~*~

Elizabeth watched out the window with eager anticipation for the Darcy carriage to arrive and boarded it with a lively step in spite of the greyness around her. She was to attend church with Darcy and Georgiana at St George's Church in Mayfair. Robert Darcy was in the carriage also, which was a pleasing surprise, for he felt to her as Charles Bingley did, like a brother.

In spite of the spirited conversation amongst their party, Elizabeth had been in the coach but a moment before she noticed the strange behaviour of her companions that morning. Darcy was staring at her in precisely the same manner he had in Hertfordshire, and Robert, always a gentleman, was even more so. He was solicitous and courtly to such a degree that she wondered if she might look ill when he offered her yet another blanket and inquired after her comfort for the third time. Even Georgiana looked at her strangely.

Georgiana reminded Elizabeth that they had planned a light meal at Darcy House after services, but Elizabeth remembered that Mrs Annesley was away visiting her mother, and since Jane and Kitty had quit town altogether, there was no one to fill the role of chaperone. The Gardiners were away from home for the day, so Elizabeth had reconciled herself to spending the rest of the day alone. Darcy was not of the same mind, however, and determined that they must call at Fitzwilliam House and prevail on his aunt to serve as a chaperone, that he might spend a few more hours in company with Elizabeth.

The coachman was redirected, and soon the small party was admitted to the house and escorted to the drawing room. Lady Matlock could scarcely contain her delight, and Lord Matlock astonished Elizabeth with the enthusiasm of his welcome. They had spent nearly half an hour in extremely pleasant conversation when a door on the far side of the drawing-room opened, and Viscount Milton sauntered in. He stopped with surprise at discovering the occupants there and bowed, whereupon his mother took it upon herself to make certain he was known to all. When the social niceties had all been satisfied, Milton seated himself beside Robert Darcy and begged to hear something of Virginia.

Elizabeth's gaze was fixed on Darcy until he looked back with such an expression of adoration that she coloured and looked away, her eyes drifting to the Viscount. Suddenly, it came to her, and her heightened colour turned pale as she struggled to school her features. She knew now for certain that she had never met him before their introduction at the theatre. She knew him, though. When she had suffered from a fever at Netherfield, she had experienced what she had long considered merely a hallucination from the fever, in spite of it remaining a vivid memory she could recall with perfect clarity. She had stood at the edge of a bloody battlefield, with Darcy in the midst of it on his horse. Many were attacking him, and there had emerged a man on the opposite side of the skirmish. He was dressed in black, and she had not been able to make out his face. He had raised a gun and shot at Darcy, killing him. Her heart pounded out a dreaded tattoo at the recollection, and she felt the same despair she had felt those months ago when in her delirium, she had believed Darcy dead. Now, she was certain. The man who had killed Darcy in her fevered dream, though a stranger to her then, was no stranger now. He was Viscount Milton. She had no doubt.

 

 

 

 

Chapter Twenty-two

 

MOORE’S MELODIES

 

To speak privately with Darcy was Elizabeth’s deepest hope, for she had so much to confide, and she wished to hear what had transpired in Darcy’s drawing room after she took Georgiana away. Her hopes for this to happen at Fitzwilliam House were soon thwarted. Lord and Lady Matlock perceived in the visit of their nephew and his betrothed an opportunity to discuss the ball they were to hold for Elizabeth. Armed with paper, ink and quill, Lady Matlock used a little side-table as a desk as she took notes on their conversation.

She commented rather pointedly over the brilliancy of Elizabeth’s complexion, giving the credit for the transformation to Elizabeth’s maid, Emilie. Turning her attention to the ball, she expressed satisfaction with the musical group they had engaged for the event and requested a list of Elizabeth’s favourite dances that she might tell the musicians which dances to prepare for in advance. There were refreshments to discuss, decorations, and the dinner menu. She had already decided on the food; however, Elizabeth’s approval was solicited as a matter of courtesy. Lady Matlock disavowed the idea of an impromptu program after dinner in favour of making previous arrangements with ladies of her choosing to perform by invitation.

“I would not have your ball spoilt by exhibitions of inferior accomplishment, my dear Miss Bennet; nor can I allow ladies with a decade or more of instruction from the masters to outshine you. Now, would you prefer to perform first, or last?” Lady Matlock paused, raised her pen and looked at Elizabeth expectantly.

“Last, I think,” Elizabeth said cheerfully. “The last person to perform has the advantage of bringing an end to the entertainments. If my recital is diverting it will make a fine conclusion, but if my efforts are not pleasing to the ear, the guests shall at least have the resumption of dancing as a consolation to their disappointment.”

“And what shall you play? Will you sing as well?” Lady Matlock dipped her pen in ink and poised it for her answer.

“There is an Irish ballad I have learnt,” Elizabeth said after a moment of hesitation. “I believe it would entertain.”

“I am intrigued,” Lady Matlock set the pen into the inkpot. “What is it?”

“It is called, Believe Me, if All Those Endearing Young Charms,” Elizabeth said, “have you heard of it?”

“I am Irish. Of course, I have heard it,” Lady Matlock replied as her brows knitted in consternation. “It is one of Moore’s melodies, is it not?”

“Indeed, your ladyship. It is by Thomas Moore.”

“Thomas? Of course, I know him as Anacreon Moore, for he never goes by Thomas in society. I dearly loved that opera he wrote for the Lyceum Theatre a few years ago. Do you recall it, the one with the bluestocking? It was delightful; we shared a box with Lord Moira that night and afterward, my dear widowed friend Barbara, Marchioness of Donegall, introduced us all to him. He is so very short; I believe Byron calls him ‘little.' Lord Byron has been his intimate acquaintance since that nonsense with the duel, you know ... after he had had his sport with him. Speaking of Lord Byron, he has already accepted the invitation to your ball ... I had not believed he would come. He was quite taken with you at Twelfth Night, so I suppose it should have been expected.” She picked up her quill and blotted the excess ink from the nib. “There is a pianoforte in the corner. Will you play this song for us now, or do you need the sheets?”

“I have been practicing it for a few weeks; I will attempt it,” Elizabeth replied with evident reluctance, although she moved to sit at the instrument.

“Yes, please do.” Lady Matlock said as she committed the name of the song to paper. “Does this song have any particular sentiment for you?”

“Yes, your ladyship, it is a love ballad, and I am in love.” Elizabeth glanced at Darcy, her colour heightening as she added, “Mr Moore is an old friend of Mr Lewin. He suggested it as particularly suitable for my voice, and happened to have a copy of the music his friend had given him.”

Darcy made his way across the room, to stand beside the pianoforte. Before she could begin, he asked, “May I inquire as to who Mr Lewin might be?”

Lady Matlock cleared her throat loudly. “Darcy, you are interrupting. Go sit with Freddie and keep him company, but send Georgiana over here by me, I need to speak with her while Miss Bennet plays for us.” She turned her attention back to Elizabeth, “Mr Lewin is your music master, of course. I had not realized he was that Mr Lewin until this very moment. I figured it out at your mention of his friendship with Mr Moore. He is handsome, is he not? He has such a golden, youthful countenance, unlike your dancing master, Mr Gifford, who is somewhat older, although still very handsome indeed.”

Elizabeth could only nod and wonder how Lady Matlock knew so much about her tutors. Darcy was staring at her, expectant curiosity written on his face. Georgiana had a look of enlightened relief, while Robert Darcy was on his feet nearly giddy with excitement.

“Why, I too know Thomas Moore! Well, I am acquainted with him is a more accurate statement—I do not claim anything beyond that. It was around ten years ago. I was in Norfolk on business for my father when he arrived in Virginia from Bermuda! I mistook him for an Englishman at first, for he has no trace of a brogue, and I approached him to discover his knowledge of Derbyshire. Our acquaintance was but for a few days; he did not stay in Virginia for long. He was determined to see as much of America as possible, and I never saw him after he went away. We did hear about that duel fracas, for it was all because of the dreadful things he wrote about America upon his return to England. Is it true that his opponent in the duel had no lead in his pistol?”

Lady Matlock levelled her gaze at Robert. “Please proceed, Miss Bennet. I daresay we are finished with all this chatter over Mr Moore.” She pulled a cord, and a footman appeared. “Bring the papers on my desk if you please,” she said. He nodded and departed.

While Elizabeth dutifully performed the air, it was decided that Georgiana would attend the ball, but only through dinner. She would only dance with her uncle, brother, and cousins and remain by Lady Matlock’s side when she was not dancing. She would be allowed to stay until Elizabeth had performed, after which she would retire to her usual bedchamber in Fitzwilliam House.

When Elizabeth finished singing, the footman returned with a salver which contained two bundles of papers. Lady Matlock waved her hand over them and beckoned Elizabeth to come back to her seat. “These, Miss Bennet, are the acceptances and regrets received thus far. The second group of invitations must be posted tomorrow, to replace those who have declined. I think it would be excellent to invite Mr Moore, and Mr Lewin too. The combined presence of Lord Byron and Mr Moore will lend distinction to your ball, and your music master, Mr Lewin, is also the third son of a Baronet, Sir Francis Lewin. Did you know?” Elizabeth shook her head. Lady Matlock tsked her tongue. “Tis a pity that Moore’s wife does not go into society; but we shall include her in the invitation, all the same.” Lady Matlock’s countenance softened. “It is rumoured that Mr Moore wrote the song for his Bessy after she was stricken with the pox. Her face, you see, well, it was much altered, and she feared he would no longer love her. He composed that song and stood outside her bedchamber door, singing it to her until she could not refuse him admittance. Or so the rumour goes.”

Elizabeth’s hand flew to her bosom. “What a beautiful story this is! His faithfulness to his wife in spite of being so marked by that terrible illness does him credit. But what if she does come to the ball? Will it discompose her in any way when I sing this ballad?”

“I believe that she has heard it a hundred times or more by now,” Lady Matlock smiled, “but your worry is ill-founded. She does not venture into fashionable society anymore; she is very near a mythological creature, even to his dearest friends. He has ever done all in his power to protect and honour their love. He did not even tell his family of their marriage at first, for his parents were Catholic and his new wife, alas, was Protestant. Worse yet, she had no dowry.”

“Why, it is not merely a love song! It is an emblem of the deepest sort of devotion,” Elizabeth folded her hands in her lap and smiled down at them. “It is perfect.”

“Here is a list of possible guests for your perusal,” Lady Matlock said as she snapped a paper to gain Elizabeth’s attention. “I have marked my preferences for the eight replacements we need so far. I have been careful to exclude those persons whose prejudices might suppress their early approbation of your betrothal. We must not work against ourselves. Will your family be returning to London for the ball?”

“I do not know,” Elizabeth replied. “It would be unwise to allow Lydia to come, but Kitty would be most pleased to be there. She is ever so fond of Miss Darcy and has spoken very highly of Mr Darcy ... Mr Robert Darcy, that is.” Elizabeth glanced across the room to where Darcy, Robert, Lord Matlock and Milton were conversing. She turned her head and in hushed tones added, “I fear she has developed something of a tender regard for him.” Returning to her normal voice, she said, “Mr and Mrs Bingley are not to come back to town for at least a month. They are to keep Miss Bingley with them at Netherfield. I cannot speak for Mama. She is rather unpredictable, although my father will certainly not come.”

