Chapter Thirty #3
Darcy’s jaw tightened despite himself. He had known—intellectually—that Elizabeth would not be waiting in quiet solitude, but seeing her surrounded, attended, and evidently admired struck him with unexpected force.
Miss Bennet looked as calm and graceful as ever…
that is, until Darcy looked closer. Her hands were clenched tightly in her lap, and she leaned almost imperceptibly towards Bramley, as if seeking comfort from his presence.
The smile she gave his cousin was no less serene than the others, but there was a glimmer of something in her eyes… and a softening about the mouth.
Good heavens, she was in love with Bramley.
He recognized the look—she had given it to Bingley often enough.
And I warned him while we were in Hertfordshire to be cautious.
I made him believe she was indifferent. Well, he had helped plant the seeds, but Bingley’s sisters had nourished them into bearing fruit.
The weight of it settled heavily on his chest. What he had once congratulated himself upon as prudence now revealed itself as meddling of the worst sort—careless, incomplete, and devastating in its consequences.
That is what Elizabeth meant last night.
Oh, he was an idiot. Does she believe it is my fault that her favorite cousin suffers from heartbreak?
If she did, Darcy had much for which to atone.
The realization sharpened his purpose even as it deepened his unease.
If Elizabeth blamed him—and how could she not?
—then this call would prove more difficult than he had imagined.
Lady Hertford welcomed Darcy. Several gentlemen gave their farewells immediately after his arrival, much to his relief.
He wondered whether it was courtesy, coincidence, or calculation on Lady Hertford’s part.
Viscount Winslow and another gentleman, Mr. Brown, if he recalled correctly, remained at Elizabeth’s side.
She smiled prettily at both, though Darcy could tell she merely put on a polite mask for them.
She behaved with far more warmth towards me. Why, when they debated in Hertfordshire, her eyes had sparkled in such a way…
The memory was vivid and unwelcome. He had once been the recipient of that unguarded animation—had provoked it, even. To see it withheld now was far more unsettling than open displeasure would have been.
“And how do you do today, Mr. Darcy?” Elizabeth smiled politely. It did not hold the same warmth he remembered, but he reasoned she would show him the same courtesy as she did her other guests.
“I am very well, Miss de Bourgh. It is a pleasure to be here.”
Lady Hertford offered him some refreshments, and he accepted gracefully, though he scarcely tasted what was placed in his hand.
His attention remained fixed on Elizabeth, on the careful composure she maintained, on the ease with which she deflected attempts at exclusivity.
He was nearly giddy when Winslow and Brown rose to excuse themselves.
“We have stayed longer than the usual time for calls. Please forgive us.” Winslow’s pretty words made Lady Hertford chuckle.
“The inducement is explanation enough,” she quipped, glancing at her charge.
Several of the Miss Bennet’s admirers departed, too, leaving just Darcy and Bramley in the room. The narrowing of the company felt like opportunity at last—and yet it slipped from his grasp almost at once.
Lady Hertford began volleying questions at Darcy, then, leaving no opportunity for him to speak with Elizabeth.
He had the vague impression that she was interrogating him—his intentions, his family, his habits, his seriousness—each inquiry delivered with elegant ease and unmistakable precision.
Elizabeth remained silent throughout, her expression unreadable, offering him no aid, no reprieve.
Before he knew it, the time came to depart.
Darcy had not spoken a single unguarded word to her.
The frustration of it sat heavily on his tongue, bitter and unresolved.
Bramley stood with him as they bid the ladies farewell.
Lady Hertford kindly invited them to call again, her smile suggesting that nothing she did was accidental.
Bramley whistled a merry tune as they exited the house. “Miss Bennet is the one, Darcy, mark my words.”
He made a noncommittal noise, still irritated that he had not had the chance to speak with Elizabeth. Next time, he promised himself. Next time, he would insist—on a word, on an explanation, on the truth of her feelings.
And yet, as the door closed behind them and the warmth of Hertford House faded into the chill of the street, Darcy could not escape the uneasy sense that time—once so obliging—was no longer his ally.
“Well, Miss Bennet, I must say Viscount Bramley is well and truly caught. Though nothing is certain until after the marriage articles are signed, I will say I have never seen him so attentive to a lady. It is a very smart match for you.”
Lady Hertford smiled, clearly pleased.
“But do you like him, Jane?” Elizabeth pressed.
Jane blushed. “I do, Lizzy. He is everything a gentleman ought to be…but I said that about Mr. Bingley, too.” Her cousin’s uncertainty was written clearly on her face.
“This Bingley sounds like an inexperienced man who does not yet know what he wants.” They had told Lady Hertford about Jane’s experience with love and loss in an effort to curb some of her enthusiasm in marrying off her charges.
“Bramley is two-and-thirty. He has been among the ladies of the ton for long enough to know what he wants. And if you are not ready for a proposal, a courtship is the next best thing.”
Lady Hertford turned her discerning eye on Elizabeth. “What do you think of your suitors, Elizabeth?”
“I have hardly had the opportunity to know any of them better,” she replied immediately. “A matter of weeks is not enough time.”
“You have known Mr. Darcy for months.”
Elizabeth blinked. “Surely, you do not think he means to court me?” She did not like hearing her own suspicions voiced aloud.
“He can barely take his eyes off you when we are in his company. He followed you around, staring, at Lady Sefton’s ball, and when he saw your flock of admirers, he looked ill. You may try to deny it, but he has an interest in you.”
“His Royal Highness did not include Darcy on his list of acceptable choices,” she murmured. It was a weak excuse, and she knew it.
“Leave the prince to me. I have his ear, as you well know. Unless you have some strong objection to Mr. Darcy, that is?” Lady Hertford looked at Elizabeth expectantly.
“While he was…not his best in Hertfordshire, I suppose he is no different from the other gentlemen on ‘the list’. I suppose if he wishes to throw in his lot, I can only give him a fair chance.”
Later, she considered her words. Did she wish to give Mr. Darcy a fair chance? She did not have an answer yet.