Chapter 34
Darcy hurried down the narrow staircase, one hand gathering her skirts as she descended, her pulse still unsteady from a night that seemed at once real and dreamlike.
Pale afternoon light slanted through the fanlight above the door, laying soft bars of gold across the polished banister and the faded runner beneath her feet.
The little townhouse, though modest, had already begun to feel like a place of her own choosing.
This morning, however, it seemed altered, as though the happiness swelling within her was too great for its quiet walls to contain.
She paused midway down, one hand curled around the railing, and then laughed aloud, unable to believe all that had happened at Aphrodite with Sebastian.
Joy kept escaping her in helpless smiles and breathless little bursts of laughter until she felt absurdly like a fresh-faced debutante after her first dance. She drew a steadying breath as the last of her uncertainties pressed against the edges of her happiness.
“He loves me,” she whispered to herself. “And I love him. Whatever comes, we shall build our life from that.”
The words warmed her anew, and she hastened down the remaining stairs. Barbara, the young maid she had engaged to assist with her dressing and personal needs, met her upon the landing with wide eyes and a voice brimming with barely concealed astonishment.
“A duchess, miss. And a countess. They have been waiting in the parlor for several minutes. Mrs. Hodge has served tea and a plate of tarts. I was just coming to inform you.”
Darcy paused, startled despite herself, before offering a small smile at the girl’s wonder. “Thank you, Barbara.”
The girl bobbed a curtsy and hurried away, and Darcy suspected that within moments every member of her small household would know that illustrious callers had crossed their threshold.
Composing her expression as best she could, Darcy entered the parlor.
The room was bright, the scent of warm pastry mingling with bergamot from the tea.
Agatha and Elizabeth sat close together upon the modest sofa, their heads bent over a news sheet spread between them. At her entrance, both ladies looked up at once, their expressions warming with genuine affection.
“Darcy,” Elizabeth said, smiling. “You are simply glowing, and you look…”
“Entirely as though she has not slept,” Agatha supplied, though her tone held amusement rather than censure.
Darcy laughed softly even as a blush warmed her cheeks. “I should be the one to call upon you,” she said as she joined them, settling upon the sofa opposite. “It is most kind of you to come here, though I fear this neighborhood is quite unaccustomed to such distinguished callers.”
“Nonsense,” Elizabeth said lightly. “We go where we please.”
Agatha, however, hesitated, her gaze searching Darcy’s face with more serious intent.
“We wished to see you without delay,” she said.
“Tell us, what transpired after Raine carried you away like some conquering behemoth? There were a few gasps of alarm, but everyone soon returned to the evening’s pleasures.
Then my earl carried me off only minutes later, so I did not see you again. Dare I presume to guess what happened?”
Darcy’s composure deserted her entirely. Color rushed into her cheeks, and she lowered her gaze, unable to conceal the memory that rose with vivid, intimate clarity.
Elizabeth gasped softly, her eyes bright with deviltry. “He did not…” She paused, then shook her head with mingled scandal and amusement. “Of course he did. Rakes are an absolute menace.”
Darcy pressed her lips together, though a helpless smile curved them. “He declared himself,” she admitted quietly. “He said he loved me and wished to court me. I am so happy that I scarcely know what to do with myself.”
Both ladies stilled and exchanged swift glances.
Agatha’s brows lifted. “Court you? Those were his exact words?”
“Yes,” Darcy said, though a thread of uncertainty entered her voice.
“I confess I did not possess the presence of mind to demand an explanation of precisely how he meant to proceed. We…” Her voice softened as memory overtook her.
“We remained together for the rest of the night. I scarcely remember when he brought me home, only the warmth of his arms and the sound of his voice as I directed him, with very little coherence, to my bedchamber above stairs. I was utterly exhausted.”
Elizabeth’s expression softened, though something sharper flickered behind her eyes. “And this morning? Has he sent word?”
Darcy shook her head. “I have received nothing as yet.”
“It is well after noon,” Agatha murmured.
Darcy frowned, not understanding their sudden somberness. “Perhaps he is asleep as well. He did not leave me until nearly five o’clock this morning.”
“I think you are right,” Agatha said brightly.