“Well, at least they are all accounted for. When you return from your sister’s wedding, please do let me know who among your relations shall attend, for I wish to be prepared. Your ball shall be a full two weeks before the season is truly underway, and although other private balls are already taking place, there are none so far that shall be as splendid as this one. I am informed that the first orders of the dressmakers and tailors have been delivered to those in town who warrant early attention. I have, I am not afraid to say, a reputation for always putting on a grand event. There shall be no complaints that there was not enough refreshment, or of inferior musicians. Even more important, for most of them, this will be their first impression of you, and I intend to make certain you are a triumph!”

“I am touched by such kindness and generosity as you have extended your ladyship. I readily admit that I am fond of dancing, and I daresay that at least I shall not mortify you on that score. Mr Gifford has seen to it that I am proficient at all the newest dances and has aided me in improving the elegance of my steps. He has assured me that should I be granted a voucher to Almack's, I will not be embarrassed in the least by my dancing.”

“I am pleased to hear it, for I have received an acceptance from my friend, Lady Sefton. If she approves of you, gaining admittance to Almack’s for the season may be possible. She owes me a favour, and she is the most amiable of the patronesses by far. The other advantage to her attendance, of course, is that those assembled shall be far more concerned about making a wrong step in front of Lady Sefton to be caught up in how Darcy’s country maiden performs the figures.”

“If that is true, I will certainly be more at ease. At the Twelfth Night Ball, I had the protection of a masque to assure my anonymity, but at the Fishbourne’s ball, I could not help but discern ladies talking behind their fans while their eyes were fixed on me. A ball given in my honour cannot fail to call attention to me.”

“Miss Bennet,” Lady Matlock became serious. “Please understand that we want them to be talking about you behind their fans, as long as it is good. They must notice you, admire you, and approve of you. That is the entire point of introducing you into the first circles of society. I cannot have you shrinking in the corner.”

The colour in Elizabeth’s cheeks heightened. “Your Ladyship, I have long recognized in myself a refusal to be looked down upon by anyone. You need not fear that I will shrink—my courage always rises with every attempt to intimidate me. Please understand, however, that I do not wish to make myself conspicuous, nor do I feel any obligation to court the good opinion of any person who would bestow it unwillingly. I desire, of course, to establish myself as eligible society among Mr Darcy’s friends, but I draw the line at submitting myself for inspection as if I were horseflesh at Tattersall’s.”

“An apt comparison, my dear, for the young ladies who take their bows this year shall certainly be subject to the scrutiny of the marriage mart. You have the good fortune of not having to suffer that particular indignity, but the price you must pay to be accepted into the realm of the Upper Ten Thousand shall be dear indeed.”

Elizabeth swallowed uncomfortably. “What do you mean?”

“Do not look so distressed, child, it is nothing you do not already know. I only meant that you come to your alliance with Darcy with no fortune, no connections, no title and are completely unknown to everyone. Unless you can produce an inheritance heretofore unknown, there is nothing that can change these facts. Now, I have already promised you my assistance and that of the Earl. And Frederick also, is that not right?” She directed her gaze at Lord Milton. “For Darcy’s sake?”

He raised his brows and nodded. “What am I to do Mother? I am yours to command.”

“I only ask that you make a point to dance with Miss Bennet at the balls and show her off to her best advantage. Oh, and you might converse with her; let others see that you have accepted her into the family. You must openly admire her amongst your friends. She is known in Hertfordshire as the gem of the county; make use of that. It would also please me greatly if you use your considerable charm to excite anticipation among the guests for the performance she shall bestow on us after dinner. Give her a name, “the angel songstress of Longbourn” or something like it. Something to distinguish her.”

Milton inclined his head in a semblance of a bow toward Elizabeth. “I shall demand two sets at every ball, dominate your conversation whenever we are in company, and shout your praises to the skies to all who will hear me. I may well call out anyone who will not, and trust me, if I did, there would be lead in the pistols.” Elizabeth’s face paled. She pressed her lips together, shook her head, and turned her attention to the paper in her hand.

“One set,” Darcy’s voice came from behind, his tone cold, his words clipped.

“Come again?” Milton feigned deafness.

“One set shall suffice at the ball, Milton. We would not want anyone to suppose you had designs on your cousin’s future wife.”

“Oh!” Milton said with a laugh, “They shall suppose that regardless.”

~*~

In the dim candlelight of her bedchamber, Elizabeth reviewed the engagements for the four days before they were to leave for Longbourn. With two dinners, a private ball, and The Magic Flute at the King’s theatre, there would be no reprieve in the evenings. Days would be as busy too, starting with visits from her tutors each morning through Thursday. Mrs Higgs would arrive for another consultation, delivery, and fittings on Monday afternoon. Elizabeth was to be at home with her aunt on Tuesday to accept callers at Gracechurch Street, and they were to make calls together on Wednesday. Lady Matlock had claimed Thursday for the same purpose and had been vocally disappointed that Elizabeth would be out of town on Friday when callers would be received at Fitzwilliam House. In addition, her aunt had presented her with a list of preparations they were to fulfil for Mary’s wedding, which meant shopping and errands in addition to packing. At least Emilie could do that. What little time was not accounted for must go to studying and practicing.

Although each moment, it seemed, was committed, Elizabeth was filled with anticipation for the evenings, when she was assured of being in the company of Mr Darcy. The need for a private conversation with him felt increasingly urgent. The list of confidences she needed to make and questions to ask of him was growing. Her frustration over the situation had increased considerably when Darcy had informed her that there was so much business to attend to in town that he would not be able to go with her to Longbourn for Mary’s wedding. This change meant they would be apart from each other for over a week. With her Aunt Gardiner as a constant companion and chaperone, there would be little opportunity for a private conversation with Darcy before she left.

As her head sank into the softness of her pillow that night, Elizabeth’s thoughts turned on discovering some way to speak privately and at some length with Darcy before she left for Longbourn.

 

 

 

 

Chapter Twenty-three

THE PERFECT DAY FOR A WEDDING

 

Darcy shuffled through Georgiana’s music sheets, careful not to confuse their order or to allow the candle to drip on them. At last, he found it near the back, as unworn as the day he had purchased it for his sister over a year earlier. He moved to a seat near a window where the dim light of pre-dawn might help him read Moore’s words set amidst the notes of the score.

Believe me If all those endearing young charms,

which I gaze on so fondly today,

were to change by tomorrow and fleet in my arms,

like fairy gifts fading away.

Thou wouldst still be adored,

as this moment thou art.

Let thy lovliness fade as it will.

And around the dear ruin each wish of my heart.

would entwine itself verdantly still.

 

It is not while beauty and youth are thine own,

and thy cheek unprofaned by a tear,

that the fervor and faith of a soul can be known,

to which time will but make thee more dear.

Oh, the heart that has loved never truly forgets,

but as truly lives on to the close.

As the sunflower turns on her God as He sets

the same look that she gave when He rose.

 

Darcy, who struggled at times to even catch the tone of a conversation, had not failed to hear Elizabeth’s declaration of love for him when speaking of this song to his aunt. Foolishly he had allowed himself to become distracted by the mention of Mr Lewin and had not truly listened when Elizabeth sang it. He read the words again and again until the long shadows of the winter morn signalled that the sun had risen.

~*~

Darcy’s thoughts, so full of Elizabeth, were also troubled by his brief but resentful encounter with the mere name of another man: Mr Lewin. A close inspection of the expenditures provided by Mr Gardiner confirmed Elizabeth’s occupation of improving herself. There were bills from masters for music, dance, and art as well as tutors for French and mathematics. He chuckled at his own blindness, for had he not noted the superiority of her recent performances? Had she not effortlessly executed the steps of every dance she graced the floor with, even those newly in vogue? Had she not conducted herself these past four weeks with exceptional dignity and refinement, above even what he had witnessed in Hertfordshire? He could only marvel at this revelation of her ambition and resourcefulness. Elizabeth, having been deprived of formal schooling or even a governess, had nonetheless found a way to bridge the gap between an inferior education and the expectations of her future place in society.

Renewed admiration of the woman who was to be his wife washed over him. How could I feel anything but gratitude for this effort? Had she planned to tell me? When, indeed, could she have? Their situation had become exceedingly complicated overnight and what should have been but a minor delay in keeping her abreast now seemed an enormous chasm to overcome. Darcy growled under his breath with frustration. Lady Catherine and Anne should not have even been in town. They had refused to winter in London for years; what ill wind had drawn them when Elizabeth was here? And what of Mr Fellows? Was he a murderous fortune hunter, as Mrs Younge accused, or was he a good man, deserving of Anne’s affection and devotion? Darcy fingered a letter that had arrived late on Saturday from Sir Vincent. It disclosed that Mrs Younge had disappeared again, but not before she had again declared her bitterness toward Darcy. This time, she had vowed that he would know pain equal to what she had suffered. Curse Mrs Younge and her spite! I have done nothing to harm her. He cast the letter into the fire and watched it burn.

The flames ignited his agitation; new troubles mingled with the old. The unexpected return of his cousin, Lord Milton provoked an inexplicable sense of foreboding. The explanations Milton had provided for his appearance felt disingenuous, and it chafed at Darcy’s peace of mind. Caroline Bingley, Lydia Bennet, and Mrs Bennet all seemed such minor vexations now that he was very nearly ashamed for being bothered by them at all. Added to all this was the message that had arrived from Mrs Annesley this morning. Her mother was much worse than they had first thought, perhaps near death. She requested an extension of leave to be by her mother’s side. Of course, he would grant the request, but with Jane, Bingley, and Kitty having returned to Meryton, Darcy could not keep Georgiana at home without a companion. He resolved to send her to stay with Lord and Lady Matlock until Mrs Annesley returned.

Darcy retrieved the handkerchief he kept in an inner pocket, absently passing his thumb over the “E.D.” design as he turned his thoughts again to the lady who had embroidered it. In five days she was to follow her sisters to Longbourn. It would be eight days before her return. Could he bear to be parted from her? His reaction to the question startled him. Parted from Elizabeth? When did I become so bound to her that my heart is in torment at the idea of separation? Perish the thought!

Darcy craved her presence so profoundly that to remain seated was impossible. He leapt out of his chair and moved to stand before the window. Gazing into the street, he continued his reverie. He recalled the scenes when she had first bewitched him and relived the moments when he had been captured—first by her eyes and her wit. Gradually she won his admiration. The day he had found her kissing Apollo in the woods was a treasured memory, for he had discovered himself ridiculously jealous of his dog. He finally knew his heart was lost to her on the fateful morning when he had impulsively followed her to Oakham Mount and together they had basked in the golden light of an autumn sunrise. He revelled in the vision he summoned of his insistent proposal and the sweet victory of her acceptance. The memory of his disastrous interview with Mr Bennet intruded on his pleasant daydream, shattering it with the reality of the conditions Elizabeth’s father had imposed on their betrothal. He shook himself out of the now disagreeable contemplation and vowed to speak privately with Elizabeth that very night.

