nearly every morning since we met. But Lizzy Bennet of Longbourn is no match for an earl.” She stopped in the encroaching darkness and gestured towards the house. “Nor the son of an earl, nor the nephew of one. This is the grandest home I have ever been in, and to you it is only your uncle’s house in Mayfair. I cannot imagine what his country estate must be like. Or yours. I am no more than the ragged girl who tends the fire. I do not belong with the handsome prince.”
He stared at her dazedly. Then, he gave her a handkerchief and watched in silence as she dried her eyes. They stood out of the reach of the lanterns now. The heady scent of daphne was stronger in this corner of the garden.
Struggling to find words to comfort her, he said, “You are every inch a lady—and the most enchanting woman I ever met.”
“You are unutterably kind,” she said, her voice choked. She folded the handkerchief and handed it back to him.
He slid it into his pocket and grasped her hands. “What if the nephew of an earl called on you every morning, until he convinced you that you do belong here? What if he did not care about your lack of fortune, or your country upbringing?” He raised a trembling hand to her cheek. “What if he loved you for you?”
Her eyes glittered in the moonlight as they locked with his own. He brushed the pad of his thumb over her lips. Through his gloves, he could not detect the softness there. So he leaned closer, needing to know the feel of them, the taste.
“Mr. Darcy.” Her voice was a mere whisper. Was it a warning or a plea? He gave her a moment to pull back, to resist. He was not the sort of scoundrel who forced unwanted advances on a woman. If she wished to stop him, she could.
He laid his other hand on her waist, and a faint gasp escaped her. She made no effort to break away. He leaned in closer. “Dearest Lizzy,” he groaned. Closing the distance between them, he placed his lips on hers.