Chapter 3 #2
Elizabeth took a breath, then rejoined the party, her mind made up. She needed clarity, certainly. But more than that, she needed an ally. Squaring her shoulders and depositing her cup, she returned to the ballroom.
She spotted him immediately. He stood by a column on the opposite side of the room, surveying the assembly with a gravity that was almost comforting in its familiarity, wearing the same stern expression she had always found irritating. Did the man always think himself so much above his company?
Elizabeth made her way toward him, weaving between guests and doing her best not to think about what the scandal sheets would print tomorrow if the rumour-monger observed her approaching Mr Darcy from across the room.
He quickly noticed her. As she reached him, his posture straightened and his eyes sharpened, sensing that something was amiss.
“Miss Elizabeth.” He bowed. “Good evening.”
Impatiently, she returned the greeting. “Mr Darcy. I wonder if I might speak with you for a moment?”
His eyes drifted to the guests nearest them, but Elizabeth paid them no mind. This was too important.
“Of course,” Mr Darcy said. He led her to a quieter alcove, slightly away from the boisterous party.
They were not breaking any rules of propriety, but still Elizabeth felt her heart race. It was one thing to put her irritation towards the man aside and ask for his help, and another entirely to do so while he looked at her with a directness she found difficult to interpret.
“I’m sure you’ve read the latest scandal paper?” she asked. She could not bear to speak the words aloud. Not to him.
“I have heard of it,” he admitted, brow furrowing.
“And you know it to be untrue,” Elizabeth said.
“Yes. Unfortunately, the truth rarely impedes a well-crafted lie.”
She hated to admit how right he was. “I overheard something tonight,” she continued, hoping that what she said next would not cause too great an offense.
“The source was not one upon which I would place a great deal of trust. Nor did the man in question claim to know anything with certainty. But he gave the name of Lady Catherine de Bourgh in connection with the publication of the scandal sheets.”
Darcy’s eyes flashed with alarm. “Lady Catherine? What can my aunt have to do with this?”
“A footman hinted that she provided the publisher with names of people she found unsuitable. He speculated that she hoped to have some influence over your affairs.” Elizabeth brushed her lips with her thumb. “I know this is not what you may wish to hear, but —”
“This cannot be true,” Darcy said harshly, though Elizabeth noticed with some interest and a little relief that his ire was not directed against herself. “She has no right.”
“Certainly not. And I shall say again that we know nothing for certain. Nevertheless, she may be attempting to assert her influence.” Elizabeth hesitated, but decided that since she had confided this much to him, she might as well get along with the rest. “Caroline Bingley also seems too familiar with the rumours involving Jane. And now there is the possibility that your aunt could be involved. I cannot unravel this alone.”
His expression changed. It did not soften per se, as Mr Darcy was not a man who bore that emotion easily, but his gaze steadied into what Elizabeth could only interpret as concern.
“What are you asking of me, Miss Elizabeth?” Mr Darcy asked, his voice low.
She lifted her chin. “You are investigating these matters as well, are you not? I propose we share what we learn and work together to uncover the culprit behind these rumours. We must covertly exchange whatever information we can for the protection of our families.”
Mr Darcy studied her, and Elizabeth wondered if she had presumed to ask too much.
“There is one complication to your plan,” he said finally. “Merely speaking together will only give fuel to the rumour.”
“I am aware,” Elizabeth said, determined not to show how his rebuff stung her.
“Then we must prevent the scandal from getting worse.”
Elizabeth blinked. He was not dismissing her plan entirely, then. “What do you propose, Mr Darcy?”
“We use the rumour to our advantage.”
Her mouth fell open. She could not help it. “You mean…”
“If we allow society to believe that the rumours are correct. That we have entered into a courtship.”
Elizabeth nearly choked.
“A pretence only,” Mr Darcy said quickly. “Nothing binding, but this will give us the freedom to meet and speak without attracting suspicion.”
Now it was Elizabeth’s turn to stare. The cold, proud, and impossible Mr Darcy was suggesting they adopt the mask of an adoring couple.
“It offers structure to our scheme, and protection. You cannot be accused of impropriety if seen speaking with me, and the Bennet family will not suffer further damage to its reputation. We would be permitted private conversation within reason, enabling us to unmask our enemy more effectively.”
His tone was entirely too practical, his reasons too sound.
Despite her astonishment, Elizabeth could not doubt that he believed this plan to be sensible.
She did not like to admit it, but perhaps he was more determined to save his sister’s reputation than even she had imagined.
And if he were willing to enter into a sham courtship for Georgiana, then she could do the same for Jane.
“And,” Mr Darcy added, “it would put pressure on whoever is behind the rumours, while taking the wind out of their sails. If they intend to embarrass you or me, their scheme will appear to have failed.”
The idea of courting Mr Darcy was mortifying, risky, and entirely too intimate. But it was also clever.
She scrutinised him, searching for any hint that she was the object of a terrible jest. “You’re serious,” she said at last.
Mr Darcy nodded. “Completely.”
Elizabeth glanced over the soiree. The rumour-monger was out there, somewhere in London, perhaps at this very party. She could set aside her reservations, even if the idea of taking Mr Darcy’s arm, walking beside him, speaking freely, was almost too much to bear.
“I dislike this plan,” she admitted.
“So do I.”
“Yet I cannot deny its merit.”
“Do you accept, then?” Mr Darcy pressed her.
Elizabeth understood she was on the verge of making either a very cunning decision or a very foolish one. But she had sought Mr Darcy out, and he was offering a solution to their predicament. “I accept.”
For the briefest moment, an expression Elizabeth could not quite place flashed across his face.
“Then we must begin at once,” Mr Darcy said, offering his arm to Elizabeth. “If you will permit me.”
So, their charade would begin immediately. A farce that would confuse the public, unseat their enemy, and throw her own feelings into question. The small thrill that pulsed in time with her heartbeat, however unwelcome, was undeniable.
She placed her arm on his sleeve, gloved fingers brushing the fabric. His arm tensed beneath her touch, but he inclined his head, offering a soft acknowledgment. They stepped into the light of the ballroom as partners in pretence, united against their unseen adversary.