~*~

Elizabeth was beyond astonished. The garments Mrs Higgs delivered on Monday afternoon were fit for a museum; the quality was beyond anything she had ever seen. The styles are undoubtedly the ones I chose from the fashion plates, but these are beyond anything I might have envisioned! Silk was a rare commodity due to the war, but a single touch confirmed that they were indeed silk and of very high quality. I wonder if Uncle will approve of this clothing. It is undoubtedly made of smuggled silk. Each dress was richly but differently trimmed with delicate lace, beads, satin ribbons and embroidery work. The outerwear was equally luxurious with fur trim and lining, as were the matching hats, gloves, and muffs.

When Emilie came to put the new clothing away, her countenance was something near awe as she took it in. “It is the most beautiful dress I have ever seen!” Emilie clapped her hands with excitement over a white gown. The bodice was trimmed with silver-thread embroidery embellished with pearl beadwork and lace sleeves. Hanging from the bodice, a lustrous silk underskirt was visible through a chiffon overskirt; dainty trails of silver-thread embroidery swirled downward as a vine embellished with delicate pearl flowers. They led to a fine edge of scalloped Mechlin lace at the hemline.

“I asked Mrs Higgs for a dress I could wear with my pearls, and she informed me that this is it,” Elizabeth said with a delighted laugh. “When Mama sees this dress, all of Meryton must endure endless talk of lace! She will be insufferable for all her glee! But it is truly an exquisite gown, is it not?” A look of inspiration dawned and spread across her features. “Emilie, I shall take this one to Longbourn with me, to show Mama. I will insist that it is to be a secret, which she must not even speak of to her friends, for it is to be my wedding gown. Papa shall hear of lace and beads and embroidery and silk from dawn until sunset every day until I am wed! Pack it well, Emilie. It must arrive in perfect condition.”

~*~

Elizabeth sat between her Aunt Gardiner and Lady Matlock in the drawing room at the home of Lord and Lady Ashbridge. Having survived the introductions and enjoyed the meal, ladies hour was now upon her. She checked her posture and manifested a pleasant expression, determined that whether or not anyone liked her, they would find nothing in her behaviour or appearance to censure. Emilie had arranged and adorned her hair in the latest style, enhancing the dramatic effect of her jonquil gown. In her appearance at least, she could be confident. She was less sure of the perfection of her manners.

Elizabeth knew that Lady Matlock’s unceasing warmth toward her this evening was not a reliable indication of her success. Unlike her mother, Lady Matlock was not open with her feelings; she would remain gracious and unreadable regardless. A Fitzwilliam family trait, she decided. No wonder I had no idea that Mr Darcy liked me all that time. Perhaps this is true of all within this sphere. Must I learn to wear such a mask to fit in? A woman, whose name Elizabeth could not recall, approached and sat nearby, engaging her aunt in conversation.

“Mrs Gardiner, in which part of London do you live?” The pleasant tone of the woman belied any motive to embarrass or shame.

“Why we live in Gracechurch Street,” Mrs Gardiner replied cheerfully, “and you?”

The woman sighed and said, “We were forced to take a house in Berkeley Square this year. I had planned to return to Hanover Square, but the house we usually lease was unavailable. I am truly mortified! I am having my new cards printed, but I worry what my friends will think.”

“You must have been very disappointed,” Mrs Gardiner sympathised, and any further questions of Gracechurch Street were abandoned in favour of the woman’s tale of woe.

Another woman soon joined their circle, however, and addressed Elizabeth. “Miss Bennet,” said she, “how very happy you must be to have captured our elusive Mr Darcy. I wish you joy. Pray, do tell me, when are the nuptials to take place? I have inquired of all my friends, and nobody seems to have any idea.”

Elizabeth avoided looking at Lady Matlock and replied with a hint of mischief, “I am no more able to answer you than all your friends together. In truth, there is no fixed date yet, Mrs Holloway, but when one is established, I daresay it shall be a Tuesday.”

Confusion reigned on Mrs Holloway’s features. “Tuesday?” She wrinkled her face in distaste. “That is a very odd day to choose. I could understand if you were to marry by accident on a Tuesday, but to do so by choice is nonsensical.”

Elizabeth held back a laugh. “My mother was married on a Tuesday, you see, and she has set her heart on the idea that I will do the same.” She turned and addressed her aunt. “Mama would be devastated if I were to marry on, say, a Wednesday, would she not?” Elizabeth did not wait for a reply. “A daughter ought to do what she can to oblige her mother’s wishes, I always say. Do you not agree, Mrs Holloway?”

“I very much agree with you Miss Bennet, on a daughter’s duty to her mother, but I still cannot approve of a Tuesday wedding,” Mrs Holloway frowned.

“Did you know that Tuesday is named for ‘Tiw,' the ancient god of the sky?” Elizabeth asked gently. Mrs Holloway, baffled by the turn of the conversation, shook her head. “Well, it is.” Elizabeth raised her brows for emphasis and continued, “On the day Mr Darcy proposed to me, he made a vow of faithfulness, declaring that his constancy would be as that of the sun.”

“Well, that is certainly romantic,” Mrs Holloway said, “but would not Sunday serve as well?”

“For some, it may, but I have always thought that Sunday weddings were a distraction from the worship of our Lord and ruled it out for myself long ago. I know that this opinion is not fashionable here in town, but I am from the country and still consider such things important. Since you are not yet convinced, I will expand upon my reasons. In addition to what I said before, there is something deeper still. The root of ‘Tiw’ is ‘dyeu,' which means ‘to shine.' The day I become Mrs Darcy will be a shining day, a glorious day. It will be a Tuesday for me even if the calendar does not agree.”

A broad smile suddenly graced Mrs Holloway’s face. “I am persuaded, Miss Bennet, that Tuesday is a beautiful day for a wedding after all. You are, I think, a clever girl. Do not make it a habit to be too clever, though. Men, you see, find it appalling.” She paused and leaned toward Elizabeth and in her under-voice said, “Do not allow many more Tuesdays to pass before you see it through, my dear. You shall have greater standing as Mrs Darcy then you ever did as Miss Bennet.”

~*~

“Did you perform again last evening, Miss Bennet?” Mr Lewin asked as he was preparing to leave after their lesson. When Elizabeth affirmed that she had played and sung at a dinner given by Lord and Lady Ashbridge, he winced. “Is their pianoforte still out of tune? I have ever struggled to endure exhibitions of music at their parties.”

“Perhaps a little,” Elizabeth admitted, “but there were none who held it against me, not that I could tell. I was given the courtesy of polite applause when my song ended, and later, after the others had played, I was by no means rejected.”

“I cannot imagine that you would ever be that,” Mr Lewin said. “I am within the households of many families daily, and I assure you that an invitation to any event you may attend is highly coveted. Why, if they were aware that I am in your employ, the inquiries would rain upon me unceasingly. My own mother does not know you are my student.”

“Oh dear,” Elizabeth said, “I feel an obligation to warn you: Mr Darcy’s aunt, Lady Matlock, has somehow deduced who you are. You may well receive a highly coveted invitation yourself. She is holding a ball in my honour next month and thought to invite you, not because you are my teacher, but because you are of noble lineage and acquainted with some of the other guests. You do not need to accept if you do not wish to go.”

Lewin’s face brightened. “Not wish to go? Of course, I will go, if I am invited. Does Mr Darcy know of your lessons now as well?”

“He knows that you, Mr Lewin, are responsible for my recent improvements in the area of music,” Elizabeth smiled warmly, “but he knows none of the particulars of our arrangement. I had hoped to tell him more last night, but it was not to be. Popularity is the enemy of young lovers, you see. Perhaps it would have been better had I been rejected.”

Mr Lewin’s brows knitted with quizzical concern. “Your aunt warned me that you sometimes express opinions that are not your own. Surely you cannot desire rejection.”

Elizabeth shook her head. “No, Mr Lewin, at least not from those whose approval matters to Mr Darcy. I do want their approval, not for my own sake, but for his.

~*~

“Do you see that woman?” Elizabeth pointed across the street from the shop they had been in. “This is the third time this morning I have seen her from afar. Do you suppose she is following us, Aunt Gardiner?”

“Where, Lizzy?” A coach obscured the view, and when it had passed, the woman had disappeared.

“It is strange. I know I saw her yesterday as well. It was in the haberdashers in Cheapside. She caught my notice, for I wondered about her circumstances, and I thought she looked somehow familiar. She was in mourning dress, and also ...,”

“...with child.” Mrs Gardiner exclaimed. “I saw her too!” She did appear to be watching us, but I had presumed it was because your beautiful clothing was out of place in Cheapside.”

“It is a long way from Cheapside to Bond Street,” Elizabeth said. “Now it is she who seems out of place. Can it be coincidence that we have seen her here as well? It seems rather unlikely. Have you any idea who she may be?”

“No,” Mrs Gardiner peered across the street, searching. “She appears to be gone. Do tell me if you see her again. Your uncle knows the merchants in all parts of town. I will have him make inquiries if this continues.” The two women boarded their carriage, and with an uneasy look out the window, they instructed the coachman to take them home to Gracechurch Street.

~*~

The final social engagement of the week was the Covington Ball on Thursday night. Despite repeated attempts, Darcy had still not managed a tête-à-tête with Elizabeth. He blamed himself, although, in retrospect, he would have done nothing different. No one was to blame for the events that had necessitated the change to their plans on Tuesday night. A broken axle on Mr Gardiner’s carriage and a sick child had resulted in their attending the opera with his aunt and uncle instead of hers, so that Lady Matlock might serve as chaperone. They had two extra seats in their box, enough only for Darcy and Elizabeth. Darcy gifted Robert with the twelve box seats he had arranged for the night. Robert, to the delight of Lord Matlock, had filled the boxes with Speaker Abbot, William Wickham, three M.P.s and six ladies.

The change in their arrangements had proven fortuitous. He had not, until that night, perceived Milton’s attentions to Georgiana. Lord Milton, the practiced lover, had poured praise and tender words unrelentingly on his sister. His flattery was as honey to his reserved sister, who, barely seven months past her disastrous encounter with George Wickham, was still naive in spite of her narrow escape. She did not discern that this cousin, nearly twenty years her senior, was being anything other than kind. Once he noticed Milton’s behaviour, Darcy had not left Georgiana’s side for the whole of the evening. He was confident that Elizabeth had realized his concern, for she had worked to distract Milton away from Georgiana as much as possible. I sent her to stay with Aunt Eleanor, fool that I am. I knew Milton to be a seducer, but I never imagined that he would philander with Georgiana; she’s a child. I dare not leave her in that house now. She must either come home or stay with Aunt Catherine.

The Wednesday dinner with the Digbys went much the same as dinner with the Ashbridges. Too many persons, eager to claim an acquaintance with Elizabeth Bennet of Hertfordshire, had occupied her every moment. I forget how insufferable the ladies of the ton can be. One would expect well-bred women to demonstrate the greatest warmth and civility. It is no wonder that I never found one among them who pleased me. Elizabeth is their better in every way.

He had remained close enough to overhear most of her conversations. Asked in what year she had been presented at court, her reply had been coy. “I cannot recall the date, for it seems as a dream to me now. It is no matter, though, for I must be presented as Mrs Darcy after our marriage anyway. As to when that event may be, you will have to inquire of my father, for I have no idea.”

Asked in what style she was redecorating Pemberley, she had glibly replied, “One does not redecorate an estate as exquisite as Pemberley. Improvements shall, of course, be made, and furnishings updated, in which I shall use the taste of the generations of Darcys who have gone before as my guide.”

