Chapter 15
Elizabeth did her best to concentrate on what Mr Tucker was saying, nodding along to his every suggestion with what she hoped was an interested expression. No matter how she tried, however, her mind strayed incessantly back to the mysterious beauty on Mr Darcy’s arm.
It ought not to trouble her so, except that, as well as his recent admission of jealousy, he had shown such pronounced condescension towards her aunt and uncle at the picnic—almost as though he was deliberately trying to please her.
It was enough to have made her begin to wonder whether, after all that had been said between them, he might still care for her, and what might it mean to her if he did.
It was something of a shock, therefore, to be reminded that she was not the only woman of his acquaintance.
Of course. He must know dozens, perhaps hundreds of ladies in his own sphere.
She could not be the only one ever to take his fancy—and she was quite sure she had never made him laugh as that other lady had.
If only the revelation did not give her such an unpleasant sense of…
of uneasiness…of discomfort…of what her heart whispered suddenly must be jealousy.
Obviously it is not jealousy, she told herself immediately. What sort of nincompoop would be made jealous by seeing a man whom she had already rejected with another lady?
One who had learnt to regret her rejection perhaps?
She frowned, and Mr Tucker, who had been rattling on about floorboards, was immediately concerned. “Naturally, if you think there is another way for the floors to be repaired, I would gladly—”
“Oh! No, no, of course not, you are the expert,” she assured him hastily. “I was only thinking how disagreeable it is to have discovered more rotten floorboards when we thought to have eliminated them all.”
Mr Tucker cleared his throat and said carefully, “Indeed, though, as I have been saying, this is not rot but woodworm.”
Elizabeth grimaced, chagrined that her inattentiveness had been noticed. “Yes, of course. My apologies.”
“Think nothing of it, ma’am. In any case, we are most fortunate that his lordship found this before the worm spread. So while we do need to cut out this spot, once we do, I have every faith that the floor will be as good as new.”
Elizabeth thanked him and did her best to concentrate as he took her from that room to the next to speak to her about the original matter for which he had called the meeting—a cracked chimney breast that might have to be removed rather than repaired.
Despite his assurances that all was in hand, it seemed an endless litany of problems to her, and she was pleased when the meeting was eventually concluded.
She left him upstairs but had not yet departed the house when Lord Saye returned to it. Alone.
As was becoming her habit, Elizabeth’s thoughts went immediately to Mr Darcy. Where had he gone? Off somewhere on his own with the two unknown ladies—or worse, one of the two?
“Ah, good, you are still here, Miss Bennet,” said Lord Saye as he strode into the vestibule. “I realised I have some serious business with you.”
“With me?” Elizabeth replied, a little alarmed. “How did you know I was here?”
“Tucker informed me you were coming. That, and I saw you lingering outside in the rain earlier, waiting for us to leave.”
She felt her colour rise but did not acknowledge his observation. “How can I help you?”
“I mean to give a card party on Friday, and I must have your assistance in it.”
“Of course. Something with the house? Shall we summon Mr Tucker?”
Lord Saye waved his hand impatiently. “Nothing so wholesome as that. No, what I have in mind is far more…mischievous.”
“I am afraid, sir, I do not think it would be wise for me to make mischief with my own tenants.” She smiled apologetically at him.
“I daresay for fifty pounds, you will make mischief very well, hm?” He raised one brow. “Now, here is what you must do, and I shall not hear a refusal.”
Darcy stood beside Saye as the guests began to arrive for the card party.
His cousin apparently meant business, for his invitation had flushed every well-heeled inhabitant of Brighton out of hiding to attend, whether driven by curiosity or Saye’s fame as a partygoer and gambler.
The ramshackle state of the house only seemed to add to the intrigue, though how long that particular glamour would last remained to be seen.
Georgiana had more than once peeked over the bannisters to catch a glimpse of the gathering notables.
Each time, he or Fitzwilliam had shooed her back to her room, where she was under strict instructions to remain all evening with Mrs Annesley, but he did not blame her for peeking, for it was quite a sight.
It had been the fairest day all week, and the sun, now beginning a slow descent, yet streamed into the vestibule. It gilded everything in its path, rendering the ladies who entered uncommonly lovely…and yet not one of them could compare to Elizabeth, who it seemed meant to be the last to arrive.
