“May I call on you on the morrow?” he asked, his gaze intense.
Elizabeth looked instinctively at Lady Hertford. The lady looked highly amused, her lips curving slightly as she assessed them both. “I am home on Tuesdays and Thursdays, Mr. Darcy. Elizabeth and Jane will join me for calls.”
“Very good. Miss Eli—de Bourgh, I thank you for the pleasure.”
Mr. Darcy’s aunt beckoned, and he excused himself, leaving Elizabeth with a curious mixture of relief and regret.
“Where is Jane?” She glanced around—her sister was not nearby.
“Viscount Bramley took your sister to the refreshment table. He also claimed her last set.” Lady Hertford looked pleased with herself as if she had arranged the match personally.
“It is too soon,” Elizabeth murmured, instinctively protective.
“Is it? He has been calling on her at my home since their first meeting. They danced at every gathering, and he sat with herexclusively at the musicale. We have even attended the theater with them.”
She had already associated more with the viscount than she did with Mr. Bingley. Though the latter had granted Jane attention in Hertfordshire, Jane’s own confessions revealed their discussions had been little more than surface-deep. This, by contrast, felt different—steadier, more deliberate.
I shall ask Jane how she feels.Two sets was tantamount to a declaration in London society. Perhaps her cousin was not so averse to the viscount’s attention. Jane certainly seemed happier than she had when Elizabeth left Hertfordshire.
As the night ended and she waited for the carriage, she felt the unmistakable feeling of being watched. The sensation prickled along her spine, familiar now. She turned and locked eyes with Mr. Darcy. His demeanor was somehow softer, the sharp reserve she remembered tempered by something gentler, and as he watched her, he smiled.
Elizabeth’s heart stuttered. His features, always handsome, were elevated into something more—something dangerously appealing. A footman drew her attention, and the moment was lost before she could decide what it meant.
The carriage ride back to Carlton House was quiet. Jane’s expression was dreamy, her thoughts clearly elsewhere, and Lady Hertford’s eyes closed, her expression weary from the evening’s exertions. Elizabeth was left to her thoughts, which were now a tangled mass of confusion. It was as if everything she thought she understood about Mr. Darcy had been upended. The conflicting impressions she had of his character—pride and restraint, judgment and warmth—were at war within her mind.
And he was to call on her on Thursday.
She hardly knew what to think.
Darcy tugged on his waistcoat. Brisby had outdone himself, dressing his master in a dark green coat with brass buttons and a waistcoat of goldenrod fabric. The yellow was not too flashy or showy for Darcy’s tastes; its muted color complemented the green perfectly. He did not feel like a fop or a dandy but rather like a well-dressed gentleman calling on the lady he wished to court.
The realization itself made him pause.The lady he wished to court.He tested the words silently, as if unsure whether they would hold their shape when spoken aloud. His reflection stared back at him with an unfamiliar air of intention—less guarded, more exposed.
He had rarely taken such care with his appearance, preferring black coats and unadorned attire. Darcy wished to make a good impression on Elizabeth, however. Something—some instinct within him—suspected all was not as he wished when it came to judging her sentiments. He could no longer trust his own interpretations where she was concerned; pride had misled him once already, and he would not repeat the error if caution could prevent it.
The butler at Hertford House admitted him, and he was led to a large sitting room. To Darcy’s dismay, it was filled with gentlemen. Perhaps that was an exaggeration, but there were more gentlemen there than he would like. The murmur of conversation, polite laughter, and the scrape of chairs created a tableau that immediately set his nerves on edge. There were two groups; one had Elizabeth at the center and the other had MissBennet. Bramley was there, hovering next to the object of his affections and glowering at the other gentlemen.
Darcy’s jaw tightened despite himself. He had known—intellectually—that Elizabeth would not be waiting in quiet solitude, but seeing her surrounded, attended, and evidently admired struck him with unexpected force.
Miss Bennet looked as calm and graceful as ever…that is, until Darcy looked closer. Her hands were clenched tightly in her lap, and she leaned almost imperceptibly towards Bramley, as if seeking comfort from his presence. The smile she gave his cousin was no less serene than the others, but there was a glimmer of something in her eyes…and a softening about the mouth.
Good heavens, she was in love with Bramley. He recognized the look—she had given it to Bingley often enough.And I warned him while we were in Hertfordshire to be cautious. I made him believe she was indifferent.Well, he had helped plant the seeds, but Bingley’s sisters had nourished them into bearing fruit.
The weight of it settled heavily on his chest. What he had once congratulated himself upon as prudence now revealed itself as meddling of the worst sort—careless, incomplete, and devastating in its consequences.
That is what Elizabeth meant last night. Oh, he was an idiot. Does she believe it is my fault that her favorite cousin suffers from heartbreak? If she did, Darcy had much for which to atone. The realization sharpened his purpose even as it deepened his unease. If Elizabeth blamed him—and how could she not?—then this call would prove more difficult than he had imagined.
Lady Hertford welcomed Darcy. Several gentlemen gave their farewells immediately after his arrival, much to his relief. He wondered whether it was courtesy, coincidence, or calculation on Lady Hertford’s part. Viscount Winslow and anothergentleman, Mr. Brown, if he recalled correctly, remained at Elizabeth’s side. She smiled prettily at both, though Darcy could tell she merely put on a polite mask for them.
She behaved with far more warmth towards me.Why, when they debated in Hertfordshire, her eyes had sparkled in such a way…
The memory was vivid and unwelcome. He had once been the recipient of that unguarded animation—had provoked it, even. To see it withheld now was far more unsettling than open displeasure would have been.
“And how do you do today, Mr. Darcy?” Elizabeth smiled politely. It did not hold the same warmth he remembered, but he reasoned she would show him the same courtesy as she did her other guests.
“I am very well, Miss de Bourgh. It is a pleasure to be here.”
Lady Hertford offered him some refreshments, and he accepted gracefully, though he scarcely tasted what was placed in his hand. His attention remained fixed on Elizabeth, on the careful composure she maintained, on the ease with which she deflected attempts at exclusivity. He was nearly giddy when Winslow and Brown rose to excuse themselves.
