Chapter Four
Miss Elizabeth Bennet was a frustratingly stubborn young lady. Her lack of concern for her safety was…alarming. Her disregard for her reputation should have discouraged Darcy from ever seeking her out again. And yet, he found himself eagerly anticipating her company during the ball at Lucas Lodge.
As he had dressed for the ball—taking more care than usual—Darcy reassured himself that he simply found her intriguing. Her conversation was lively and stimulating in a place where both were sparse. And he could appreciate a pretty woman. There was nothing more to his interest in her.
But now he stood in the Lucas Lodge ballroom, distracted from a discussion with Hurst, Bingley, and Caroline by the sight of Elizabeth speaking with Sir William and Lady Lucas on the other side of the room.
He longed to know the subject of their discussion.
What brings that ready smile to her lips?
Does she realize how enchanting her countenance becomes when she tips her head to the side? What does she think of me?
Despite his reservations about her practice of magic, he imagined having long discussions about magical theory with her and learning which magical techniques she preferred.
He could converse on those subjects for hours—in the same way that some men would talk about horse racing or gambling or the latest news from the war.
Few women could hold such conversations.
In fact, he found Caroline intriguing because she understood more about magical history than most women.
A throat cleared loudly beside him, startling him out of his reverie. He glanced around guiltily; Caroline stood a few feet away. How long had she watched him…as he stared at Elizabeth Bennet? Her expression was carefully blank, but she regarded him with narrowed eyes.
Darcy blurted out the first thing that came to his mind. “Er…did you notice our host’s waistcoat? I do not believe I have seen one in that style for at least ten years.” Distracted by the prospect of gossip about fashion, Caroline scrutinized the Lucases. Fortunately, Miss Elizabeth had moved away.
Caroline smirked. “Fifteen years out of date at least,” she said. But she was obviously not prepared to forgive his inattention so easily. “What do you think about the archmage’s proposal, Fitzwilliam?” she pressed, relishing her permission to use his given name.
“Which proposal?”
“Charles was speaking about the archmage’s latest scheme to recruit a wider variety of mages,” Hurst said tendentiously.
“I do not know where he gets these ideas,” Caroline said, snapping her fan open. Despite being a woman, she had opinions about the Convocation’s inner workings. Indeed she had opinions about everything.
“It is generally a fine idea. We suffer from a shortage of talented mages,” Darcy replied.
“Even if they are not from good families?” Caroline asked with a sniff.
“I believe the Convocation should choose members based on merit, not blood.”
“Precisely!” Bingley agreed.
Caroline made a sour face, and Hurst grimaced. Of course, if one took the merit argument to heart, perhaps the Convocation should consider admitting women. No, surely Miss Elizabeth was an aberration—even if she did possess ten times more magic than someone like Hurst.
Darcy cast about for a less controversial subject. “Lady Lucas has superior taste in décor than what we encountered at the assembly ball,” he observed. Not that he had an intense desire to discuss décor.
Caroline perfunctorily scanned the room. “It is tolerable, I suppose. Nothing up to London standards, naturally.”
“The decorations reflect the rough country charm of the Lucases themselves,” Bingley observed.
Bouquets adorned the mantle of each of the room’s three fireplaces.
The white flowers had been enchanted to twinkle with soft pink lights, a pleasant—albeit conventional—effect.
Another spell had converted the room’s many paintings into moving images depicting faeries performing quadrilles and other dances.
The weather had continued fair, and the room had grown warm with the heat of many dancing bodies.
Several of the French doors leading to the terrace were thrown open to cool the air.
“The paintings’ images are well chosen,” Bingley said.
Caroline shrugged languidly. “Faeries in art are so terribly common now; naiads are far more interesting. They do not even have pixies to serve the food, just ordinary humans.” She yawned ostentatiously.
“It is everything delightful and charming,” Bingley exclaimed. “Oh! There is Miss Bennet! I beg you to excuse me.” He hastened across the room toward where Jane Bennet stood with her mother.
