24. Falling after Flying #3
“The nomination for the county seat. The one his family has held for three generations. It requires the sponsorship of the great houses—the Devonshires, the Portlands, the network of Whig lords who control the pocket boroughs. That sponsorship depends on family connections, on marriages that strengthen the alliance, on wives whose names carry weight in the drawing rooms where political decisions are actually made.” Anne’s voice was relentless, even as she took great gulping breaths between the words.
“My mother has been cultivating those connections for twenty years. Lady Matlock has been positioning her sons accordingly. Darcy was meant to marry a woman who would advance the family’s political interests. ”
“But I wasn’t aware he wanted a position in Parliament.”
“No. You did not. Because Darcy does not speak of his ambitions. He considers it vulgar to discuss one’s aspirations before they are achieved.
” Anne’s mouth curved in something that was not quite a smile.
“He has been practicing speeches since he was a boy—reads the Parliamentary proceedings with his coffee, marking the debates he would have contributed to, annotating the bills he would have supported or opposed. His father was elected to the House of Commons by his connections to the Matlocks through marrying my aunt.”
Elizabeth stared at her. The image of Darcy, young and earnest, practicing speeches in his father’s library, preparing for a future he might never claim, was almost unbearably poignant.
“How can I fix this?”
“The damage is done, Miss Bennet. You cannot unsay what you said in the supper room, but the memory of the ton is fickle. If Darcy marries well, then all would be forgotten and forgiven.”
“Meaning he marries you?”
Here, Anne smiled wanly, shaking her head.
“Despite my mother’s wishes, our family does not exert enough pull for Parliamentary ambitions.
Darcy requires a lady like Miss Amelia Elveden, daughter of a Marquis.
My aunt, Lady Matlock, is the true power broker, not my mother, who rules only over Rosings Park and that hapless parson of hers. ”
Elizabeth found herself speechless. She had never, in her entire life, wished for the destruction of Darcy—not even when he had belittled her.
Anne stood, smoothing the silk of her skirts. “I have perhaps said too much. I shall leave you to your reflections. But I suggest you consider whether your happiness is worth the destruction of his.”
“No, Miss de Bourgh, you have been most informative.” Elizabeth refastened Anne’s gown at a looser setting, smoothing the silk. “I thank you.”
“As I do you.” Anne hesitated, then gave Elizabeth’s hand a brief, firm squeeze.
“I am not your enemy, Miss Bennet. But I do share your concern for Mr. Darcy. He values his family above all—his father’s honor, his mother’s memory, and his sister.
And he respects my mother and my uncle, the Earl.
We were… stunned when we heard he had supplanted his eldest cousin, the Viscount, for a spot on your card. ”
She paused, her eyes searching Elizabeth’s face.
“I understand his nature, though. He is a man who cannot abide a woman being publicly slighted. It was likely a gesture of misplaced chivalry—ensuring your gentle introduction into Society because you were, as he saw it, unacquainted with the formidable nature of men like Lord Coke.”
With that, Miss de Bourgh coughed gently into her glove, offered a composed nod, and left the retiring room.
Elizabeth sat, unmoving, long after the door closed.
Her chest felt hollowed out. So this was the ground—harder than she’d imagined, all the wind knocked from her.
Darcy’s ambitions and her own desires, hopelessly at odds.
Was this love? Wanting him so much she’d torch his world just to hold his hand for one waltz?
She stared at her hands, pale against the chair’s dark wood.
She wanted to be the noble heroine who walked away, but the truth was sharp and selfish: she didn’t want the Marquis’s daughter to win.
She wanted the man who slowed his stride for her plain sister.
But she could not stay—not if it meant dragging him down with her.
The corridor was blessedly dim after the glare of the supper room.
Elizabeth pressed her back to the cool wall, stealing a moment to collect herself.
She would return to the supper room. She would drink her wine, eat her quail, converse with the ladies, and repeat the story Anne had provided—the aristocratic cover.
Mr. Darcy was merely chivalrous. She was Lady Sophia’s ward, and he was simply protecting her—a country mouse amongst city cats.
“Miss Bennet.”
The voice came from behind, from the darker end of the corridor where the candles had not been replaced. “I had hoped to find you alone.”
Lord Coke emerged from the shadows, cravat askew, eyes gleaming with too much claret.
“I believe I shall return to the ballroom,” Elizabeth said, attempting to step around him, but he moved closer in a way that made retreat difficult without obvious flight.
“You have had a difficult evening. The supper room was unkind. I thought you might benefit from the company of someone who understands your situation.”
“Lord Coke, I do not require your condolences.” Elizabeth cast her gaze toward the supper room, looking for Anne or any other lady she might join.
“Your situation may not be as dire as you imagine,” Lord Coke drawled, his words slurring.
“It is quite recoverable, although your options have narrowed considerably. The plight of a woman who presumes above her station can only be rescued by—” His gaze traveled over her with an assessment that made her want to step back. “—a man who finds her delightful.”
“Lord Coke, I think you should return to the ballroom.”
“As should you.” He offered his arm. “The dancing has commenced, and I believe the rest of the names on your card have abandoned their post. The weeping Arthurs will no longer call. The respectable second sons will look elsewhere—such an uncomfortable position for a woman who clearly enjoys dancing.”
Elizabeth’s back was pressed to the cold wall. “Lord Coke, you should step away. I am feeling unwell.”
“A shame.” He pursed his lips, his gaze dropping to her throat. “A robust country miss needing air, perhaps?”
“Your mother disapproves of me,” Elizabeth said, her voice steady despite the hammer of her pulse. “She will not be pleased to see me on your arm.”
“Oh, but she does not have to see, does she?” He stood so close she could smell the port on his breath.
“I watched you waltz with him tonight. I watched how closely you danced, how intimately you spoke, how transparent your feelings were to anyone with eyes. I confess, it made me want you more. The passion you displayed for Darcy—I should very much like to see that passion directed toward me.”
“You should step away, my lord.”
“I should like to know what you taste like when you are not performing composure.” He caught her wrist. “I believe you are finished, Miss Bennet. Fifteen thousand pounds gone to waste. I shall keep you.”
“I think not.” The voice came from the doorway, hard as Derbyshire granite. “Unhand her, Cousin.”
Darcy strode toward Coke, fists clenched, eyes locked on his cousin with a look that promised trouble.
“Cousin.” Lord Coke released Elizabeth’s wrist and turned, but his posture held no apology. “I was merely offering Miss Bennet my consolations. She has had a difficult evening.”
“Remove yourself.”
“She is not your property, Darcy. She made that clear when she announced to the entire supper room that she had claimed you. A woman who claims one man without invitation might claim another. I was merely exploring the possibility.”
“She is mine. I claimed her before she ever set foot in town. Now leave.”