Chapter 40
A MERRY DANCE
“You are unbelievably beautiful.”
Elizabeth turned from the looking glass to see Darcy standing at her bedchamber door.
Although the room was attached to a sitting room they shared, she had never yet, in their short marriage, slept in here.
It made a convenient dressing room, however.
She stood, feeling beautiful in the new gown he had somehow managed to have made for her before the ball, white satin with a crimson lace slip, the bodice heavily embellished with what appeared to be real pearls.
Molly had outdone herself in somehow taming Elizabeth’s hair, piled high upon her head with curls framing her face and ornamented with simple, dainty silk flowers.
She went to him, glad she had not yet donned her white satin, elbow-length gloves so that she could feel her hands in his.
“Thank you for my gown,” she said. “I never expected anything so fine.”
“It is the least of what I mean for you to have,” he said, and the heat in his eyes told her that the compliment was a true one, not simple flattery.
She could not help herself, and wrapped her arms round him, heedless of wrinkling fabric.
“You look exceptionally handsome as well,” she whispered, relishing the feel of him in her arms. While she was not yet accustomed to sleeping with another, it was so sweet to reach for him in the night, to see if he was still real, to assure herself that he was not a dream.
There was also the youthful health of him—he was almost absurdly strong and vigorous.
After her first experiences with a man of age and constant ill health, to feel the way he instantly reached back, always ready to reassure, to stroke and soothe, to comfort as often as those other affections he generously proffered—it was both welcome and incredible.
She wondered if she would ever get used to her strikingly attractive husband, especially after he placed a soft kiss at the base of her neck, in a spot that never failed to set her soul afire.
“Perhaps we should forego the ball, and simply celebrate in our room,” she teased, shivering.
His head lifted from her throat with obvious reluctance. “Say the word,” he said, with true longing.
She sighed. “With the influx of so many from town and the surrounding country, the arrival of one small woman would easily remain unnoticed. If Miss de Bourgh makes any move at all, I think it most likely to be tonight.”
“All the more reason to purposely not attend.”
“I know, I know. I despise all the watching and wondering and worry. Announcing the fact of our marriage openly this evening is, in my mind, throwing down a gauntlet. I want to throw it. The earl and his people, your cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam and his men, are all watching throughout Netherfield Park. And if she is not here, I want her to read the announcement in all the papers. I want her to give up any foolish, dramatic ideas of confrontation. I want her to go home to her mother. You want that too.”
Darcy traced one gloved finger across her collarbone. “I do, more than I can say. But I cannot countenance any danger to you. I want to shelter you, hold you in my arms, wrap you in my body, never let you go. I know it is not possible, but I struggle against these wants, always.”
“I am so glad you are my husband,” she said, with all the yearning in her heart. “After this night, we will go to your home in town, or Pemberley, and be surrounded by your trusted people.”
“After this night, we will begin making our plans for Venice, for as soon as the weather is favourable. I have not forgotten, you see.”
Her heart lifted at this further evidence of his love. “I will go anywhere, and be happy anywhere, as long as I am with you. We need not hurry. Your aunt may need you.”
Lady Catherine de Bourgh, who had arrived only that morning, was nothing like Elizabeth had been led to expect—an imperious, domineering sort who was certain to be angry at her nephew’s marriage to a country nobody.
Instead, she had wept in Darcy’s arms at the sight of him, begging him to please, please forgive her, and help find her daughter.
While she had not precisely embraced Elizabeth, it was evident that she would do nothing which might in any way anger the earl or Darcy.
She was also palpably afraid. Her daughter’s disappearance had terrified her, but she also feared what that daughter might do, how ruinously she might act.
To Elizabeth, she seemed, at heart, an uncomplicated woman who seldom left her country estate, one who liked control and sameness; while her tastes and manner might be aristocratic, she was undeniably out of her depth now.
“My aunt made her choices,” said Darcy. “In avoiding her responsibility to prepare her daughter for my marriage, she helped create this situation. There are consequences. I set my own interests aside for years for her sake. I refuse to do it any longer.”
“I feel sorry for her.”
At this, he smiled. “That is because you have only seen her at her most helpless. Believe me, it is not a usual state for her, and doubtless she will recover quickly, and be twice as peevish in response. Now, on a happier note, I have something for you.”
“You have given me so much already,” she protested when he pulled a slim case from an inner coat pocket.
“I hope I never forget to shower you with gifts and show you, always, my adoration. Nevertheless, this is yours by right, from the Darcy family jewels. I had the earl bring it from town.”
Carefully she opened the box to see a large ruby brooch glistening from within the velvet. “Oh. Oh, my.” He helped her pin it to the low neckline of her gown, then stood back to judge the effect.
