Chapter 7 #2
Mr Darcy’s jaw tightened, but he held Elizabeth’s hand firmly, refusing to release her to embarrassment.
They continued the dance, though the tension between them had loosened. As they turned through the last steps, Elizabeth found her eyes trailing over the group nearest Miss Bingley, searching for their informant.
As the music swelled to its crescendo, they bowed to one another, ending their dance. Mr Darcy offered his arm once more with exquisite courtesy.
Elizabeth accepted, her pulse thundering and her mind reeling from the intensity of the moment and the manner in which Caroline Bingley had tarnished it.
As Mr Darcy escorted her away, he murmured, “You should not have to endure such treatment.”
“Nor you,” she whispered back.
Their eyes met in a fleeting collision of vulnerability, but there was little time to examine their newfound appreciation of one another.
As they passed by Miss Bingley and the ring of partygoers hungry for more gossip, a footman perched near the edge of the refreshment table cut his gaze slyly to Miss Bingley, then to Mr Darcy and herself.
His posture was incredibly attentive for a servant awaiting orders; his spine ramrod straight.
He was not lingering out of boredom or waiting for his next instructions.
The footman was listening intently to the conversation and the gossip Miss Bingley gleefully announced.
Elizabeth’s breath hitched. “Mr Darcy,” she whispered, “that footman, did you see him?”
Darcy followed her gaze just in time to watch the man retreat into a side passage with surprising speed.
“Yes,” Mr Darcy murmured. “I saw him.”
“He was listening to Miss Bingley,” Elizabeth said quickly, her pulse rising. “Listening with purpose. Whoever delivers these rumours must gather them from somewhere, and see the gossip she had just fed him.”
Mr Darcy’s jaw tightened. “Miss Bingley’s performance would tempt anyone to linger.”
“No,” Elizabeth insisted. “He was gathering information, and has now left to pursue his errand.”
Mr Darcy’s focus sharpened immediately. “You suspect he is connected to the scandal sheets.”
“I do,” she said. “And this time Miss Bingley accused me of manipulation, and you of being led about by my apron-strings.” Her cheeks warmed. “If that reaches print —”
“It will not,” Mr Darcy said firmly.
Elizabeth took a breath. “Then we must follow him and be certain.”
Mr Darcy turned toward the darkened passage, then stopped abruptly. He spun, calculating. “You cannot follow.”
Elizabeth blinked. “But I saw him first! If we hurry—”
“Miss Bennet,” Darcy said, voice tight with urgency, “leaving a ballroom alone with me, at this hour, into a service corridor, would be ruinous.”
Elizabeth froze as the truth struck her.
She placed a hand on her stomach, steadying herself.
She had nearly tarnished her reputation, and not only her own.
In the teeth of such a scandal, her sisters would have been affected as well.
Everything she was trying to protect had nearly gone up in flames in her haste to catch the rumour-monger.
“I will follow him,” Mr Darcy said. “You must remain here.”
A wave of protest rose in her chest. “You expect me simply to wait, with no assurance of what you will discover? How shall I know you will tell me everything?”
Mr Darcy’s eyes searched hers. “Have I given you reason to doubt my honour?”
Elizabeth opened her mouth, but snapped it shut quickly.
She had doubted him, yes. But that was before she had seen him defend Georgiana, before he had treated Jane with kindness, before he had agreed to this charade in order to protect his own family.
No, Mr Darcy had given her no reason to doubt his honour.
“I…” Her throat tightened, and she was embarrassed to feel the prick of frustrated tears behind her eyes. She did not dare let them fall, and blinked them away. “I do not wish to be left behind.”
Mr Darcy’s expression remained firm. “I understand, truly, but the risk to you is too great. You must trust me in this.”
She had trusted him thus far in their ruse. Surely, she could extend that same confidence in him now?
Yet it was difficult indeed. Something in her balked at the thought of leaving her family’s fate in his hands. Especially when she was on the precipice of fixing everything herself.
Before she could reply, the servant’s hurried footsteps echoed faintly down the corridor. She would not risk their chance of catching the culprit because of her pride. Elizabeth swallowed. “Be careful, then.”
Darcy hesitated a mere moment, then disappeared into the passage.
Elizabeth stood frozen at the edge of the ballroom, the golden light and cheerful chatter suddenly distant behind the pounding of her own pulse.
She rejoined Mrs Gardiner’s side, determined to appear at ease, even as her mind reeled over the events she could only imagine were unfolding.
The minutes stretched painfully. She sipped lemonade without tasting it, nodded politely during conversation without hearing what anyone said, and failed miserably at not worrying.
Elizabeth’s stomach clenched as she realised that, of all the people in London, Mr Darcy was the one most committed to uncovering the culprit, even though she hated the thought of leaving something as important as Jane’s reputation in his hands.
But as she spied Georgiana having returned to the edge of the crowded room, looking determined even if still a little shaken, she reminded herself that his motives aligned with her own.
They were doing this for their families, for the ones whom they cared most about.
Not only that, but Mr Darcy was pretending to be in this courtship, and currently pursuing their suspect, for Georgiana, Jane, and her own sake.
The thought was as frustrating as it was admirable.
