Chapter 16
Hartham took his dismissal well and followed Saye to the adjoining room in search of a drink.
The din of all those around them faded as Darcy regarded Elizabeth, his heart racing both from the thrill of being left with only her at his side, and from the perverse anticipation of the dressing-down he knew—from the angry flush that had arisen on her neck and face—was coming.
For a moment, they stood in silence, her glaring at him, him smiling at her. Finally she said, “You cheated. You are a-a pigeon-plucker!”
That made him chuckle, which made her draw in a deep breath and look around as though summoning her patience. Sobering, he said, “You are the victor, Miss Bennet, so if I did cheat, then surely I did it badly.”
“I am not in need of your charity.” She crossed her arms and, with a little flounce, added, “As I once heard someone else say, ‘return to your partner and enjoy her smiles’.”
He tried very hard not to delight in that. Could she be jealous after all? Might Saye’s stratagem actually have worked? “It seems more misunderstandings have arisen between us,” he said placatingly.
“I do not believe I have misunderstood anything,” she retorted.
“May I escort you to the balcony?”
“What?” She frowned. “Why?”
“We may speak more privately there.”
“We might speak privately in any number of places, but I am not presently convinced I wish to talk to you at all, let alone on the balcony.”
“Please?”
Indecision warred in her eyes, but at length, she gave a reluctant nod and turned. Picking up a lamp as she went, she led the way out of the room and up the stairs to the library.
Saye—or rather his servants—had organised the rooms for the party into some semblance of order, but the library was an area of active renovation, with ladders and plaster buckets in plenitude and nearly everything covered with protective canvas cloth.
There appeared to be a slight crack on the wall that backed onto the bedchamber that Saye now occupied; Darcy resolved to bring it to Tucker’s attention at the earliest opportunity.
He held the balcony door open for Elizabeth, and she crossed immediately to the balustrade, looking out over the darkened shoreline.
He had hoped for romantic moonlight or something of that sort, but with the setting of the sun, clouds had rolled in from the sea, rendering the night stagnant and grey.
Still, they were alone, and not even the darkest clouds could detract from that pleasure.
“Saye once lost two thousand pounds at whist,” he began gently as he stepped to her side. “He does not stop until he can best a person, any person. I would not see you lose what you have only so lately gained.”
“And yet, he did stop, did he not? He lost to us, largely due to your manoeuvres.”
“He stopped only because he means to take Hartham later. I assure you, Saye does not see defeat, only a setback.”
“Be that as it may, do you think I lack the sense to stop when I see I am out of my depth?” She turned to more fully face him. “In any case, you will need to answer to your cousin, for he offered me fifty pounds if I threw the game.”
Darcy chuckled, his eyes not leaving Elizabeth’s countenance. “I should have known he had his own angle. At least I saved him fifty pounds.”
“And cost him nearly one hundred, making me look a fool in the process!”
“How so?”
“Everybody could see what you were doing. Do you think I enjoyed Miss Larkin’s condescending looks every time you ‘rescued’ me? Pray do anything but pity me. Having had an ample serving of both, I believe I prefer your scorn to your pity.”
“Upon my word, I feel neither towards you!”
“How else would you explain it but that you thought to save me the embarrassment of being outwitted, outranked, and outplayed? You felt sorry for me!” She turned back to the door, shaking her head. “I should not have agreed to this. I am returning to the party.”
She crossed the balcony in two strides and pulled the door open—or tried to.
In her pique, she grasped hold of the door handle too tightly, twisted it too quickly and with too much force—or so it was to be supposed by the manner in which it came off in her hand, and the ominous clunking sound on the other side of the door.
For a moment, she only stared down at the broken piece in her hand, mouth agape.
“Allow me.” Ruing how awry his stolen moment alone with Elizabeth had gone, Darcy reached for the handle, taking it from her.
He could see the problem: the connecting rod had rusted through, likely due to the constant exposure to the sea air.
Repair would be impossible for now. He hooked his finger into the hole where the handle had once been and tugged, but to no avail.
He considered smashing the glass and reaching through, but apart from not wishing to distress Elizabeth with even more costly damage to her house, he was not sure it would help.
The door ought to have swung free once the handle broke, but it was inexplicably stuck.
