Chapter 34 #2
The cousins rose and continued their stroll. Jones and Weston were close, attentive without intrusion, and though a few passersby stopped them for polite conversation, they were left largely to themselves for the rest of their outing, the worst of the morning now firmly behind them.
Lady Hertford met them at a time she designated, and the ladies began making calls.
Most households showed deference and respect.
In a very few, young ladies traded subtle insults and jabs and made pointed remarks about Jane and Elizabeth.
Once they were back in the carriage, Lady Hertford dismissed them as petty and jealous.
“They only wish they boasted the same connections and prospects. Miss Bennet’s success at bringing Viscount Bramley to heel must sting—all of them have tried and none have succeeded. It is rather amusing.”
Elizabeth agreed. She had been trained to withstand such things, but Jane, ever sensitive and completely obliging, had no such experience. The rudeness hurt.
They were at home to callers the next day. It was no surprise to Elizabeth that Viscount Bramley appeared first. He was granted his audience, and Jane agreed to a courtship.
Viscount Winslow appeared soon after Bramley’s arrival.
He came immediately to Elizabeth’s side, regaling her with compliments and empty flattery.
He, out of all the other ‘suitors’, remained the most constant.
She had liked him well enough at first; that had changed the more she knew him.
Though it might have been unintentional—doubtful—his words denigrated her intelligence.
He made it clear with every call that he meant to possess her.
She would be his greatest achievement, and nothing more than an ornament on his arm.
But since he was on the Prince Regent’s list of acceptable men, she was forced to endure his attentions.
Mr. Darcy arrived partway through the viscount’s call. His cousin remained for longer than the polite half hour, which was acceptable, given his recent success with Jane. Bramley immediately informed Darcy of it, prompting warm congratulations to the couple.
Elizabeth found herself watching Mr. Darcy as he chatted with his cousin and hers. His gaze drifted to Elizabeth multiple times, softening imperceptibly whenever she noticed. Her stomach fluttered strangely, and her heart quickened its rhythm in her chest.
She noted his careful attentiveness to her cousin and herself many times but had once thought it only due to the consequence the ladies now boasted.
What questions had he not yet asked? She sensed both curiosity and concern beneath his reserve.
What is wrong with me? she wondered. Her gaze had met his without thought earlier, drawn by something she had not yet named—something steadier than politeness, and far more dangerous.
Could she possibly be falling for Mr. Darcy?
Darcy arrived at Hertford House already conscious that he was entering contested ground.
Business had delayed his arrival, and he wondered if he would have even a moment of Elizabeth’s time amongst all her other suitors.
When he stepped into the drawing room, he felt at once the peculiar sensation of having come late to a conversation already in progress, one whose terms had been set without him.
Lady Hertford received him with polished warmth.
She was perfectly at ease, her authority neither asserted nor questioned, and Darcy observed at once the subtle deference paid to her by every servant and caller alike.
Jane Bennet was seated near the windows, the light falling kindly across her features, engaged in calm discourse with a matron whose manner suggested approval rather than scrutiny.
Elizabeth, by contrast, remained close to Lady Hertford, her position unmistakable.
She was not hovering, nor was she displayed, but she stood within the orbit of protection and favor, where interruption required permission.
The effect unsettled him more than he cared to admit.
Bramley wasted no time informing Darcy that his request to court Miss Bennet had been accepted.
“I am very pleased. I must still speak with her father, however. Miss Bennet will send along a note for him,” Bramley said quietly to Darcy, scarcely able to contain his triumph. “Now I may drive others away with impunity.”
The jest drew a laugh from Miss Bennet, soft but genuine, and Darcy saw, with a pang he had not expected, the unmistakable admiration in her gaze.
It was not love yet, perhaps, but it was its beginning.
Bramley’s constancy, so long a subject of family speculation, had found its purpose at last. And he had to admit he had seen her give Bingley similar looks.
The ones she gave Bramley were more fervent.
Darcy offered his congratulations with sincerity. Miss Bennet deserved a man who would not falter.
Winslow was already at Elizabeth’s side, seated with the assurance of a man who believed himself entitled to be there.
His compliments were fluent and excessive; his attention pointedly singular.
Darcy listened from a short distance away, his jaw tightening as Winslow spoke not to Elizabeth but at her, praising her beauty, her elegance, her distinction, while managing, with infuriating consistency, to imply that her intellect was an agreeable accessory rather than a defining trait.
Darcy recognized the pattern at once. Winslow did not admire Elizabeth. He sought to acquire her.
