Chapter 3
The party was underway, and Darcy was uncomfortably hot.
He discreetly loosened the knots on his cravat, aware of the sweat forming in between his shoulders.
Elizabeth had procured for him the least offensive item of fancy dress she could lay her hands on: a black domino mask.
He was grateful to her, but it must have lain untouched for at least five years by the stench of mildew that stung his nose.
At least I escaped Bingley’s fate. He looked with amusement to his friend, who was deep in earnest conversation with a large shepherd’s hat atop his head, the brow flopping each time Bingley nodded in agreement.
He sought out Elizabeth amongst the other guests and took a moment to admire her from his position across the room.
She looked lovely, of course. Her gracious acceptance of Mrs Wickham’s silly game meant that she embraced her Miss Ivy character with more good spirit than her sister deserved, and she had changed her simple yellow gown to one of green changeant silk.
The fabric clung to her body, reflecting the light from the candles and shimmering every time she laughed or moved towards her interlocutor.
She was like a jewel—one that he could not take his eyes from.
She caught him watching her and arched a teasing brow in a playful challenge.
Once, he might have been required to turn away; but now he had the great privilege in raising his own brow, noting with tingling pleasure the flush of colour spread across her neck and chest. Darcy made a silent calculation as he pulled the gold chain of his watch.
Only six more hours, then they might retire to bed; he would be free to run his hands over that inviting silk and take his own time in removing it.
Elizabeth came to his side as soon as she could escape her conversation. “I did not think it possible for you to look more handsome, but I must confess the mask adds a hint of mystery that is most alluring.”
He grinned. “I thought Miss Ivy was meant to spread ill-will, not dazzle everyone with her compliments.”
“You are at fault for being so impossibly dashing.” She tilted her head mischievously.
“Besides, I have decided that Lydia should be the sole recipient of my ill-tempered words as she was so determined that we adopt these characters in the first instance. I have already asked her if she is looking forward to sharing a room with Kitty and Mary at least seven times.”
Darcy laughed and then added softly, “Allow me to say that poetic justice has never looked so delightful.”
His words had their intended effect, for her blush deepened. She bit her lip before changing the subject. “Did you like the card I selected for you?”
He tapped the black mask. “I hope I convey ‘The Night Sky Over Bethlehem’ with sufficient accuracy. In accordance with the task, my sole objective is to remain cold and silent all evening.”
“An inspired choice, I thought, for it means you do not need to converse with anyone if you do not wish to. You may simply blame the card.” Her smile brightened, but Darcy could not find it in himself to reply enthusiastically.
How little she thinks of my powers of conversation, that I should welcome an excuse from all social activity this evening.
Apparently unaware of his discomfort, she continued, her voice teasing.
“I must commend your fortitude.” She gestured towards her father and mother, whose usual attire was hidden under bed sheets in a misguided attempt to portray Mary and Joseph.
“You have borne our displays of excessive silliness exceptionally well.”
“It has all been rather pleasant thus far,” he reassured her. “Your fears were entirely groundless.”
“It is not over yet—” A commotion beyond the saloon door distracted her, and a moan of despair escaped her lips.
“What is it?”
“The cake. I had quite forgotten.” She glanced at him. His confusion must have been evident, so she explained, “The Twelfth-cake. Everyone must take a slice. Those who discover the pea and bean become king and queen for the rest of the evening.”
The little maid who had attended Elizabeth that morning appeared at the door, laden with a large silver plate bearing an enormous fruit cake.
Apprehension swirled in the pit of Darcy’s stomach. “Must one accept? Can the role be offered to someone else who is more willing?”
“Sadly, no. We can only hope that those crowned are sensible and unimaginative and we avoid being ruled by a despot.”
They watched as the cake was sliced and handed out, exuberant shrieks echoing as each guest tried their luck. Mrs Bennet was particularly vocal in the cheering; her face flushed with anticipation as she insisted everyone take a turn.
Casting aside the dubious Mary costume, Mrs Bennet approached Darcy and Elizabeth with a large slice upon a small plate.
“Mr Darcy, how incredibly handsome you look in your mask—like a devilish highwayman! You must try some Twelfth-cake. It is a special recipe, given to my aunt by Mrs Twyford, companion to Lady Emma de Beauchamp.”
“Heavens, Mama, that portion is far too large for one person!” Elizabeth took up a knife and cut the cake into generous thirds. She glanced at Darcy apologetically. “Our family tradition is that you must use your fingers and take a large mouthful.”
Darcy eyed his slice, a stab of hunger piercing his stomach. “That does not sound too arduous.”
Elizabeth laughed. “Let us hope it is the last Bennet tradition you experience tonight.”
Next to Elizabeth, Mrs Bennet grew impatient.
“Enough of all this chatter. We need to crown our king and queen.” She took an enormous bite, then emitted an ear-splitting squeal, crumbs spraying everywhere.
Eyes bulging, she turned to find a napkin to put to her mouth.
Waving her arms about triumphantly, she cried, “The pea! The pea! I shall be queen!”
A cheer rang across the room. Mrs Bennet clapped loudly and addressed her guests. “My first commandment is that you all eat up. I must find my king!”
Darcy caught Elizabeth’s eye. “Shall we do it at the same time?”
She chuckled. “A fine plan. The sooner we do, then the sooner we may remove ourselves from Mama’s certain tyranny.”
Darcy took his slice and she took hers. He saluted her with it as though it were a drink, and she returned the gesture. Without taking his eyes from her face, he sank his teeth into the dense crumb. Light spices warmed his palate, and he made an appreciative sound.
Elizabeth laughed at his response. “Although I detest the fact it is forced upon me, I cannot deny it tastes delicious.”
“You must send my compliments to Mrs Twyford.” Darcy’s teeth struck something hard. He looked at Elizabeth in horror.
“What is wrong?”
He brought his hand to his mouth. Elizabeth’s eyes widened with understanding, and she procured a handkerchief for him. Her mouth was twitching with amusement, but her expression was full of sympathy. “Oh, Darcy! You are going to be Mama’s king!”