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Darcy was a man who valued family above all things. The Matlock estate in Derbyshire was just ten miles from Pemberley. He had grown up with his Fitzwilliam cousins as his companions. In age he fell between Richard and Peter. Some days it felt as if there were five boys in the Fitzwilliam clan rather than four.
But at that moment, Josh was fawning over Elizabeth as if she were a prize mare he wanted to saddle. Darcy wished his cousins gone.
He looked about the theatre with sudden awareness of how the situation must seem. To Darcy’s mind, he had accompanied his sister to chat with a friend. They ended up sitting with her during the first half of the play. To observers, though, Darcy had singled out Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Now, he was introducing her to his family.
Good heavens.
In a sense, he ought to be pleased. Such a compliment from his family would raise her standing. Especially if the countess called on the Bennet sisters, as it seemed she might. Miss Elizabeth would find more success in the marriage mart, securing her future.
Josh would, in fact, be a fine candidate. Despite his calling to the church, he was a jovial fellow, and likely to be made a bishop. The role of a clergyman’s wife would suit Miss Elizabeth. So why did hot anger burn in Darcy’s chest at the thought of it?
Expressing a desire to be introduced to the elder Miss Bennet, Josh and Peter took their leave. Darcy realized he ought to go, too. He had accidentally distinguished Elizabeth. He should sit with another lady during the rest of the play.
Lady Cressida, for instance. She was of his station. The gossips would consider her a proper match for him, and have nothing to say on the subject.
He did not want to generate speculation about himself and Elizabeth. Her hopes might be raised. He could not abide the thought of causing her pain, if he did not make her an offer.
Did that make him an arrogant fool? Thinking she would wish for his attentions? If she was husband hunting, perhaps she would prefer Greymore and his title.
The Earl of Greymore was a friend of his, a man of excellent character and cheerful disposition. Earlier, the man had surveyed Miss Elizabeth’s person appreciatively. The look had not been exactly lewd, but Darcy had been tempted to plant him a facer.
Not that Darcy could fault Greymore for admiring her. Elizabeth looked particularly lovely that evening. A gown of pale pink showed her figure to good effect. Her dark, thick curls were piled high on her head and woven with silk roses. And when she chatted about the play, true pleasure brightened her eyes and her smile. She outshone the theatre’s glittering chandeliers.
How the devil had he ended up sitting next to her? And Jane was across the way, seated with Bingley.
Darcy looked sideways at his sister. This had not happened by accident. He was not pleased that Giana and Bingley had adopted the habit of scheming together. Especially when that scheme involved his being in company with Elizabeth Bennet.
He ought to bow and take his leave. There might be room in his cousins’ box.
But his cousins were settling into Bingley’s box. Peter was in front next to Miss Bennet, and Josh behind next to Miss Bingley. The sight of it pleased him.
Peter was not a romantic sort. Miss Bennet might make a good match for him. He would not mind an indifferent wife as long as she possessed beauty, grace, and a placid nature.
And if Josh were to take Miss Bingley off Darcy’s hands, he would be most grateful.
Not that he thought Josh had any real interest in her. His flirtatious nature won him the admiration of many women. But he was five-and-twenty, and unlikely to marry soon. Caroline did not need to know that, however.
When had Darcy grown so weary of her? At one time, he had thought her a kindred spirit. Now, Caroline’s false friendship towards Giana had begun to appear more sinister.
Giana had already been deeply hurt by one who had pretended to care for her. She did not need to go through that a second time. Fortunately, she had seen Caroline’s overtures for what they were.
And what of Elizabeth? Could she be trusted with Giana’s friendship? Elizabeth had flirted with him at tea earlier in the week. But this evening, all her attention had been showered on his sister. He almost felt as if he did not exist, sitting here at the edge of their conversation. Caroline would have tried to involve him every other minute. Elizabeth seemed content to ignore him.
