Chapter Two #2
Glancing over, Elizabeth found her friend was correct and that heavy gaze was levelled directly ay her. It made her uneasy, as always, but something else stirred deep down in her belly. A flutter? A flip? She was uncertain what the sensation meant, but she suspected he made her physically ill.
“I wish he would not stare so. It only serves to make people nervous.” Elizabeth returned her gaze to her friend.
Charlotte smirked. “Are you nervous in his presence? You are never nervous, Lizzy.”
She glared at Charlotte. “He does not make me nervous. He is so imposing. I simply assumed others would be nervous.”
Her dear friend looked between them both once more. She seemed to be weighing her next words carefully.
“I think he may be enamoured of you,” she said finally.
Elizabeth’s cheeks became warm as she stole another glance at the imposing prince. He still—rather blatantly—watched her. Her stomach flipped again, and her mouth dried out.
“Pray, be serious, Charlotte. He is likely grown tired of hearing Lady Caroline talk about how the beads on her gown took twenty hours to sew.”
“Lizzy, you are too smart to be so wilfully daft.”
Elizabeth sighed. “It does not matter whether he likes me or not. I am betrothed.”
Charlotte was still shaking her head when the butler appeared to call them to dinner. Suddenly, Lord Darcy was at Elizabeth’s side, tucking her arm into his. Charlotte bit her lip and Elizabeth could tell her friend was longing to continue their topic of conversation.
Lord Darcy smiled down at her as he led her toward the door.
“You are the hostess, are you not?” His smile turned hungry. He stared at her as if she was dinner.
“I am. And you are the highest-ranking man. I understand how etiquette works, my lord. I am the daughter of a gentleman after all.”
Her insides were churning, though, at the touch of his hand through her glove. What was wrong with her? She did not like this man at all, but her body seemed to betray her at every turn. What on earth was going on?
* * *
When she took her place at the foot of the table, Elizabeth inwardly cringed.
Lord Darcy had been seated to her left by protocol.
All was not so bad, though—somebody had been kind enough to place Charlotte at her right hand.
Lady Lucas sat between her husband and daughter and the Right Honourable Lady Caroline was placed between Lord Darcy and her brother.
As was custom, the women on the arms of the gentlemen, who were charged with assisting their ladies to their seats.
Elizabeth stood next to her chair, only inches away from Lord Darcy as she waited for her father. For one long, tense moment, Elizabeth was afraid Lord Darcy would attempt to seat her himself, but her father arrived and handed her into her chair.
Once the ladies were situated, the men took their places and the first dish, a stuffed bread pudding, was served while the first course was spread on the table.
As she nibbled sparingly at her pudding, the way Lady Caroline stared at the High Lord caught her eye.
Elizabeth assumed her ladyship was making every attempt to be covert, but her poisonous green eyes kept slipping in the High Lord's direction.
Occasionally, they flicked towards Elizabeth.
What could she have done to offend the Right Honourable Lady?
“My father tells me that Master Wickham is doing very well with his herd.” Charlotte leaned towards Elizabeth while the rest of the table continued their business talk—except for Lord Darcy, who seemed content to not speak at all.
“Yes. In fact, he told me just today that he will sell a few more sheep at market, and he shall build our house on Bishop's Hill.”
“Oh, dearest friend, that is wonderful news! I am quite happy for ye.”
* * *
With a great deal of effort, Caroline bit her lip and made the attempt to not leap across the table and squeeze the life out of the young girl next to the High Lord. This green chit was her competition? It hardly seemed possible.
It was obvious that Elizabeth held no particular regard for the High Lord in any respect. In fact, she seemed to find him quite distasteful. It was unusual to see a woman not fall all over herself to gain his attention, and Caroline suddenly understood her appeal.
She gnawed at the inside of her cheek as she maintained serenity on her countenance.
“Miss Elizabeth,” Darcy said, levelling a dark, heavy gaze at the girl, “Lord Bingley has informed me that you are a rather renowned local artist. It would give me great pleasure to see your work.”
Bile rose in Caroline's throat at the effort to woo the young miss.
She had already worked a charm to deliver the girl to him; need he make the chit emotionally attached as well?
Unable to watch any further, she engaged Lady Lucas in a conversation about the state of Meryton's enormous building project, a new church.
* * *
Beneath the table, Darcy's fist clenched.