When the same question was posed about Darcy House, he leaned forward to hear her better. “I find myself captured by a dilemma, for French fashions are the rage among those with any pretensions of elegance. However, French furnishings are so difficult to come by with the war. What would you propose?” Darcy had chuckled to himself at her reply, for two days after she had taken a tour of Darcy House, she had handed him a detailed list of improvements. New furnishings for the drawing room, dining room, and the mistress’ quarters had been ordered weeks ago. Workmen would be updating the wallpaper and paint while she was in Hertfordshire for Mary’s wedding, and he had just received notice that the items they had sent out to be refurbished with new fabric were ready for delivery.

Tonight was their last chance to converse, but if he had learned anything from the disappointments of the past three days, it was that there was no guarantee. He used the remaining hours before he would dress for the ball to write a heartfelt letter to Elizabeth, just in case.

~*~

Elizabeth arrived at the Covington’s Ball with her Aunt and Uncle Gardiner, at an hour that Lady Matlock had assured Elizabeth was fashionably late. Darcy was waiting for their party and informed them that Robert, Lord and Lady Matlock and Lord Milton were already inside. Elizabeth was relieved to see no sight of Milton and learned he had gone immediately to the card room. Would that he remains there for the duration of the evening.

The week had brought about so many introductions that Elizabeth had given up trying to remember all the names. Upon her entrance into the Covington ballroom, their party was again pressed on all sides. Elizabeth could only wonder at their motives. Are they here out of curiosity, a sincere desire to know me, or to relish the opportunity to turn their noses down at me? Their reasons did not matter, she decided, for if there was someone Darcy particularly wanted her to know, he found a way to initiate the introduction, and those names, she remembered.

The sound of musicians tuning their instruments and the flow of people into the ballroom signalled that the dancing was soon to begin. Elizabeth’s pleasure at Darcy’s claiming the first set was doused when Lady Matlock forbade them from dancing the supper set with each other. “Miss Bennet must mingle, Darcy, and if you are seated together for supper, our purpose is defeated.”

“Aunt Eleanor, you must know that Miss Bennet and I are to be separated after this night for eight days. Can you not understand that I want to spend some time with her? This interference in our affairs is galling.”

With a restrained roll of her eyes, Lady Matlock turned her attention to Elizabeth. “You must plan on Lord Milton as your partner for the second set. He waited some time for your arrival, but I told him to go along to the card room, and I would inform you. I daresay he is anticipating this dance with an eagerness I rarely see in him.”

Elizabeth did not know what to say, for she would have liked to make an excuse but could think of nothing she could say to his mother that would not be an insult. “Very well,” she replied, “Lord Milton shall have the second set.”

The musicians were still warming up, but after several minutes of stilted conversations, Darcy bowed to Mr and Mrs Gardiner, took Elizabeth’s gloved hand and led her toward the dance floor.

“Fitzwilliam, the dance is not forming yet. We are too soon on the floor.”

“To dance we are early, but our conversation is belated. Here in the middle of the dance floor, no one will hear us. Shall we talk?”

“I had hoped for exactly this, to speak with you; but not here. We have spoken when dancing before, but what we have to say cannot be so public. We need to be alone, Fitzwilliam.”

“You are perfectly right. Meet me in the library.”

Elizabeth shook her head with a laugh. “Mr Darcy, not now, not during the first set. The rumours would fly faster than our feet!”

“The balcony then.”

“Now I know you tease me. It is January! One might stand by a window to take in some air, but the balcony is out of the question.”

Darcy granted her a rare grin. “We shall revisit the question of the balcony in March, I assure you. But for tonight, the library it is.”

Elizabeth nodded tentatively. “Later, perhaps. When it comes time for the fourth set, let us meet by the punchbowl and escape to the library with our negus.”

“A daring plan,” Darcy replied. “I agree to it.” He gave a little, formal bow to Elizabeth as if to seal the contract.

Elizabeth shifted to stand by his side and opened her fan with a flick of the wrist. Hiding her mouth behind it, she said, “I see now that I am corrupting you. The Mr Darcy who came to Netherfield in the fall would never have agreed to such a scandalous plan.”

“You think not? Even then I would have done nearly anything you asked of me.”

Elizabeth coloured. “There is so much I need to tell you.”

“There is less to tell than you think.”

Elizabeth arched a brow and puckered her lips. “If you are so averse to hearing me, I have questions too.”

“I have not a shred of aversion to hearing you or your questions.” Darcy’s brow creased, and his tone shifted from playful banter to decided seriousness. “I cannot wish to merely chat as though we are sitting down to tea, Elizabeth.” His voice deepened. “How am I to endure your absence? I know it cannot be helped, but to know you will be away is a torment. I ache for you, even when you are just a few miles away at Gracechurch Street. I never wish to be parted from you, and yet we are to separate again. If you were my wife, it would be different.”

“You would order me not to go?”

“Of course not; I would find a way to go with you.”

“What, exactly, is stopping you from coming with me now?” Elizabeth challenged. Darcy’s face appeared stricken, but before he could answer, Elizabeth said, “The music is starting Fitzwilliam. It is time to dance.” Elizabeth took her position and gave Darcy a deep curtsy. The dancing that ensued was marked by precisely the sort of meaningless discourse Darcy had earlier decried, but both knew that what they had to say to each other was not for the ears of the ton.

~*~

“Miss Bennet,” Lord Milton bowed from his position beside the Gardiners, expectantly waiting for Darcy to return her to her chaperones. “At last we dance.” He extended his arm for Elizabeth to take. “I have thought of little else since Sunday when Mother reminded me of my duty to Darcy.” Elizabeth set her hand on his arm.

“I am sorry,” Elizabeth replied with a sweetness she did not feel. “It may comfort you to know that I am here for the same reason.”

“Oh, yes, my mother does like to have her way,” Milton chuckled as he led her across the floor. “She is always scheming and plotting to work things to her advantage.”

“You misunderstand me, my lord. I speak of my duty to Mr Darcy. It is for him that I dance with you.”

“It would seem, then, that your submission to duty is my good fortune,” Milton said with affected charm. “I do so love a lady who submits.”

They had reached their position, and Milton stepped into line with the other men and winked at her.

Elizabeth forced herself to remain composed as she performed the barest hint of a curtsy. She looked away from him and smiled at the woman next to her. She spoke not one more word to Milton, but he made a cheerful declaration whenever he drew near. “You look radiant tonight. Your dancing is superb. I sense you are unhappy; I shall tease a smile out of you yet.” And so it went for the duration of the first dance.

With such innocuous expressions as these, Elizabeth was unprepared for what happened in the second, for moments into the dance; he lowered his voice and leaned in to speak to her, sotto voce. “The dance master has an apt pupil in you, Miss Bennet. Did he, perchance, initiate you in the delights of the Paphian Jig?” Astonished, Elizabeth looked away, refusing to acknowledge the base remark. Surely he did not say what I thought he said. She quivered with indignation, her jaw tensed, her eyes turned cold.

When they came together again, he appeared contrite. “I understand Fitzwilliam is teaching you to ride.” He had to turn away then, but he watched her over his shoulder, staring intently at her until he was close enough to speak. “Now that you have mastered mounting the beast and managing your skirts, you must be eager to indulge in the pleasures of the ride.” He boldly smiled. “Hyde Park is the most fashionable place for it, but I highly recommend that you take a turn at Bushy Park.”

Elizabeth’s blood boiled in anger; the colour spread up her neck and into her cheeks. He cannot speak to me this way! Vulgar man! One look at his face made it clear that he was enjoying her distress. “I heard you attended church with Darcy at St. George’s. What is your opinion of St. George?” Elizabeth threw her hands to her sides in exasperation and walked away without a word. Lord Milton followed and took her arm, posing as a polite escort back to the Gardiners. Elizabeth attempted to shake him off, without success.

“Ah, Mr and Mrs Gardiner,” Milton said, “Your niece became bit faint while dancing. I am certain it is nothing and that she shall recover quickly; I entrust her to your care.” He turned to Elizabeth and bowed. “It has been my pleasure, Miss Bennet. I would be enormously pleased to resume our conversation when you are in better spirits.” He was gone into the crowd before she could decline.

Elizabeth, having been guided to a chair by her aunt, fanned herself briskly as she contemplated how to answer the inevitable questions. I cannot say a word to Fitzwilliam of this, lest he is provoked. I cannot allow this to come to violence. As a rational creature, Elizabeth could not give weight to the fevered hallucination in which Milton, or a man remarkably like him, had shot and killed Darcy. It was not real. She looked up and saw Milton watching her from across the room. A chill shook her at the sight of him. The dream may not have been real, but this feeling, whatever it was, could not be ignored.

 

 

 

 

Chapter Twenty-four

SEPARATION

 

On Friday morning, the Gardiner Household was up before the sun, preparing to travel to Longbourn for Mary’s wedding. They planned to depart at first light, so the candlelit household was a bustle of activity as trunks were readied to load, groggy children were dressed, and a basket of food for each carriage was prepared. Elizabeth was to ride with her aunt, uncle, Lily, and Flora in the larger coach while Emilie, Isaac, and Simon rode in the smaller. Elizabeth went outside as soon as the carriages were brought around to be loaded by the menservants. She was warm, thanks to the sable lining and trim of her new mantle, and she stood out of the way of the men loading the carriages down with their trunks. She watched the street, hopeful that Darcy would come to bid her farewell.

The coaches were loaded, the family came out to board, and Elizabeth cast one last glance down the street before she was to be handed in. A lone rider on horseback approached through the fingers of morning mist. Elizabeth’s heart beat ferociously in her chest as the familiar shape of a man approached. Her impulse was to race down the street and fling herself into his embrace, but she stood quietly instead, smiling and waiting for him to arrive at the house. When he drew close, however, her smile faded; it was not Fitzwilliam, but Robert Darcy who approached. Her aunt, observing the change in expression, was quick to understand and guide Elizabeth to the carriage door to board. The children were already settling into the carriages, tucked in with blankets and hot stones for warmth.

A conference between Robert and Mr Gardiner ensued, and when Mr Gardiner joined them in the carriage, he informed them that Mr Darcy had asked his cousin to accompany their party to Hertfordshire as an outrider for security and protection. Robert was to stay with the Bingleys at Netherfield and return to London in the same capacity as an outrider.

Due to the late night followed by an early, taxing morning, it was not long after the carriages rolled that their inhabitants were all fast asleep. When Elizabeth awoke, the familiar, wintry landscape of the Hertfordshire countryside greeted her through the carriage window; she drew back the curtain for a better view. Robert, she observed, was riding just outside, and she watched him for a while, her heart filled with affection for this man who had become nearly as a brother to her. His similarity to Darcy, however, also stirred other feelings, sorrow over Darcy’s absence mingled with an unfamiliar longing for his presence. Her thoughts drifted back to the previous night.

