Chapter 5
The play, which was indeed cleverly written and acted to a tee, was merely the beginning of their charade.
Over the next week, London society became a stage upon which Elizabeth and Darcy performed with tiresome regularity.
Their supposed courtship demanded not only appearances at parties and assemblies, but promenades through the park, social calls to the Gardiner household, shopping, and attendance at musicales that tested their patience.
Elizabeth’s composure was even more severely tested, as her attempts to gather more information on the source of the rumours against her family proved futile.
The scandal sheets had no remorse in reporting on her presumptive schemes on trapping Mr Darcy, and giving the cruel assessment that they were ill-matched, but no further slander was thrown on Jane or Georgiana’s name, and all attempts to determine the source of the rumours were met with dead ends.
One morning in Hyde Park, Elizabeth walked beside Mr Darcy with Mrs Gardiner close behind.
They passed beneath a line of elms, acutely aware of the curious gazes following them.
A pair of ladies whispered beneath their parasols as Mr Darcy courteously offered Elizabeth his arm.
Frustrated at her lack of progress, she did not notice straightaway, and to the onlookers, it appeared that she hesitated a moment too long before taking it.
Mr Darcy was unaffected by her misstep, but Elizabeth could practically see the ripple of speculative glances as they continued their promenade, following them like a tide upon the shore.
She resolved to ensure such an oversight would not happen again, even if she began to doubt the effectiveness of their scheme.
She had the opportunity to make amends when attending the gallery opening at Somerset House.
It was crowded enough to satisfy the most voracious gossip, which made Mr Darcy’s suggestion that they attend very sensible.
Elizabeth and Mr Darcy stood shoulder-to-shoulder before a landscape painting of the Derbyshire peaks, glowing in early morning light.
Mr Darcy leaned in to scrutinise the work, hands clasped behind his back. “The artist has taken quite a heavy hand. One need not render rock in such a stiff manner. It muddles the sense of perspective.”
Elizabeth nearly laughed aloud. Mr Darcy complaining of something being too stiff?
The irony was quite amusing. She turned her focus to the painting as the soft chatter of gallery-viewers floated through the room.
“I find the boldness rather pleasing,” she offered.
“They are quite unshakable, and decidedly unmoving. In any case, someone ought to notify the mountains that their perspective is in question.”
Mr Darcy glanced at her sidelong. “I shall write immediately.”
She bit back a smile, but the effort faltered when she spied movement in her periphery.
Mr Haversham, purveyor of half-truths and whole scandals, was circling them like a carrion bird, pretending interest in the paintings while craning shamelessly in their direction.
His expression glowed with anticipation, as though Mr Darcy and Elizabeth might at any moment confess undying devotion into his waiting ears.
Elizabeth met Mr Darcy’s gaze and drew closer, slipping her hand lightly around his arm in what she hoped resembled a comfortable familiarity that bordered on romantic ease.
Mr Darcy startled only a fraction before playing his part: he inclined his head toward her, his voice now pitched deliberately low. “Miss Elizabeth,” he said, “your insight into landscapes is, as ever, enlightening.”
“Only because you insist on making it so,” she returned sweetly.
Mr Haversham’s eyes widened. His quill would surely fly that night.
Elizabeth smiled to herself as they moved to another painting, pleased that the ruse was working so well.
Yet, as she and Darcy stood side-by-side, staring at another painting of the sea, she could not help but wonder if this was the best course of action.
They’d had no new leads for a week. She had thought that by embracing the gossip’s assertion that she and Mr Darcy were indeed courting, it might provoke them into making a mistake.
And yet, nothing. Perhaps their quarry was merely waiting to make their next move.
If so, she and Mr Darcy would be prepared.
The Winter Assembly only a few nights away might prove fruitful. Time would only tell. As Elizabeth rested her arm on Mr Darcy’s sleeve, she prayed their ruse need not go on too long.
∞∞∞
A damp chill clung to the London night air, but inside the party the room hummed with warmth and anticipation.
It seemed improbable that in a sea of satin gowns and faces hungry for the night’s entertainment, there lurked a foe with dark intentions.
But if there was one place the scandal-maker could be, it was here.