Caroline rolled her eyes. “If only Charles had better taste in his friends. It is all so tiresome to socialize with such people.”
Darcy was poised to agree and then recalled that he had longed for Miss Elizabeth’s discourse mere moments ago.
When she realized he would not respond, Caroline returned to her favorite topic of discussion: herself.
“This lace was imported from Belgium.” She raised her arm to display the sleeve of her gown to its fullest advantage.
Darcy realized he had been remiss. “The gown is quite lovely.”
His fiancée preened, turning her head slightly so that her necklace of precious jewels sparkled. “I think the garnets complement my gown splendidly.”
“Indeed,” Darcy agreed. “You are the epitome of elegance.”
She sighed happily, soaking in the praise. “Lord Rutherford and Miss Barnett are marrying next month,” she said a moment later, her tone carefully casual.
“Oh. I had not heard.” Darcy was suddenly on alert, recognizing dangerous conversational territory.
Her hints about fixing a day for their wedding were getting increasingly blatant.
He had been in mourning following his father’s death, and that had served as a convenient excuse.
But his year of mourning had ended months ago, and he still had not set a date.
Hurst had been pickling himself in their host’s wine punch, but now he focused blearily on the discussion. “It is about time you got leg shackled. Eh, Darcy? You should not keep her waiting forever.”
Darcy gritted his teeth. Hurst’s opinion was of no matter to him. “Perhaps when we return to town,” he said. “Certainly there is no point considering setting a date while we are rusticating in the country.”
Caroline made a moue of disappointment but hooked her arm through his. “Of course, my darling. Whatever you desire.” She sighed dramatically. “But Charles does insist on remaining here. It is ridiculous! The society is just dreadful. Perhaps you could speak with him about it.”
“We have been visiting Hertfordshire a mere fortnight,” he observed. “Your brother requires more time to acquaint himself with the Netherfield estate.”
“Very well, I can be patient.” Caroline’s tone implied the exact opposite.
Turning his gaze to the dance floor, Darcy made a comment about the number of couples.
Taking her cue, Caroline commandeered the discussion, critiquing everything from the guests’ gowns to the quality of the food and relieving Darcy of any conversational burden save the occasional nod or murmur of agreement.
He could not account for why he hesitated to set their wedding date. Caroline was eligible in every way. Her family was wealthy and respectable. Her brother had enough magical ability to give Darcy confidence that she would pass those talents to their children.
Their union had been one of his father’s dearest wishes, and Darcy had seen no reason to object. Their betrothal had made the later days of his father’s lingering illness more tolerable.
He did not love her, but he had never expected love since most marriages in the ton were built on dynastic considerations.
Darcy was not even certain that romantic love truly existed.
If it did, he was simply not capable of falling in love—or it would have happened before he reached the age of eight and twenty.
And Darcy had to marry someone. It was past time for him to sire an heir. He had fully intended to follow through with the agreement. He still intended to follow through with it. And yet…
He had known Caroline could be…difficult.
But many of the things she was difficult about did not disturb him.
She was pretty enough and would make an excellent hostess and mistress of Pemberley.
Not to mention that she was quite enthusiastic about the prospect of being Mrs. Darcy.
Logically she had been the best choice for his wife.
An insistent voice at the back of his mind opined that logic did not usually apply in matters of the heart. Darcy endeavored to ignore it.
Still, the truth was that every time Darcy imagined promising to put Caroline Bingley first in his life and taking her to bed…his mind would then stutter to a halt. He simply could not picture marital relations or a pleasant family life with her.
Darcy had hoped that the prolonged visit to Netherfield and extended exposure to Caroline would excite feelings of warmth, but that had not yet occurred.
Rationally, he recognized that delay was ridiculous.
The marriage must take place; he could not beg off without dishonoring himself and his family name.
For some reason Darcy’s eyes settled on Elizabeth Bennet as she spoke with Sir William’s eldest daughter.
Miss Elizabeth was interesting to him because she was a magical anomaly.
Nothing more. He might not support her longing to be a mage, but surely they could be friends—at least while he remained in Hertfordshire.