Chapter 36
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
The evening of the ball arrived at last. In accordance with Lady Matlock’s carefully contrived plan, Elizabeth and William dressed at Matlock House, so that they might not be observed arriving together from Darcy House.
The element of surprise was to be preserved until the precise moment Lady Matlock chose to reveal it.
Even here, the countess had sought drama. She insisted they dress in separate rooms, that William might not see Elizabeth until she was fully prepared. Just as the final diamond pin was secured in her hair, the door opened.
“Elizabeth,” he called, no longer willing to wait.
Pausing only a moment to look at her appearance one final time, she rose and turned from the mirror to face him.
The peacock blue silk fell in graceful lines from her square neckline, the sheen deepening beneath the candlelight.
The rivière at her throat lay cool and brilliant against her skin, each stone catching the light with restrained fire.
She had scarcely taken a step when she realised he had not spoken again.
His waistcoat, a darker blue shot through with silver thread, harmonised deliberately with her gown, the subtle pattern echoing the embroidery at her hem.
It was not his attire that held her attention.
It was his expression.
For several long moments, he did nothing but look at her. When he finally smiled, pride warmed his gaze; his admiration on full display.
“You cannot expect me to endure an entire evening,” he said quietly, “while every man in that room looks at you in that gown—not when you are mine.”
Warmth rose beneath the diamonds at her throat. “It was not my intention to cause you to struggle.”
“No?” He crossed the distance between them, his eyes lingering first upon the necklace, then along the line of silk at her shoulders, before settling upon her face. “It will have precisely that effect.”
He moved behind her and turned her gently towards the mirror, his hands settling at her waist. Bending close, he pressed his lips to the curve of her neck, to that place he had long since discovered made her shiver.
The contact drew the expected response.
Several minutes passed before he reluctantly drew back. “Let us get this over with,” he murmured, offering his arm.
Together they descended.
They entered the ballroom quietly and took their place among the early guests, circulating only briefly while Lord and Lady Matlock received arrivals at the head of the room. Elizabeth was aware of the many curious glances directed at them, yet none suspected the truth.
For some time, she and William greeted those they knew well, speaking when addressed and allowing the evening to unfold as planned. He confined his conversation to those already acquainted with their news, avoiding any who were not.
At length, the receiving line concluded. The last of the invited guests had been announced, and the musicians were beginning to prepare for the first set. William had just been drawn aside by one of his uncle’s acquaintances, leaving Elizabeth engaged in conversation with his cousin.
It was then that she heard it.
“Miss Eliza,” a sneering voice rang out, louder than propriety would bear and clearly intended to draw notice, “what on earth are you doing at Lady Matlock’s ball this evening?”
“I was invited by Lady Matlock, Miss Bingley,” Elizabeth replied evenly.
Before Miss Bingley could shape her next insult, the crowd shifted and parted. Lady Matlock advanced, tall and commanding in midnight silk, the diamonds at her throat flashing as she fixed Miss Bingley with a look Elizabeth had once seen reduce a colonel to uneasy silence.
The receiving line had only just concluded, and Lord Matlock was already moving towards the musicians, clearly intending to set the evening’s festivities in motion. However, the countess, having evidently caught the first strains of what promised to become a spectacle, had altered her course.
“My dear Elizabeth,” she said, turning towards her, “may I ask who addresses you in such a manner?” Her gaze moved, cool and assessing, to Miss Bingley. “I have never heard anyone call you Miss Eliza. It surprises me that such liberty should be taken—particularly now.”
“No, my lady. I was known by that name to only a few in Hertfordshire, but it is not one I prefer,” Elizabeth answered calmly. “Nor have I ever given Miss Bingley leave to address me so. But you must know her well, since she is here this evening—do you not?”
Lady Matlock’s brows lifted. “I cannot say that I do.” Her gaze travelled from Miss Bingley’s coiffure to her slippers, pausing with pointed deliberation upon the extravagant feather nodding in her hair. “How came you to be present?”
“My brother is a guest of Mr Darcy,” Miss Bingley said, straightening and attempting an air of consequence.
“Mr Bingley was not invited this evening,” Lady Matlock replied crisply, “and I know with certainty that he did not arrive with my nephew.” She regarded Miss Bingley steadily. “I am astonished that you would attend my house for any purpose. Was I not sufficiently clear when last we spoke?”
Elizabeth saw colour rise high in Miss Bingley’s cheeks.
“It was only a few months ago at the theatre,” Lady Matlock continued coolly, “when you attempted to persuade me that your connection to my nephew was of a far more intimate nature than it proved to be. The guest list this evening was selected with care. I fail to comprehend how you obtained admittance.”
“I… um…” Miss Bingley faltered. Elizabeth became acutely aware of the hush forming around them; nearby conversation had ceased altogether.
“Did you present an invitation at the door?” Lady Matlock’s tone sharpened.
With a small, decisive gesture, she summoned a footman in Matlock livery.