A half-hour crept by with agonizing slowness. Elizabeth was nearly crawling out of her skin by the time Mr Darcy made his reappearance. Every sense attuned to him almost instantly. He looked composed, if slightly winded.
Mr Darcy walked directly to her, ignoring startled looks from several matrons who seemed to find his intentness alarming.
“Miss Bennet. Would you join me in a turn about the room?”
Elizabeth nodded and forced her pulse to steady. “Of course.”
They linked arms and began at an easy pace, keeping to the perimeter of the room and speaking in low voices that did not carry past the hum of conversation and lively music of a country reel.
“I lost him,” Darcy admitted, sounding frustrated and not a little embarrassed.
Elizabeth’s fingers tightened involuntarily on Darcy’s arm. She closed her eyes for a brief moment, reminding herself that she should appear infatuated with the man at her side. Or, at the very least, she should maintain an amicable expression. “How?” she asked.
“A hired hack was waiting beyond the service road. I followed on foot as far as I could, but he turned a corner and vanished into traffic. By the time I reached the street, he was gone.”
Elizabeth pressed her lips into a thin line. She was not frustrated with Darcy. He had done all he could. It was, however, terribly unjust that he had slipped away. “So he evades us. It seems the culprit is determined to stay just beyond our reach.”
“Yes,” Darcy said. “Though he has left traces.” He gestured subtly to a quiet corner tucked between a set of potted palms and a large column.
The area was sequestered from the party, hidden from the dancers and the curious gazes of onlookers.
The candlelight did not quite penetrate the shadows.
Elizabeth slipped quickly into the alcove without thinking, her skirts whispering against the marble floor.
Darcy followed quickly behind her, then reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a letter. It was bent and creased, as though it had been read several times over. “I received this earlier today. It is from my uncle, the Earl of Matlock.”
Elizabeth’s brows pinched together. Why was Mr Darcy showing her this now?
Mr Darcy unfolded the letter and held it between them. Even in the dim light, she could make out the fragments.
…unsuitable public discussion…
…our family, made a subject of gossip of the coarsest nature…
…public whispers reaching even my estate…
Elizabeth did not need to read the whole of the letter to surmise what had transpired. The earl had heard the rumours of their sham courtship. “He has heard, then.”
“Yes. Of us and the supposed intimacy between us. The rumours have escaped the ballrooms and are now travelling farther than we ever anticipated.”
Elizabeth crossed her arms. “Then the gossip-monger is succeeding in their scheme,” she bit out.
Mr Darcy folded the letter and placed it back into his pocket. “Are you not frightened?”
“Frightened?” Elizabeth huffed. “No, I am furious. Whoever is behind this knows exactly how to wound their targets. How to strike a woman with no regard for the consequences. Jane, Georgiana, and now this.” She gestured between them. “Your family and my reputation, now called into question.”
Mr Darcy’s eyes widened slightly. “I never intended—”
“I know,” Elizabeth interrupted. She forced herself to remove the sting from her tone. “This is not your doing. You are blameless. This will end.”
“I promise, I will do everything in my power to see that this business does, indeed, end. And before many more days have passed.”
Elizabeth knew Mr Darcy meant every syllable.
It was not a question of his honour that caused her throat to tighten, but their proximity.
She was terribly aware of how close they stood; too close for propriety’s sake.
Their little alcove, dimly lit and shielded by fans of palm leaves, kept the noise of the ballroom at bay.
There were no chaperones, no curious stares or snide remarks. Only the two of them.
Mr Darcy seemed to realise this in the same instant. His posture shifted, both pulling closer and trying to distance himself from her at the same time. His eyes dropped to her fist, clenched at her side, then to her eyes. There was an intensity there that made Elizabeth’s heart stutter.
“This is becoming imprudent,” he said softly.
She took a quick step back, though she found she did not entirely want to. A faint scent of beeswax and winter air clung to Mr Darcy’s coat, which she rather enjoyed. “Yes.”
Mr Darcy cleared his throat. “We should return.”
“Of course,” Elizabeth agreed quickly. “Though we should do so separately.”
“Right.”
Neither of them moved. Finally, Mr Darcy inclined his head with stiff restraint. “I shall go first. It may be remarked upon otherwise.”
Elizabeth clasped her hands together, grateful that he had taken control of the situation. It was unlike her not to be in firm command of her own thoughts and actions. The disappointment of losing their suspect and the harsh words from the earl must be to blame.
“Naturally,” she said, and shifted further into the alcove, making room for Mr Darcy to slip past.
He studied her for a moment with a look that was softer than anything Elizabeth had yet seen from him. Then he departed, leaving her alone behind the palms.
Elizabeth waited, counting each beat of her pounding heart, until his footsteps faded completely.
The murmurs of the ballroom, the soft tremor of a violin, swelled in Mr Darcy’s absence.
She smoothed her expression into complete serenity, then dipped out from behind the column and the palms. Quickly, she found Mrs Gardiner, joining in her conversation with a few ladies as though she had never left it.
She looked for Darcy out of the corner of her eye and found him well across the room, speaking to his sister, his countenance carefully crafted into stoicism.
When their eyes met for the briefest moment, there was an understanding that had not been there before. They had crossed an invisible line that evening, and neither of them could pretend not to feel it.