Sitting this close to Elizabeth, smelling her crisp, flowery scent and staring at that teasing bosom, he was mere moments from snatching her to the North and locking her away from the world.
The moment the plain friend with the bad teeth mentioned Wickham, territorial jealousy had set in.
Elizabeth might not know it, but she was his.
The torment she inflicted on him could not mean anything else.
He shifted at the sudden restriction in his breeches, catching Caroline's glare as he did so.
Casually, he bent towards the witch, leaning a little closer than was proper, and lowered his voice.
“I seem to be afflicted with a rather auspicious malady at present. It seems unfortunate that you cannot currently help me remedy this situation.”
She huffed loudly, which drew the attention of the entire table. Darcy chuckled as her cheeks coloured. The silence hung for a moment then drifted away like smoke.
“Then look to the wall, my lord. That is one of my works in front of thy eyes.” Lady Elizabeth’s chin rose as she took a sip of her wine.
The painting, a watercolour landscape of a lake, was delicate and cheerful. Reeds bent in the wind and a bird drifted along peacefully. A boy, his bright red hair catching light and turning it to flame, sat at the edge of the lake with a large dog.
“Who is the child?” Even though he asked, he already was well aware of the answer. The urge to bury his knife to the hilt within the canvas was strong, but he pushed it aside forcefully.
“George Wickham,” said Sir Thomas in a proud, booming voice.
Everybody stared at him, not realizing he had been following the conversation at the far end of the table as well.
“Though he is hardly a boy now. Elizabeth painted that during their fourteenth summer, well before they became sweethearts. They shall marry before the end of the year.” Sir Thomas beamed with pride.
“I wish you joy!” Bingley raised his glass in a toast just as noise exploded throughout the house.
* * *
George! It was George’s voice beyond those doors! Forgetting protocol, Elizabeth stood quickly, her chair slamming backward into the wall behind her. Lord Darcy was up too, his hand on the knife at his hip in reaction to a potential attack.
Papa lunged in front of Elizabeth when she reached the doors as they flew open.
Framed by the dark oak, George was a frightening figure indeed.
Blood covered him from head to toe, matting his red curls into a grotesque muddy brown, and his usually kind eyes were dark with a dangerous fury that made Elizabeth's heart grow cold.
She reached around her father's form, fingers stretched towards her sweetheart.
“George?” Her voice shook and tears flooded her eyes. “George?”
The young man focused on her. His body began to spasm, his arms flailed helplessly at his sides. Her father rushed forth and caught him when his knees gave. Lord Bingley, ever gallant, rushed to help, and Lord Lucas poured a glass of wine for George.
“Let us get him into the parlour. We need to lie him down.” Papa put his arm around George's waist, and, with Lord Bingley's support, they hauled Elizabeth's limp betrothed towards the room.
The rest of the party followed, pausing outside the door.
Her father held out his palm to her. “Beloved, stay here with our guests.”
“Papa, I want to know has happened! George is to be my husband. I have the right to know.”
“And ye shall, but not at this moment. I need to inspect him for injuries.”
“Very well,” she said in a whisper.
“Lady Lucas, Lady Charlotte, would one of ye be so kind as to fetch the physician?”
“Of course,” Lady Lucas said.
The doors closed behind them, and Elizabeth sagged into a chair. Charlotte knelt in front of her and wrapped her hands within her own.
“Dearest, this looks very bad at the moment, but things shall right themselves in no time. Ye shall see.”
A weak smile slipped across Elizabeth's lips, and she shook her head slowly in disbelief.
Poor George! Just that midday, she had seen her beloved and they had been happy.
What had happened? She sighed her frustration and wiped at her tears with the back of her hand. What could she do? How could she help?
“My presence is hardly required any longer. I shall wait in the carriage,” Lady Caroline said, her manner stiff and formal. Drawing her lean body up to its full, proud height, she looked down at Elizabeth. “Miss Elizabeth, I am sorry for any trouble that has befallen ye.”
The lady dropped a curtsey, glared at the smirk on Lord Darcy's face, and slipped away. Elizabeth just did not have the strength to acknowledge her. She was too overwhelmed, too concerned about George. Yet Caroline’s manner was unusual.
. .it was trifling, but she was convinced the lady appeared guilty.
“Charlotte, take care of Miss Elizabeth while I am gone for the physician. I shall return as quickly as may be.”
“Yes, Mother.”
* * *