Chapter Three
Darcy hastily took a seat beside the woman on the bench. “Do not be distressed. I will find a way to fix this situation.”
She raised her head, and only then did he realize she had been laughing.
What sort of a woman could laugh under these circumstances?
Was she touched in the head? Granted, it was rather unbelievable.
Ten minutes before, Darcy had been a free man, and now at least two people supposed him to be engaged.
But this coil could have serious consequences for their reputation. She must realize that.
“I dare say it will all be resolved,” she said. “But I believe I have fixed one problem by creating a bigger one!”
How astonishing. He expected desperation and tears.
Or a variety of the outrage and cold disdain she had shown his aunt.
At the very least, Darcy expected her to blame him for this muddle.
He was accustomed to situations being his fault.
He had attempted to be chivalrous and rescue a woman from the viscount, a thoroughly vile individual.
He had not expected the situation to fly out of control so quickly.
What a relief she did not choose hysterics or anger. In fact, her laughter was somehow infectious. Darcy found himself smiling. The situation was ridiculous.
When she sobered, he said, “At least you know my name. I do not have that pleasure.”
This provoked more gales of laughter. Above anything, this told him she was not of the ton.
Ladies might titter at amusing gossip or giggle when given a compliment, but they did not really laugh.
As he watched mirth brighten the unknown woman’s eyes, Darcy concluded that laughter was severely underrated.
Her amusement practically lit up the night. He could not look away.
The moonlight illuminated a heart-shaped countenance and luminous pale skin framed by dark ringlets. Her light pink gown set off the blue in her eyes. Her figure was light and pleasing. Well, if he was required to have a false fiancée, he had acquired an excellent one.
“I suppose your aunt does not know my name either. You should tell her I am Miss Lucretia Sniveling-Stoke of East Lumpford.”
Darcy imagined her saying that to his aunt. Would she believe such an outrageous name?
The woman sighed theatrically. “But, alas, my deception would be too easily exposed. My cousin is your aunt’s rector.”
“You are related to Mr. Collins?” Darcy could not quite conceal his horror.
“Ah. I see you have met him,” she responded. “But please do not hold my relations against me.”
Darcy shrugged. “If you will return the favor.” He gestured in his aunt’s direction.
“Yes, I suppose every family has those sorts of relations.”
“I still do not know your name.”
“Forgive me! I am Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourn in Hertfordshire.” She held out her hand for him to shake as if they were business acquaintances.
The name meant nothing to Darcy. The daughter of some provincial gentleman, most likely. No wonder the viscount had been sure Darcy’s relatives would be appalled. Darcy was disappointed; he had held a faint hope that she would be appropriate for him to court.
“I am Fitzwilliam Darcy. My estate, Pemberley, is in Derbyshire.”
Her expression became serious. “I must express my gratitude for cooperating with my deception of the viscount.”
“The man is a brute. I dislike observing him pester a lady.”
Miss Bennet grimaced. “I believe he wants to propose to me. I want to avoid giving him the opportunity.”
Ah. Hence the false fiancé proposition. “Can you not simply decline his offer?’
“No. Not easily. He…holds my family under an obligation.”
Noting her cautious language, Darcy supposed her father or brother owed money to the viscount.
“I wished to avoid him. When I left for London, he was still in Hertfordshire. I would not have attended the ball if I had known….” She shuddered.
At that, Darcy was happier about agreeing to the charade. He would not consign a dog to Harwood.
She furrowed her brow. “I knew he admired me, but given his disparaging remarks about my want of connections, I wonder that he would want to marry me.”
“His intentions may not have been honorable. Perhaps he hoped to make you his mistress.” Darcy immediately wished those words back. How could he have said such things to a gently bred woman?
Her mouth dropped open. “What—? How horrible! Now I wish I had punched him!”
Had she contemplated that? She really was from the country. Still, what spirit she displayed! Some men certainly deserved punching.
She turned toward Darcy, their knees almost touching on the small bench. “Your rescue was even more necessary than I realized.” Her eyes glistened, and her cheeks were flushed, so unlike the languid women of the ton.
“You rescued me as well. If my aunt believes I am engaged to you, I am saved from having to make an offer for my cousin.”
They regarded each other solemnly.
Miss Bennet stood, leaving Darcy’s coat behind, and wandered around their little clearing, admiring the hedges and plants draped in shadows. He added “restless energy” to his list of her character traits.
