Elizabeth had been expecting it, but not so soon and not so directly. “My uncle and aunt were kind enough to offer us a change of scenery, ma’am. And with the Season underway, we thought it might be lively.”
The dowager's brows lifted, faintly amused. “How very diplomatic.” She tapped a finger against the arm of her chair, studying Elizabeth with a look of frank mischief. “And has it proved lively so far?”
“We have only arrived this week,” Elizabeth said evenly. “But there is promise.”
The dowager gave a hum that might have been agreement—or laughter.
“Well,” she said briskly, “I cannot promise to improve your fortunes dramatically, but I should be honored if you and your sister would accompany me to a musicale tomorrow evening. My friends the Harringtons host them with dreadful regularity. I believe it shall be tolerably crowded, abominably overheated, and only marginally out of tune.”
Jane looked startled. Elizabeth only blinked. “We were considering attending.”
“Then you must ride with me. I warn you,” the countess continued with mock solemnity, “most of the gentlemen will be either very married or very reluctant. They are dragged by their wives, poor souls. But not all of them,” she added, with a glance that made Elizabeth’s mouth twitch despite herself.
Mrs. Gardiner sat upright. “Lady Matlock, that is exceedingly kind—”
“Nonsense,” the dowager said, brushing it away with one gloved hand. “I have made up my mind. That is quite enough.”
Elizabeth had the distinct impression that several other minds had been made up in the process, whether or not their owners were aware of it.
They rose to see her out, the usual polite chorus of farewells beginning—
Only for the footman to open the drawing room door and pause in surprise.
A voice—deep, male, unmistakably familiar—sounded from the hall. “I thank you for receiving me, Mr. Gardiner.”
There was a flicker of motion beyond the door, and then—
“Fitzwilliam!” the dowager crowed.
Elizabeth stared.
Mr. Darcy himself stopped dead at the threshold.
He looked, for the first time since she had met him, entirely out of his depth. His eyes swept over the room, landing briefly on Elizabeth. He managed a stiff bow.
“Miss Bennet. Miss Elizabeth. Mrs. Gardiner.”
“Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth said, just managing not to laugh.
“I was not aware you had returned to Town,” he said, turning to his grandmother with the stiffness of a man reciting under duress.
“Naturally, no,” the dowager replied sweetly. “For I only arrived today. Did you not receive my note?”
“I—no.” Darcy’s glance darkened as he registered something. “Where is Georgiana?”
“Perfectly well,” the dowager said, pretending offense. “She is enjoying a long soak in your east chamber and being fed muffins. I, on the other hand, learned my grandson was gallivanting about London and not to be found at his house, so I thought it my duty to make calls while he was out.”
Elizabeth could not help it. She snorted—just once—but it was audible.
Darcy shot her a look that might have withered crops, but she only tilted her head innocently.
He cleared his throat. “You are already installed at Darcy House?”
“But of course,” the dowager sniffed. “You do not think I would stay with your uncle, do you? Always on about the furnishings and tapestries, he is. As if even the most expensive rugs are not made to be walked upon! I blame his father, God rest his soul.”
Elizabeth could not help it this time. She hiccuped in laughter and quickly covered her mouth.
Darcy narrowed his eyes and refused to look at her again. “I had… been considering certain investments,” he said vaguely. “And recalled an old… familial connection. I thought it proper to inquire after Mr. Gardiner.”