They had made three separate attempts to slip away from the ball to the library; each was thwarted. As Elizabeth was waiting for Darcy before the fourth set as they had agreed, Lady Matlock found her, a young lord in tow, and Elizabeth, unable to claim herself engaged for the dance was pressed into accepting the offered partner. Darcy arrived a moment too late, his face grim when he realized what had occurred. They had tried again as the dinner hour drew to a close. When they approached a door to quit the ballroom, their hostess discovered them and, declaring her good luck in coming upon them, insisted that Elizabeth open the entertainment portion of the evening by delighting them with a song. Elizabeth graciously complied, hiding her disappointment. Anyone observing Darcy, however, would have recognized his displeasure by the set of his jaw and the steel in his eyes.

When the dancing was to resume, Elizabeth was standing beside the Gardiners. Darcy stood not far away, and when he caught her eye, he signalled with a subtle raise of his brows that they should make another attempt. She declared a need to refresh herself, which was met with a nod and smile of acknowledgement from her unsuspicious aunt. She had taken but two steps before she saw Lord Milton crossing the ballroom toward her, expectation on his face and determination in his gait. Darcy, sensing something amiss, tracked her gaze, perceived Milton’s intent, and was immediately at her side to enlist her partnership for the set.

“You have earned my everlasting gratitude, Fitzwilliam,” Elizabeth said at her first opportunity in the dance, “for the rescue.”

“Rescue?” They turned and passed again. “You speak of my interference with Milton approaching to dance?”

Elizabeth nodded at him as they awaited their next set of moves. Darcy’s countenance darkened, and when they drew near, he demanded, “What have you to be rescued from? Has he harmed you?”

Elizabeth’s cheeks flushed. Think, think! I must not kindle Darcy’s resentment; I do not know what he would do. “It is his manner I do not like,” she replied with caution. “He is altogether too forward.”

Darcy grinned with satisfaction. “You do not like my cousin!” he declared with something close to glee. “He, who prides himself on the immediate admiration of every lady he deigns to address, has failed to earn yours!”

“This is not your victory, Mr Darcy. I did not much like you at first either.” Elizabeth scolded.

“But you like me now; that is the material point,” Darcy said, beaming.

“Aye,” she laughed, her heart as light as her feet. “Now let us plan our escape to the library.”

When Darcy returned with Elizabeth at the end of the set, Aunt Gardiner announced that due to their early departure on the morrow, it was time to leave the ball. Uncle Gardiner had already gone to call for their carriage, and her aunt turned away to have someone fetch their cloaks.

“Do you suppose they would notice our disappearance if we went to the library now?” Elizabeth attempted to be cheerful as they walked out of the ballroom and into the foyer.

“It is much simpler to manage one’s affairs when not subject to the whims of cousins, aunts, and society,” Darcy said with a hint of petulance.

“I have news for you. Bad news, I’m afraid,” Elizabeth replied. “Prepare yourself for something very dreadful.”

Darcy stopped walking. “What news?”

Elizabeth entwined her arm in his and turned her face up, waiting until his eyes met hers before she spoke. “The management of your affairs shall never be simple again; not when they are subject to the whims of your frequently whimsical bride.” She looked away, to hide the upward curl tugging at the corner of her lips.

There were too many persons milling about in the Covingtons’ entry hall for Darcy to act on the impulses that beset him. “That is not bad news,” he replied, “nor is it news at all. I harbour a mighty hope in the frequency of your whims, my dear.” With the tip of a single finger, he gently turned her face back to look at him. “A mighty hope indeed.” Sweet strains from the ballroom serenaded as their eyes communicated the farewell their lips could not.

A signal from Aunt Gardiner to indicate that the coach had been brought around hastened their goodbye. Darcy retrieved a letter from a hidden pocket in his tailcoat and pressed it into Elizabeth’s hand. “I had hoped we would speak and prayed it would not come to giving this to you, but I think I must. Read it tomorrow, when you are rested.”

Elizabeth accepted the letter, sliding the letter inside her reticule, from which she, in turn, withdrew a similar packet and handed it to Darcy with an awkward laugh. “It seems that we are of a like mind.” He received the letter and caught Elizabeth’s hand up, pressing a tender kiss on the back of it. He bowed to her and silently returned to the ballroom.

~*~

Anyone observing the Bennet household in the days before the wedding would never suppose the third daughter of the family to have been passed over; Mrs Bennet made up for years of neglect now. Mrs Bennet’s famous nerves were anxiously engaged in the work of getting another daughter married. She took inventory of Mary’s wedding clothes three times before the instruction to pack them was issued. The food for the wedding breakfast was complicated by her insistence on using both cooks. With one from Longbourn, the other from Netherfield, Mrs Bennet spent hours negotiating which cook would prepare which dishes so that the food would be the best her neighbours had ever tasted.

Mrs Bennet had invited more people to Mary’s wedding breakfast than she had for Jane’s. She believed that the importance of Mr Timmons, as the parson in Meryton, could not be underestimated, and she was determined to make the most of it. So it was that the four and twenty families of their intimate acquaintance had all been invited to take part in the festivities, plus a few guests of Mr Timmons’s.

When every arrangement for the wedding was complete, Mrs Bennet loaded her daughters into their carriage to call on their friends and acquaintances, and most particularly to crow about her success in arranging marriages for her daughters with such prestigious gentlemen.

Elizabeth, having suffered such visits with her mother in the past, lacked enthusiasm for the first outing, but she also lacked any excuse, and so found herself sipping tea, eating rout cakes and enduring the Meryton gossip. Midway through their first visit, she took note of the easy relationship her mother had with the lady of the house. The gossip, she realized, was less of gossip than it was of spreading the news about interesting goings-on in the little town. It also struck her that these ladies not only knew her mother and all her eccentricities, but they genuinely welcomed her and liked her. Compared to her calls with the ladies of London society, she enjoyed the visits with their country friends far more than those in town, in spite of the dry cake and inferior tea.

~*~

The day of Mary’s wedding was beautiful and sunny. She was as solemn as Elizabeth had expected her to be, but with her lovely dress, veiled bonnet and a bouquet of flowers from the hothouse, the effect was of peaceful serenity. As she had done at Jane’s wedding, Elizabeth listened intently to the words of the ceremony, the vows sworn by Mary and Mr Timmons, but this time, she felt as though her own heart would break at each promise. When her tears fell, Robert handed her a handkerchief, and in so doing, unleashed a deluge.

When they returned home after the wedding breakfast, Elizabeth claimed a headache and retired to her room, seeking the comfort of re-reading the letter from Fitzwilliam. She had read it through at least twice a day since Friday. She knew that some of what it disclosed ought to make her uneasy, but it had an entirely different effect on her, for his words and confidences were proof of her belief that he would treat her with the respect and esteem of an equal partner in their union. Combined with the feelings she had experienced at Mary’s wedding, she felt as though she could bear the delay in her marriage to Darcy no longer. Over the course of an hour, her anguish turned to anger.

~*~

Mr Bennet looked up from his book at the sound of a hard knock on the door. “Enter,” he said, waiting to see who it was before he returned his attention to the page. “Come in, Lizzy, and shut the door behind you.”

“I must speak with you, Father.”

“Can it not wait, child? I have had many conversations today, and I am enjoying my book now.” He took a sip from the cup of wine on his table.

“It cannot wait,” Elizabeth replied with a toss of her head. “Not for another moment.”

Mr Bennet slowly placed a bookmark, closed the book, set it on the table, and removed his glasses. “What is it, Lizzy? What cannot wait another moment?”

“My marriage to Mr Darcy. It cannot wait. We must wed immediately.”

Mr Bennet grew pale. “You are not....”

“No!” Elizabeth cried. “Listen to me, Papa! I do not want a season in London before I wed. It is ridiculous. The only reason single women need a season is to catch a husband, and that does not apply to me.”

“You know the reason, Elizabeth. The season has not yet begun, and you are already crying off. Is it so very bad?”

“Yes. Yes, it is. I cannot begin to tell you how bad it is. It is not all bad, of course, but it is bad enough.”

“Hm,” Mr Bennet said as he took another sip. “It sounds bad.”

“Do not mock me, Father! The people in Mr Darcy’s circles are nothing like those friends we have met of the Gardiners in London. Do you remember when Mr Darcy first came to the Meryton Assembly Ball and we all thought him too proud and above his company? He was, in fact, being positively friendly! The people of the ton view a country maid like me as nothing, nothing at all. They cannot stand that Mr Darcy chose me above all their daughters. They hate me for it. And there am I, dancing in their houses, Miss Bennet from Hertfordshire, with no dowry and no name of note, having stolen the grand prize right out from under their noses. How they resent me!

“Lady Matlock has been kind and is doing the best she can to ease my way into that society, but the shocking thing is that the one person with the power to ease my suffering chooses to prolong it instead. Do not look as if you have no understanding, Papa, for we both know it is you, my own parent, who keeps me low. I have no standing in society as Miss Bennet, but as Mrs Darcy, I would at least have the weight of my husband’s family name to give me some footing.”

“So you have become an upstart. Well done, Lizzy. Do put on airs at dinner tonight; I beg you. It will lend distinction to our table and make your Mama the envy of the neighbourhood.”

Elizabeth glared at him. “I have made my choice, and you have given your consent. I have no desire to wait an entire season to marry. Why, then, do you impose it on me?”

“I shall pose a question, Lizzy. These people of the ton, the first circles, the upper ten-thousand or whatever you call them, do you like them? Are you happy and comfortable in their society?”

Elizabeth pressed her lips together, not wanting to admit that she felt out of place. “No, not particularly, not yet anyway.”

“You are not happy among those of your future social circle?”

“No, but I am certain to discover friends in time. For now, I am happy in the company of Mr Darcy, and that is all that matters to me.”

“It is not enough. You, of all my daughters, deserve to be respected wherever you go. I can bear the thought of your unhappiness at the hands of these people no longer.” He looked at his daughter for a long minute. “This is difficult to do, especially to you my child, but I hereby withdraw my consent to your marriage. I will write Mr Darcy a letter advising him of this change in a day or two. Trust me; it is for the best.”

Elizabeth froze in astonishment at her father’s words. “Oh, please, no, Papa, you cannot mean it! I already have all my wedding clothes, and think of how a jilt would damage our reputation as a family. Do not forget that I will come of age in July and can marry at that time even without your consent, for we are truly in love. The people of the ton, they cannot make me love him less, however superior they pretend to be. They are his pox, and I will not turn away from him over them.”

“His pox, Lizzy?”

“Upon my word, the pox doesn’t matter!” Elizabeth cried. “This is not just! This is not sound!” Mr Bennet was not immune to Elizabeth’s pleading; nevertheless, it took an hour of earnest persuasion before he conceded the argument and allowed their engagement to stand.

 

 

 

 

Chapter Twenty-five

INTRODUCING MISS ELIZABETH BENNET

 

“Oh, Aunt Gardiner, when we were on our way to Longbourn, I was wild with anticipation to return, to be in my lovely Hertfordshire among my dearest friends and family; but home is not the same as before.”

“Of course it is not the same.” Mrs Gardiner set down her tea cup. “The home you knew as a young maid is never truly the same once you have gone into the world. You have passed through a gate that leads you to your future life. The people and places of Longbourn have not changed; you have changed. I know this is true because for some six weeks now this transformation unfolded before me.”

“Changed? I do not believe it, Aunt. I am as I ever was.”

