They walked in almost musical accord; she leading the way, but still seemingly deferring to his guidance. He held the door for her, and she playfully sashayed under his arm. “You have to promise to close your eyes until I tell you it is safe.”
He stood inside the door, probably grinning like an idiot, his eyes closed but his ears and his senses alert.
“Miss de Bourgh?” he heard Elizabeth say. “May I present a gallant knight who begs to wait upon his lady’s pleasure?”
“Gallant knight?” Anne answered in bemusement. “Why, it is only Darcy, and he is not a knight. My father was. I thought I had explained titles to you, Mrs Fitzwilliam.”
Somewhere to his left, he was certain he heard Georgiana snicker, and Elizabeth’s voice sounded artificially subdued when she answered, “Oh, dear, I must have forgotten. Is it quite safe for Mr Darcy to come in?”
“About time he did, I should say,” the dowager replied. “And what was keeping you, Elizabeth? We have looked for you this hour past. Poor child, I do hope you have not been out of sorts.”
Darcy was approaching by now, and did not miss the uncomfortable twinge that passed over Elizabeth’s face before it smoothed and she replied, “Not at all, my lady.”
“Good, good. Oh, Darcy, we want your opinion about the Rector. Now if you marry at Saint James’, you could have Joseph McCormick perform the ceremony. He was so famous at Cricket; do you not think that would draw a fine audience? Oh, not to mention he is the Queen’s own chaplain, of course, so that would be some distinction. Now, about the date—”
Darcy made a silent groan in his throat. He tried to catch Anne’s attention to see if his betrothed made any objections to their wedding becoming a society circus, but she only listened to the countess’s plans and nodded, as if bored. Occasionally, he noticed some stirring from Elizabeth, as her eyes would dart to the window and she would fidget somewhat. Whenever he caught her, she would look dutifully to the countess again.
There was nothing for it but to listen politely and agree with everything the countess proposed. Each time she stopped and asked his opinion, he gave it earnestly, but more often than not, she already had her own idea and merely desired him to repeat it. He did not go near the table covered with fashion plates himself. Even if there had been room for him between Georgiana, the countess, the dowager, and Jane Bennet all crowding around, his input would be neither helpful nor welcome.
“Elizabeth, why are you hanging back by the tea cart?” the countess asked at length. “Here, tell me what you think of this skirt pattern. Anne approves, but I think our Anne would wear sackcloth to the altar just to have it over and done with.”
“Sackcloth?” Anne protested. “I am not racing to the church, and I do not mean to arrive in anything distasteful. Honestly, Sheila, you do imagine the most absurd notions, and then represent them as fact.”
“Not at all, Anne,” the countess sallied. “The trouble is, you have no appreciation for a bit of ribbing. I am only in jest—Elizabeth and Jane understand me, do you not?” she asked of the latter two.
“Of course, my lady,” Elizabeth replied, “but it is perfectly reasonable for Miss de Bourgh to address the matter of her wedding with all seriousness.”
“Oh, very well,” the Lady Matlock sighed. “If we are to be so staid and humourless, do you not think Anne would look fetching with a half-sleeve? Your sister suggested lace just over the bottom edges here, and Georgiana favours a bit of green ribbon at the seams of her travelling cape. And she must have a white hat, as I hear those will be all the fashion next summer.”
Elizabeth leaned nearer to see the samples the countess was pointing out, then offered an approximation of a smile. To be sure, her teeth showed, and her cheeks dimpled, but there was a void somewhere behind her eyes that Darcy saw, and wondered at.
“I believe Miss de Bourgh would look lovely whatever she wore,” Elizabeth answered.
“Now, that is just what Darcy always says, but that is his excuse to avoid giving an opinion. I look for better from you. What do you think of this detail work on the puffed part of the sleeve?”
Despite Lady Matlock’s insistence, Elizabeth hung back, a dusky hint to her cheeks as she made her excuses. “I beg your pardon, my lady, but I was never an expert on fashion, and surely everyone else knows far more than I.”
“Pish posh, it’s not about what you know, but what you like. You have eyes, do you not?”
“But my tastes are not the same as Miss de Bourgh’s, nor is my figure after the same style, so what I would choose would probably be just the opposite of what she would prefer.”
“Have you no imagination, child?” This time, it was the dowager who spoke. “I know that for a falsehood, after the tales you have told me. Come, the dressmaker is here and awaiting instructions.”
“You had better step in there,” Darcy urged her. “She will never let up until you do.”
Elizabeth offered him a smile of surrender, but it was nothing like the camaraderie they had enjoyed a few moments earlier. She obediently moved to the table and participated in the ensuing conversation, but she said perhaps one word to everyone else’s ten.
Chapter 27
Wyoming
May 1900
Fitzwilliamstifledayawnand glanced at his pocket watch. The sheriff had been closeted with the mayor—who was firmly on Miss Elizabeth’s side—and Mr Silas Bryson at the jail for hours, and it was now nearly dawn. Mr Bennet had arrived some while ago, looking haggard and grey. He spoke not a word of remonstrance, but merely took his daughter’s hand and held it as he sat beside her, his eyes moist.
Mrs Bennet heard the news with the very greatest anguish, and after an hour of wringing her hands and wailing to all about the injustice of the circumstances and her daughter’s impetuous, unladylike propensities, she was sent back to the house “to rest.” Mary escorted her mother home, as well as Kitty and Lydia—the latter having been discovered hiding inside the warehouse, her pockets full of liquorice candies.
Mr Gardiner had questioned Lydia rather closely, demanding the truth of her whereabouts and destination all that evening. Richard overheard much of their conversation—as did everyone else—and there could be no doubt that Lydia had, indeed, intended some sort of assignation with Bryson. The foolish girl! Likely, she thought it would amount to nothing more than a few stolen kisses and a flirtation! Richard snorted in approval when Lydia was stripped of all her privileges and sent home with the promise that her elder sisters would lock her in her bedroom until their uncle returned.