He was not sure how he felt about that. He must seem immensely stupid to her, sitting here in silence. She did not like it when he was reticent in company. She had suggested that it made him seem as if he thought he was above them.
Was that true? Ought he to be more attentive to the comfort of others? Bingley did it naturally. He was not bothered by Mrs. Bennet as Darcy was, because Bingley enjoyed people in all their variety. Darcy was too easily put off by those outside his station or those unknown to him. But it was not misanthropy. He did not understand what strangers expected of him.
Giana and Mrs. Annesley went to the ladies’ retiring room. Elizabeth turned her attention to Darcy. “How are you enjoying the play?”
He was happy to have her bright eyes on him. “It is well done.”
She nodded and looked at him a moment, then said, “You are a man of few words, Mr. Darcy.”
He could not tell whether her tone was flirtatious or disapproving. “You consider that a deficiency in my character.”
She gave a little titter, a pleasing, musical sound. “Not at all. I have lived enough amongst those who err in the opposite direction to appreciate the value of silence.”
He could not help smiling at that. “There are those who have the gift of making themselves amiable to strangers. It is not one I possess.”
She motioned toward the stage. “I imagine the actors performing tonight were not always as skilled as they are now. I assume they have reached this level of proficiency through practice. A man of your education cannot be ignorant of suitable topics to discuss. Besides, you and I cannot be called strangers. We once lived three days together under the same roof.”
The memories brought a lightness to his chest. “And you were a delightful addition to the company at Netherfield.”
“Was I?”
He frowned. It was not like Elizabeth to fish for compliments. Yet it seemed odd to him that her question might be sincere. “Do you doubt it?”
“You did not seem to think so at the time,” she said
Her words sent a cold dread through him. “On the contrary, I was grateful for it,” he said. Had she been ignorant of how her presence in the house affected him? He had thought himself utterly transparent. Too much so. “I grant that I did not flatter you as Bingley did—”
“I have not known Mr. Bingley to flatter. He speaks with the simple joy in his heart.”
Darcy bristled, but then thought a moment. His shoulders eased. “I would agree with that.”
“And you, Mr. Darcy, prefer to remain a mystery.”
His eyes searched her face. Was that how he appeared to her? “I would say that I am private. I do not wish to be mysterious. I would rather not be noticed at all.”
She fluttered her fan. “Because you find most people tedious.”
He had nothing to say to that, so he remained silent.
She raised her fan, hiding her mouth. Was she laughing at him?
“I cannot help but wonder,” she said, “what kind of boy you were. You must have been an excellent and well-behaved student. And yet you were not taught to overcome your reserved nature. A gentleman is expected to put himself forward. You struggle to carry on a conversation with anyone not of your circle.”
He eyed her with shock at her effrontery. “I am perfectly capable of carrying on conversations with farmers and tradesmen—”
“Of course, if you are discussing practical matters. But when it comes to small talk...” She flicked her fan closed.
Her words prickled at him, and his stomach tightened. He said, “Small talk serves no purpose.”
“It helps people find common ground. Without it, the social order would break down.”
He eyed her quizzically, thinking she must be joking. But her expression was deadly serious.
“Come, Mr. Darcy, we must not quarrel. I have grown fond of your sister. I shall therefore make allowances for your idiosyncrasies.”
“And I for your impertinence.”
She touched her fan to his arm as she had done once before, and the action had the same effect. A shiver ran through him as if she had placed her hand on his bare skin, branding him.
He looked at her deeply. “Are you still trying to make out my character?”
“I am even more confused about it than I was at the Netherfield ball. Your old friend Mr. Wickham had done me the service of confirming every negative impression I had of you. Now, I have no idea what is real, what is imagined, and what is an outright lie.”
“May I be so bold as to ask, what sort of negative impressions?”
“He assured me you were proud. But then, he said the same about Miss Darcy, and that was a lie.”
Ire rose in Darcy’s chest. “Georgiana has not a bit of worldly pride about her. As for myself...I confess that my mother taught me to take pride in my lineage. I hope I do not set myself above others on that basis.”
