Page 10 of Her Affections and Wishes

She did not look affronted, only a little nervous. “I am glad to put all the awkwardness of this first meeting behind us. If you can smile and dance with me before the others, you can tolerate me for a week in the same house.”

“Tolerate you? Do you think I hate you?” he asked in some surprise. “I can only wonder at your hating me after…”

“Oh. No, no, I…” She took a calming breath and said in a whisper, “I can think of your former regard with gratitude, and forgive the…”

His heart raced. There was nothing “former” about his feelings, but he could not say that. Not when he knew she did not return them. “The offensiveness of its expression?” he finished. “I am exceedingly sorry, Miss Bennet.”

She was too embarrassed to do more than nod, but the dance was now finished and he looked for Lady Metcalfe. He finally saw her coming from the stairs with Mr Travers. As he led Elizabeth over to them, he wondered where they had gone. She was a negligent chaperon, but perhaps she was only indifferent to Elizabeth whilst giving Julia the privacy to flirt at her leisure.

Before they reached Lady Metcalfe, he thanked Elizabeth for the dance and added, “If you will permit me, I will do what I can this week to earn your good opinion.”

He knew enough of her character that if she wanted nothing to do with him, she would say so to his face. However, although Lady Metcalfe and Mr Travers were near, she gave him a soft smile and nodded.

It was not an indifferent smile, but it was not one to encourage his hopes to anything more than her not hating him. It spoke to her generous character. He had not even endeavoured to please her when he asked to marry her, yet she did not hate him.

But could she ever love him?

Chapter Three

Darcy woke early despite the late night at the Epsom assembly, and his first thoughts were of Elizabeth. He ran his hands over his face with a groan. It would be a long week if he spent all his time wondering if her feelings for him could ever change—and fearing how he would hide his disappointment when they never did.

Relief came when his valet, Warren, told him Mr Travers had asked if he wanted to join him for a ride. “He intends to see the week’s horses moving through their morning exercises.”

“Does he suppose he is going to make his fortune by them?” Darcy muttered.

“I could not say. Shall I set out your riding clothes, sir? Or do you want to find any of the ladies before breakfast?”

Although he had no interest in Mr Travers or in thoroughbreds, he was interested in a distraction. The only lady he wanted to see might not want to see him.

He swiftly dressed for riding and was about to take the stairs in the entrance hall when Sir John Whitney came down another corridor. After greeting him, Sir John halted him, forcing them to stand by the Roman vases on a table next to the balustrade. There were far too many ornaments cluttering this house.

“Before you go,” Sir John said in a low voice. “You have a prior acquaintance with Miss Bennet, do you not?”

The tone, the question, and the questioner all sent a rush of jealousy coursing through him. His reaction was unjustified and unfair to both Sir John and Elizabeth. Darcy forced himself to say with calm composure, “I do.”

“Do you know her well?”

It would be rude to ignore him, and ruder still to tell Sir John that Elizabeth was magnificent and deserved a better man than a senseless coxcomb. He blew out a breath and said, “Her elder sister will likely marry my friend, and we have twice spent a month or so as neighbours.” Once Bingley married Jane Bennet, he and Elizabeth would see one another often—winters in town, perhaps, or Elizabeth might even live with the Bingleys until she married herself. With a bitter snap to his voice, he added, “Why do you ask?”

Sir John gave him a knowing look. “Why does a man ever ask about a woman?”

The answer surprised him. From what he observed of Sir John in town, he had shown no interest in marriage last season, or any season he could remember. Dalliances and flirtations were what one thought of when they thought of the baronet Sir John Whitney. “Miss Bennet’s father has an estate worth two thousand a year, and he has five daughters. He is not imagined to be very rich. I doubt he could give you what you expect.”

It was true, but it also satisfied a spiteful part of him to keep Sir John away from her—the part of him still in love with the woman in question. Although, he doubted Elizabeth would be attracted to a rattle like Sir John.

Sir John tilted his head in confusion and then gave a little laugh. “You mistake me. I was wondering what sort of girl she was. How far that liveliness might actually go.” His voice lilted with hidden meaning.

The jealousy that flared before was a flickering candle compared to the blaze now burning in his chest. He had not mistaken Sir John’s reputation after all if the man was asking about what behaviours Elizabeth might indulge in without an engagement. Might she kiss him, or would she indulge in everything up to or even including an act sanctioned only in marriage? The idea of him seducing Elizabeth deprived his manners of their usual composure.

“Miss Bennet is a gentleman’s daughter, Sir John,” he said brusquely, “and far too principled to succumb to your hollow temptations. Nor is she unprotected.”

Sir John’s eyes widened. “Settle down, Darcy. That is quite a leap to accusing me of forcing a lady. She needs no protection from me. I only wanted to take her measure.”

He thought of Julia’s forward, sultry behaviour toward him last night. “Perhaps Miss Metcalfe and you will be of a similar mind.”

“Oh, no.” Sir John laughed. “I saw how Miss Metcalfe looked at you, like a hound when it sees a fox, my friend. She would be a willing participant, I imagine, but she wants a permanent union out of it, mark my words.”

Darcy muttered a quiet curse. He had questioned if Julia might have such intentions toward him, but if Sir John observed it, then it must be true. “I am not interested in Miss Metcalfe,” he said firmly. He could admit to that, but not that Elizabeth held his heart in her hands, even if she did not know it. Or want it.