Maybe Darcy, full of grief and anger over her refusal, would make an offer to Caroline, out of some sort of odd spite for himself and her.
Elizabeth’s blood ran cold.
Several people were jovially coming up the corridor, talking to each other.
With a flash of worry in her stomach, Elizabeth pulled her hand away from the handle, as though it burned. She did not want anyone to see Darcy and Caroline closeted together in the same room.
She hated the idea of people thinking that he might marry Caroline.
A properly large group — Charlie and Jane, Mama and Papa, Sir William and Lady Lucas.
Caroline’s maid Aliette was with them, and she banged her hand against the wall as she went along in front of the group. Colonel Fitzwilliam trailed behind, watching the maid each time she slapped her hand on the wall with a quizzical, thinking expression.
“Whatever is going on?” Elizabeth asked.
Charlie shrugged, “Apparently Caroline wished to interrupt the ball to discuss something significant.”
“But—” Elizabeth was confused. Had she also asked Mr. Darcy to come to the room to discuss whatever?
He put his hand on the brass knob of the library door, and opened it before Elizabeth could do anything.
Everyone gasped at the scene.
Elizabeth closed her eyes in pain.
Oh Caroline, you fool.
Somehow… somehow despite appearances Elizabeth was certain about what was happening.
Caroline stood near the door, her hair wild and part of her dress undone, her arms around Mr. Darcy, holding him in place.
He glared back at Caroline with the most fierce, brutally angry expression that Elizabeth had ever seen on a human face.
All paused; all silent.
Then Caroline shouted to Charlie, “Brother, see — see! You must make him marry me!”
Charlie swung his head back and forth, looking between them like a struck mule.
Jane’s eyes were wide and she glanced between everyone. Darcy stood tall. His piercing eyes studied the group. He briefly nodded to Colonel Fitzwilliam, who looked at Caroline with the same sadness that was in Elizabeth’s heart. Darcy’s eyes landed on her. His expression was as fierce as that of a deadly lion. And Elizabeth knew Caroline’s attempt would fail.
“He lured me in here with a note,” she added, “and then he kissed me!”
Darcy’s sneer was a magnificent thing.
“What, what!” Charlie exclaimed. “Darcy, is that true — even though my sister is infatuated, you can’t…”
Charlie’s words stumbled and stopped under Darcy’s glare.
Caroline repeated the accusation, like a demented mantra, “He kissed me! He kissed me! Look at my loosened hair. He kissed me.”
Sir William had an odd combination on his face of disgust and delight, glee and gravity. He rubbed his hands together, while Papa and Mama looked shocked.
“Darcy, I say, upon my honor,” Charlie drew himself up as tall as he could, “if you kissed Caroline, you’d best do good by her.”
“I did not. I will not. If you feel that you must defend your honor, I will be at your disposal tomorrow at dawn. Have your second make the arrangements with Colonel Fitzwilliam.”
Gasps.
