Chapter Eight #4
“Then I shall return to my whist.” Mr. Bennet glanced down at the cards in his hand and said bitterly, “I had a particularly good hand.” He marched away—with his wife fluttering behind him as she explained what had occurred.
After a sympathetic glance at Elizabeth, Miss Bennet hastened to follow her parents.
Elizabeth’s eyes were dark with worry as she watched her parents’ progress across the floor. How terrible it would be to be connected with such people. As embarrassed as he was, she must be mortified.
The spectators dispersed to the corners of the room, forming groups to discuss this exciting turn of events. Darcy glimpsed his Aunt Catherine smirking at the spectacle. Wonderful. She had witnessed every minute of the Bennets’ display. The knot in Darcy’s chest tightened.
Darcy was pleased Mr. Bennet had not conducted a public examination of his situation and character. But he was somewhat appalled at the man’s lackadaisical attitude. Darcy could be a drunkard or a wastrel for all the man knew. Did this man not care about his daughter at all?
But perhaps that was the conduct of a man who would get foxed and wager money he did not possess.
Elizabeth wore a most civil smile, but pain haunted her face. No doubt she had been hurt by a father who showed so little concern for her well-being. She deserved better treatment.
Darcy took Elizabeth’s hand again and led her to a shadowed alcove near the entrance.
She buried her head in her hands. “I apologize for my parents,” she said, sounding muffled.
“There is no need. You are not responsible for their behavior.”
She dropped her hands and faced Darcy. “I hope you understand now why I am not inclined to marry—with such an example before me.”
Ah. Pieces of the puzzle begin to fit. His own parents loved each other deeply, and his father had been terribly grieved at his mother’s death.
Darcy had not considered what it would be like to grow up in a house with a marriage such as the Bennets’.
She could not possibly have a high opinion of marriage.
“You are different from your parents,” he said.
She stared at her gloves. “At times I think I have too much of my father’s temperament.”
Perhaps her father was the source of her sarcastic wit, but Elizabeth was never cruel.
Before Darcy could speak, Elizabeth continued. “It matters not. If I do not marry, I need not worry about it.”
It would be a shame if Elizabeth remained perpetually unwed. She had much to offer a man—not Darcy, of course—and her care for her sister suggested she would be a good mother. “That would be the world’s loss.”
She absently played with the locket around her neck. “The world will carry on as before. You need an heir, so your situation is different. But my children would be nothing of consequence.”
He wished he could refute her words. No doubt her children would be consequential to someone. But it was hardly his place to convince her to marry when he had been adamant that he would not choose her.
They still drew glances from curious party guests as if they might erupt into violent kisses right there in the ballroom. Near the punch bowl, Miss Bingley talked to her brother with great animation. Darcy could only imagine her words.
I should request a dance with Elizabeth. It would be the natural way to celebrate the betrothal and help dispel any rumors about compromise. Perhaps it would lift her spirits.
Before he could say anything, Viscount Harwood slithered up to them. “My sincerest congratulations, Miss Elizabeth,” he said unctuously. “You have found yourself a protector. But we still have that other matter to discuss. Perhaps you would do me the honor of the next dance?”
Darcy had no trouble supposing what “matter” Harwood had in mind. He planned to blackmail Elizabeth by threatening to reveal her father’s debts to Darcy. Naturally, he assumed that she had not told Darcy anything.
Elizabeth’s face could have been carved from stone. “No. I am not inclined to dance again. I am excessively fatigued.”
Harwood reached out as if to touch her hand. “I beg you to reconsider.” Every muscle in Darcy’s body tensed.
He pushed himself between Harwood and Elizabeth, using his superior height to tower over the viscount. “Harwood, if you have anything to communicate to Miss Elizabeth, you will do so through me.”
Harwood scowled, craning his neck to see Elizabeth around Darcy’s body. “Is that what you desire, Miss Elizabeth?”
“It is.” She met his gaze with ferocity.
Harwood’s expression was thunderous. “Very well.” He turned on his heel and stalked away. Darcy exhaled softly. At least Harwood would not expect Elizabeth to accede to his blackmail. And Darcy had some thoughts about how to forestall his future threats.
Tonight, his chief concern was Elizabeth. She was worn and hollow-eyed. Hastily, Darcy found a chair for her. “I thank you,” she said hoarsely. “Would you be so kind as to find Lady Sterling? I am suffering from a headache and would like to return to her house.”
“Of course.” Darcy went in search of her ladyship. Well, this was not at all how I imagined I would become engaged.