There was no retreat.
And worst of all, she knew—knew—Darcy had been smiling when he said it.
Darcy wove through themilling crowd, his pulse hammering with each step. The soft buzz of conversation dimmed around him—he could only hear the steady clap of Lady Chiswell’s announcement. He twisted, searching every face for one set of eyes. Behind him, Richard nudged the dowager and grinned, loud enough for Darcy to hear.
“That was glorious. You absolutely left them speechless, cousin.”
Darcy had scarcely spoken the words when Lady Chiswell gave a delighted little gasp.
“Oh, splendid!” she crowed, waving the cream slip above her head like a prize ribbon. “And here I thought the author would remain a mystery—but it seems Mr. Darcy is not merely decorative. He has guessed correctly!”
Heads turned. A wave of whispers rippled through the gathering like wind through tall grass.
Elizabeth slipped out from behind the ficus.
Slowly. With the stiff grace of someone rising to face an execution—or perhaps just the aunt who brought her into theworld and still wielded moral disappointment like a sabre. Her chin lifted. Her expression gave nothing away, save for the faint flush blooming along her cheekbones.
Lady Chiswell beamed at her. “Miss Elizabeth Bennet, everyone! The only guest here with the gall to insult both firelight and scandal in a single stroke.”
Laughter broke, scattered and bright.
Darcy did not hear it. He was already moving.
His path bent around startled guests, around a toppled chair and a maid with a tray of tarts. The crowd had parted slightly, a natural deference to drama—or perhaps just to him—and she stood in its center, ringed by curiosity and candlelight.
He did not hesitate. He reached her.
She stared up at him, pulse visible at her throat, eyes wide and brimming with everything she had tried so hard to press down.
“You were smiling,” she said, bewildered. “You smiled when you said my name.”
“I was right.”
“And that pleased you?”
“It saved me.”
She blinked rapidly. Her gaze darted—once, twice—past his shoulder, scanning the crowd behind him. “But you…” Her voice caught. “I saw you. You walked in with someone. A woman.”
Darcy followed her glance, briefly confused. And then—understanding dawned. “My grandmother,” he said gently. “She refuses to be left behind when there is drama afoot.”
Elizabeth stared at him, as if waiting for the other shoe—or wife—to drop. “The turbaned one?”
“Yes.”
“Oh… I see her now.”
“Not a very romantic silhouette,” he added mildly, “but she does have excellent posture.”
Her breath stuttered, half-laugh, half-sob. She pressed a hand to her mouth, eyes wide with disbelief.
“There is no one else,” he said again, gently. “I did not marry.”
Elizabeth stared at him, struggling to process it. “Then—Miss Ashford?”
He exhaled. “Her father withdrew her hand. Said it would not do to be associated with scandal. My saving grace, really, because the truth is—I ought to have done it myself. Long before that. I certainlywantedto.”
“You?” Her brows shot up. “Give up a contract?”
