Chapter 12 The Price of Refusal
CHAPTER TWELVE
THE PRICE OF REFUSAL
Elizabeth laughed to cover the consternation of seeing him again. “This is becoming a habit.”
“A happy one,” he said, his eyes warm as he looked down at her. “Do you always sneak away from the ballroom?”
“I would have you know I danced thrice,” she said, smiling up at him. “But then was in need of a rest, and so went to the ladies’ retiring room. Alas when I left that room, I found myself turned round. And you? Do you often sneak away?”
“Always,” he replied, leaning back against the wall with an easy grin. “A bachelor who is not willing to dance every dance is much maligned by the hostesses, so I do try to keep myself hid away from them.”
“Oh yes, I forgot you disliked dancing.”
“I would like to dance with you,” he said, his gaze not moving from her face. “Will you do me the honour?”
It seemed this man would forever keep her off-balance, forever make her blush. To cover her confusion, she teased, “Need I remind you—”
“Yes, yes, not acquainted,” he said impatiently. “I know. But there are hundreds of people out there, and surely at least one of them may perform an introduction between us?”
Her heart gave a little flutter. In some ways she wished for that, to know if he was the infamous and reportedly dreadful Mr Darcy. Alas with that knowledge would come the truth: that the charming stranger had a dark side, a haughty, officious, callously cruel side.
And it would be that side which would likely send him running from any association with her, a poor young woman wearing a borrowed gown.
Yes, she would have a small fortune if Anne married, but even so, it would not put her in league with any of the ladies he knew, the ladies who, even now, scampered about the ballroom never having known fear, or hunger, or cold.
Furthermore, I have promised Lady Catherine to have no part with a Mr Darcy, she reminded herself. No matter which way she looked at it, there was nothing good to come from an introduction to him. An introduction would be the end of this…this association of theirs, and she did not want it to end.
“Come,” he urged. “If nothing else, our hostess might—”
“No,” she interrupted. “Not…not Lady Whitmore. Surely she has more pressing concerns.”
He gave her a look. “Performing introductions is the imperative—”
“But she is likely much occupied with making sure the servants arrange the supper,” Elizabeth said hurriedly, hoping it was true. “I would not like to disturb her.”
“Whether or not that is the case, I happen to know that she delights in introducing people who eventually make a match of it.”
His words again roused her blush, and she stared at the floor in front of her, too discomposed to reply or even meet his eye.
“I do not mean to say—”
“Of course not,” she said. “What of this… What if we separate here and should fate bring us together again in the proximity of Lady Whitmore, or anyone else who can introduce us, then we will know it is destined, that we should meet.”
“Leave it in the hands of Providence?” he asked doubtfully.
She nodded, smiling up at him. “We must separate anyhow, yes? I can hardly ask for your escort back to my party, a man unknown to me.”
He pondered that a moment and, at length, extended his hand. After a beat, Elizabeth realised he meant for her to put her hand in it. When she had, he began to draw it to his lips; immediately she pulled it from his grasp. He appeared startled by her actions.
“Mr D, I must have you know…if it is not impertinent of me to say so…I-I cannot seek a husband. I am not. Seeking one that is. Or even a suitor. You seem like… We have been so agreeable together, and I would not have you thinking… It is impossible in every respect.”
A flush had risen on his cheeks. She had embarrassed him, spurning a simple kiss on a gloved hand. Though she knew not his name, she did not imagine it was a manoeuvre he undertook lightly, or often, and she regretted the mortification she caused him.
“Excuse me,” she said, and turned away from him, forcing herself to move away at a sedate pace.
He watched Miss L walk off, her curls bouncing against the pale white of her neck, feeling thoroughly humiliated.
Had he so misread her? Was she, like every other female he ever knew, playing some sort of coquette’s game with him, the push and pull of flirtation and disdain that ladies used to drive gentlemen mad?
He had thought her better than that. He had believed her more real than that.
The whole of the evening was becoming nothing but embarrassment.
Besides this episode with Miss L, he had had at least half a dozen of his acquaintances enquire about the breach in the family.
No one had seemed to notice it last Season, likely because Lady Catherine was not in town.
She had evidently not scrupled to spread her disdain about this year, however, for it seemed all and sundry knew the Fitzwilliams had turned themselves against him.
Why remain? There is surely nothing for me here but vexation and grief. He would go home. At once the cool relief of being in his carriage moving away from all of this seemed heavenly.
Lost in his thoughts, he nearly collided with them, his Fitzwilliam relations.
Lady Matlock walked ahead of Anne who looked surprisingly well in an ivory gown with a cornflower blue sash.
A young woman with dark hair arranged in an elegant coiffure walked beside her, one hand resting gently on Anne’s arm in a gesture that seemed both protective and supportive.
He supposed this must be the Miss Bennet he had heard was attending her, and it was with no little relief that he realised it was not Miss L.
He had begun to think they might pass one another with a dignified nod when Anne looked up and saw him. Her face went white and she stumbled. The dark-haired woman immediately moved closer, murmuring something he could not hear while steadying her.
Lady Matlock, evidently realising there was a problem behind her, glanced over her shoulder at Anne whose countenance, while still pale, now had eyes blazing with fury. The dark-haired woman briefly met his gaze, her expression both pitying and reproachful, before she lowered her eyes.
“We must speak with Lady Whitmore,” Anne pronounced loudly. “Evidently she is inviting everyone and anyone to her parties these days.”
Lady Matlock glanced back again, saying, “Come, dear.”
