Page 92 of The Earl’s Forbidden Temptation

Darcy laughed and agreed. Their conversation moved easily from future commissions to society gossip and even the present political climate. She joined them with growing confidence, surprised by how readily their warmth drew her beyond the reserve she had carried into the room. Yet when Elizabeth and Agatha spoke of their husbands with warmth and unguarded devotion, a deep and painful longing stirred within Darcy for a happiness she had never permitted herself to imagine for too long.

Rebecca regarded her with quiet perception. “You seem unhappy.”

Darcy shook her head too quickly. “No, I...” The denial failed. Tears rose with such sudden force that the room blurred before her, and she turned away, mortified by the collapse of a composure she had guarded for weeks.

The other ladies had removed their masks after the door closed, and Darcy now pulled off her own, unwilling to hide while her grief stood so plainly revealed.

Rebecca’s voice gentled. “Are you in love with Raine? Is he the cause of this distress?”

Elizabeth and Agatha drew soft breaths of surprise. They knew Sebastian, of course. Only weeks earlier, he had escorted Darcy to Elizabeth’s midnight ball.

Darcy went utterly still. “What do you mean?”

“Do you harbor tender feelings for the Earl of Raine?” Rebecca asked, watching her over the rim of her glass. “This troublesome matter of love is taking firm hold within my establishment. I may soon be obliged to open a discreet branch devoted entirely to matchmaking.”

“I do not know what I feel for him,” Darcy said, though the inadequacy of her words was apparent even to her. “Whatever it is, it cannot matter now.”

“Of course it matters,” Elizabeth replied gently. “Naming what you feel may grant you the clarity to decide how you will conduct yourself when you next encounter him.”

Darcy shook her head. “I have been careful to arrive early and leave before Lord Raine is accustomed to appearing.”

“You cannot avoid him indefinitely,” Rebecca said with practical calm. “I have secured three patrons who desire more sensual portraits. It is far safer for you to undertake those commissions here than in private residences, where an overenthusiastic gentleman might exceed the liberties agreed upon and leave you to manage him alone.”

Darcy pressed trembling fingers against her chest.

“Though I have not seen Raine in a few weeks, he will return eventually. He might even be here tonight since the duke and Radbourne are also here,” Rebecca continued. “And since you came back from the country, you have seemed altered.

“Are my feelings so plainly visible?” she asked, her voice faltering despite her effort to steady it.

“Perhaps because we are acquainted with such feelings,” Elizabeth replied.

Darcy drew in a fragile breath. “When I see him again, will he look at me and know how completely I have been undone? Must I bear that knowledge in his eyes while he offers nothing but cold, courteous indifference?”

“You do love him,” Agatha said softly.

Darcy’s breath trembled. “My heart feels too full of him to contain what I feel, and yet impossibly hollow because he is no longer in my life. Whatever existed between us is over, and I do not know how to make myself accept it.”

The ladies remained silent, giving her the courage to continue.

“I shall never laugh with him again, nor feel his touch, nor press my lips to his.” Her voice weakened upon the final words. Darcy closed her eyes for a moment, the ache within her sharpening with each word she allowed herself to speak aloud. “It has been more than three weeks since I last saw him, yet he still comes to me in dreams as though he has no intention of releasing me, even there.”

A faint, broken laugh escaped her. “I wish only to forget him, because I cannot believe he suffers as I do. If he did, how could he have ended everything with one cold letter? Did I not deserve the dignity of hearing it from his own lips? Or was I truly of so little consequence to him? Am I foolish to be haunted by these questions?”

The words hung between them, painfully exposed.

Elizabeth moved first, sitting beside Darcy and enclosing her hand in a firm, reassuring clasp. “You are not foolish. You loved, and there is no shame in that.”

Agatha pressed a handkerchief into Darcy’s trembling fingers. “Men often pride themselves upon restraint precisely when feeling is required. His conduct does not prove he feels nothing. It proves only that he has chosen to behave as though he does.”

Rebecca refilled Darcy’s glass and placed it firmly in her hand. “Drink. Feel it fully, then decide what you intend to do with it.”

Darcy laughed weakly through her tears. Mortification mingled with unexpected relief as the grief she had hidden for weeks finally escaped. She had not wept so openly since childhood, certainly not before women she scarcely knew, yet their expressions held no censure. They remained with her, sometimes offering comfort and sometimes teasing her back toward laughter, until the sharpest edge of her pain softened into something she could endure. The sherry warmed her and loosened a reserve she would ordinarily have guarded with far greater care.

When Darcy realized how freely she had spoken, embarrassment warmed her skin. “I fear I have made a spectacle of myself.”

“You have done nothing of the sort,” Elizabeth assured her.

“Indeed,” Agatha added with a smile. “You have merely proved yourself human.”