Chapter Two
Elizabeth stretched, the tangled blankets catching on her foot and popping one of her toes painfully. She cried out and pushed at the quilt as she tried to free her lower body from the mess. “Criminy!”
“I see ye have decided to wake, though I cannot say I call what ye were doing sleep. Ye thrashed about like a fish in a net,” Hill muttered while she helped disentangle Elizabeth.
“I had a nightmare,” she whispered. “I was taken by a great black shadow, and nobody ever saw me again.”
“That wine went straight to thy head, young miss! Serves ye right to have such a dream.”
Rather than return a retort of her own, she scowled at the governess and threw her legs over the side of the bed, reeling as she did so from the sudden pounding in her head.
She wrinkled her nose at Hill's slight, knowing smile and planted her feet firmly on the ground.
With great effort and a little care, she lifted her body from the bed, pausing for a moment to adjust to the spinning world.
Hill rocked in her chair, working on her needlework with more concentration than was necessary. When Elizabeth had righted herself, Hill pulled a neat stitch through and picked at a bit of lint. Without looking towards her charge, the governess said: “A bath already awaits you.”
“Thank you.” Elizabeth barely managed to get the words out.
She dragged herself to the bath, easing her queasy, aching body into the hot water.
The warmth rolled through her and chased away the stiffness in her muscles.
Unlike most gentlewomen, Elizabeth preferred to bathe herself.
It was one of the few moments she could be completely alone, and she relished the precious solitude.
She slipped deeper into the tub, letting the water lap at her chin.
Suddenly, for no logical reason, Lord Darcy appeared behind her closed eyes. He leered at her in that lascivious way he had. His dark eyes glittered like chunks of obsidian in the pale light as his hand stretched out to her. It was just like the nightmare she had experienced.
“My lady, come and see.” His words came out in a lazy, arrogant drawl that involuntarily curled her toes.
She stood her ground, not allowing her feet to move forward despite every fibre of her being wanting the contrary.
Another voice distracted her, and she glanced around.
George, panicked and bloody, rushed towards them.
Spontaneously, she moved in his direction, but every time she got close, she seemed to be pushed nearer to Lord Darcy.
“Do not run, my lady. It is futile to resist your fate.”
“George is my fate.” She spat out the words in her vexation.
Lord Darcy just leered.
Her eyes flew open, and her breath came fast and ragged.
Incensed that her mind had strayed towards a man she so disliked, she splashed water on her face as though the action would wash away that image of him, dark and smug and brutally beautiful, from her brain.
She calmed her breathing, hoping to slow her heart, which thumped like mad from the provocation of the nightmare.
Resolved to think no more of him, Elizabeth washed with haste, then called for her maid to help her prepare for the dinner that evening.
* * *
Elizabeth's maid, Heather, had outdone herself.
She had piled her mistress's strawberry curls atop her head and laced them with bluebells.
Long ringlets trailed down her neck, and every once in a while, they slipped over her shoulder to feather the tops of her breasts.
Her gown was daring, and Hill, of course, disapproved, yet this only served to make Elizabeth more determined to dine in the midnight-coloured velvet and lace confection.
“My lady, ye look lovely.” Heather whispered, not daring to fall under Hill's admonishing gaze. She dropped a curtsey then scurried out of the room.
“That gown exposes more than I should like, Miss Elizabeth!”
“Oh, Hill, if ye had been at the Assembly previous you would not think I am evading propriety. Mary King's gown dipped considerably lower, and we saw scads more of her ankles than was necessary.”
“It is not thy ankles I am worried about.” Hill’s tone was as dry and brittle as scorched paper.
Elizabeth huffed and looked in the glass once more. She smoothed the lace overlay of her bodice and grabbed her pale blue lace shawl from the edge of her bed.
“Wish I have good luck and do not embarrass Papa tonight, dear Hill.”
“Good luck, miss.”
Carefully, she made her way downstairs to the library where she would find her Papa. She knocked on the door and opened it gently, peering into the dim room. Mr. Bennet was bent over the desk, worried lines etched deep in his face as he scratched figures into a book.
“Papa?”
He started but it appeared as though his fright was instantly erased when he saw her. Her father’s breath caught for a moment, the realization that she was no longer a child evident on his face while his gaze surveyed the gown he had brought home from his last trip to Court with Lord Lucas.
