“Good evening, Miss Elizabeth,” the Earl said, a slight bow of his head given as he came to stand.
“Good evening, Lord Brayburn; has your head improved?” Elizabeth asked as she took her seat, the gentlemen following suit.
“Not its source,” he answered cryptically. “However, the ache has lessened.”
Shifting in her seat as she sought to puzzle out the man’s meaning, Elizabeth’s gaze turned toward Mr. Thomson as his voice raised across the table.
“A traitor,” he growled, Elizabeth’s eyes growing wide as his hand came down on the table with a thud, the rattle of dishes drawing the attention of many. “His grandfather spied on the British, you know; he was a traitor, and what is worse, I hear that the man’s son was no better.HEmay not have spied on the British, what with the war having ended and all, but his sympathies lay with that ‘fools nation!’ I would be surprised if such feelings did not reside in the newest master of Pemberley. He grew up there, you know, across the sea. Worse still, he waited until there were rumours of war before he returned… earning a place amongst us so he might emulate the role of his grandfather, if you take my meaning.”
“How awful,” Miss Edmund said, hand coming to her chest as her eyes darted toward Mr. Darcy. “Do you think we are safe?”
Safe? As if Mr. Darcy would harm anyone,Elizabeth’s thoughts roared as she glanced between them and the stoic gentleman beside her.What gall! Injuring a man’s reputation while seated at the same table. Few of them knew Darcy well, but even if this history of his family were true, blaming him for those who were dead felt… ridiculous. Wrong.
“Worry not,” Mr. Thomson remarked, hand boldly coming to rest on Miss Edmund’s. “I shall remain alert. No one will harm you… I will see to that.”
Sitting back in her seat, the scowl Elizabeth wore rested in full opposition to the awe resting upon Miss Edmund’s–the woman had been drawn in as a lamb to the slaughter.
She would keep an eye on the pair, but there would be little she could do to help Miss Edmund if help were not wanted… and if the tale remained real in the young lady’s mind, then any who chose friendship with Mr. Darcy and his circle would be without trust.
Gulping, Elizabeth could hear Mr. Thomson’s defamatory speech echo in her mind, twisting its way deep within.Did she believe him? About Darcy being a spy? No. That was unlikely. The rest? That was harder to judge.
Harder to know if it mattered.
“Pemberley?” Colonel Fitzwilliam uttered darkly. “You speak of my cousin then, it seems,MisterThomson. I would have thought gossip to be beneath any man; let alone one who has designs toward being a gentleman.”
“Fitz,” Darcy said softly, his head shaking as he sought to calm his cousin.
“Gossip? No. Fact. I will forgive your remark however, Colonel…” Mr. Thomson sneered, “such manners must be expected from a man in your profession. Your outburst this afternoon lends credence to that.”
“Ah, the white soup,” Lady Charmane interrupted, though the two men continued to incite the battle with their eyes. “My housekeeper and I discussed a new addition to its flavouring. Veal and the typical delights of course, with a new spice from Bombay. Do try it!”
Thus, each of her guests obeyed her directive, the soft sounds of dipping spoons and sipping the only noises to be had.
To her left Mr. Darcy sat unnaturally straight and stiff, his face a blank, though Elizabeth could have sworn his jaw twitched. Further down the expanse and across, Colonel Fitzwilliam’s fingers clenched around his spoon, his eyes cutting down the row to Mr. Thomson; the wicked man proud as a peacock and flirting shamelessly with Miss Edmund as conversation at last resumed.
Horrid little,Elizabeth began to think uncharitably of Mr. Thomson, until the deep, quiet voice of Mr. Darcy drew her gaze and thoughts.
“Please, Miss Elizabeth… do not distress yourself.” His lips curling, he added, “If you continue to stare at Mr. Thomson with such fierceness, he may yet call you out. Though I would gladly take your place were he to do so, dueling is illegal you know.”
Shoulders easing, Elizabeth let out an unsteady laugh. “Has that improved my countenance? Might we avoid a duel?”
“No duels,” he agreed, his voice growing soft as he continued, “To your countenance, in all its veins I have found no fault. Though, I readily profess, its manner in this moment is first in those I have beheld.”
Dipping her head, Elizabeth gulped.How had they come to this? From anger and frustration at Mr. Thomson… to… to quiet words and compliments, and with the very man Mr. Thomson had maligned.
With Mr. Darcy.
“Elizabeth,” Mary’s voice carried from her place by the Colonel, “would you mind terribly if Colonel Fitzwilliam, Mr. Bingley, Jane, and myself were to go riding again tomorrow? You are welcome to come, of course… only, I know how much you dislike handling horses.”
With a nervous chuckle Elizabeth reached for her glass, the eyes of those around her, including the handsome Mr. Darcy, turned toward her.Fear mingled with a simple disinterest in the art of riding had kept her almost exclusively on the ground, yet… Mr. Darcy. He had declined riding earlier–his prerogative–but she felt keenly that he had done so to spare her the quiet awkwardness of her not joining. Of being alone.
Should she decline now, he almost certainly would do the same. She could endure a day or so of riding during their stay.
Stomach twisting and chest tight within her, Elizabeth returned her glass to the table.She could do this.
“I do dislike it… though I… I am of a mind to see if I can remember how to do so. It has been some time since I agreed to; two years, perhaps?”
“Nearer three,” Mary frowned, her piercing gaze reading Elizabeth with all the ease their closeness as friends and sisters allowed.