Elizabeth endured the attention with composure, her responses measured and civil, though Darcy could see the restraint beneath her politeness.
Winslow’s presence had the peculiar effect of narrowing the surrounding room, as though his intention crowded out all else.
That he was, by all accounts, one of the Prince Regent’s approved candidates made the situation all the more galling.
Darcy’s gaze locked with Elizabeth’s. The transformation was subtle but unmistakable. The guarded neutrality she wore for others softened, just slightly, as recognition passed between them. Darcy felt it like a physical sensation, a loosening in his chest, followed immediately by unease.
She is pleased to see me. That knowledge brought comfort and surprise in equal measure.
Several gentlemen then arrived in quick succession, their timing far too convenient to be accidental.
Darcy recognized them at once as men of ambition rather than inclination, each introduced with care, each positioning himself within conversational reach of Elizabeth.
The drawing room reorganized itself around her with the inevitability of gravity.
Voices lowered, glances lingered, and the air took on the charged stillness of competition.
Winslow, sensing the threat, grew more assertive.
“A gentleman of consequence must consider steadiness,” he remarked pointedly, his gaze flicking toward Darcy with open appraisal. “Some of us are in a position to offer it.”
Darcy met the challenge with calm precision. “Steadiness, my lord, is not declared so easily. It is of little value if offered without regard for the lady’s inclination. A gentleman’s consequence is best proven in the respect he shows, not the advantages he claims.”
Elizabeth had been prepared to endure the exchange with composure, but Darcy’s reply altered it entirely.
He had not raised his voice, nor broken propriety, yet the distinction he drew was unmistakable. For the first time that morning, she felt not merely observed—but defended.
Her gaze met his before she could think better of it.
A murmur followed, Lady Hertford smiling faintly as she interjected, her tone light but firm. “Gentlemen, I trust we may conduct ourselves with both order and politeness. Hertford House is not a dueling ground, however entertaining that might be.”
Laughter eased the tension, but the contest remained.
Darcy withdrew slightly then, forced into the role of observer as Elizabeth was drawn into polite but purposeful exchanges.
For the first time, he fully comprehended the implications of her elevation—her position was that of other ladies of the first circles.
She was not merely admired. She was being evaluated.
Considered. Measured against advantage and alliance.
For several moments, Darcy remained where he was, watching as Elizabeth was drawn into one conversation after another—each gentleman measuring, each exchange calculated beneath its polish.
It was intolerable.
He had told himself he would wait. That patience was required. That timing must be observed. He had been wrong.
Darcy did not cross the room with haste, nor did he force an interruption.
Instead, he moved with deliberate composure, intent on taking a position near Elizabeth’s side at a natural pause in the conversation.
He was aware, as he moved, of the attention it would draw, of the boldness some might assign to such a deliberate choice.
Of the conclusions that would be formed before the hour was out.
He did not alter his course knowing his presence alone would alter the balance of the group.
“Miss de Bourgh,” he said, bowing with quiet formality, “I hope you are not too much fatigued by the demands of the morning.”
The gentleman who had been speaking hesitated, uncertain whether to resume or withdraw. Darcy did not look at him. He did not need to.
Elizabeth turned toward Darcy, and the smallest change came over her expression—relief, though carefully masked.
“Not in the least, sir. Though I find the exertion more varied than I had anticipated.”
“I regret that I arrived so late as to miss the beginning of your engagements,” he said. “I should not like to forfeit entirely the opportunity of your company.”
The meaning was plain without being declared.
The gentleman stepped back, offering a bow and yielding the space without protest.
Darcy offered his arm—not insistently, but with quiet confidence.
Elizabeth accepted.
Their dance was everything he imagined. They exchanged witty banter, and Darcy smiled when she teased him. He thought he detected a softening in his manner and hoped it meant she would look on him kindly. After the music concluded, he led her back to her chaperone.
As she turned away, casting one last glance over her shoulder, a realization struck him with unexpected force. She had told him her life was not her own. He understood now what that truly meant.
Darcy turned to his cousin, his thoughts unsteady. Bramley, meanwhile, remained attentive to Jane, his presence steady and reassuring. Darcy noted, with a mixture of relief and admiration, that Elizabeth watched her cousin with quiet approval even as her own situation grew increasingly complex.
The call wore on, the room alive with competing interests, and Darcy felt the weight of his hesitation in Hertfordshire press upon him like a physical burden. Looking back now, he feared that delay might cost him everything. In Hertford House, something had shifted.