Chapter 35 #2
They spent an agreeable time choosing what they would wear for supper that night, knowing they would be judged for everything from the ornaments in their hair to the attire they chose.
Elizabeth held up two ribbons, considering them with a critical eye. Everything is observed, she thought. And yet, among all this scrutiny, there are moments of quiet certainty.
She found herself wondering when she would see Darcy again—whether she would see him across the table, earnest and composed, offering her that small, grounding comfort she had come to value. I ought not to look forward to it, she told herself firmly. But she did.
Dinner at Carlton House was never informal, but this evening carried an edge Elizabeth could feel before she ever crossed the threshold of the dining room.
The table glittered beneath the candlelight, silver and crystal arranged with exacting symmetry.
The Prince Regent presided, though Lady Hertford stood as hostess.
Expansive and composed, his good humor was carefully curated.
Princess Charlotte sat to his right, her posture immaculate and her expression dutifully mild.
Lady Hertford occupied the place of quiet authority she always claimed, close enough to guide, far enough to observe.
Elizabeth was placed where she could neither withdraw nor dominate—visible, but not central. Watched.
She had learned to read such arrangements. Something is expected of me, she thought as she took her seat.
Conversation flowed easily at first. The prince spoke of Parliament, of foreign correspondence, of the queen’s increasing preference for quiet evenings.
Elizabeth answered when addressed, listened when she was not, and kept her expression composed.
She felt Lady Hertford’s attention on her like a steady hand at her back.
It was Lady Hertford who moved first.
“Elizabeth, my dear,” she said lightly, as though continuing a thread already begun, “you have been much sought after of late. It is only proper that we understand one another clearly.”
Elizabeth inclined her head. “Of course.”
“How long have you known Mr. Darcy?”
The question was delivered without ornament, and the effect was immediate. Elizabeth felt the room still around her, the way a lake stills before a stone breaks its surface. And it was for the prince’s benefit, since Lady Hertford already knew the full extent of the acquaintance.
“Some months,” she replied carefully. “We were acquainted in Hertfordshire last autumn.”
“And under what circumstances?” Lady Hertford’s tone was neutral, but her gaze was sharp.
Elizabeth chose her words with care. “We met socially. Our acquaintance was…not without difficulty at first.”
“Difficulty,” the prince repeated, amused. “How intriguing.”
Elizabeth kept her eyes on Lady Hertford. “Misunderstandings,” she clarified. “Which have since been addressed.”
Lady Hertford studied her. “And now?”
Elizabeth hesitated. Now is dangerous, she thought. Now is where preference becomes leverage.
“Our regard has improved,” she said at last. “I consider him a friend.”
Princess Charlotte made a small, involuntary sound beside her, something between a cough and a laugh.
The prince’s gaze flicked toward his daughter. “Charlotte.”
“I beg your pardon, Papa,” Charlotte said quickly, though her eyes danced. “It is only that Elizabeth has a very particular way of describing things.”
Elizabeth shot her a warning glance.
Lady Hertford did not smile. “Mr. Darcy’s attention is…obvious.”
Elizabeth felt heat rise in her cheeks. “He is courteous.”
The prince leaned back in his chair, regarding her with open interest. “He is persistent, from the reports I have received.”
“He is not on your list,” Elizabeth said before she could stop herself. The words hung there, daring contradiction.
The prince smiled slowly. “Lists can be amended.”
Elizabeth’s heart began to pound. This is not how I wished this to be discussed.
“I should like to understand,” the prince continued, “why his name gives you pause.”
Elizabeth drew a breath. “Because he was not encouraged. I was given to understand that other considerations—political ones—were to take precedence.” My feelings were not to be taken into account.
Lady Hertford inclined her head. “And so they must.”
The prince steepled his fingers. “And yet Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy presents several advantages. He is wealthy. He is well-connected. His uncle commands influence in the Lords. He is respected, if not universally beloved. His name carries weight without novelty, which is no small thing.”
