Darcy clawed for purchase, found the edge of the desk, tried to haul himself up.
Wickham kicked him back down.
“Stay down, Darcy. It is where you belong.”
Darcy coughed, blood in his mouth.
And Wickham, smirking now, stepped over him—then kicked his hat aside as he sauntered out the door.
Chapter Thirty-Three
July 2, 1812
LadyElizabethMontclairhadalways been strategic in her social engagements—raised to understand, as she was, the nuances of rank and influence. A simple morning call could topple an alliance or create a stir that would reverberate throughout London for weeks.
Thus, when she resolved to reconnect with Lady Julia Fitzwilliam, daughter of the Earl of Matlock, it was with deliberate intent, careful planning… and no little chagrin.
She had not called on Lady Julia in more than a year—not since that brief friendship during her first season. It had not ended in acrimony; rather, Elizabeth had simply found the girl uninteresting. Too dull. Too prim. And altogether too pleased with herself for keeping her cousin Georgiana perpetually underfoot. Still, Julia was well-connected, easy to impress, and—most importantly—the daughter of an earl… an earl who happened to be Darcy’s uncle.
Elizabeth did not need tolikeher. She just needed to gain her trust.
The carriage rocked slightly as it came to a stop, the horses snorting. A footman opened the door, and Elizabeth stepped down without hesitation, skirts brushing the stone. She did not pause to adjust her gloves or glance up at the windows. She simply walked to the door and knocked.
The butler, upon recognizing her, executed a deep bow. “Lady Elizabeth Montclair, an unexpected pleasure. Her ladyship is in the music room. May I announce you?”
“Thank you,” Elizabeth replied sweetly. “However, I had hoped to see Lady Julia. I hope my unanticipated visit does not inconvenience her.”
“Not in the least, my lady. Lady Julia always welcomes your company. She is in the drawing room.”
As she was guided through the familiar corridors, Elizabeth’s eyes flitted over the portraits lining the walls—generations of Fitzwilliams, each rendered in oil and shadow. She searched their faces without meaning to. The arch of a brow, the curve of a mouth. Did that gentleman resemble Darcy about the eyes? Did that lady carry his sister’s gentle expression? These were his people. His mother’s blood. Elizabeth had passed through this house before without giving them a second glance. Now, they felt like echoes. A family she might have called her own.
The drawing-room doors were opened, revealing Lady Julia seated by the fireplace, an embroidery hoop in hand. At Elizabeth’s entrance, she set aside her work, a genuine smile gracing her features.
“Lady Elizabeth!” she greeted, rising gracefully. “What a delightful surprise.”
Elizabeth curtsied subtly. “Lady Julia, I hope I do not intrude upon your morning.”
“Not at all. Please, sit.”
As they settled, a maid appeared with tea, the delicate clinking of porcelain filling the brief silence.
“It has been some time since our last meeting,” Elizabeth began, accepting a cup.
Lady Julia nodded, her eyes full of more curiosity than her words let on. “Indeed. I heard you were at the theatre recently. I saw an opera last week, so it seems the Season has kept us all engaged. How have you fared?”
“Well enough,” Elizabeth replied, with that practiced smile her mother had taught her. Lady Julia was fishing for gossip about Prince Nikolaos, but Elizabeth had more interesting topics in mind. “However, I have decided I do not care for the theatre. It is not for lack of effort on my part, I assure you. I simply do not prefer it.”
Lady Julia’s lips drew together in a bow, and her brows climbed upward. “Indeed? Why, half of London saw that engraving of you and… oh, some gentleman or other, I can hardly keep them straight. It looked as though you were enjoying yourselves tremendously.”
“Artistic license, I am afraid. No, I have recently taken an interest in the musical arts. I can play, to be sure, but I rather prefer to listen to others.”
“Do you?” Lady Julia sipped her tea nonchalantly. “I am content with either. However, Viscount Bromley has asked me to play so often when we are in company that I think I might come to agree with you.”
Elizabeth smiled at that thinly veiled bit of false modesty. “Oh, but you are not the only musician in the house, at least. I recall that your cousin—whatever was her name, dear? She was rather accomplished.”
Lady Julia set down her cup with a flourish. “Georgiana, yes. She is a dear girl,” she said. “Though I daresay Mother has kept her too often alone—at her brother’s request, I am afraid. She has been permitted precious little society.”
Elizabeth lowered her cup. Ah, they were getting tohimalready. This would be easier, even, than she had hoped. “I do not recall you mentioning that she had a brother.”
