Miss Bingley’s tenuous hold upon her composure fractured. “My lady, surely there has been some misunderstanding. My brother and I are intimate friends of Mr Darcy, and I assure you?—”
“You are no friend of mine.”
William’s voice, low and unmistakable, cut cleanly through her protest. He came to stand beside Elizabeth and placed his hand at the small of her back, the gesture deliberate and steady. She leaned towards him almost unconsciously. Miss Bingley’s gaze dropped at once to the contact, and the last of her colour faded.
“Have you brought your paramour to lend you consequence this evening?” Miss Bingley enquired, her tone honeyed and venomous in equal measure. “Or does she merely serve as an ornament for you? I recall how she pursued you in Hertfordshire and the speculation that she was someone’s natural child.”
The cruelty of it struck the air like a slap. Elizabeth felt the sting of the insinuation and could scarcely credit that such an accusation had been voiced so brazenly before so many witnesses.
Immediately she felt the shift in her husband, standing close enough that it could not be mistaken. The hand at her backtightened, not painfully, but with unmistakable resolve. His posture grew still behind her, the warmth she had known a moment before replaced by something colder and far more controlled. Over her shoulder, she caught the brief exchange of looks between him and his aunt, answered by the faintest inclination of her head. Then he drew her closer, staking his claim before all present.
“In a sense,” he replied, and a murmur rippled through those standing near enough to hear. “But before you depart this evening, allow me to present Mrs Elizabeth Darcy, my wife. Should there be any doubt as to her standing, she is the granddaughter of the Earl of Granfield, and I count myself most fortunate in having secured her hand. We were married above a fortnight ago in Hertfordshire, where she has resided since the death of her parents.”
Elizabeth watched as the colour drained from Miss Bingley’s countenance, mortification rising stark beneath the candlelight. The lady’s gaze fell to Elizabeth’s left hand, where it rested upon William’s sleeve. It did not move.
The gold band upon her finger caught the light as her gloved hand moved.
The implication appeared to settle upon Miss Bingley. Whatever confidence had animated her a moment before faltered; her lips parted slightly, then pressed together again as though she struggled to contain her reply. The rigid poise she had maintained began to fracture at the edges.
“I did… I had no…” Miss Bingley’s voice faltered, the words collapsing before they were formed. Whatever defence she sought to muster perished unspoken when the waiting footman stepped forward and took her firmly by the arm.
A subdued stir followed as she was conducted from the room, curiosity giving way to speculation among those who had overheard the confrontation and eager enquiry from those who had not. Heads inclined towards one another; whispers travelled quickly across the room. Open speculation subsided into a charged stillness; the room’s attention sharpened as all waited to see how the matter would conclude.
Across the room, Elizabeth saw Lord Matlock lower the hand he had held poised towards the musicians, the faintest suggestion of approval about his mouth. The tentative notes faltered and fell silent at once. With a decisive gesture, he beckoned to his wife—and to them—as had clearly been arranged.
From another quarter of the room, her grandfather also began to move. He did not join the Matlocks, but positioned himself nearer to her and William instead, his expression composed and watchful.
They moved towards Lord Matlock, Elizabeth’s hand resting upon William’s arm. She felt the weight of every gaze in the room, but she did not falter.
“Well,” Lord Matlock began, his voice carrying easily across the room, “it would appear that this evening has already afforded us an unexpected diversion.”
A ripple of restrained amusement moved through the assembly.
“Still, I believe the moment remains mine.” His gaze swept the room with calm authority. “We are delighted to have you here tonight, for we wish to share news of the happiest kind. Earlier this month, my nephew was married in Hertfordshire to Miss Elizabeth Bennet, granddaughter of my esteemed friend Edmund Talbot, Earl of Granfield.”
He inclined his head towards Elizabeth.
“My wife, who has always possessed a fondness for theatrics, determined that the occasion should serve as a celebration of the nuptials since, as many of you know, my nephew has little taste for being the centre of attention.”
Laughter followed; Elizabeth felt William’s arm grow taut once more beneath her hand.
“If you will,” Lord Matlock said, extending a hand towards the open space before the musicians. “We shall proceed as intended. Mr and Mrs Darcy will lead the first set.”
A subtle shift passed through the assembly. The earlier spectacle receded into outward composure; Elizabeth had no doubt it would be dissected in drawing rooms for weeks to come. Couples withdrew towards the edges of the floor, clearing the space for the dance.
William inclined his head, and his arm steadied beneath her hand as they stepped forward together. The musicians, poised in anticipation, lifted their bows.
Gentlemen moved to claim their partners, every gaze fixed upon the newly married pair.
William turned to her. The tension had left his expression; in its place was something infinitely more tender.
“Shall we?”
Elizabeth placed her hand in his.
The first notes of the music rose, and together they led the company into motion, proving before all present that what hadonce been called a most unsuitable arrangement had become their greatest felicity.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
