Page 18 of Her Affections and Wishes

She stepped in front of Elizabeth, crowding her out, and fussed over the painting, hanging on Darcy’s arm. But whilst Julia’s attention was on Pemberley House, Elizabeth doubted Darcy heard a word. His eyes met hers; his whole attention was on her. Her cheeks felt hot, and she wondered if his interest meant what she hoped it did.

When Darcy said nothing else to Julia, only held out his hand for the painting, Julia huffed and said, “Come along, Miss Bennet. Let us dress for dinner.”

Rather than continue into her own chamber, Julia followed Elizabeth into hers. She had just set down her gloves when Julia cried, “Do you plan to catch Mr Darcy for yourself?”

“I would never set out to catch a man,” she said aloud, even whilst her heart murmured, “Yes.”

Julia scoffed. “All women want to catch a husband, especially a rich and handsome one. That one is mine. I would send you home if not for Lady Catherine. Or lock you up for the week, if I could.”

What would Julia say if she knew she refused Darcy five weeks ago? “Catching a man is not an employment to which I have been brought up. Men are very safe with me, let them be ever so rich.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Is there something between you? I sense a spark of something between you.”

There must be. Elizabeth felt it, and to her delighted astonishment, Darcy might still feel it. Could that spark now flare into a steady heat? Admitting that would be putting her hopes ahead of facts, and it would be foolish to admit those hopes to this selfish, hostile woman.

“No,” she murmured. “We have mutual friends, friends we think might soon become engaged. We have merely known one another longer than we know anyone else here.”

“I trust you have no foolish pretensions, Miss Bennet. Remember who you are. You are welcome to one of the other men, but I am marrying Mr Darcy before June is out!”

Julia stormed from the room and slammed the door behind her.

Elizabeth sighed and dressed for dinner. As she became better acquainted with Darcy’s character, she looked forward with increased eagerness to every moment spent with him. But now she had to be careful not to raise Julia’s ire. Her interest in Darcy was noted, and to her delight, it also seemed possible Darcy still had feelings for her.

Elizabeth found dinner tedious. Lady Metcalfe alternately talked to Mrs Tessier or Mr Travers about her shared history with each. It seemed she had been a neighbour of Mr Travers when they were young, and she had as many youthful reminiscences with him as she had with Mrs Tessier from their early married years in London.

“I remember once, when it poured before a ball, and you went into the town and bought me shoe roses and hair combs yourself,” said Lady Metcalfe to Mr Travers. “I tried to repay you, but you said you were glad to use your allowance on a friend’s happiness.”

“My father still gives me the same allowance twenty years later,” he muttered.

“You ought to have married a wealthy woman and gained your independence years ago,” called Sir John Whitney.

Julia’s fork and knife clanged against her plate. “Some of us have no interest in the past, or in who ought to have married whom however long ago. The present and future are of far more significance.”

Mr Travers made no answer, and Lady Metcalfe sniffed. “Well, I thought it a kind gesture.”

Lady Metcalfe must have been the belle of the neighbourhood, but she gave herself airs and her daughter’s vanity was an extension of her own self-importance. Elizabeth had wanted to give them the benefit of the doubt, to not judge harshly too soon, but now she was certain. Both were beautiful, but selfish and vain. There was nothing obliging or amiable about either of them.

Julia was only interested in agreeing with whatever Darcy had to say, but the subject of her mother’s girlhood days irritated her. Perhaps she was especially irritated because Darcy seldom spoke. He followed the conversation and answered when spoken to, but he gave Julia no opening to trap him in a conversation.

The dining room was as heavily ornamented as all the other rooms and passageways, from floor to ceiling. Its walls were covered with designs illustrative of the Greek romance of Daphnis and Chloe. At least, that was what Sir John explained when he noticed Elizabeth’s attention drift toward them when the talk at the table wearied her.

“They were two foundlings brought up by shepherds who fall in love,” Sir John explained. “But they were too young and naïve to understand what they were feeling. They kissed and still did not know what they felt.”

Why did her eyes turn to Darcy at that moment? She now had a firmer sense what she felt for him, and she had never even kissed him. What did his intent gaze mean? She could not be secure it meant he still loved her.

“Do you know the story?” she asked him when she felt Julia’s jealous stare.

Darcy thought for a moment, then said, whilst still looking at her,

“My breath comes in gasps, my heart jumps up and down, my soul melts away—but all the same I want to kiss her again! Oh, what an unlucky victory! Oh, what a strange disease—I do not even know what to call it. Had Chloe drunk poison just before she kissed me? If so, how did she manage not to be killed?”

She felt hot all over. His eyes held a sense of longing that made her heart thrum.

“It is hard to believe anyone could be that foolish,” said Sir John, with a laugh. Darcy started and dropped his gaze. “Even when instructed to lie naked with one another and sleep, Daphnis and Chloe did not know what to do and took the directions literally.”

This was said with a heavy look to her, and Elizabeth hoped Sir John was not offering any such instruction.

“I hope the entire myth does not centre on kissing.” She refused to meet his eye.