Chapter 12 #3
Elizabeth took a moment to meet each woman’s eye before she began to speak, telling the story as she had before. “The first time I ever saw Mr. Darcy was at a dance where he flatly refused to stand up with me.”
The women gasped, and Aunt Matlock sent a smile in Elizabeth’s direction.
“Indeed,” Elizabeth said sternly. “Can you imagine? The cheek of the man!” She warmed to her story, and the ladies made a satisfyingly rapt audience.
She repeated the tale she had told Miss Darcy, adding a few details here and there for dramatic effect.
They tittered when she told them of her refusal to dance with him at Lucas Lodge.
“As well you should!” declared Mrs. Egerton.
They waggled their brows when she suggested that their courtship had taken flight when she arrived at Netherfield to care for her sister.
“He simply could not deny it any longer,” Lady Montagu declared triumphantly as the other women nodded sagely and nibbled at the cakes that had somehow appeared before them. “What sort of feathers did Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst wear?”
“Ostrich,” Elizabeth said. Lady Montagu seemed inordinately pleased to hear it, for she lifted her eyebrows knowingly and pulled her head in like a turtle.
Unlike the description she had given her friends in Meryton, Elizabeth did not paint Mr. Darcy as an ogre. Rather, he was a man caught between two worlds, who had ultimately decided to act with his heart.
Elizabeth knew William would not appreciate being cast in the role of a romantic hero, bravely denying his family’s expectations by falling madly in love with a genteel but penniless woman and fleeing to London in the middle of the night to prevent being bound to another.
He would, after all, be teased by the men in his circle for the characterization she had created while she would be lauded as the fortunate woman who had turned his head.
But there was little else to be done. Mr. Darcy disliked scenes, and while there would always be jealous women of Miss Bingley’s ilk to contend with, they would be less likely to confront her directly if the women in the room today were charmed.
Elizabeth knew that one thing she could do, when required, was charm.
And if a situation ever called for it, it was this one.
She would simply have to explain her reasons and endure her betrothed’s grumbling.
By the time Aunt Matlock’s visiting hour had passed, Elizabeth was both invigorated and exhausted. The ladies had all remained long beyond the usual visit and were chatting excitedly among themselves as they stood to leave.
“I will see our guests out, Elizabeth,” Aunt Matlock said aloud, and then whispered near Elizabeth’s ear, “You have woven a brilliant tale, my dear. I believe you have made quite a conquest.”
“Conquest?” Elizabeth asked, but Aunt Matlock had walked out with her friends. Elizabeth sighed. She had barely escaped disaster with Lady Montagu and had not learned anything about Miss Howard or the rumors.
“There is only one thing left, Mr. Darcy,” Gunderson said as he organized the sheafs of paper on his desk.
“You neglected to send me the young lady’s name and her particulars so that I might include it in the contract.
And of course, her father or nearest male relation shall have to sign it before the wedding. ”
“My cousin is a highly prized commodity on the marriage market, Mr. Gunderson,” Henry said with a false air of solemnity.
“To prevent undue speculation and unwanted attention should his note fall into the wrong hands, he chose to inform you of his betrothed’s name in person rather than commit it to the post.”
Gunderson nodded as though this explanation was entirely reasonable. Henry’s lips lifted on one side, a signal that he was about to invent some unbelievable farce of a tale. As Darcy was sure it would be about Elizabeth and himself, he cut Henry off.
“Miss Elizabeth Bennet,” he informed his man. The attorney bent his head to write Elizabeth’s name and that of her father into the contract. Henry shook his head sadly.
“You are a terrible bore, Darcy,” he said with a dramatic sigh.
Darcy did not reply. When their business was finished, he gathered up the relevant papers and led Henry back out to the carriage.
“Now,” Henry said, clasping his hands together as Darcy put the contracts into a leather portfolio and stored them in a box secured under his seat. “I allowed you to take precedence with the solicitor.”
“Because he is paid by me and would not take orders from you,” Darcy replied.
Henry ignored him. “When we arrive at the club, you must follow my lead.”
“Why is that?” Darcy inquired. Despite himself, he truly wished to know.
“Because, you dunderhead,” Henry said, waggling his eyebrows, “nobody likes you there. But they love me.”
Darcy laughed aloud. “You are right, though I cannot fathom why. You cheat at cards and chess, you propose outlandish wagers, encourage others to stake their fortunes while you risk nothing, and apparently challenge every third man you meet to a duel.”
“Variety is the very spice of life, that gives it all its flavor,” Henry replied insouciantly.
“Do not quote poetry at me,” Darcy responded.
“I wager you half a crown that you do not know the poem that line is from.” Henry leaned forward.
“The poem is Cowper’s ‘The Task,’” Darcy said and held out his hand.
Henry swatted Darcy’s hand away. “I do not actually carry coin on my person.”
“Yes, I know. You wager funds you never intend to pay. Henry . . .” Darcy sighed.
“Henry, one day you will come across a man who will not take your flippant manner well. I do not wish to see you harmed. Have you thought at all what that might do to your parents? To Fitz, who has no desire to be the viscount?”
