He caught my hand, and we stepped around each other. “The writing quill?”
I grinned, then gave an innocent shrug. “It seemed to suit the person she meant to give it to. I do not recall being given any guidelines on what was to be purchased.”
We faced one another, and… was that mirth dancing in his eyes? “I did not think it necessary at the time. I wonder, now.”
“Well, the outing was notmyidea, so I suppose any regret is yours alone to bear,“ I said blithely.
We turned again, his arm at my waist as he looked down from mere inches away. “Who said anything about regret?”
I blinked, my breath squeaking to a halt in my chest. Gracious, wheredidMr. Darcy find that sultry voice? Oh, this was not fair at all. Charlotte’s fault—this was Charlotte’s fault, somehow. If I had not been so insistent on seeking a gentleman for her, I would have been more able to avoid—
“Miss Elizabeth?”
I swallowed. Gulped, actually. “Yes?”
He dipped his head lower and whispered into my ear. “You are standing on my foot.”
I gasped and lurched away, but his arm caught me before I could stumble into the next couple. “Goodness, sir! What can you mean by speaking to me and holding me in such an intimate manner?”
“I wastryingnot to let you be embarrassed,“ he said dryly. “Or injured.”
“Too late for that. Perhaps we ought simply to dance without trying to talk.”
He frowned and tipped his head in agreement. “As you wish.”
And so, we did. We finished the dance with no more words spoken, but he never did stop staring at me. And, I confess, I must have been staring back, because I don’t remember much else.
Mr.VanderMeerwas a much less vexing partner. We laughed quite merrily, and all about silly things like the temperamental snowfalls or the tune of a particular song. Nothing of consequence that would test my mind much, so I permitted myself simply to relax and be easy. Oh, I was not immune to the jealous glances of other ladies in the room—one of them being Miss Bingley—but I could not trouble myself to care. Why should I? It was not as if I meant to steal our eligible host away for myself. Besides, he did not seem the man to lose his heart on the dance floor. He was polite and flirtatious with everyone.
The dance ended with a deep curtsey and polite applause. I thanked Mr. Van der Meer as he led me to the edge of the floor once more. Then I sought out Charlotte, keen to commence my matchmaking for the evening. But as I slipped through the crowds, strains of hushed conversation gave me pause.
“Those Bennet girls are pretty enough, I suppose, but have you seen their gowns? Muslin that has grown almost transparent from so much use, and last season’s lace—no fashion whatsoever.”
My steps faltered, but I refused to look as if I had heard, so I pressed on.
“And the older one, what’s her name... Miss Lucas? Poor dear wanders about like a specter. An absolute fright. It is not merely the question of whether she is on the shelf, but how high of a ladder was required to put her there!” This was followed by a titter of voices, and my ears burned. If they only knew…
“Positively countrified. Whatcanthey mean by making such a spectacle of themselves? Setting their caps for the likes of Mr. Darcy and Mr. Van der Meer? Utter foolishness.”Thatsounded like Caroline Bingley’s voice.
I started walking faster, trying to leave the voices behind me, but one more stung like a lash. “Oh, but the worst is that younger sister. I hear she thinks of herself as quite the wit, but she is deceived if she thinks she can turn Mr. Darcy’s headthatway. I know for a fact that he prefers a lady of breeding and decorum.”
“You do?” Miss Bingley asked. “Has he said as much?”
“Why, yes, he did. Only this evening, he said that very thing to me, as a matter of fact, and I—“
I heard no more. My cheeks were burning, and if they had not seen me yet, they would soon, if I tried to go to Jane or Charlotte. The whispers floated just out of sight, their sources obscured by fans and gloved hands. The room was full of Caroline Bingleys—so full, it seemed, that there was no place for people like me. Like Jane, with her sweetness, or Charlotte with her patient goodness. I doubt not that if I had lingered, I would have heard slights of my aunt and uncle in the next breath—even here, at a party hosted by a man whose wealth had been built in trade!
I abandoned my hopes for mistletoe for Charlotte and took a glass of wine from a passing footman. The fire’s warmth could not thaw the disappointment freezing my heart. Perhaps this night was not meant to be the stuff of Charlotte’s dreams. Mine, either. I sighed deeply, the weight of failure pressing upon my shoulders. The grand room suddenly felt claustrophobic, the laughter and gaiety now grating on my senses.
I needed air. Setting my barely touched wine on the mantel, I slipped through the French doors and out to the terrace.
15
24 December
Thenightembracedmein its cool solace. I breathed deeply, letting the silence settle my rattled nerves. Above, the inky sky glittered with a thousand distant stars. Their twinkling seemed to mock my fanciful notions of romance and happy endings. Life was not like the novels where misunderstandings were tidily resolved and every heroine got her heart’s desire.
No, real life was complicated. Cruel, even. My efforts to orchestrate a perfect moment for Charlotte now seemed foolish. Naïve. Who was I to play fate? I shivered, though not from the cold. No, it was the chill of disillusionment. Of dreams extinguished.