Anne was not a large woman, but nevertheless it made him grunt slightly when she slammed her shoulder into his chest passing by him. Lady Matlock took her by the elbow to hurry her past, and Anne uttered a shockingly coarse epithet in his direction as they passed.
The scene had not gone unnoticed. Belatedly Darcy realised that the conversations among the many guests seeking respite in the hall had paused as people looked with interest in their direction.
Murmurs about lawsuits and gentlemanly honour began to reverberate down the hall.
He felt himself flush with mortification as he adopted the hard lines of indifference on his face that had served him well over the years.
Would that I had been five minutes sooner in leaving this accursed party!
He stalked down the rest of the hall, going down the stairs that would take him to the entry hall. He ordered his coat and hat and stood silently reflecting on what humiliation the last half an hour had brought him. Spurned by Miss L and cut by his own family. A fine evening indeed.
I must not be beguiled by him!
With each time they met, Elizabeth found herself more drawn to the tall, handsome stranger.
And with each successive meeting, she grew more certain that he might be the famed Mr Darcy.
And the famed Mr Darcy, if he knew who she was, would have no part with her.
She could only hope that there were no additional meetings tonight, certainly not in the presence of anyone who might introduce them.
She decided she would do best to find Anne; after some time spent circling about, she returned to the retiring room, finding Anne in a chair, her face tear-streaked and her coiffure half undone.
She was clutching a vinaigrette in one hand while Lady Matlock and a young woman—Lady Sophie, the newly out daughter of Lord Easton and introduced to Elizabeth in a quick murmur—hovered over her, fanning her frantically as Anne took shallow, panting breaths.
“What is wrong?” Elizabeth cried out.
“She has seen Darcy,” said Lady Matlock in a low tone. “It has distressed the poor thing so.”
“How such a man is still received! He deserves to be set down,” Anne cried. “He must be revealed for what he is!”
Elizabeth wetted her handkerchief from the small ewer in the corner of the room and brought it to Anne, dabbing at her face even as she regarded the whole scene with scepticism.
She had borne her mother’s effusions for years; she was adept at recognising a lady who made the most of her maladies.
When she attended them, it was Mrs Jenkinson’s role to soothe and cajole, but at the more elevated society events, Elizabeth supposed the duty was hers.
Another young woman came to them, asking what she might do to help, and Elizabeth assured her all was well.
The attention of the other ladies did nothing to dispel the agonies; indeed, it was entirely possible it might get worse, and this Elizabeth could not bear.
“Perhaps we would do best to leave,” she murmured, meeting Lady Matlock’s eyes.
“The air is so warm and close; it cannot be good for her.”
“No, no,” Anne protested, making a weak struggle to leave the chair. “I will find the dastardly creature at once and—”
“Elizabeth is correct,” said Lady Matlock firmly. “We ought to leave before your distress worsens. My son will find his way home when he needs to.”
“But I mean to tell Darcy exactly what I think of him.” Anne pouted and sighed and looked every inch a toddler having a tantrum.
Elizabeth took Anne’s arm firmly. “Can there be any pain greater than indifference? Hold your head high and pretend nothing is amiss.”
Lady Matlock agreed at once. The ladies spent a few minutes returning Anne to a presentable state, wishing to be able to walk through the party without undue notice.
Then, with Anne between them still panting and fussing, the ladies moved to the entry hall with as much haste as could be managed and requested their carriage.
Distraction, Elizabeth felt, was always the best way to manage such situations as this and so, as soon as they were comfortably situated in the carriage, she said, “Anne did very well tonight.” She gave Lady Matlock a conspiratorial grin.
Anne, who had tossed herself into a miserable heap in the corner, moaned, “Any triumph must surely be lessened by the confrontation with the man who jilted me!”
Elizabeth reached for her hand, giving her a gentle squeeze.
“But you did not confront him, did you? You only saw him and surely merely seeing him could not overshadow the fact that the Marquess of Mulgrave asked you to dance. I believe he singled you out—at least I did not see him dance with anyone else.”
Lady Matlock seemed to understand Elizabeth’s purpose immediately and spoke with overwhelming enthusiasm. “Now that would be a conquest.”
Anne sat up and sniffed. “He is old.”
“No, not so very old,” said Lady Matlock while Elizabeth said, “He cannot be above thirty, can he?”
Anne sighed, frowning down at the reticule in her hands. “He is one and thirty.”
“That is nothing at all,” cried Lady Matlock.
“He is very well-favoured,” Elizabeth said.
“He rarely dances,” added Lady Matlock. “He has paid you a very particular compliment in singling you out.”
Anne, who had begun to play with the strings on her reticule, permitted herself a small smile. “He did ask me if he might call on me in the morning.”
“A call!” Lady Matlock’s enthusiasm had grown almost maniacal. “Now that is positively unheard of. Your mother would surely delight in that connexion.”
At the mention of maternal approbation, Anne saw a quick recovery. She began to speak of her dance partners and was soon tolerably lively. Her spirits recovered further when they entered the house to find Lady Catherine dozing in front of a fire. She woke immediately when they came in.
“You are early,” she accused, giving Elizabeth a suspicious look. “I understood that they danced until dawn at these things.”
“I took ill, Mama,” Anne whinged. “You know how I am with my breathing, and the dance floor was positively teeming with the unwashed!”
“Cut short it might have been,” Elizabeth hastened to add, “but Miss de Bourgh was an undeniable success. Tell your dear mother about the marquess.”
“A marquess?” Lady Catherine sat up, suddenly not tired at all. “Which one? Sit down, ladies, and do tell me everything.”