Elizabeth’s hands tightened in her lap. He speaks of him as though he were an asset to be deployed.
“He is also independent,” the prince continued. “Which makes him less troublesome than those who require advancement. He would not drain favor. He would not embarrass me. And,” his eyes sharpened, “he would be grateful.”
Elizabeth lifted her chin. “Mr. Darcy is not a man who trades gratitude for obedience.”
The prince’s brows rose. Lady Hertford watched her closely.
“That,” the prince said, “is precisely why he interests me.”
Elizabeth felt a surge of frustration. “You speak as though my inclination were irrelevant.”
Princess Charlotte shifted. “I think Elizabeth’s inclination is exceedingly relevant.”
“Charlotte,” the prince said mildly, “you will refrain from commentary.”
Charlotte subsided, though not without a look of apology toward Elizabeth.
Lady Hertford folded her hands. “Elizabeth, I do not question Mr. Darcy’s character. I question his usefulness. Others offer clearer alliances. Fewer complications.”
“Complications,” Elizabeth echoed. “You mean affection.”
“I mean unpredictability,” Lady Hertford corrected. “You are approaching your presentation. Every attachment you form will be examined. We must be prudent.”
Elizabeth felt her composure strain. They speak as though my heart were a liability.
The prince regarded her thoughtfully. “You object.”
“I object to being decided for,” Elizabeth said, her voice steady despite the tremor beneath it. “You promised me consideration. Choice.”
“And I have given it,” he replied. “I have not dismissed him.”
“You have weighed him,” she said. “As you would weigh a treaty.” And I cannot tell if you find him wanting. Lady Hertford seemed to be playing the part of the devil’s advocate. She had looked on Darcy’s quiet attention with favor these many weeks.
The prince smiled thinly. “You are very bold this evening.”
“I have learned from necessity,” she replied.
Princess Charlotte could not resist. “Methinks the lady doth protest too much.”
Elizabeth turned a glare upon her.
The prince frowned. “Charlotte.”
“I beg forgiveness,” Charlotte said quickly. “But it does rather sound as though Elizabeth prefers him.”
Silence fell. Elizabeth felt exposed, flayed by a truth she had not yet fully admitted even to herself.
The prince broke the moment. “Preference is not prohibition,” he said. “Nor is it permission. Mr. Darcy is not to be discounted.”
Lady Hertford inclined her head in assent. “I will speak of the matter with His Royal Highness further. Discreetly.”
Elizabeth’s unease deepened. They will decide without me.
“I expect to be kept informed,” the prince said, his tone brooking no refusal.
“Especially with your presentation approaching. Appearances matter. Your cousin has wisely acceded to the match I made for her.” The prince claiming credit for Jane’s match was laughable, but she kept her feelings to herself.
Elizabeth inclined her head, stiffly. “Of course.”
The prince’s expression softened marginally. “Now. Tell me—how went tea with my mother?”
Elizabeth seized the change of subject with relief. “Her Majesty was gracious. She expressed approval.”
“That is well,” he said. “She is not easily impressed.”
Charlotte leaned closer. “She liked Elizabeth very much.”
The prince smiled at that. “As she should. My influence is obvious.”
Dinner resumed, conversation drifting elsewhere, but Elizabeth felt the earlier exchange echo within her like a struck bell.
The prince was not against a match with Mr. Darcy, but neither had he approved.
She refused to accept a man who would marry her because of her connections.
Mr. Darcy claimed his feelings had been of some duration.
That alone made him preferable, despite their poor beginning.
She knew he pursued her favor out of inclination rather than the hope of connecting himself to royalty.
Mr. Darcy had not declared himself openly, but his intentions were clear.
He continued to call, even when Viscount Winslow threw insults around like a ball.
She decided then it was time to be more expressive with her feelings—she meant to do everything she could to give Mr. Darcy the advantage.