“Never deny what is true, Lizzy. The station in life you shall inhabit as the wife of Mr Darcy will do one of two things to you. It will either crush you with the burden of expectations you were never taught to bear, or it will prove you to be the exceptional woman I know you to be. The changes I have witnessed are those of refinement and self-assurance without the pretension of airs or vanity.”

“Do not think me dull, Aunt, but I have no idea what you mean.”

“Consider your Mama’s reaction when she saw you in your new white gown.”

Elizabeth laughed. “Have you ever seen her lack for words on such an occasion before? She made not a sound for at least five minutes! Not a murmur, indeed, not so much as a squeak!”

“It was not the dress that shut her mouth, Lizzy. It was you. The woman who stood before her was a creature she did not know. She understood at that moment that the daughter she raised was no more, any more than the caterpillar remains when the butterfly takes wing.”

Elizabeth’s face revealed a new comprehension. “I hope it did not make her sad.”

“On the contrary, Niece; I heard her in Mr Bennet’s study not an hour later on the subject of redecorating Longbourn—to match the elegance of your dress and your coming position in society—in time for your wedding breakfast. You may have altered, but your Mama remains the same.”

~*~

Elizabeth smoothed her hair in the mirror and checked the clock, yet an hour remained before Darcy was to call. Mr Gardiner was at his warehouse, and Mrs Gardiner was taking the children to the park to skate on the pond. Elizabeth had persuaded her Aunt that she and Darcy needed time alone—at least an hour—to discuss many important and private things. Initially reluctant to grant so much time alone, upon hearing a few passages from Darcy’s letter, Mrs Gardiner relented, even agreeing that the door to the room should be shut once the housekeeper brought their tea so that the servants would not overhear.

Elizabeth lounged on the bed to re-read his letter once again, the pages already worn from frequent handling. Darcy, she realized, although a man of few words in speech, was articulate, even eloquent in a letter. She traced her finger along the lines of the opening passage, words she had not shared with her aunt, words that stirred feelings in her breast and evoked a sigh as she considered the depth of all he conveyed. Hope, my beloved, deepest passion, longing, adore you, ardent love, and my wife.

The rest of the letter was alternatively open and cryptic. He began with a lurid tale of George Wickham, Georgiana and her companion, Mrs Younge. The story did not end when Darcy extinguished their plan and rescued Georgiana from an elopement with Wickham. The dying embers of the failed plot against his sister had re-ignited; the flames were reborn as an attempt to extort money for silence about what would be a scandal, a stain on the Darcy reputation. Wickham’s untimely death had not marked the end of this saga, however. He then wrote at length about Mrs Younge, her past, her connections, her anger toward him and her current situation, including all she had claimed about Mr Fellows to Sir Vincent.

His letter then confessed his secret financial arrangements with Mr Bennet, wherein he was to pay for Elizabeth’s expenses. This, Elizabeth already knew, thanks to Mrs Gardiner, but Darcy did not know that she knew, in spite of her previous attempt to make him admit it. She felt gratified that he told her so openly now.

The letter then became cryptic, for he spent a long paragraph explaining how important it was to him that she enjoy the London season, that she like her new friends and acquaintances, that she feel comfortable with his family and within his social circle. It was not until Elizabeth’s quarrel with her father that clarity regarding this portion of Darcy’s letter dawned in her mind. Upon leaving his study, Elizabeth had raced back to her bedchamber and skimmed until she found the passage. The question of her happiness in society was a conspicuous common interest between the two men. Could it be that the consequence of revealing her honest reservations was the withdrawal of her father’s consent? Like lightening, it struck her. This was not a bet or wager as she had supposed, but the loss of her father’s blessing on their union. Her anger against her father hardened that he would be so high-handed. She could not blame Darcy—her father had undoubtedly extracted a promise of secrecy. He would have felt honour bound to be faithful to it. It is to Darcy’s credit that he has worked so faithfully to see to my happiness in the midst of such burdens of his own.

The letter also aired his doubts about Milton’s sudden return from Ireland. Elizabeth was glad for his concern, for she would not have to justify her unease to Darcy or tell him anything of the dark vision she held of Darcy’s demise at the hand of his cousin. Having no proof that it was anything more than a fevered dream, she felt it should not be attempted, lest she appear too much like her mother.

~*~

A full moon lit the sky the night of Elizabeth’s Ball and shone through the carriage window, as they drove through the streets of London. The weather, still wintry, had nevertheless warmed somewhat in the past week. The promise of spring carried in the wind that rocked the Gardiner’s carriage as they made their way to Fitzwilliam House. The sound of the horse’s hooves striking the pavement drew Elizabeth’s mind back to the previous week, a week where it seemed that all had changed. Their letters, those mad letters dashed off in desperation, had overcome the divide between them. When Darcy had come to visit Elizabeth that Saturday, their candid discourse had lasted not for an hour, but for five. Five sweet hours where nearly all that they feared had been laid bare between them. The confidences they shared renewed their trust; neither of them had understood how very fragile it had been until now. With their unity restored and a newfound closeness established, they emerged mutually determined to face life together as one.

They had jealously guarded afternoons together from that date forward. A week of unseasonably warm afternoons enabled Darcy to resume tutoring Elizabeth in equestrian skills. On Monday, she climbed on Esther’s back from the mounting block in the stable and rode the silver mare up and down the street, with Georgiana, Darcy and Robert joining in the parade while Mrs Gardiner watched from the doorstep. Elizabeth’s natural athleticism gave her an advantage, and she was astonished to discover herself quickly settled and comfortable in the saddle. When Darcy’s neighbours peered out their windows at the spectacle of Elizabeth in her fashionable blue habit, she waved at them with an elegant flourish of her whip—a gesture returned by the adults with a nod and the children with a wave.

Georgiana proposed a longer ride in Rotten Row on Tuesday. Elizabeth, who had once declared herself no horsewoman, was nevertheless eager to go, her recent rambles at Longbourn having restored her desire to be out of doors. Hyde Park was open to the public year-round, but its appeal in February was not what it would be March. The paths were not crowded, yet neither were they empty, and their party encountered several of Darcy’s friends there. Without exception, they requested and were granted an introduction. “May I make known to you my betrothed,” he would say, “Miss Elizabeth Bennet, of Longbourn in Hertfordshire.” Elizabeth found herself quite astonished with his manner of speaking, for one would have thought her royalty. The men had, in turn, been exceedingly gentlemanly and seemed genuinely pleased to meet her. Elizabeth felt every inch the lady of fashion in these moments, perched as she was on top of her mount with the flowing skirt of the habit elegantly draped down her left side.

So great had been her pleasure in the ride on Tuesday that the outing was repeated again on Wednesday, and for the three days after that as well. As they rode, Darcy patiently offered corrections to her posture and position in the saddle and methods of interacting with Esther. Elizabeth was a talented pupil, and by Saturday, she rode with sufficient competence that Darcy enthusiastically complimented her fine seat repeatedly. On Sunday, Valentine’s Day, he admitted to having commissioned an artist, and he presented a finely drawn and framed sketch of Elizabeth perched atop Esther.

The slowing of the carriage as they approached Fitzwilliam House drew Elizabeth out of the pleasure of her remembrances. With a word of encouragement and some last minute reminders from Aunt Gardiner; Elizabeth was handed down from the carriage, followed by her relations.

The affectionate address from Lord and Lady Matlock put Elizabeth at ease, and as their friends arrived, Elizabeth took her place in the reception line to greet them, along with Darcy and Lord Milton. When Milton assumed the position on her left, beside his father, the earl, he had bowed to her and taken her hands in his, kissing the backs of them as he gazed upward, into her eyes. She could feel the heat of his breath through her gloves, and hastily withdrew them from his grasp. “My lord,” she muttered and looked to see if Darcy, positioned on her right, had seen it. The dark spark in his eyes suggested that he had.

Guests passing through the receiving line were welcomed first by Lord and Lady Matlock and then by Lord Milton who performed the introductions to anyone who had not yet made Elizabeth’s acquaintance. Elizabeth bristled at the implication that she was particularly acquainted with Milton but could think of no polite way to counter it other than to ignore it as much as possible. When Lord Byron passed through the line, he unabashedly broke with propriety and complimented Elizabeth comparing her favourably to Aphrodite. Byron was followed immediately by a handsome man of small stature, introduced by Milton as Mr Anacreon Moore. As soon as the acquaintance was made, Elizabeth inquired after his wife, who had not come. Disappointed, she asked that Mr Moore pass along her compliments to the lady, a promise he was obviously pleased to make. The third man in their party was Mr Lewin, Elizabeth’s music master. She was relieved to see that while curious, Darcy seemed to harbour no jealousy or resentment toward him when she made the introduction to him—he was the only person the entire evening who was previously unknown to Darcy.

When Lord and Lady Sefton arrived, Lady Matlock moved herself to stand between Milton and Elizabeth, and upon Lady Sefton’s request for an introduction, performed it herself, emphasising her delight that Miss Bennet was soon to be her niece.

Elizabeth’s relief was great when the arrivals slowed, and Lady Matlock finally released them from the reception line to remove to the ballroom. “Are you well?” Darcy inquired as they entered together.

Elizabeth, after looking around the ballroom smiled up at Darcy. “It is just so much to comprehend. All of this,” she waved her hand; “all this grandeur tonight was done on my behalf, and the season not even yet begun. I am astonished beyond words. This ball is truly fit for a princess. With such kindness from Lord and Lady Matlock toward me, to be unwell would be ingratitude.”

“Then you are well,” Darcy smiled at her as he patted her hand on his arm. “I am glad of it.” The sound of the musicians tuning their instruments created a ripple of familiar anticipation among the assembly. “Might I claim the first dance, Miss Bennet?”

The strangeness of his formality amused Elizabeth. “Of course, Fitzwilliam,” she replied archly, “I thought you would never ask!”

The dance began with the same courtly ritual as always, with a curtsy and a smile on her part and a stiff bow on his. A full three figures were executed in eyelocked silence between them before Elizabeth ventured to speak. “I cannot say what has changed my mood, Mr Darcy,” she skipped the next few steps, “but I find myself alight with happiness just now. You may wipe that fierce look off of your face for the moment. It is not needed just yet.”

Darcy’s countenance relaxed. “I was not fierce; I was admiring your effortless command of the dance.”

Elizabeth lightly squeezed on his fingers as they briefly clasped hands. “My dance master drilled me nigh unto death! I daresay the effort was worth it if it elicits the approval of your friends.”

“My friends?” He punctuated the question with a pause, both in speech and motion, standing still as the repetition of steps was performed by the couple next to them.

“Why yes. We cannot be intimate with every family of distinction; I imagine we must begin with people whose company you can at least withstand, and I know there are some who are here tonight that you call your friends. I daresay it would be to our advantage if they were to like me too.”

“It does not signify,” Darcy replied with a slight scowl, “whether they like you.”

“Oh, I think it does,” Elizabeth performed a turn and continued, “Do not forget that the last person who took a dislike to me attempted to poison me.”

“That, I shall never forget. Miss Bingley had harboured some hope, I believe, that I would marry her. It was not dislike for you that drove her to this extreme, but jealousy.” Darcy shook his head to emphasize his point.

“I see,” Elizabeth accepted his wisdom graciously. “Did you ever consider it?”

“Consider what?”