“Assist this lady in locating her brother, if he is indeed present, and then see them both from the house. Should an invitation have been shown, you will take possession of it. I shall make further enquiries in the morning.”
Miss Bingley’s tenuous hold upon her composure fractured. “My lady, surely there has been some misunderstanding. My brother and I are intimate friends of Mr Darcy, and I assure you—”
“You are no friend of mine.”
William’s voice, low and unmistakable, cut cleanly through her protest. He came to stand beside Elizabeth and placed his hand at the small of her back, the gesture deliberate and steady.
She leaned towards him almost unconsciously.
Miss Bingley’s gaze dropped at once to the contact, and the last of her colour faded.
“Have you brought your paramour to lend you consequence this evening?” Miss Bingley enquired, her tone honeyed and venomous in equal measure. “Or does she merely serve as an ornament for you? I recall how she pursued you in Hertfordshire and the speculation that she was someone’s natural child.”
The cruelty of it struck the air like a slap. Elizabeth felt the sting of the insinuation and could scarcely credit that such an accusation had been voiced so brazenly before so many witnesses.
Immediately she felt the shift in her husband, standing close enough that it could not be mistaken.
The hand at her back tightened, not painfully, but with unmistakable resolve.
His posture grew still behind her, the warmth she had known a moment before replaced by something colder and far more controlled.
Over her shoulder, she caught the brief exchange of looks between him and his aunt, answered by the faintest inclination of her head.
Then he drew her closer, staking his claim before all present.
“In a sense,” he replied, and a murmur rippled through those standing near enough to hear.
“But before you depart this evening, allow me to present Mrs Elizabeth Darcy, my wife. Should there be any doubt as to her standing, she is the granddaughter of the Earl of Granfield, and I count myself most fortunate in having secured her hand. We were married above a fortnight ago in Hertfordshire, where she has resided since the death of her parents.”
Elizabeth watched as the colour drained from Miss Bingley’s countenance, mortification rising stark beneath the candlelight. The lady’s gaze fell to Elizabeth’s left hand, where it rested upon William’s sleeve. It did not move.
The gold band upon her finger caught the light as her gloved hand moved.
The implication appeared to settle upon Miss Bingley. Whatever confidence had animated her a moment before faltered; her lips parted slightly, then pressed together again as though she struggled to contain her reply. The rigid poise she had maintained began to fracture at the edges.
“I did… I had no…” Miss Bingley’s voice faltered, the words collapsing before they were formed. Whatever defence she sought to muster perished unspoken when the waiting footman stepped forward and took her firmly by the arm.
A subdued stir followed as she was conducted from the room, curiosity giving way to speculation among those who had overheard the confrontation and eager enquiry from those who had not.
Heads inclined towards one another; whispers travelled quickly across the room.
Open speculation subsided into a charged stillness; the room’s attention sharpened as all waited to see how the matter would conclude.
Across the room, Elizabeth saw Lord Matlock lower the hand he had held poised towards the musicians, the faintest suggestion of approval about his mouth. The tentative notes faltered and fell silent at once. With a decisive gesture, he beckoned to his wife—and to them—as had clearly been arranged.
From another quarter of the room, her grandfather also began to move. He did not join the Matlocks, but positioned himself nearer to her and William instead, his expression composed and watchful.
They moved towards Lord Matlock, Elizabeth’s hand resting upon William’s arm. She felt the weight of every gaze in the room, but she did not falter.
“Well,” Lord Matlock began, his voice carrying easily across the room, “it would appear that this evening has already afforded us an unexpected diversion.”
A ripple of restrained amusement moved through the assembly.
“Still, I believe the moment remains mine.” His gaze swept the room with calm authority.
“We are delighted to have you here tonight, for we wish to share news of the happiest kind. Earlier this month, my nephew was married in Hertfordshire to Miss Elizabeth Bennet, granddaughter of my esteemed friend Edmund Talbot, Earl of Granfield.”
He inclined his head towards Elizabeth.
“My wife, who has always possessed a fondness for theatrics, determined that the occasion should serve as a celebration of the nuptials since, as many of you know, my nephew has little taste for being the centre of attention.”
Laughter followed; Elizabeth felt William’s arm grow taut once more beneath her hand.
“If you will,” Lord Matlock said, extending a hand towards the open space before the musicians. “We shall proceed as intended. Mr and Mrs Darcy will lead the first set.”
A subtle shift passed through the assembly. The earlier spectacle receded into outward composure; Elizabeth had no doubt it would be dissected in drawing rooms for weeks to come. Couples withdrew towards the edges of the floor, clearing the space for the dance.
William inclined his head, and his arm steadied beneath her hand as they stepped forward together. The musicians, poised in anticipation, lifted their bows.
Gentlemen moved to claim their partners, every gaze fixed upon the newly married pair.
William turned to her. The tension had left his expression; in its place was something infinitely more tender.
“Shall we?”
Elizabeth placed her hand in his.
The first notes of the music rose, and together they led the company into motion, proving before all present that what had once been called a most unsuitable arrangement had become their greatest felicity.