Elizabeth adjusted the button on her glove as the swell of music washed over the assembly. Mr Darcy found her quickly, bowing first to her, then to the Gardiners and Jane. The titters around them signalled that his attentions had not gone unnoticed.
Mr Darcy wordlessly proffered his arm, which Elizabeth took. They kept to the perimeter of the ballroom floor, weaving around couples whose speculative whispers danced just out of earshot. Mr Darcy’s brow pulled low in concentration.
“You need not look so grave,” Elizabeth commented lightly. “You behave as if we are marching toward a battlefield rather than a dance floor.”
“One begins to feel as though the former might involve less risk,” he replied, a light smirk playing upon his lips. It faded quickly. “I trust you remember our purpose tonight, Miss Elizabeth.”
“Of course.” Elizabeth’s eyebrows rose. “But just because we hunt a scoundrel does not mean we can’t enjoy ourselves. It will give credibility to our scheme if you appear to be enjoying my company. Surely we can do both without falling into any traps.”
“An admirable goal.” Mr Darcy’s eyes scanned the ballroom, no doubt hunting for the gossip-monger.
Elizabeth stopped walking, drawing Mr Darcy’s attention to her.
They stood in the room’s corner, draped in golden candlelight.
The past week had yielded no results. They needed an alternative approach to their plan.
“Perhaps it would be better to separate,” she said.
“There are dozens of people here familiar with the scandal sheets. If we divide our efforts, we can gather twice as much knowledge.”
Mr Darcy frowned in thought, considering her suggestion. “Very well. Stay within sight as much as possible.”
Was he so afraid of leaving her to fend for herself amidst the vultures of the ton? Elizabeth’s heart softened unexpectedly at his concern. “That would defeat the purpose of a subtle investigation,” she chided.
But Mr Darcy’s attention was once again on the crowd. At last, he seemed to find what he had been searching for. Elizabeth felt some of the tension leave him.
“Before we part, there is someone I would like to introduce you to.” He guided her across the room to where a young woman stood with her chaperone. There was something remote, even withdrawn about her as she surveyed the crowd, yet her face softened as Darcy approached.
“Miss Bennet, allow me to present my sister, Georgiana Darcy, and her companion, Mrs Annesley. Georgiana, Mrs Annesley, allow me to introduce Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”
They exchanged a bow. “A pleasure, Miss Bennet,” Mrs Annesley said, giving her charge a look that seemed to prompt her to speak.
Georgiana Darcy looked ill at ease, but hurried to respond. “I am pleased to meet you, Miss Bennet. My brother has spoken of you.”
Elizabeth returned the greeting, surprised that Mr Darcy would have mentioned her at all. Had he confided in his sister about their plan, as she had to Jane?
“The pleasure is mine, Miss Darcy. I have hoped to have the honour of making your acquaintance.”
Georgiana fiddled with the strap of her fan and added nothing further to their introduction.
While her silence might have indicated arrogance or dislike, Elizabeth did not think it did — not when one also considered the girl’s stiff, careful posture, her downcast eyes, and the blush in her cheeks.
She reminded Elizabeth of her own sister at that age.
Jane had hesitated to speak when first introduced to strangers.
Anxious in company, overly aware of every gaze, too sensitive to imagined faults.
It was not pride, as Mr Wickham had once ascribed to Mr Darcy’s sister, but shyness.
She reached for a compliment; one she would have given to Jane when she felt overwhelmed. “You have chosen a lovely gown this evening, Miss Georgiana. That shade of blue suits you remarkably well.”
Georgiana glanced at her brother, then back to Elizabeth. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I was not sure whether I ought to choose it, or if it was perhaps too bold, but my brother approved of the choice.”
Elizabeth offered her a gentle smile. “It is a wise brother who understands such matters. Having four sisters, I am familiar with the sensation of having my gowns judged, but less so with that of having them approved.”
That coaxed a soft laugh from Georgiana. It was small and fleeting, but there nonetheless.
Darcy’s expression altered in the wake of his sister’s display of merriment. Pride, relief, and earnest affection shone through the carefully controlled mask he usually wore. Elizabeth had never seen him look at anyone that way. It startled her more than she cared to admit.