“Mr Darcy, how delightful to see you again!” Miss Fairchild gushed, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. “Are you looking forward to the upcoming season?”
“Indeed, Miss Fairchild. It promises to be quite eventful.” The words felt hollow, his smile forced.
“Oh, Mr Darcy, you must tell me—have you heard about the latest soirées in London? They say Lady Wentworth’s gatherings are simply the talk of the town! Shall you grace any of them with your presence this Season?”
“I have heard mention of them,” Darcy replied, maintaining his polite facade. “Her soirées are indeed quite renowned.”
“Absolutely! Just last week, she hosted a delightful evening where everyone was in attendance. Lord Bellamy was there, regaling everyone with tales of his travels. Have you met him?”
“Only in passing,” Darcy said, his interest mildly piqued. “He does have quite the reputation for storytelling.”
“Oh, and Lady Montague was simply dazzling in her wit. She had everyone in stitches with her clever repartees. Have you had the pleasure of her company?”
“On occasion,” Darcy admitted. “She is indeed quite... engaging.”
Miss Fairchild’s face lit up. “And then there was Sir Hamilton, who always has the most intriguing insights on politics. Do you follow his opinions, Mr Darcy?”
“I have read some of his work,” Darcy said, his mind already wandering so much that he hardly knew what he was saying. “His perspectives are certainly... thought-provoking.”
“And Lady Whitcomb, with her sharp tongue and keen observations! She can cut through any pretence with just a glance. She must be someone you appreciate?” She fluttered her eyelashes, clearly expecting agreement.
“She is a formidable presence,” Darcy agreed, his gaze scanning the room for Richard’s face.
“And let us not forget Mr Hargrove, who is always so charming and well-spoken. Do you enjoy his company?” She leaned in, clearly eager for his response.
Darcy hesitated, seeking a neutral reply. “Mr Hargrove is indeed a notable conversationalist.”
Miss Fairchild continued to prattle on about various social figures, her words blending into a blur of names and anecdotes. Darcy glanced occasionally at the clock on the far wall. Blast, where had Richard got to? His cousin ought to have saved him by now. How was he to extricate himself from this clingy conversation without seeming rude? So much for his head not hurting.
“Do you not agree, Mr Darcy?” Miss Fairchild’s voice cut through his reverie.
“Indeed,” he said automatically, hoping it was an appropriate response.
“Oh, I knew you would! You always have such impeccable taste,” she gushed. “I shall be certain to look for you there, and as I recall, you prefer light blue?” She fluttered her fan, sending him a coquettish smile over the edge. “I hope you shall be able to recognize me in my costume.”
Darcy squinted. What the devil had he just agreed to? Not some blasted masque. Surely not… “I am sure it will be... memorable, Miss Fairchild,” Darcy said, his smile strained.Oh, bollocks. There went the pain behind his left eye again.
“Mr Darcy?” a new voice interrupted. Miss Emily Tolland curtsied, her gaze fixed on him with unnerving intensity. “What a happy coincidence to see you here this evening. I hope you remember our dance at the last ball?”
“Of course, Miss Tolland,” he replied, though the memory was faint and unremarkable. “It was a pleasant evening.”
“It was indeed,” she said, her tone suggesting a shared intimacy that did not exist. “I look forward to dancing with you again this season.”
Even as Miss Tolland and Miss Fairchild were sending one another faintly territorial glances—masked by smiles, of course—Miss Delilah Hill approached, her mother trailing closely behind. “Mr Darcy, it is always a pleasure,” she simpered, batting her eyelashes.
“Miss Hill,” he acknowledged. “And Mrs Hill. A pleasure to see you again.”
“Likewise, Mr Darcy,” Miss Hill assured him with a radiant smile and an elegant curtsy. “I do hope you received the invitation for our musicale next week. His Lordship is all anticipation, and I know how it would please him to hear your opinions on the cellist.”
“I am afraid I have a previous engagement.” Darcy’s eyes caught something over the lady’s shoulder just then, and he seized on that flash of red until its wearer turned around.By heaven, there he was. Whatever wicked whim had made Richard abandon him to the mercy of a bevvy of debutantes, his little joke was over now.
He turned his attention briefly back to the gaggle of ladies now gathered around. “I beg you to excuse me, ladies, but I must speak with Colonel Fitzwilliam. It has been a pleasure.” He clasped one hand behind his back, made a short bow, and cut through them in pursuit of his cousin.
But even as he made his way across the room, Miss Anne Morton intercepted him. Darcy stifled a groan and forced a smile. Blast it, smiling made his head pound even worse.
“Mr Darcy, how fortuitous to find you alone,” she said sweetly as she stepped into his path. “I hope you are meaning to dance this evening?”
“I am not certain, Miss Morton.”
