Darcy went still. The room seemed to expand, the noise of the fiddles drifting into a distant, muffled hum. He looked at Elizabeth—at the way she held her head, at the reckless,untethered joy in her face—and felt the ache of his mother’s ghost in the room.
“My mother… she spoke of this?” he asked, his voice rough. “Of my future bride?”
A woman drifted into his peripheral vision. She was stout, dressed in the style of a matron who had consulted fashion plates from several seasons past, and he sincerely hoped she wasn’t eavesdropping.
“My dear boy.” Lady Sophia’s tone was fond, edged with exasperation. “Anne had very particular hopes for you. Hopes she entrusted to me in her final days.” She tapped her cane meaningfully against the floorboards. “She spoke of a woman who would force you to decide whether your pride was worth the price of your happiness. She knew you, Fitzwilliam. She knew that when you finally found a woman who did not care a fig for your ten thousand a year, you would be utterly and gloriously undone.”
A sudden weight pressed upon him. “You have been searching for her all these years?”
“I have been your mother’s executor,” she replied simply.
The unfashionable matron whose most distinguishing feature was her loud orange turban hovered closer like a particularly obnoxious horsefly. What Darcy wouldn’t give to whisk her away, but Lady Sophia seemed oblivious. “And I have been gathering information from my correspondents throughout all the counties of England on a quest for such a rare creature.”
At this, the turbaned woman caught Lady Sophia’s eye and curtsied deep enough that the tip of her turban tickled Mr. Darcy’s nose. He swallowed the urge to sneeze.
“Mr. Darcy, I am Mrs. Long, Lady Sophia’s correspondent.”
Darcy turned a sharp, incredulous look to Lady Sophia. “You have been using the local gentry to monitor my social movements?”
“I have been your mother’s eyes and ears since you refused to court my Allegra,” Lady Sophia replied, unfazed by his mounting mortification. “Time was running out, and the great house of Pemberley had been without a mistress for far too long. Mrs. Long wrote to me after that first assembly in October. A most illuminating letter.”
“What exactly did she enlighten you with?”
“You called my favorite girl barely tolerable.” Mrs. Long’s voice held supreme satisfaction. “I was standing not ten feet from you when you said it. Elizabeth pretended she had not heard, but I saw her face, Mr. Darcy. I saw exactly what that insult cost her. I wrote to Lady Sophia that very night because I had been tasked to report on any woman who sparked your interest—and no woman had ever sparked enough emotion in you to make you rude.”
Darcy felt the floorboards sway beneath his feet. He risked a glance toward the dance floor, his pulse racing. Elizabeth was currently turning in the set, her face bright with laughter; she was mercifully distracted by the figures of the dance.
“Lady Sophia, this is beneath you. Employing a network of spies.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say I employed anyone,” she said, smoothing a wrinkle in her silk glove. “With so many godsons and goddaughters to shepherd, I often find it prudent to strike up correspondence with the most observant individuals in a neighborhood. If one is to invest in a townhouse or a carriage for one’s darlings, one should at least be aware of the particulars. In your case, I was tasked by your mother, and Mrs. Long’s letter was the first one that offered hope.”
“Yes, my observational skills are dedicated to the most noble of causes,” Mrs. Long affirmed. “I wrote to Lady Sophia about everything. The exact wording of your barely tolerable comment, and how you were persuaded to dance with her at the Lucases’ card party, only for her to demur. Oh, and the way you stared after her at every gathering thereafter with an expression that was quite incompatible with your claim of indifference.” Mrs. Long smiled. “I have been watching Elizabeth Bennet for twenty years, Mr. Darcy. She is the finest young woman in Hertfordshire. When Lady Sophia asked if there was anyone who might suit her godson, I had my doubts about our Miss Elizabeth; I confess it freely. I feared that our Elizabeth would be ill-served by your reputation for excessive pride.”
“I… I cannot imagine why,” he managed, his cravat now indistinguishable from a hangman’s knot.
“But Lady Sophia assured me you had potential.” Mrs. Long’s gaze, as well as Darcy’s, shifted to the floor where Elizabeth was sharing a quip with Sir William. “You had excellent raw materials. You merely required finishing. And she did the finishing. Just as your mother had hoped.”
Darcy could say nothing. He sat paralyzed, watching Elizabeth move. She was radiant, utterly untroubled by the conspiracy of matrons and duchesses that had brought them to this moment.
Seemingly satisfied with her role in the felicity of his impending marriage, Mrs. Long patted his shoulder as she walked away. “You shall do, Mr. Darcy. I see you have quite captured her heart and that tongue of hers.”
Darcy cast a furtive glance about, hoping the spectacle of his mortification had gone unnoticed. Jane and Bingley were adrift in their own gentle orbit; Georgiana and Mary plotted some pianoforte intrigue; and Mrs. Bennet advanced through thecrowd with the single-mindedness of a homing pigeon in pursuit of a new prospect.
She must never know about this, he thought with a fierce protectiveness.She chose me in the mud. She chose me in the hedgerow. If she knew the gift of a fortune was the cost… No, she can never know.
“Mrs. Long can be trusted with the utmost discretion,” Lady Sophia’s gaze sought his, as if he had said his thoughts aloud. “It is a requirement of receiving my correspondence. The advantage of being the daughter of a duke is that one learns early how to curate one’s social circles.”
“Yes…” Darcy glanced at Mrs. Long, whose expression suggested she was about to burst with secrets. “But why, Lady Sophia? Why did my mother ask you to intervene?”
“She loved you, Fitzwilliam, and you were too young when she left us. She made the request three days before she passed, and I have been watching and waiting ever since.”
The set ended, but instead of returning to Darcy, Sir William steered Elizabeth toward the refreshment table, gesturing toward a pompous-looking man in a bottle-green coat. “Ah, Lord Rokeby! You must meet Miss Elizabeth—the woman who has quite revolutionized our little Meryton!”
“Your mother knew your father’s wishes,” Lady Sophia lowered her voice. “She loved him, and she honored his judgment in nearly everything. But she knew that his expectations for your marriage would make you miserable, because he required positions and strategic alliances. He had married your mother for her connection, acquiring the Earl of Matlock as a brother-in-law. She knew the cost, and she did not want you to bear that cost.”
“She never told me.”
“She could not tell you. Your father was alive. His expectations were clear, and Anne would not contradict himopenly because she respected him too much. But she asked me, privately, to counter his directives. To find the woman who would set your heart on fire, as she put it, and she was very specific about the fire, Fitzwilliam. She did not want a woman who would manage your household, improve your connections, or look well beside you at dinner. She wanted a woman who would love you despite your arrogance and impeccable lineage. A woman who you could be interested in the rest of your life, and who would demand that you be worthy of her rather than the reverse.”