Too brightly. A knot tightened low in Darcy’s belly. Silence settled over the parlor. Elizabeth shifted and, with a movement clearly intended to appear casual, tucked the news sheet beneath a cushion.
Darcy saw it at once. “What is it?” she asked, her voice quiet but steady. “I can sense that something is amiss. Please do not keep it from me.”
Elizabeth sighed and exchanged a glance with Agatha before drawing the paper out once more.
“When I read it this morning, I went directly to Agatha, and then we came here together.”
Darcy accepted the news sheet. The paper rasped beneath her fingers, which tightened almost imperceptibly upon its edges as she lowered her gaze to read.
Dear Readers,
It is with a mixture of trepidation and undeniable delight that I reveal the true identity of the elusive Miss D. W., whose recent appearances have stirred no small degree of curiosity within the most discerning circles of society.
This young lady has been observed in the particular company of our most sought-after bachelor, Lord R.
, and it has not escaped notice that the Countess of R.
herself bestowed upon Miss D. W. the unmistakable mark of disfavor, delivered with all the force such a public rebuke commands.
The countess is known for thoughtful manners and uncommon kindness.
One may therefore conclude that Miss D. W.
behaved toward her in a manner both egregious and unforgivable.
One must also wonder what influence Miss D.
W. possesses to have compelled so distinguished a gentleman to dance with her not once but repeatedly at a certain midnight gathering, where propriety itself appeared to falter.
Whatever understanding exists between them bears none of the hallmarks of honor and may well explain the countess’s decisive censure.
Indeed, I would advise every respectable household to exercise the greatest caution before extending even the slightest civility to this lady, for information obtained through the most diligent inquiries and investigations suggests a scandal of no small magnitude.
It appears that Miss D. W.’s mother was once intimately, some might say scandalously, connected to the late Earl of R.
Her reputation was that of a soiled dove whose presence cast a shadow over what ought to have been a most respectable union.
There are even whispers, though as yet unconfirmed, that the association produced illegitimate issues.
In light of such revelations, who can fault Lady R. for her decisive actions? A mother’s duty is to protect her son, and it would seem she has resolved to do so with commendable vigilance, shielding him from what many would deem the dangerous allure of a most unsuitable young woman.
As ever, dear readers, I remain your most faithful observer of the truths others dare not speak.
Darcy lowered the news sheet slowly. Her fingers crushed the edges of the paper. “Oh God,” she whispered. “This is a scandal.”
Elizabeth grimaced, sympathy softening her features. “It is. But such things fade when they are not fed. Society possesses a short memory when denied fresh fodder.”
“Why would anyone make inquiries into something so intensely personal?”
“It is the way of the ton,” Agatha said softly. “They thrive upon gossip, and such sheets pay servants, tradesmen, and any other informants willing to carry private matters to their writers. Scandal sells, and they rarely trouble themselves over the lives left in ruin.”
“They simply do not care whom these columns injure?” Darcy choked, her voice unsteady. “Even when they must know the damage this will cause to everyone involved?”
Even as she spoke, a deeper and more dreadful understanding took hold.
Her stomach clenched. This would not merely touch her.
It would drag the countess’s private anguish into the light, reopen wounds long buried, and place Sebastian in an impossible position.
The article had accomplished precisely what its writer intended.
It had fashioned Darcy into a schemer, a woman following in her mother’s footsteps and bent upon ensnaring a nobleman.
Her breath grew shallow as the conclusion settled over her with cold certainty.
Sebastian would be compelled to withdraw his intention of courting her.
He would have no choice but to protect his family, to distance himself from Darcy before the whispers devoured what remained of his mother’s dignity.
The thought hollowed her. Only moments ago, happiness had seemed too large for the townhouse to contain; now the room felt airless and close. Darcy lifted her gaze to her friends and attempted a smile. It trembled and collapsed. A sob escaped before she could contain it.
“He will not call upon me, will he?” she asked, her voice breaking. “The courtship will never begin.”
Elizabeth hesitated, pain moving across her face. “Perhaps not immediately,” she said gently. “He may believe the matter must first be allowed to quiet before he can be seen to act otherwise.”
Darcy closed her eyes. The answer was kindly offered, but it struck with quiet devastation.
More time apart.
More distance.