She gazed at him pensively. “Your friendship with Bingley suggests an egalitarianism that I find refreshing. Others of your station might refuse to associate with one whose fortune came from trade.”
“I hope I am not so scrupulous as to pass judgement based on such criteria.”
Her eyes grew pensive. “You seem to care less about breeding than manners.”
“I believe that is true.”
“And that is why you consider my sister Jane to be unsuitable for Mr. Bingley. My family’s place in the gentry dates back to Henry VIII. Mr. Bingley’s dates back to his matriculation at Eton. Yet my mother sometimes shows a lack of tact, and that is unpardonable. In truth, I believe Mr. Bingley’s mother would have shared more in common with my mother than with yours.”
Her words silenced him. She was right, of course. Why had he not thought of it before? Bingley had likely grown up in a home no more cultured than the Bennets’, and possibly less so. Of course Mrs. Bennet did not shock him as she did Darcy.
But Elizabeth’s barbed comments were shockingly frank. Neither of them ought to acknowledge the tendre between Bingley and Jane.
Yet it was not the first time they had done so. It would be the height of hypocrisy to pretend otherwise.
Darcy’s thoughts swam. He struggled to find his voice. He knew he must speak. The moment was critical. If he did not concede the fairness of her assessment, she would forever see him as an arrogant, unfeeling man. One worthy of the scorn that Wickham’s lies had inspired in her, even if for different reasons.
“I beg your pardon,” he began, his speech halting. “I have been unfair to you and your sister. I hope you see that by allowing my sister’s friendship with you, I do not regard my family as above yours.”
She eyed him pensively. “You make a good point,” she acknowledged with a smile.
In that moment, she looked far too beautiful for him to keep his countenance. He had never admired a woman so much. His heart lurched at the thought.
Could he trust his feelings? Elizabeth Bennet needed to marry. What if everything Darcy had seen of her had been some machination designed to lure him in?
Yet he could not believe that. Her devotion to her sister during Jane’s illness at Netherfield had not been feigned. Elizabeth had shown no attempt at ingratiating herself to the residents. She had spent most of her time in the sick room, or else alone while Jane was resting. Even in the evenings, while the rest of the party had played at cards, she had mostly read in a secluded corner.
Which had given him many opportunities to observe her unnoticed. To watch her animated expression as it showed the changing emotions inspired by the book. She was lovely when the liveliness of her mind played across her features. Breathtaking, even. Which explained why, at that moment, he found it difficult to breathe.
He realized he was staring. Her brows arched at him. He ought to say something, but what?
Words of love sat on his lips, aching to be spoken. But it was far too soon for anything like that. The two of them had spent little time in company during the five months of their acquaintance. They were still getting to know each other. He had no idea what was in her heart.
Fortunately, Giana and Mrs. Annesley returned. They settled into their chairs, distracting Elizabeth’s attention. The play resumed a minute later.
Through the second half, Elizabeth seemed to take pity on him. She involved him more in the witty remarks she shared with Georgiana. She did not distract from the drama, but rather enhanced it with her observations. Poor Giana fought to stifle her laughter.
All too soon, the play ended to rousing applause. With a pout, Giana rose to depart, Mrs. Annesley by her side. Mr. Gardiner offered to take them in his carriage, as Mrs. Gardiner had grown tired. He asked if Darcy and Bingley could escort the Miss Bennets home.
Darcy could see two ulterior motives for this offer. First, Gardiner wished to be alone with his wife. Second, he wanted Jane to have more time in Bingley’s company. Darcy could not begrudge the man on either point.
He felt secure in answering for Bingley, saying the arrangement was amenable. The comfort of Caroline and Louisa would prove no impediment. They had come in Hurst’s carriage, and so would take the same conveyance home to Grosvenor Street.