“If you do not take a step back,” Saye said beneath his breath, “I shall refer to you as my hostess all night. What are you about, standing here? Impatient for Miss Larkin to arrive, are you?”
Darcy gritted his teeth. He had been loosely acquainted with Miss Larkin for some years, yet it had become apparent on their walk the other afternoon that, somewhere along the way, she had decided he was all but hers.
Miss Hawkridge did nothing to help matters, treating him to her well-worn tease that he was the Great Standing Stone of Derbyshire and hinting that a lively lady would be good for him.
A lively lady would do very well for me…just not that one.
The only daughter of a baronet from Aldringham, Miss Larkin was a noted beauty with an excellent education, all the practised manners of the beau monde, and twenty thousand pounds settled on her, yet she had one very significant flaw: she was not Elizabeth.
Thus everything about her simply felt wrong.
She, however, had not the least indication of her disadvantage and continued as though he was hers for the asking—something Saye had made very clear he found hilarious and had not ceased nettling him about since.
“You know why I stand here,” he hissed in reply. “Certainly not for Miss Larkin. Not even because I wish to vex you. That is merely a happy coincidence. You did invite Miss Bennet, yes?”
“Hmm.” Saye tapped one hand against his cheek. “I believe I did. Oh dear, what if I forgot?”
“Saye…”
“I speak in jest.” He rolled his eyes. “Good lord, the countenance on you! Yes, she is invited and yes, she accepted the invitation, though obviously I mean to send the ladies home at a decent hour and leave us men to the serious business. No one beats Hartham, or so I am told. I mean to humble him tonight.”
“You will not see me stand in your way,” Darcy said with a huff. He had taken a decided dislike to the pinkish Mr Hartham. He would not mind relieving the man of a few pounds himself.
Where is she? He was eager—too eager, he knew—but as his vexation with Saye’s antics at the picnic had waned, other memories had come to the fore, and it seemed he and Elizabeth had made a little beginning.
She had not seemed displeased with his company, and even before Saye shoved him into the sea, he had caught her looking at him on occasion.
He knew not what it meant, but he had not seen her do so either in Hertfordshire or Kent, so it seemed hopeful.
“Fie on Hartham in any case,” Saye told him. “You need to flirt tonight.”
Darcy gave a scoffing laugh at that.
“I mean it! If you want her, leave her in no doubt of it,” Saye said sternly. “Pray do not make me dump a bucket over your head. There are far fewer natural causes of a soaking at a card party, but I shall contrive something if needed, I assure you.”
“Pray do not. I shall be attentive but in my own way.”
As all the perversion of mischance would have it, Elizabeth arrived—on Hartham’s arm—at the very same time as Miss Hawkridge and Miss Larkin.
“Mr Darcy,” the latter purred, handing him her wrap. “Do be a darling and help me with that.”
“Oh, um…” He turned, seeking someone to hand it to, but as a great number of people had arrived at once, their one paltry footman was already dashing about taking overcoats and pelisses into a nearby room. “Of course, madam.”
He begrudgingly followed the footman, tossing the wrap on a table just inside the cloakroom door and hastening back in search of Elizabeth.
She and Hartham had moved into the drawing room, where Saye was introducing them to Miss Larkin.
Darcy did not miss the latter’s disapproving smirk as her eye slid over Elizabeth’s gown.
Darcy thought it wonderful—a simple pale blue affair that set off her figure to perfection—but there was no doubt Miss Larkin considered it inferior to her own.
“Oh Darcy, there you are!” She immediately attached herself to him. “Miss Bennet was just telling me that she would partner Mr Hartham at the whist table, with you and me.”
“I beg your pardon?” Darcy asked, feeling a flush of irritation that she should dare to presume he wished to partner her.
“That will not do, I fear,” Saye interjected smoothly, to Darcy’s surprise. “I have already claimed my cousin as my own this evening.”
“Surely you might be prevailed upon to permit him another choice?” Miss Larkin gave Darcy a little pout and, to his further irritation, he observed Elizabeth watching them. He took a step away from Miss Larkin and sent Saye a beseeching look.
“I simply must have him,” Saye replied. “I am a nervous card player, you see, and I shall require his assurance.”
Darcy snorted and Miss Larkin looked at him briefly, then turned her attention back to Saye. “I never imagined you the nervous sort, sir.”
“Indeed I am. And while I cannot permit you to partner Darcy, perhaps you might stay by his side? A sort of good luck charm.”