A mischievous smile teased Elizabeth’s lips. “Why, marrying Miss Bingley. She is beautiful, accomplished, and owns a substantial dowry.”

Darcy’s face revealed no emotion. “No. I did not.”

“Oh,” Elizabeth said as they walked together in a brief promenade. “She informed me quite decidedly that she would one day be mistress of Pemberley.”

Darcy stopped cold and growled with vehemence, “Why? She must have known I could never marry a mushroom!”

Elizabeth nudged him into motion. “Perhaps, since Mr Bingley is your best friend, she thought your liberal-mindedness would extend to her as well.”

Darcy released an involuntary snort. “It is one thing to enjoy an intelligent, amiable friend whose fortune was born of trade, but quite another to take a woman of mean temper and low connections as my bride. There are some things that money can never compensate for.”

“She declared that when came to marriage, your head would govern your choice, that you would select a woman of good breeding.”

“Surely this was not said in reference to herself?”

“I believe it was,” Elizabeth assured him, “and a strike against my parents as well.”

“My darling Elizabeth, my heart and my head are in full agreement on the question of breeding. You bear the best traits from both your parents.”

“Whatever can you mean?” Elizabeth’s confusion was apparent, for she harboured no doubt that Mr Darcy did not very much care for her parents.

“From your gentleman father, wit and a keen intellect.” He cocked his head and added, “A love of the land as well, I suspect, when he was young and expected to sire a son.”

“And Mama?” Elizabeth said, her lips puckered and brows raised in challenge.

Darcy looked at her with a shrewd expression in his eyes. “My dear Miss Bennet, surely you know that your liveliness, your warm and affectionate nature are a maternal inheritance.”

Astonished at this declaration, Elizabeth replied, “But, Mr Darcy...”

“And your mother is always civil, even toward those she does not much like. Civility, even cold civility, is a hallmark of good breeding; my own relations sometimes fail in this regard.”

“So you are saying...,”

“Your breeding leaves nothing wanting.”

“Now you tease me, Mr Darcy, but I shall forbear from contradicting you, for there is more. Miss Bingley insisted that your wife would be a woman of accomplishment.”

“She may certainly claim superiority in this regard, as can every lady in this room whose parents paid a small fortune for the acquisition of those accomplishments.”

“Not I, Mr Darcy.”

“You are wrong, quite wrong. Your accomplishments are impressive considering your opportunities. I daresay your talent in the embroidery of handkerchiefs is unequalled, and I have rarely had such pleasure as I do when you sing and play the pianoforte. To this list, I must add your newfound ability as a horsewoman since this provides me another opportunity to commend you on your fine seat.” Darcy grinned widely, an expression so rarely seen in society that Elizabeth was not certain whether the gasps from those watching and evidently listening were due to his comment or their realization of how handsome he was when he smiled.

“Miss Bingley named three qualifying virtues, Mr Darcy. You have excelled most admirably in granting me two of them, but you shall doubtless be at a loss on the third.”

“I count it a blessing daily that Miss Bingley has no power to select me a wife. What is this virtue that woman believes you lack?”

“Her belief is well-founded, sir, for it is that of fortune. I can offer nothing but my charms; I have no dowry to recommend me.” In spite of their engagement, in spite of Darcy’s declarations that this did not matter to him, Elizabeth felt a pang at the truth of it. She knew her father should have done better.

Darcy became suddenly subdued as he quietly replied, “I would be lying if I said I had not noticed.”

Elizabeth looked him directly in the eye as she arched a brow. “Noticed ... my lack of dowry?”

Darcy nearly laughed at her feint and replied, “No, no, dearest. I was speaking of your charms.”

Elizabeth was sorry when the set came to an end, but end it did, and Darcy reluctantly escorted her to her aunt’s side. She was met there by Lord Byron, who bowed with exaggerated chivalry and requested the next set. She felt Darcy stiffen beside her and recalled that he had been similarly cold to Lord Byron when she had first met him. She was cautious not to express too great a delight, to spare Darcy’s feelings.

The truth was that Elizabeth had greatly enjoyed her first meeting with the famous dandy and anticipated the set with pleasure. Her face had been covered with a masque before, and she had remained the mute swan. She rather relished the idea of dialogue with him now.

“I am honoured, my lord, that you would select me as a partner, for you informed me once before that you do not much like to dance.”

Byron’s full lips curled into a bow. “It is true that I seldom dance, yet I could not deny myself; you move about the floor with the grace of a sylphid, and I found myself enchanted. If I could but capture the poetry of your motion with my pen, all of England would likewise be captivated.”

“Thank you,” Elizabeth replied with warmth but at a loss for a further reply.

“In truth, I have thought of our first meeting at the Twelfth Night ball with some obsession, you were such a unique creature on that night—quite unlike the insipid beauties one typically encounters at these affairs. You may find it amusing, Miss Bennet, that there have been many times when I am pondering on the face of the heroes of my poetry and the face that I see in the inner eye of my mind is that of your very own Fitzwilliam Darcy. He has served me well in this capacity for a decade at least, for there was always such a dark and tortured spirit in his eyes, he was perfect. Of course, you have spoilt him for that. The shadow is gone, and he never broods anymore. Alas, I even beheld him smiling when he was dancing with you just now. Do not fret, I shall find another muse of a man. England overflows with curmudgeons. As for the ladies, you must not be surprised if you see a little of yourself at some point, for you have captured my imagination, and that is halfway to being immortalized by my pen.”

Elizabeth laughed at the whimsy of it. “My father, who does not care for poetry, would, I think, be excessively diverted by such an idea. It would be his idea of a great joke. Now that I think of it, I would not dare tell him, for he would have great sport with me over it for the rest of his days. If you ever do immortalize me, give me a different name, I beg you.”

“I promise I will not give it away,” Lord Byron said with a bow, “although I cannot control speculation.”

The first dance of the set came to a close, and Byron’s limping gait had worsened over the course of it. He is in pain, and pride forbids him to withdraw. Elizabeth snapped open her fan and fluttered it becomingly. “It is rather warm here on the floor; will you accompany me for some refreshment?” He held up his arm, and Elizabeth rested her hand on his as they made their way through the assembly. Elizabeth was aware of the whispers that followed them, but her heart was too light this night to give any credence to it. She felt concern for the comfort of her partner and persuaded him that she would like to sit out the second set in favour of conversation, seated in chairs near the Gardiners.

Mr Moore and Mr Lewin quickly joined them, surrounding Elizabeth much as adoring suitors would surround a belle. Anyone observing from a distance would have no idea that the three men were held captive by Elizabeth’s extensive knowledge of the workings of the steam locomotive at the Middleton Railway. The engine, named Salamanca in honour of Wellington’s victory, transported wagons laden with coal between Middleton and Leeds in the north. Asked how she knew so much about it, she replied, “I have always believed the female mind capable of comprehending more than is generally allowed. For myself, when I encounter a topic of interest, I study it until my curiosity is satisfied. My father and my uncle have encouraged me in this habit of extensive reading, and being in London has enabled me further, with access to the latest journals and tracts. If curiosity of the world is a vice, then I am hopelessly wicked, for the more I learn, the more insatiable for an education I become.”

“I say,” Lord Byron said, glancing at the dance floor, “who is the comely little nymph with Lord Milton? Is she among the crop of come-outs this season?”

Elizabeth followed his gaze, irritated by his characterization. “That is Miss Darcy. She is to come out next year and will stand up only with her relations tonight.” She recalled the things Milton had said to her in the second set of the previous ball and shivered. She leaned to the side to better see Georgiana’s face, searching for signs of distress.

Mr Moore turned his attention to the couple. “How very odd. I had heard he was to remain in Ireland another year at least. I wonder what induced his return?” His expression darkened. “I would not allow that man to dance with my sister, even if they were cousins.”

Mr Lewin, also watching Milton and Georgiana added, “Particularly not now, with him on the prowl for a wealthy wife. His gaming debts are overdue, you know. He needs to come into a vast and hasty fortune, or face debtor’s prison.”

Lord Byron leaned in, so as not to be heard outside their group. “Did you know that he attempted to marry his other cousin, Miss de Bourgh? He was merely waiting for Lady Catherine to give up on Darcy. He offered for her more than once, but the mother wanted Pemberley more than the title. Perhaps Lady Catherine summoned him when Darcy became engaged, and they shall announce an engagement on the morrow.”

“Lord Milton? Offered for Anne de Bourgh?” Elizabeth shook her head. “I do not believe it. How would you even hear of it if he had?”

Byron shrugged. “Milton came to the club before he went on to Ireland. He was, as is his wont, quite in his cups over her refusal. I think he must have returned to claim her hand, now that she is available once more.”

Mr Lewin became quite animated. “Have you not heard?” Lady Catherine’s only daughter has defied her mother and married her companion’s nephew. It is confirmed, I saw the announcement in the paper myself. She wed a Mr Fellows from Kent. She shall be mistress of an apple orchard when she could have been a countess and mistress of Cranmere.”

“That is not true,” Elizabeth quietly interjected. “The entailment on her father’s estate was not renewed. Upon her marriage, Miss de Bourgh ... Mrs Fellows, inherited it all. She is, even now, the mistress of Rosings Park.”

“Well, well, well, Moore, what do you make of that?” Byron slapped Mr Moore playfully on his arm. “She was an heiress all this time. No wonder Milton was determined to have her in spite of the obstacles. I met her only once, and she seemed very dull. I could not comprehend what he saw in her.”

Mr Lewin added, “Well, that leaves Milton in desperate need of another heiress, one who is not in love or promised to another. His allowance from Lord Matlock will not cover his rumoured debts by half.”

They all looked again at the dancing couple, just as Milton, with a wolfish grin, whispered something in Georgiana’s ear, something that raised the colour in her cheeks and caused her to look away.

“I must warn Mr Darcy without delay,” Elizabeth gasped. “I pray you will all excuse me!”

~*~

The second set had ended by the time Elizabeth had located Darcy. He had quit the music and gaiety of the ballroom, unable to bear watching Elizabeth use the fan he had given her to flirt with Lord Byron. She found him sitting alone in a corner chair in the card room, brooding. Hearing the intelligence Elizabeth had learned about Milton, Darcy set out to locate Georgiana. She was found, dancing the third set with Robert Darcy. Darcy returned Elizabeth to the Gardiners and went to find his aunt to give strict instructions that Georgiana was not to dance again with Milton.

After Darcy had gone away, Mr Lewin approached for the third set and Robert claimed the fourth. Elizabeth saw Darcy prowling the edges of the floor, watching her dance. How inconvenient that he does not dance with ladies he is not particularly well acquainted with. I have but a season to correct this fault in him, for, since a married man cannot dance with his wife, with whom shall he dance when we are wed? When the dancing resumes after dinner, I shall ask Lord Matlock to take him in hand and present him with a partner or two.

The fifth set was the supper set, which Lady Matlock had forbidden Darcy from dancing with Elizabeth. If I am wise, I will catch the eye of a man of conversation, that I may at least be consoled by an entertaining dinner partner. As she looked around, she realized with distaste that Lord Milton was walking in her direction. Never again! I cannot spend another set and dinner with that horrible man. She spied Mr Moore and Robert Darcy conversing with a few persons nearby. Elizabeth spun on her slipper and hastened to where they stood them, closing the circle as tightly as she could to spoil any opportunity Milton might have to intrude on the conversation. Her bid to escape was denied, however, for there was a lady in the circle who retreated the moment Milton approached, and Elizabeth was faced with the unhappy alternatives of either accepting a set with Lord Milton or sitting out the rest of the night.