His cousin studied him carefully, and Darcy wondered if his words had made any difference.
“Darcy,” Henry began, but paused. His expression was unusually somber. “There are things you do not know.”
“Very well. Enlighten me.”
Henry glanced away to view the street outside the carriage window. When his eyes returned to Darcy’s, he smiled as brightly as ever. “I cheat at the duels, too.”
The club was nearly full when they arrived. Darcy could hear the gambling crowd on the first floor, their shouts and laughter wafting down the stairwell. Henry headed straight for the steps, and Darcy, with an inward grimace, followed.
“The books, Darcy,” Henry murmured and shoved the most recent one in his direction.
“Darcy!” a young man called from the back of the room, the high pitch of his voice cutting through the din. “What are you signing, man?”
Henry cleared his throat, ceremoniously pulled at his cravat to make certain it was straight, and announced, “My cousin is to be wed tomorrow, and I have at last convinced him to settle your bets!”
Darcy took up the pen and opened the book. He could not prevent his small, contented smile as he wrote in clear strokes: “Mr. F. Darcy married to Miss E. Bennet, December 6, 1811.” St. Nicholas’s day and the day of my marriage.
The room fell deathly silent for a second while he wrote.
When he set the pen down and stepped away, there was nearly a brawl as the rest of the men shoved their way to read the page.
Darcy saw Mann paying something to another gentleman with a scowl.
Good. He hoped Mann had lost more than the hundred pounds he earned wagering on Darcy’s trip to Hertfordshire.
Someone called, “Who is Miss E. Bennet, Darcy?”
Henry stepped up. “She is the daughter of a gentleman who does not care for London, and when you meet her, you will all be rushing out to the country to seek a wife just like her.”
Darcy took a deep breath. Henry had handled that deftly.
Now it was his turn. He motioned to one of the servants and requested several bottles of wine.
The man rushed off and returned with glasses and assistance.
Darcy noted that the wine was a rather more expensive vintage than the typical drink the club served, but he did not protest. “Serve everyone who wishes a glass,” he instructed the men, loud enough to be heard around the room.
“For we are to toast both my enchanting betrothed and my removal from the marriage mart! For those of you who wagered against me—you are justly served. Raise a glass anyway.”
The crowd laughed uproariously. Most had already imbibed despite the early hour, and the noise brought other men streaming downstairs to see what was occurring. Henry nodded at the servants, and one young man dashed back to the kitchens to replenish their supply.
When everyone had a glass in hand, Darcy raised his own. “Gentlemen,” he said. “Tomorrow I wed. May you all find such felicity in marriage as I anticipate.”
“Did you anticipate?” one man called out, as though he knew the answer. Several others guffawed.
“Darcy anticipate his vows? You clearly do not know my cousin,” Henry responded with a wink. “Never a man so prudish. Why do you think he wanted to marry his betrothed within three months of meeting her? He would not bed her before he wed her!”
Darcy felt the heat of his blush not only in his cheeks but his entire face. This seemed to confirm Henry’s declaration, for there was more laughter and many nodding heads.
“I never thought I would see the day, Darcy!” a man cried from the center of the crowd. It was Dudley, who was also happily accepting money from a scowling Mann.
“There are other considerations as well,” Henry said in a theatrical conversation with the men at the front of the crowd.
Darcy did his best to remain stoic. His ridiculous cousin was greatly enjoying himself, but Darcy could not reprimand him here.
Henry leaned in as though revealing a great secret, though he spoke loudly enough for much of the room to hear. “You know how our aunt in Kent will respond. Darcy is hoping to spare his bride and himself an angry scene.”
There were more men genuinely commiserating now. Even Mann was nodding his head. Apparently, Lady Catherine de Bourgh was not the only obstinate relation in England.
Darcy pushed away the joking insults that followed Henry’s comments and allowed himself to think of Elizabeth.
Her eyes. Her plump lips. He again raised his glass.
“Omnia vincit amor!” Love conquers all, indeed.
It had certainly conquered him. Darcy drank deeply, and the men followed suit.
He was forced to submit to a great deal of back-slapping, some rather ribald jests, and numerous complaints about lost wagers.
“Beware, gentlemen!” Henry cried, “For the best among us has fallen. Who will be next?”
There were groans and some remonstration.
While Henry was chuckling with the crowd, Darcy felt the hair on the back of his neck rise.
He gazed around the room, searching for the source, and found it near the back wall, a thin figure with large ears and spectacles who was given a wide berth by the other members of the club.
No one had offered him a glass of wine, nor did it appear he had sought one.
No one spoke with him or called his name.
A pair of hazel eyes stared at Darcy with an anger so intense it was unsettling. He stiffened.
Howard.
Darcy’s own anger flared and propelled him forward. Before he could take a third step, however, Henry was in front of him.
“Do not alter the plan, Darcy,” he murmured. “You need evidence to act. Allow Richard to do his job.”
Before Darcy could reply, Henry had waded back into the throng of men and Howard was gone.