“I see my gift fits ye rather too well, Daughter.”
Elizabeth smiled, dropped a curtsey, and approached his side. He pulled up her stool and she settled next to him, peering at the book in which he kept track of his monies. Quickly, he closed it.
“What is wrong?” She put her hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently.
“Nothing. Ye know my weakness with numbers. I have forgotten a figure somewhere, and it is giving me fits. But let us not talk of my concerns now. I should like to discuss our dinner arrangements this evening.
“I have already informed ye that Lord Lucas shall be here. I extended the invitation to include his house, and he sent me word this midday that Lady Lucas and Lady Charlotte should attend with him so that ye may not be completely irritated with the company.”
Mr. Bennet smiled even as Elizabeth scowled, despite her delight that her friend would be in attendance. “Then there will be Lord Bingley, his sister, the Right Honourable Lady Caroline, and High Lord Darcy.”
“High Lord Darcy is coming here? To Longbourn? Whatever for?”
“He is negotiating this trade agreement with Netherfield, and the route takes them directly through Meryton, which will be offering protection along our roads for a small stipend.”
She heaved a deep sigh.
“Do ye not care for him, Daughter?”
“Not at all, sir. He is arrogant and vile.”
“I am saddened to hear that. The High King always speaks fondly of him. I had looked forward to making his acquaintance.”
“Of course, the High King speaks well of him. Are they not cousins?”
Her father smiled once again and caressed her lightly rouged cheek. “Ye are the voice of reason, my beloved Liza.”
* * *
Elizabeth usually found the drawing room a calming place with its soft, soothing shades of moss and sea green in supple silks and damask and pale walls.
The furniture was all made from rich mahogany.
It was airy and light and far from the overwrought drawing rooms of more important nobility who all seemed to favour dark oak walls and scads of leather-bound books or paintings of angry, droll relatives.
A portrait of her own mother hung above the fireplace in this room, and Elizabeth liked to gaze upon her face, which was kind and serene.
On more than one occasion, she had been told that she favoured her mother but for the strawberry-coloured curls atop her head.
Her reddish mane had come from her father.
Dalia Bennet, Lady Bennet to most, had been a beautiful woman with a compassionate soul, so it was said.
She was only three when her mother died in childbirth with her youngest sister, who had been lost as well.
Elizabeth was anything but calm now, though.
Due to being the only females in the room, she had been forced into conversation with the Right Honourable Lady Caroline Bingley, with whom Elizabeth had only passing acquaintance.
They had met at the dressmaker’s shop in Netherfield proper.
The dressmaker had fawned over the lady because she lived in the castle for which the village was named.
Elizabeth did not care where Lady Caroline lived.
She had the impression that the lady thought herself superior to those around her, and Elizabeth could not abide pomposity.
And the whole Netherfield party seemed to excel in the art of pomposity. Well, perhaps not Lord Charles Bingley. He just seemed rather indifferent. To everything.
Lord Bingley and High Lord Darcy were conversing with her father while she and Lady Caroline made small talk about the weather, each other’s gowns, and gardening.
When those topics were exhausted, they stood in an awkward silence that kept stretching before them like the gaping maw of some nightmare creature.
Elizabeth was about to throw herself out the window when Lord Darcy drew close.
Lady Caroline lit up immediately. How interesting.
“How are you both this evening?” Lord Darcy asked as if he had not ridden over in the same carriage as the Bingleys. His dark blue eyes were fixed upon Elizabeth as though Lady Caroline did not even exist.
Elizabeth was not inclined to answer, to let the gaping maw continue until it swallowed all the occupants in the room when Lord Lucas, Earl of Hemstroke, his wife, and his daughter, Lady Charlotte, Elizabeth’s closest friend appeared.
Her inward sigh of relief blew away the gaping maw as Elizabeth excused herself to welcome the new guests.
“Oh, Charlotte, I am so delighted you have come!” She grasped her friend’s hand. “You have saved me from tedious small talk with the—” she paused and put on her most haughty demeanour “—the Right Honourable Lady Caroline Bingley. Oh, and Lord Darcy, too.”
“Lizzy, you know better than speak so ill of people of their rank,” said Charlotte. “Especially since Lord Darcy is paying particular attention to you.”