“Yes, thank you,” she replied to his entreaty for a dance with grace, but with a stiffness of attitude that evidenced her displeasure.

He did not wish to speak of himself, however, or even of her. He talked, through the course of both dances, of his ‘little cousin,’ Georgiana. Elizabeth, unwilling to contribute a word to the conversation glared at him with such disdain that he accused her at one point of abusing his good nature. He will never know how grateful he ought to be that I do not act on my true inclinations. His ability to sire an heir would be less than certain if I ever did. Then he could cry abuse fairly! The violence of her thoughts toward this man mortified her, yet it was apparent that as her vexation increased, so did his excitation. It was a great relief when the dance ended, and she thought they would part ways. She knew that the seating at dinner would reflect the rank of the illustrious persons assembled, so she was taken by surprise when Lady Matlock insisted that Elizabeth, as the guest of honour, would be seated on her right hand. Milton, as her dance partner for the supper set, took the seat on her other side.

Her heart had been light and full of cheer during the first set just hours earlier, yet she was now uncomfortable in the extreme. So great was her distress that she struggled to remain composed. The bowl of soup before her caused her stomach to rebel, and she could not bring herself to consume even a morsel of the main course; which she pushed around her plate with her fork. More than once she wished for someone to inquire, as Darcy had earlier, as to whether she was well, for she did not feel well, being beset by a sudden headache. She thought back to the Netherfield Ball, recalling the strange black spots that had appeared before she had fainted. There was nothing like that tonight, but she felt a similar warm flush and dampness on her brow and was struck with the pleasant memory that when she had swooned, Darcy had picked her up and carried her away to recover in his own bedchamber.

She looked down the table to where he sat; comforted by the look of encouragement he sent her way. When she had earlier informed him of what she had learned about Lord Milton, he had assured her that he would keep Georgiana by his side until she left the ball, but he had been disturbed by what she had said; Elizabeth was sorry she had to deliver such news. The concern in his eyes as he watched her now revealed that he suspected her disquiet. Only a little longer and Georgiana will quit the ball, and then, perhaps, I can spend a few minutes with him. She offered him a reassuring smile.

By the time dessert was laid out on the table, her equanimity was restored. She sipped on a glass of wine and nibbled at a few of the delicacies now on the table as she made polite conversation with Lady Matlock. She knew she had not been at all sociable with Lord Milton, but it had not taken him long to turn his attention to the lady on his other side. Perhaps he now thinks me dull and will leave me alone.

The entertainments began, with most of the guests remaining at the table, still eating the dessert offerings and talking quietly—barely paying any attention to the performer at all. At the conclusion of each lady’s exhibition, polite applause acknowledged it, and the next would be called forward by Lord Matlock. Elizabeth began to relax, recognizing that if things continued as they had begun, the guests would barely pay her any attention at all. When it was Elizabeth’s turn, however, they had long been sated, and their conversation had dwindled. All eyes were on Elizabeth when Lord Matlock called her name, reminding everyone that she was the guest of honour. He informed those assembled of the music she was to play and sing, and then called on Mr Moore to come closer, that he might better hear his composition performed. Three gentlemen, Lord Byron, Mr Moore and Mr Lewin all came and stood to one side of the pianoforte. If people had not taken notice of Elizabeth before, this activity gained their attention, and she was met with attentive silence as she began.

Elizabeth knew that Darcy had positioned himself by the fireplace, leaning against the mantle, and it was there that she looked when her eyes strayed up from the music. He stood, exactly as she had supposed, with Georgiana in a chair to his side, an expression of utter adoration on his face. The darkness she had felt during the meal fell away entirely as she sang the concluding lines of the song,

As the sunflower turns on her God as He sets

the same look that she gave when He rose.

She sang them in a manner that conveyed the depth of her adoration and turned her face to Darcy. The applause, if not quite thunderous, was generous, and she could see from Mr Lewin’s face that she had done well. Mr Moore, too, seemed genuinely pleased with her rendition of his work.

Lord Matlock, rather than announcing that the dancing was to resume, prevailed on Mr Moore to perform a few of his other Irish melodies, and Elizabeth made her way to join Darcy, that she might bid Georgiana good night. Lady Matlock was beside them ready to escort her niece away, leaving Darcy and Elizabeth together once more. For tonight, Georgiana is safe, and there shall be one more set at least with Fitzwilliam. I must be content. The clock on the mantle beside them chimed, and Elizabeth noted that it was two-o’clock. The ball would not end until at least four, perhaps later. She expressed a wish that the time would fly, that it would soon be time for the last set.

“But the ball is in your honour,” Darcy said to this, “I would expect you to wish that it never end.”

“How much you have to learn about me,” Elizabeth replied, “I do love a ball, but to be the centre of attention spoils the chance of being away from the watchful eye of one’s chaperones.” She glanced around the room and, finding the Gardiners engaged in conversation, added, “They will surely not miss me until the dancing resumes. I would dearly love to have a peek at the editions within your uncle’s library.”

“Any pleasure of yours is my pleasure to provide.” Darcy took Elizabeth on his arm, and the young couple casually made their way out of the room. Darcy led her down a hall and up a staircase and pressed on a lever above a panel in the wall. “The secret entrance,” he whispered and led her through the passage. The room on the other end was not dark but had a small fire in the fireplace and the room was dimly lit by three well placed candles. “My aunt is an accommodating hostess,” he explained, “There is always at least one guest who seeks refuge in the library.”

He called out a greeting to ascertain the occupancy of the room. Finding no answer to his call, he took her by the hand and towed her behind him as he crossed to the main doors. He turned a mechanism that locked the doors on the inside. “We shall not be disturbed,” he said, turning Elizabeth so that her back was pressed to the door. He bent; cupping her cheeks in his palms; his long fingers lightly resting on her neck as he touched a chaste kiss on her lips. Her eager response blurred the boundaries of propriety as her slender arms slipped around him, pulling herself toward him, lost in an ever deepening kiss. He shifted, reluctantly pulling back before he enveloped her in a passionate embrace. “That,” he managed to say after a moment where they each recovered their breath, “was as a drink of water to a dying man in the desert.” Elizabeth pressed her palms against his waistcoat and laid her head where his heart pounded and pulsed against her cheek, astonished by the feelings that surged through her. Darcy groaned and hung his head. “I am sorry, Lizzy. I am far too selfish, worse than a dog.” Elizabeth shook her head in disagreement, and she tipped her face up to look into his, her eyes reflecting the flames of the candle in the wall sconce beside the door. “I am no gentleman,” Darcy insisted, stepping back to let her escape.

Elizabeth matched his step and set her hand on his arm. “I am the one who wished to see the library. You are merely the one who offered me pleasure in doing so.”

“True,” Darcy replied with hopeful wariness. “What has been my success?”

“It was all going very well,” Elizabeth teased, “until your thirst was quenched.”

“I would by no means suspend any pleasure of yours,” Darcy replied as he manoeuvred her back against the door.

~*~

Thomas Moore had sung three of his Irish ballads and then offered up his friend, Mr Lewin to entertain. He had played an etude and a sonata in the absence of his student and her betrothed. The final notes were still ringing in the air when the truant couple slipped back into the room, joining in the applause as though they had been there for the entire piece. Older guests began preparing to depart, and others had drifted into the card room. The ballroom, while no longer a crush, was nevertheless full.

“Might I have this dance, Miss Bennet?” Darcy raised her hand and bowed over it.

“I had thought we were to dance the last,” Elizabeth replied.

“I have abandoned etiquette for the remainder of the ball, my dear,” he said. “Let them blame it on the wine. We are engaged, and I am going to dance three sets with you tonight. I dare anyone to try to stop me.”

“Then it will be my pleasure to dance with you, Mr Darcy,” Elizabeth said, fluttering her fan coquettishly beneath her eyes as she laughingly declared, “If you care not for the rules, neither do I. If there is a scandal over the third set, so be it. Let them despise us for the violence of our love.”

When the set was over, they went together to the punch bowl for refreshment where they encountered Lady Matlock. “Have you seen your cousin Milton?” she enquired, looking around the room. “I have not seen him for nearly half an hour.”

“I’m certain he’s around here somewhere,” Elizabeth reassured her. “Have you checked the card tables?”

“He is not there,” she worried, “nor is he in the library, the billiard room, or his bedchamber. I cannot imagine where he is gone.”

“Have you a conservatory?” Elizabeth asked.

“Yes, but he never goes there—it makes him sneeze.” Lady Matlock wrung her hands.

“I will help you look for him, Aunt Eleanor,” Darcy said as Robert Darcy was getting a cup of Negus.

“Robert, I must leave the ballroom, and I do not see Miss Bennet’s relations. Would you be so kind as to look after her until I return?”

Robert readily agreed, and they watched as Darcy and Lady Matlock left the room. Elizabeth expressed a desire to sit out the next two dances in favour of conversation. She always enjoyed talking with Robert, and they were soon immersed in the topic of differences between American and English balls. It was not long before several others overheard and joined them for curiosity’s sake. Robert was a gifted storyteller, and soon nearly a dozen members of the ton were fully engaged. In this happy manner they stood in a circle through not one, but two sets. The music of the dance waned, and in the lull, Elizabeth heard the clock on the fireplace mantle chime again. Three-thirty. Where is Fitzwilliam? He has been gone for over an hour. Surely Lord Milton is not so elusive as that. With all the wine he drank at dinner, he must simply be drunk and asleep somewhere. How mortified he will be in the morning.

A footman entered the ballroom and stated that Lady Matlock required her attendance in Lord Matlock’s study immediately. His expression was blank, but Elizabeth could tell that summons was an unhappy one. “Come with me?” she asked Robert. “I am uneasy.”

They followed the man in livery out of the bright ballroom to a dimly lit corridor. He rapped sharply on the door, pushed it open and motioned for Elizabeth and Robert to enter. Lord and Lady Matlock were standing together by the window with such horrified expressions that first, Elizabeth did not see the man on the chaise. When she did, she ran across the room to where he lay. “Fitzwilliam!” she cried, and upon seeing his chest rise and fall demanded “What has happened? Who has done this?” She knelt beside him, her hands searching for what was broken. She fingered the bandage that wrapped his head.

Lord Matlock gave her an answer. “We do not know; we did not see it happen. Darcy went outside to speak to our men to discover if Milton had left the ball in a carriage or on horseback. When he did not return, I followed. Our men said they never saw Darcy come out or spoke to him, but when we searched, we found him dragged and hidden behind a large bush, unconscious, as you see.”

“How long has he been like this? Has he opened his eyes? Spoken?” Elizabeth was shaking. “Have you sent for the doctor? What is wrong with him?”

Lord Matlock spoke gently. “He has a rather large lump on the back of his head, but that is not the source of his bleeding. There is a deep wound where I believe a bullet grazed his head. We believe that whoever did this left him for dead. We have sent for the doctor, and our butler is even now attempting to get answers from the staff.”