“Perhaps it is a bit too…hmm…old-fashioned,” he said, frowning at it suddenly.
Elizabeth looked in the mirror and saw what he saw—the jewel was set to match the style of a bygone era.
However, it also complemented her ensemble flawlessly—her neckline was fashionably low, but not taken to the excesses of a ton crowd; the brooch emphasised her figure pleasingly, with a luxurious yet agreeable simplicity.
“I love it,” she said. “I shall feel beautiful wearing it. I am honoured.” She took a deep breath, gathering herself for the evening ahead, whatever it might bring, and met his gaze.
“Tell me truly, though. How do I look? It is the first time I shall appear publicly as your wife, and I wish to be… presentable.”
He stepped closer, sealing his mouth to hers, a kiss that quickly became something deeper.
By the time they broke apart, she was breathless; a glance in the mirror showed her lips bee-stung, her complexion pink with passion and excitement, her eyes wide—a look entirely unlike the Elizabeth she usually expected to see.
He smiled. “Now you are simply perfect,” he said. “Shall we go down, Mrs Darcy?”
The evening began with a formal dinner hosting Netherfield’s distinguished occupants, to which the Collinses had also been invited.
The rest of the Bennets would be along later; Mrs Bennet had no desire to dine with earls, and it had been agreed that she, Lydia, and Mary would arrive at the start of the ball.
Miss Darcy, not yet out, had opted to quietly dine in her rooms with her companion, a Mrs Annesley.
Along with the earl and countess, Elizabeth had been introduced to a dizzying number of people, many of whom possessed titles, all of whom were affluent, influential, or both.
They were her husband’s peers, and knowing the importance of making an excellent first impression, she was having some difficulty calling upon her usual insouciance.
“Zounds, but that is an enormous ruby,” said a young lady suddenly at her elbow to whom Elizabeth recalled having recently been introduced. “I wonder where, geologically speaking, it might have been mined?”
Elizabeth found her smile easily at this remark; it was not at all fashionable to be ‘bookish’ or express curiosity about bookish subjects.
She liked her immediately. “I am unsure of its origins, except that it has been in my husband’s family for generations…
Miss Bentley, I think? You must excuse me if I am wrong, as the sheer number of names swirling about my brain is quite terrifying. ”
Her smile was returned. “Yes, Bentley—but please, call me Sarah. I probably should not have asked. Mrs Figg—our…housekeeper, I suppose you might call her, although I say she could, if allowed, singlehandedly defeat Napoleon—is forever chiding me for my choice of conversational topics. Still, I do not suppose I could be blamed—your jewel is as big as a Mus musculus.”
“Whatever is a Mus musculus?” Elizabeth asked, curiously entertained.
“Oh…well, it is a common mouse. Mrs Figg also despises the use of Latin in polite discussion, probably because my father speaks it so often, he is frequently incomprehensible. But comparing your heirloom ruby to a rodent seemed more discourteous, somehow.”
Elizabeth burst out laughing, just as Darcy approached with a recent arrival, introducing her to his cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam—an impressive sight, what with his formal regimentals and military bearing. Miss Bentley—Sarah—who was included in the introduction, blushed, she noticed. Interesting.
But there was little time to contemplate peripheral, potential romances in the whirl of new faces and additional presentations.
Even Mrs Hurst appeared as though she wished for nothing more than to retreat to her rooms—exhibiting the expression she had worn what seemed like years ago, at that assembly where Elizabeth had first seen her. Mrs Hurst plainly despised crowds.
Miss Bingley was in her element, serving an opulent meal of several courses in a large dining parlour, and then accompanying them all to a vast ballroom handsomely decorated with enormous quantities of flowers—she must have purchased every blossom in London and the surrounding countryside.
It was clear that she hoped to launch Mr and Mrs Darcy in style, and forever be known as an intimate family friend—a conclusion Elizabeth was happy to accommodate.
After all, the woman had never been in love with Darcy, only with the idea of him, of his influence, his family, his wealth and estate.
She possessed money enough, and the rest could be accomplished with a friendship, as long as she did not give way to jealousy and pettiness.
Elizabeth would have no difficulty in reminding her, if she did.
The Darcys’ only real plan for the evening was to remain watchful and alert.
Frequently, they scanned the crowd for someone of his cousin’s height and figure, but it was difficult.
Darcy did not know well the area’s leading families, just as Elizabeth did not know all of his acquaintance—although she certainly had now met many of them.
A formal receiving line with even more introductions might have helped, but they had agreed it would be best to forego it—the better to be able to move about and not remain in a solitary, expected location for any length of time.
No one observed the arrival of an additional maid, dressed similarly to those hired for the evening, especially amongst so many others Netherfield’s housekeeper had employed as temporary help for the night.
Nobody noticed this servant, no one at all.