Darcy, who had been standing still so long his fingers had gone cold, felt something ease in his chest for the first time that day. A flicker of amusement caught him off guard, sharp and uninvited. He fought it down—but not fast enough. The corner of his mouth betrayed him. It was the first time he had smiled in days, and it felt like a splinter cracking through frost.
The dowager flicked her gaze toward him. “Now. I understand congratulations are in order. Miss Ashford, is it?”
Darcy’s smile vanished. He gave a nod, curt and entirely devoid of pleasure.
Lady Catherine made a sound of derision, something between a cough and a scoff.
The dowager’s brow arched. She would—always catching the shifts in his demeanor like a hunter scenting a change in wind. “Hm,” she said, too lightly. “Well done. You have confounded your uncle, your aunt, and most certainly yourself. I shall send the girl a handkerchief—she will need something to wave in surrender.”
Lady Catherine’s mouth opened, then closed again. For once, she had no rebuttal.
The dowager gestured toward the sideboard. “Now, my dear Anne, let us call for tea, and perhaps something to eat before your mother declares a duel.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
24 December
“Well,” said Mr. Gardiner,peering out the carriage window as they slowed, “this street looks particularly cheerful tonight. I believe every townhouse has put on its best holly.”
“It must have heard about my engagement,” Elizabeth said. “London does love a timely bit of gossip.”
Mrs. Gardiner chuckled. “If Mr. Bingley had not already planned a gathering, then fate has been unusually cooperative. It is a pleasant thing, to be seen when the news is still fresh—and in such cheerful company.”
“Fortunate indeed,” Elizabeth murmured, adjusting her gloves. “What better season to parade one’s private decisions in public?”
“Do not be cross, Lizzy,” Jane said gently. “You know everyone means to be kind. Oh, only think how delighted Mama will be when she reads you letter!”
Elizabeth stifled a groan. Her mother would cry, faint, and promptly take credit for the engagement—as if she had personally tied the Captain to the bannister and demanded his intentions. “She shall be inconsolable with joy. I expect a reply at any moment—likely hand-delivered with fainting salts.”
Mr. Gardiner chuckled. “Mrs. Bennet, silenced by happiness. A rare and glorious day, indeed.”
“A pity your parents could not be here for tonight.” Aunt Gardiner laughed softly and leaned forward to adjust the hem of her glove. “Still, it is an ideal arrangement. A cozy gathering, just fashionable enough. No formal announcement, no pressure—just enough time for London to see the two of you together and form their own very favorable conclusions.”
“Indeed,” Elizabeth murmured. “Let us give them a spectacle. Preferably one with refreshments.”
“You are too modest,” her aunt said, patting her hand. “He is not without distinction—and neither are you, my love. And as for Captain Marlowe’s haste—well. I have always said the navy rewards initiative.”
“Yes,” Elizabeth said carefully. “And the admiralty values a well-set dinner table. A promotion and a parlor—what more could a man desire?”
“I only meant—”
“I know.” She pressed her gloved fingers to her temple, then smiled. “Forgive me. My wrap is making me too warm, I fear.”
Beside her, Jane adjusted her wrap and gave Elizabeth a look so gentle it nearly undid her. “You will be so happy, Lizzy,” she whispered. “Truly. I knew it the moment he looked at you in the music room. He sees you.”
Yes,Elizabeth thought grimly,and like any good sailor, he had checked the weather, measured the risk, and dropped anchor.Elizabeth turned to the window. Outside, the city glowed—gaslight flickering in puddles, frost silvering the corners of the panes. “He sees precisely what he means to see. A suitable wife. A sensible girl with no fortune and no inconvenient attachments.”
“You are not being fair.”
“No,” Elizabeth said. “But I am being accurate.”
Mr. Gardiner tapped the roof with his cane as the carriage slowed to a stop. “Ah, here we are. Look at that—ivy trimmed and lanterns lit. Very tidy, quite cheerful.”
Elizabeth drew a breath and arranged her features.
They pulled up in front of townhouse the Bingleys and Hursts had leased for the Season—a cheerful, narrow structure with ivy trimmed smartly around the windows and warm lamplight spilling from every pane. The footman opened the door.
Elizabeth stepped down, smoothed her cloak, and followed her family up the shallow steps. Then the door opened.