The Gardiners went to say their goodbyes to Jane. They sent her and Bingley to join Darcy and Elizabeth, in order to preserve the proprieties. Darcy was glad. He had no wish to go back to his box and sit near Caroline. Thankfully, his cousins seemed content to remain with Bingley’s sisters.
Darcy ought to have found the entire situation untoward. He did not. The pantomime was most diverting, and laughter lowered his defences.
More than once, his eyes met Elizabeth’s. They shared a smile in their mutual enjoyment of the performance. She was—heaven help him—quite the most beautiful creature he had ever seen when she laughed. There was nothing for it. Every moment, his attraction to her grew. Every moment, he felt himself falling more in love with her.
He was, he was certain, a complete fool. He had been in love with her since before leaving Netherfield. Probably since her stay there while Jane was ill. He had witnessed sisterly affection before, and selfless devotion. But he had not seen those qualities mixed with the wit and animation Elizabeth possessed.
Her virtue was not cold. She was not an angel, as the Bingleys were so fond of calling Jane. No, Elizabeth was a flesh-and-blood woman. Pert and sometimes irreverent, she possessed as much true goodness as anyone he had met.
If he let her go, he would not encounter another woman like her.
***
DURING THE RIDE HOME, Elizabeth was weary. She was not yet accustomed to town hours. It would have been easy to close her eyes, to rest her head on Darcy’s shoulder, but she did not dare.
Jane and Bingley, on the opposite bench, spoke in low tones. Jane’s wrapper hid their hands, which Lizzy was sure were entwined beneath it. She was not so missish as to see anything improper in it, so she made no comment.
Lost in thought, she startled when Darcy said to her, “You enjoyed yourself this evening.”
Regaining her composure, she smiled at him. “I did, though it may not be fashionable to admit it. I should say something about how the actor who played Bolingbroke was past his prime. Or how King Richard’s gestures were too exaggerated for my tastes. But I thought the entire evening was splendid. Which must confirm your opinion that I am horribly provincial.”
He gave a little chuckle, and her heart lifted at the sound. “I would not characterize you as such,” he countered. “I would call you delightfully refreshing.”
“Why, Mr. Darcy, you must not say so. You will turn my head.”
“On the contrary. I expect you see me with perfect clarity.”
She narrowed her brow. “I appreciate the compliment, sir, but it is misplaced.” In truth, she still could not read him.
He gazed at her a long moment. “I wonder. I believe I am more likely to deceive myself than I am to deceive you.”
She tilted her head, unsure what to make of that remark. A man as diffident as Darcy might well be distanced from his own emotions. But he was a puzzle to her.
“You give me too much credit,” she said gently. “All my impulses about you have been in error so far. While I can see where I have been wrong in the past, I cannot say I have got the right of you in the present.”
“Then we are even, at least.”
She gathered her pink and cream shawl closer about her. “Why, Mr. Darcy, are you trying to make out my character?”
“I believe I am well acquainted with it. You are devoted to family and friends. You accept the absurdity of life with good humour. You do not take yourself or anyone else too seriously.”
She pondered his words, surprised at how complimentary they were. Yet she did not care to be thought frivolous. “I take matters seriously when they are serious. Often, though, we give weight to situations that will be forgot a day or a week later. Do you not agree?”
“True. I can be too serious, too deliberative. Sometimes one choice is as good as another, and inaction the worst choice of all.”
She nodded slowly. “Precision is important in some cases. When it comes to relations with our neighbours, kindness is often what counts most.”
He grew pensive a moment. “It is difficult for me to approach matters lightly. I hate to look a fool.”
“You give people too much credit, sir. Even while in conversation, they are thinking about what to say next, rather than listening to you.”
Darcy feigned horror. “You mean I am wasting my time, delivering my words with the éclat of a proverb?”
Lizzy let out a laugh, then covered her mouth. She had made that accusation during the ball at Netherfield. “Nay, you are too naughty, teasing me with my own words.”
Their eyes met, and they smiled. His dark, intense gaze glittered in the lamplight and pierced the wall around her heart. He was not the uncaring man she once thought him.
