Chapter 5
Five
Elizabeth kept her eyes trained on Jane’s back as they waded through the mire of theatregoers flowing into the lobby of the Theatre Royal in one large swell.
If she were not careful, she would be divided from her party and swallowed up as Jonah was by the whale.
Her uncle had tried to secure them seats in a box, but none had been available by the time this somewhat impromptu excursion had been decided upon, and they had been required to sit with the main audience on the lower floor.
Their evening out had been yet another attempt at enlivening Jane’s spirits, though it seemed to have as little effect as all the others they had tried.
Of course, a comedy might have been more appropriate to the cause than Julius Caesar, but this had been the only production set on a date their uncle could escort them.
Poor Jane! The only event that might cheer her would be stumbling across Mr Bingley, but that seemed increasingly unlikely.
Not only did they run in very different circles from the Bingleys, but he did not appear at any of the usual haunts of the haut ton.
They had walked in Hyde Park at the fashionable hour, shopped extensively on Bond Street, and attended various attractions in the hope of crossing his path, but to no avail.
Either he was not in London, or he was not disposed to patronise any of the places they had been.
Distracted, Elizabeth did not see the gentleman who had veered into her path until it was too late to avoid him.
They collided with a grunt and a ladylike ‘oof’.
She nearly lost her balance but was blessedly rescued from being trampled by the surrounding herd by the same gentleman who had offset it.
“I do beg your pardon—Elizabeth?”
At the sound of her Christian name in a familiar haughty baritone, Elizabeth inclined her head upwards to confirm her assailant’s identity. “Mr Darcy!”
And so it was. Mr Darcy stood before her, holding her by the points of her elbows and staring at her in the way he used to do in Hertfordshire.
Then as now, she could not help but feel that he considered her some sort of oddity; why else would he affix his gaze to her without cessation for so many minutes at a time?
“Do forgive me for bumping into you, Miss Elizabeth. I had not seen you there.”
She could not help the wry smile that inched across her face. “So I had gathered. Someone as tall as yourself must look down to see one as lowly as I.”
Mr Darcy nodded as if the subtlety of her meaning escaped him. It was true enough that the top of her head only just grazed the point of his chin, after all. “I—forgive me. I had no notion you were in town. Are you lately arrived?”
Or perhaps he is merely distracted by the unpleasant surprise of finding me here.
“No, sir. My sister Jane and I arrived just after Christmas to stay with our relations near Cheapside.” Determined to plague and vex him, Elizabeth smiled sweetly and added, “We paid a call to Miss Bingley in early January. Did she not happen to mention it to you? I understood that you have often been in company with her since leaving Hertfordshire.”
Mr Darcy’s eyes grew wide, and he stammered, “I-I—no, she never did. Mention your presence in town, that is.”
Fluttering her lashes at him with affected innocence, Elizabeth said, “I am sure it simply slipped her mind. Why would she hide such knowledge?”
“I am sure I have no idea.”
Elizabeth surveyed his patrician features with a roving gaze, searching for signs of duplicity.
Mr Darcy certainly appeared surprised to see her, but was it a result of coming across her unexpectedly, or had he been truly ignorant of her being in London?
It was difficult to say. Regardless, she did not believe that he would be running off to tell Mr Bingley of the Bennet sisters residing so near, as he had seemed every bit as disapproving of Jane as Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst whilst at Netherfield.
“Lizzy?”
Elizabeth turned at the sound of her uncle’s voice calling her name and spotted him weaving through the crowd in her direction. “I am here, Uncle.”
When he caught sight of her, Mr Gardiner’s expression was visibly relieved.
“There you are, my dear.” Too polite to demand an introduction but still apparently wary of the unknown gentleman holding his niece amidst the throng, he merely eyed Mr Darcy with palpable suspicion.
He cleared his throat as his gaze travelled from Mr Darcy’s face to where the gentleman still grasped her arms—a silent but pointed observation.
As if burnt, Mr Darcy quickly released her then bowed to her guardian. “I collided with Miss Elizabeth a minute ago due to the crush and was rendering her assistance.” He followed this rapid explanation by blurting, “We are acquainted.”
Elizabeth bit her lip at Mr Darcy’s awkward performance, determined not to laugh in his face.
It was almost endearing the way he sought to explain himself, however unnecessary it was.
He did not think her uncle would call for pistols at dawn simply because they stumbled over one another in a crowd, did he?
Mr Gardiner’s expanding smile informed her that he found Mr Darcy’s discomfiture as diverting as she did.
“Oh?” Mr Gardiner replied simply, both eyebrows rising with expectation.
Mr Darcy’s ears flushed brightly red. “Do forgive my rudeness. Miss Elizabeth, might you introduce me to your friend?”
Although her tongue stumbled over a quickly repressed chuckle, Elizabeth performed her office ably.
She then glanced at Mr Darcy to see how he handled being introduced to her tradesman kin and was not disappointed by the flit of surprise she saw in his expression.
No doubt he had expected Mr Gardiner to be announced as a gentleman of note, given his fashionable appearance and genteel manner.
“Darcy, there you are!”
From behind Mr Darcy arrived a pair of gentlemen that Elizabeth did not recognise.
Neither was as handsome as the man before her, but both were garbed expensively and likely belonged to the first circles if they could address him so familiarly.
The one who had spoken was in the lead, and though he could not boast Mr Darcy’s attractive mien, he at least exuded a bonhomie that the more sour-faced man behind him lacked. Elizabeth was inclined to like him.
