Chapter 18
EIGHTEEN
Darcy slipped the black ribbon over his head and tucked the quizzing glass into his waistcoat.
While in the past, he had relied on it in crowds such as he would encounter at the theatre, he had been quite the idiot wearing it to the Gardiners’ home two days prior.
They are Elizabeth’s favourite relations.
You should not have doubted they were good, decent people.
Yet, he berated himself, you thought to put the glass to your eye in the cramped parlour of a small house?
He thanked God he had not done so. The Gardiners’ home had not been cramped nor even especially small.
Rather, it was a comfortable, well-furnished townhouse occupied by well-spoken, well-dressed people.
He had had no rationale for wearing the glass there beyond his desperate need to understand the infernal tug he felt towards Elizabeth, and it had been such a sunny day, and so bright in the room where they met, he had been half-blind; clearly so had Elizabeth, who had peered at him oddly.
It was not merely the sun, he acknowledged. She saw the quizzing glass. Yet if she thought me a vain, ill-sighted fool, why did she encourage me to use it?
He did not know and should not care—but he did care, far too much.
Nevertheless, he was in town, and the glass was part and parcel of his armour when with the ton.
This evening at the theatre, surrounded by those demanding so much from him, required he wear it.
Memories of his first months in town with the quizzing glass surged in his mind.
Better I appear pompous than suffer unfortunate introductions and allow Elizabeth and her family to be set upon by the ton’s worst vultures, as I was.
At least, that was the excuse he gave himself.
Darcy refrained from putting the glass to his eye at the theatre, touching the satin ribbon only a few times when he grew restless with the performance and wished he could speak to Elizabeth.
He could not, of course—not when so many others were gazing at his box and whispering about the two unknown, handsome young ladies within it.
His proximity to her would draw more attention than she had already garnered simply by sitting in his box.
She was the most striking lady in there, the loveliest lady he had ever seen, one who was attentive to others yet seemed to have no awareness of the notice she had drawn—or of his usual struggles in her presence.
She was so happily enjoying the performance, smiling, her fingers or toes tapping along to the lively music, he was more than content to observe her from his chair behind her and Mrs Gardiner.
It was not until the final notes died and the crowd stirred for intermission that Elizabeth realised how much she needed refreshment.
As the ladies strolled about the ante-rooms, the gentlemen departed to fetch lemonade for her, Jane, Mrs Gardiner, and Miss Bingley, who pointedly stepped a few paces away, undoubtedly eager to find ‘better’ company.
When the men returned, Mr Darcy handed Elizabeth a glass of cool lemonade and stood protectively nearby. “I hope Mozart has lived up to your expectations.”
“He has exceeded them,” she said gaily. “Although I lack your sister’s trained ear or full understanding of his work, the music is superb.”
Evidently amused by her display of giddiness, he leant his head closer. “I must bring her here, do you think?”
His scent, his nearness, and his low voice combined to make Elizabeth lightheaded.
“I believe you must, sir. I shall satisfy my own sisters with a full recounting of the production. Kitty will wish to know of the costumes, Lydia will ask whether the soldiers are handsome, and Mary will beg me to hum all the music.”
He smiled warmly. “Perhaps they will have an opportunity to come to town and see it as well. My box is yours, if so.”
Elizabeth caught her aunt’s look of surprise, realising she, too, had heard the invitation. “I-I thank you. Even more so because you have met my sisters and understand the...um, enthusiasm they would bring to such an evening.”
“Oh I say, Darcy,” said Mr Bingley abruptly.
“There is a man over there, Mr Tremblay, whom I would like you to meet. He says he knew my father and has some investments in India he would like to share with both of us.” He gestured towards a bald man standing near a large pillar, deep in conversation with two portly gentlemen.
Mr Darcy’s smile was replaced by a frown. Elizabeth watched as he reached for the quizzing glass and lifted it to his eye.
“Faith, are your eyes so tired?” his friend laughed.
Mr Darcy turned brusquely back to their little group. “There is no need to introduce us, Bingley.”
“You are acquainted with Tremblay?”
“No. I have no wish to do business with the man.”
Mr Bingley looked ashen. “But my father...”
In a low voice surely meant only for his friend’s ears, Mr Darcy said, “Truly, I doubt your father was acquainted with him, and if so, I certainly hope he did not invest with him.”
In a voice purring with a sickeningly intimate tone, Miss Bingley scolded her brother.
“You must not discuss business and trade in society! You know the superior mind and character of Mr Darcy and should not need reminding of his wisdom here.” Her gloved hand darted towards Mr Darcy and grabbed the quizzing glass, waving it at Mr Bingley.
“This, this is what you must have to aid your discernment and behave as a gentleman ought!”
Heedless of Mr Bingley’s shocked expression, she stepped back triumphantly; Mr Darcy, his neck trapped by the thin black ribbon, was pulled awkwardly towards her.
Suddenly the fibres gave way, and as Miss Bingley stumbled into Jane, the eyepiece fell from her hands, bouncing off the soft satin of Elizabeth’s slippers and onto the carpet.
Amid gasps of shock and dismay, Elizabeth bent to retrieve it.
Without thinking, driven by both an impulse to see the world as Mr Darcy did and an instinct to ensure the quizzing glass was not damaged, she lifted it to her eye as she rose.
“Oh!”
Darcy moved quickly to Elizabeth and gently took the eyepiece from her hand.
Her beautiful eyes, clouded by uncertainty, sought his, clearly intending to ask about the peculiar view through its lens.
Disregarding the stares and murmurs of his guests, he slid the glass into his pocket and, still holding her gloved hand, said, “Thank you.”
There was much more he wished to say—needed to say—but her confused expression told him this was neither the time nor place; he could only hope the events of the previous few minutes would be forgotten by the rest of the party.
“Caroline, look what you have caused.” Bingley, his voice harsh, pulled the torn ribbon from Darcy’s shirtfront before giving Miss Bennet a tender look. “Are you well, my dear? My sister did not harm you with her hijinks?”
The irritation sweeping Miss Bingley’s countenance was likely to emerge in her voice, but just then, the music began, signalling the beginning of the second act.
Unwilling to let go of Elizabeth’s hand, and equally uncaring as to what society might think, Darcy tucked it in his arm.
He felt her tense, but her hand remained.
Clearly, her thoughts were elsewhere, and beyond a brief nod when asked whether she was well, she spoke not another word to him all evening.
He suffered through the next hour and a half of music, hearing nothing of the singing or the piquant violins, caught as he was in his own dark thoughts.
Though furious at Miss Bingley’s untoward actions, he was also livid with himself for bringing attention to the glass by his imperious tone and behaviour.
I long ago decided against those who would accost me in society, especially those presuming upon acquaintances with the deceased, who can no longer verify their claims. And I have heard Tremblay’s name before, associated with fraud.
I did not need the glass to confirm any of that.
Why did I think to bring it here at all?
With misery now overtaking his anger, Darcy rubbed his hand over his eyes.
What had Elizabeth seen?