The carriage rocked, sliding her against him. He was solid and warm. Her body wanted nothing more than to curve into him, to inhale his unique scent of wool and spice.
This man was so much more complex than she had given him credit for in Hertfordshire. He fascinated her. She wanted to know everything about him.
She considered how devoted he was to his sister. How wrecked he must have been when Wickham had nearly kidnapped the girl for the sake of her dowry. She eyed Darcy softly. “May I ask you a question about Mr. Wickham?”
His expression grew wary. “If you like.”
“Were you close as boys?”
He was silent a moment. Some deep emotion passed over his face. She could not read it in the dim light, but she suspected it was sorrow. “We were inseparable,” he said. “Wickham was the nearest thing I had to a brother.”
She nodded, letting that sink in. She imagined how it might feel if she was betrayed by her best girlhood friend. Charlotte Lucas, now Mrs. Collins, was married to Mr. Bennet’s heir. What if she ordered Lizzy’s family out of Longbourn immediately upon Mr. Bennet’s death? What if she left them homeless and nearly destitute?
Lizzy could not picture it. Charlotte could not be so cruel. And yet, Darcy must have once thought the same of Wickham.
“His treachery must have been devastating.”
Darcy’s eyes widened. “I thought only of my sister.”
“You may well believe that. I do not. He wounded you, Mr. Darcy, and I am sorry for it. I cannot believe you could have deserved such duplicity.”
“My sister certainly did not.”
She allowed him his pride. “You said it might be two or three years before she makes her come-out. Do you really think it necessary to wait that long?”
His jaw hardened. “I am determined she shall not come out before her eighteenth birthday. Beyond that, it will be her choice.”
Lizzy nodded, pleased with the answer. “I realize my opinion holds no weight with you, especially given how young Lydia was when she came out—”
“Did you have aught to do with that?” he asked with an ironic smile.
“I begged my parents not to permit it. Unfortunately, I hold no sway with my mother. As for my father, he seemed to believe that it was better to keep peace in the household. If Lydia made a fool of herself, she would learn sooner how to behave. As you must have noticed, however, Meryton society does not always keep to the proprieties.”
Darcy gazed at her with those acute eyes that seemed to penetrate her soul. “Lydia is very young. Her character is not fully formed.”
“She has always been a charming child. If her mind was put to good use...” Lizzy let her voice trail off. There was no point in finishing that sentence.
“You are not to blame for the failings of others. I have not found your judgement lacking. Especially when it comes to the improvement of young women. Your opinions about my sister are welcome.”
She looked at him gratefully. His words were kinder than she deserved. “I worry that the longer your sister waits before coming out, the more fearful she might become. She has been hurt by Mr. Wickham, but she also learnt from that mistake. I believe the experience has taught her caution. But she is shy by nature. Making her curtsey to the queen and coming out into society...the prospect must intimidate her. The sooner she puts the initial experience behind her, the happier she will be. If she spends years dreading it, the situation will loom larger than necessary.”
Darcy nodded slowly. “I see your point. If she does make her come-out, I do not wish her to enter the marriage mart before the age of one-and-twenty.”
Her lips parted at that. She eyed him a moment, then gave him a wry smile. “I am not yet one-and-twenty. Do you consider me too young to marry?”
He startled, appearing disconcerted, and did not reply.
The carriage pulled up in front of the house on Berkeley Square. The footman helped the ladies out, and the gentlemen walked them to the door. “Thank you for a lovely evening,” Darcy said, raising Lizzy’s gloved hand to his lips. “Your kindness to my sister is most appreciated.”
“You need not thank me for that,” Lizzy said. “She is a sweet girl. I am happy to call her friend.”
Darcy said no more but pressed her hand before departing. She watched him head back to the carriage, giving him a wave before turning to enter the house. Though her body was weary, her mind could not stop turning over the events of the evening. Something had changed between her and Darcy that night, and she had no idea where it would lead.