If part of the mechanism had lodged in the latch, it would not be opened easily from either side.
Elizabeth was watching him closely and, seeing his efforts were in vain, evidently reached the same conclusion. She closed her eyes tightly; they flew open a moment later at the sound of a loud crack of thunder.
A glance over his shoulder revealed to Darcy that a storm had sprung up. The scent of rain was suddenly heavy in the air and a brisk wind stirred.
Elizabeth applied her strength to attempting to tug the door open. “We are going to catch our deaths!”
They both began pushing and pulling and pounding, doing anything to get the door to open as a light rain, the sort that suggested worse to come, began to fall. The latch positively would not release.
“I fear we are stuck,” she said, looking up at him.
Darcy looked at her, and his breath caught. She was beautiful in the rain, tiny droplets clinging to the curls around her face. He managed to utter some nonsense about broken pieces within the lock and the like, but he hardly knew what he said, so enraptured was he.
Rain began to fall harder, in large, cold drops.
Elizabeth shivered lightly, and he realised if nothing else, he ought to keep her gown from getting too wet.
He had attire he might change into; she did not, and wetted gowns tended to become rather indecent.
Heaven only knew he had seen enough ladies dampen their gowns on purpose at parties in London to understand how that went.
“Here,” he said, removing his coat. “Wear this.”
“Thank you but no, I could not,” she demurred immediately.
“You must,” he said gently. “If the rain becomes harder, your gown might not be…quite presentable afterwards.”
He could not tell in the darkness, but it seemed she blushed a little, understanding his meaning.
“Oh. Yes, an excellent point.” With a wry grin, she took his coat, donning it, looking absolutely charming in it. “I shall never understand why it is that men’s attire is so very…sturdy while ladies, who are generally much more likely to take a chill, have these thin fabrics and light colours.”
He did not have time to reply, for the rain then came in earnest, sudden sheets of it that drenched him immediately.
With a little yelp, Elizabeth moved to press herself beneath the small overhang, inadvertently putting herself even closer to him as well.
Darcy swallowed, then applied his efforts to forcing the door, feeling his shirt and waistcoat become sodden and stick to his body.
And so Saye will prevail again. I had not imagined him capable of summoning up foul weather but here we are.
“Perhaps we ought to break the glass?” Elizabeth suggested. “Maybe it will open from the other side?”
Darcy shook his head, but as he opened his mouth to explain the futility of such a recourse, Hartham appeared on the other side of the glazing, smirking.
He called through the door, “Saye and I thought we saw you going upstairs. He said you might be coming here. I heard the rain and worried you might have been surprised.”
“The handle broke,” Elizabeth called in reply. “We cannot get the door open.”
“Let me see if I can help!” Hartham gave a quick glance about and grabbed a piece of lumber, which he used as a battering ram.
With one solid shove, the door gave way.
He regarded them loftily as they stepped inside, putting a hand on his hip and looking Elizabeth over.
“Is this a new fashion I am unaware of? A man’s coat over a gown?
I am not sure it is doing your figure any justice, I am sorry to say. ”
“Mr Darcy was gallant enough to sacrifice his own comfort to keep my gown protected against the rain. And well he did! I cannot vouch for the opacity of it, should it be soaked.”
“Merciful heavens,” Hartham drawled. Then with a flicker of his eyes towards Darcy, he said, “Well, Mr Darcy had best toddle off to his valet, but thanks to his efforts, you, I think, may come back with me to the party.”
“Perhaps I might find a towel to blot the rain from my hair first, but then yes, I daresay I should be presentable enough to go down,” Elizabeth agreed. “Mr Darcy, I do thank you for your assistance.”
She removed his coat and extended it to him, a look of warmth in her eyes that belied her earlier anger. Something in his chest tightened. Reaching for the coat, he leant into her and said, as quietly as possible, “A beautiful, clever woman can never be pitied.”
She held his gaze, looking uncertain. He stepped back from her and offered a small smile.
Very loudly, Hartham said, “Mr Darcy, I must thank you, for filling my pockets earlier. I daresay you will want it back later, eh? We shall see you once your valet has done with you.” He extended his arm to Elizabeth, leaving her no choice but to take it, and bore her off into the house.