“Who is this, now?” grunted the other, less pleasant, man. His gaze roved up and down the length of Elizabeth, making her feel self-conscious. She swept aside the discomfort easily and returned her attention to Mr Darcy, whose haughty glares were at least preferable to leering looks at her bosom.
“Miss Elizabeth, Mr Gardiner, these are my cousins, Viscount Marbury”—Mr Darcy indicated the sour gentleman who was still eyeing Elizabeth speculatively—“and Colonel Fitzwilliam.”
The viscount merely angled his head in acknowledgement, but the colonel took up Elizabeth’s hand and bowed over it. “Charmed.” He followed this greeting with a wink.
Elizabeth’s lips pressed together to rein in the amused grin that threatened to overtake her face. The colonel’s bold amity would necessarily make him popular amongst the female sex. “Likewise.”
Glancing in Mr Darcy’s direction, she found him a stark contrast to his affable cousin.
He could hardly be more forbidding with the way his brow furrowed and his jaw clenched while he observed their greeting.
Well, if he did not wish for her to mingle with his exalted relations, he ought not to have introduced her to them.
Colonel Fitzwilliam rose from his bow, drawing Elizabeth’s attention back to him. “How does my dour cousin come to know such a lovely lady?”
“We were introduced in the autumn while Mr Darcy stayed with his friend in Hertfordshire.”
“Hertfordshire, eh?” The colonel’s gaze slid away from Elizabeth and fixed upon Mr Darcy with interest. His cousin glowered in response. “How interesting.”
“Yes, yes, the intrigue is delicious,” Viscount Marbury drawled, his expression one of studied ennui. “Might we hurry this along? I have places to be.”
Elizabeth felt one of her brows wing up towards her hairline. Places to be, at this hour? I can only imagine…
Mr Darcy turned his incensed countenance from one cousin to the other and all but growled at the viscount, “Marbury, show some patience.”
Mr Gardiner cleared his throat as he took Elizabeth by the arm, announcing, “We ought to be on our way. My wife and other niece are awaiting us in the carriage. Have a good evening, gentlemen.”
Elizabeth followed her uncle gladly through the crowd, ready to return to Gracechurch Street. An encounter with the most vexing gentleman of her acquaintance—well, perhaps his elder cousin might come to rival him there—was a provoking end to an otherwise disheartening evening.
“You met that toothsome morsel in the country, Darcy? A shame I did not come across her myself, for I know she was wasted on you.”
Darcy tore his gaze from the curls piled atop Elizabeth’s head—the only bit of her he could presently see amidst the teeming throng of theatregoers—to glower fiercely at Marbury. “Watch yourself. Miss Elizabeth is a gentleman’s daughter and deserving of respect.”
The viscount only chuckled at him, insensible to the danger in Darcy’s tone. “I meant it as a compliment, Cousin. Do not get your breeches in a twist.”
Fitzwilliam, who eyed Darcy as if he easily sensed his cousin’s ire where his brother did not, queried, “Was that Bingley’s angel, then? The one you divided him from?”
“No,” Darcy grumbled. “That was her younger sister.”
“Ah,” Fitzwilliam replied in a tone of airy smugness, as if Darcy had confirmed some private suspicion. “The one who captured your eye, then. I must say, you have excellent taste, as always.”
Marbury looked to Darcy with renewed interest. “There are two of them, then? Whereabouts are they residing in town?”
Darcy’s fists clenched with the desire to plant the viscount with a facer, but he restrained himself. It would not do to pummel his cousin in public, no matter how richly he deserved it. Through his teeth, he replied, “None of your concern. You will stay away from the Miss Bennets.”
“Cheapside, then,” Marbury concluded with a sniff. “Why should I restrain myself? They are family to tradesmen, are they not? Unfit for a proper marriage, I say, unless they mean to have a solicitor or a blacksmith. They could do worse than the protection of a peer and a few hundred pounds a year.”
Before he could lunge in Marbury’s direction against his better principles, Fitzwilliam turned Darcy by the elbow and began pushing him through the crowd.
Over his shoulder, he called out to his brother, “I know you have ‘places to be’, so we shall leave you here. I am sure wherever you are going is an easy walking distance from the theatre.”
Darcy allowed Fitzwilliam to guide him through the crush and out into the chill winter air, which did nothing to cool his fury.
Elizabeth might not be well dowered or connected to anyone worth knowing, but her value was greater than that of a common whore paraded about town like an expensive bauble.
He pitied such women, who no doubt would have chosen a more respectable life had it been offered to them, and did not like to think of his Elizabeth in their position.
My Elizabeth? No, never mine, much as I might wish it.
Fitzwilliam ordered Darcy’s carriage brought round and, while they waited, said to him, “Calm yourself, old man. You know Marbury only said that to rile you. He would never venture into Cheapside, even for a bit of muslin, lest he be cleaning the impurity of such a place off his person for a month.”
“Even so, he demeaned the reputation of a respectable lady. Miss Elizabeth is no man’s harlot.”
“I am not disagreeing with you.” A pause. “Have you visited her since she came to town?”
“I…” Darcy’s throat contracted a moment before he admitted in a small, grudging voice, “I had not known she was here.”
Another pause, longer this time and filled with Fitzwilliam’s palpable incredulity. His lips twitched into a smirk that was obnoxiously self-satisfied. “Oh ho, it seems that Miss Bingley is keeping secrets from more than just her brother. How does it feel to be the dupe?”
Struck by his cousin’s observation, Darcy remained silent.