Mrs. Davenport blinked, uncertain whether this was a compliment. “Frederick reads a great deal. Sermons, mostly.”
“How fortifying for both Mr. Davenport and his esteemed mother, no doubt.”
“Miss Bennet.” Darcy’s hand was at her elbow, gentle and unmistakable. “The chairs.”
But before they could advance a single step, a portly gentleman with impressive, curling side-whiskers planted his substantial frame directly between them and their destination.
A second bidder, Elizabeth noted grimly.And this one appears to have been raised on public dinners and self-importance.
“Darcy! Capital, capital. And is this the young lady all London is talking about? Rolleston. Charmed.” He seized Elizabeth’s hand without a by-your-leave and bowed so low over it she could smell the pomade in his hair. “Fine eyes, Miss Bennet. Remarkably fine. Has anyone told you?”
“You are the third this evening, Mr. Rolleston. I am beginning to suspect a conspiracy among the gentlemen of the town.”
“Conspiracy! Ha! Delightful wit. My mother will adore you. She is just over there, by the doorway. Mamma! Mamma! Come meet Miss Bennet!”
“Miss Bennet and I were attempting to reach our seats,” Darcy said. His voice was a marvel of perfect, aristocratic composure.
“Oh, plenty of time, plenty of time. The music won’t start for—Mamma, do hurry.”
Mrs. Rolleston descended upon them with feathers shaking and silks rustling. “Miss Bennet. I have been dying to meet you. Fifteen thousand a year, I am told, and such a complexion! Nathaniel, did you remark upon her complexion?”
“I remarked upon her eyes, Mamma.”
“Her eyes, yes, but the complexion, Nathaniel. And her sister—is that her sister? The fair one? She is excessively beautiful. Is she spoken for?”
Jane, apparently, was now a prime cut of mutton left out for inspection. Elizabeth’s patience snapped.
“Jane speaks for herself,” Elizabeth said aloud, her arch tone sharpening into something formidable. “I find it one of her more admirable qualities. She rarely requires a herald to announce her price.”
Mrs. Rolleston choked slightly on her lace handkerchief, while Nathaniel blinked like an owl caught in daylight.
“Miss Bennet.” Darcy’s voice had now acquired that particular, vibrating steadiness that Elizabeth had learned to recognize as the absolute limit of his patience. His hand tightened on her elbow, physically turning her away from the predators. “The performance begins shortly. We must not keep the musicians waiting.”
The Rollestons retreated like a routed army deserting their posts, and Elizabeth and Darcy finally reached the safety of the perimeter chairs.
“Thank you,” she said. “I believe you have saved me from Mrs. Rolleston’s complexion review.”
“Mrs. Rolleston’s reviews are legendary. They can last the duration of a sonata.”
“You know these people intimately, it seems.”
“I have been actively avoiding these people for twelve Seasons, Miss Elizabeth.”
Elizabeth did the sums. Two Seasons a year—Big and Little—meant Darcy had been dodging matrimony since two-and-twenty. No wonder he wore that formidable shell. She had pictured him striding through London like a monarch, never realizing he’d spent his twenties as a man under siege.
“Then I commend your stamina, Mr. Darcy. Years of strategic avoidance must be exhausting.”
“It was simpler when I had only my own fortune to make me interesting,” he said, his voice flat with a quiet, unvarnished weariness. “One becomes practiced at detecting the exact price of a smile.”
The honesty of it startled her. Darcy had always worn his wealth like armor—at Meryton, at Hunsford, everywhere. Now, the weariness in his voice was unmistakable. She was not sure what to do with the knowledge that Fitzwilliam Darcy found fortune hunters just as tedious as she did.
Before she could dwell on the discovery, Jane appeared on her other side, looking flushed and so thoroughly radiant in the white crepe gown that she seemed to be actively agitating every matron within a five-yard radius.
“Three women have complimented the lace on my sleeves in the last four minutes, Lizzy,” Jane whispered, her eyes wide as she sank into the neighboring chair. “I have been wearing sleeves for twenty-two years, and no one has previously found the custom worthy of specific notice.”
“Welcome to fifteen thousand a year, dearest,” Elizabeth said, patting her sister’s hand. “Everything you have worn since birth has apparently been remarkable. Society has only just noticed.”
The small bell near the instrument chimed, signaling the performers, but the seat immediately to Jane’s right was suddenly occupied before the echo died away.
