The room seemed quieter all at once, though no one else had fallen silent. Blissfully in love. Ignoring the world. The words struck closer than he liked.
“And how would your parents react if Bramley did something similar?”
“They have begun to believe he will never marry, and so I am uncertain what they would do. My mother would be torn between cheering loudly and exclaiming in dismay. In the end, they would be happy to have the title secured, I think.” Richard popped a bite of food in his mouth.
Darcy said nothing. He once more had a great deal to ponder.
The scandal Richard described was precisely the sort his aunt feared—and precisely the sort that, once weathered, lefthappiness intact and society merely bored. Darcy found the realization unsettling.
He had defied Lady Catherine. He had rejected a union that promised ease, wealth, and approval. And now, confronted with a man who had chosen affection over advantage and survived it, Darcy could no longer pretend the path he wished to avoid did not exist.
The question was not whether such a marriage could be endured.
It was whether he was brave enough to choose it.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“His Royal Highness awaits you in the blue parlor. See that you are ready quickly.”
The tone admitted no delay, no question of convenience—only obedience.
“Thank you.” She pulled off her gloves and bonnet and handed them to the butler. “Baker is upstairs. I shall make myself presentable.” She walked Carlton House’s long hallway to the stairs, where she quickly made her way to her usual room. She and Princess Charlotte were kept in the same wing—a different wing than the Prince Regent, thankfully. They had that section of the house largely to themselves.
Carlton House was never quiet, but this wing came closest. The distant echo of voices and footsteps reminded Elizabeth that she was never truly alone here, merely granted the illusion of privacy.
The young princess poked her head out of her chambers as Elizabeth approached. She beamed.
“Elizabeth! You are returned. I am very pleased—it has been dreadfully dull.”
“I am pleased to see you as well. However, our reunion must wait. Your father wishes to see me.”
Charlotte made a face. “I am certain he does. There have been so many discussions about you these last months. My mother was even called to Carlton House! Father let me say hello, but Lady Hertford was present so we could not speak for long.”
Elizabeth noted the careful emphasis. Even Charlotte understood the significance of who was allowed to hear what—and when.
Lady Hertford was the Prince Regent’s current mistress. Her title granted her some respectability. Despite her conduct, she was still welcomed into the first circles. Elizabeth knew her by reputation and had met her once before.
That knowledge alone made Elizabeth wary. Women in Lady Hertford’s position survived by intelligence and restraint; those were qualities Elizabeth respected, even if the situation itself unsettled her.
Baker had an elaborate day gown ready for Elizabeth when she entered her rooms. She removed the traveling gown and washed the road dust away with a warm cloth. Elizabeth's hair was taken down and restyled in a more elaborate fashion. Her gown, a lovely blue wool suitable for the winter cold, was buttoned up the back with quick, practiced fingers.
The familiarity of Baker’s movements steadied her. Each pin, each button was a reminder that appearances were armor here.
Elizabeth looked into her mirror. Gone was the country girl she had been for the last four months. In her place was a fashionable lady of the ton, perfectly turned out and elegant.
She scarcely recognized herself—and wondered whether that was precisely the point.
There was a knock at the door. A footman was on the other side, waiting to escort her to the blue parlor. Elizabeth drew ina deep breath to steady her nerves and followed him out. Baker returned to unpacking the trunks.
No last-minute counsel from her aunt. No loving reassurance. She was to face this alone.
The walk was silent. The footman was rigid, saying nothing, and Elizabeth did not bother to engage him in conversation. That might have been acceptable in Hertfordshire, but it was not so here. After several minutes of traversing hallways, they stopped outside an ornately painted door. The footman knocked, and they were admitted.
Elizabeth took quick inventory of the prince’s entourage. He was never alone. There were always people about, be they peers of the realm or servants. Today, besides two or three servants, Lady Hertford sat beside the prince.
The lady’s presence was deliberate—Elizabeth understood that immediately. This was not a private conversation; it was a measured one.
“Miss de Bourgh, welcome to Carlton House.” The prince’s face was florid as he gestured at her to take a seat. Elizabeth chose a chair across from the others, sitting ramrod straight as she had been taught. Her hands were placed delicately in her lap. She kept her face devoid of emotion.