She spoke while scrupulously examining a boxwood. “You need not worry that I will hold you to this engagement. We may go our separate ways tonight and never behold each other again.”
Darcy was not sure he wanted to waste this perfect opportunity. A false engagement might keep his aunt away for years. “What about the viscount?”
Her shoulders slumped. “I must devise some other scheme to discourage him. It is probably too much to hope for a disfiguring disease.”
Apparently, this woman always joked about serious matters. “And what if my aunt inquires my secret fiancée?”
“You could tell her I cast you off.”
The “engagement” had proved quite beneficial so far.
Darcy generally disliked deception, but he suffered no qualms about deceiving Harwood and few about deceiving his aunt.
They were not lying to anyone else. And the pretext could protect this innocent woman from Harwood’s depredations. Surely that justified a little deceit.
He cleared his throat. “We could continue the charade of a secret understanding. Harwood will not tell anyone, and my aunt will never expose it as long as she hopes I might change my mind.”
“You want to feign an engagement?” She stared at him, wide-eyed.
“I want to pretend to be secretly engaged when we are in company with the viscount or my aunt…if it is not too much of an inconvenience. It would only require that we meet occasionally and perhaps have a few whispered conversations. It should not interfere with your search for a husband.”
“That is the least of my concerns,” she said, turning her perceptive gaze on him. “But I cannot comprehend how this farce benefits you. You are obviously a chivalrous man, Sir Darcy. But your gallantry cannot possibly extend this far.”
Ordinarily, Darcy would not share his family circumstances with a stranger, but she was already somewhat ensnared in them. “My aunt desires me to make an offer to her daughter. I have no desire to do so.”
“Does she have a disfiguring disease?”
Darcy chuckled. “No, but she dislikes me. And I do not want to marry her. But my aunt is insistent.”
She considered his words. “So we both might avoid unwanted betrothals by pretending to be betrothed to each other? That is a devious scheme, Mr. Darcy. I like it.”
“The viscount will not approach you if he believes you are attached to me.” The man was a coward at heart. He would not risk Darcy challenging him to a duel.
“But why would you keep our supposed engagement a secret from your family?” she inquired.
That was the genius of the scheme. “Naturally, I would keep it secret. Your family is utterly obscure. You do not at all have the connections I would seek in a wife. So, you are particularly well-suited to being my false fiancée.”
She stared at him. Perhaps she did not appreciate the brilliance of the deception as he did.
“I am so pleased my insignificance can be of service to you,” she murmured.
He did not quite recognize her odd tone. “It will be of service to both of us,” he said.
“Yes, I understand,” she said faintly, turning to the hedge. Her voice had lost that hint of amusement.
“Will you do it?” he asked.
“How long do you propose we carry out this scheme?”
Darcy would continue it indefinitely if it kept his aunt away. But the longer they attempted the deception, the greater the risk of discovery. “To the end of the Season. Then you can secretly break off our secret engagement, and no one will be the wiser.”
She continued to stare at the darkened garden. Why was she hesitating? This was a perfect opportunity for both of them.
With a nod, Miss Bennet said, “I accept your proposition, Mr. Darcy. As you say, it serves both our purposes.”
“Excellent!”
She gave a disbelieving laugh. “I was hoping for an adventure in London, and apparently, one has found me.”
A pretend betrothal to him constituted “an adventure”? Perhaps there was little entertainment in Hertfordshire. “I am pleased to be of service.” He gave a little bow, which made her giggle again.
Darcy turned toward the house. They should return to the ballroom.
Miss Bennet did not move. “Sir, we need to know more about each other if our object is to portray a romance convincingly. I am not equal to convincing anyone of my attachment to you if I only know that you are tall and favor embroidered waistcoats. And you should be aware of my fondness for candied eel eyes.”
He could not prevent his disgusted expression.
“I jest! I do not know if candied eel eyes even exist.”
What an absurd woman. “I suppose we should become better acquainted.” His aunt would want to know how he came to know a minor gentleman’s daughter from Hertfordshire. They needed a convincing story. Such schemes were more complicated than he initially considered.
However, the longer they remained in the garden, the greater the chance of discovery. He did not desire Miss Bennet’s reputation to be ruined or for her to claim he compromised her virtue.