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“Yes.” She smiled gently at him. “My answer is yes.”
Richard’s face broke into a wide smile. “Ah, Elizabeth, you have made me the happiest man in England! Nay, the whole world!”
She laughed softly. He caught her hand in his, and she realized with a shock that neither of them was wearing gloves. The feeling of his warm flesh against the sensitive skin of her hand felt deliciously forbidden, almost as if they had been caught kissing.
“Darling,” he murmured and pulled her gently against his chest. Her head nestled just under his chin, a perfect fit. Yes, she could be quite happy with the Col—Richard. Perhaps she was a fair way to being in love with him already.
After a moment, Richard broke off the embrace, regarding her seriously. “Tomorrow, I must ride to Longbourn and call on your father. When would you like the wedding to take place?” He took her hand and led her over to the settee, sitting daringly close to her.
And so Mr. Darcy discovered them a quarter of an hour later.
Chapter 3
If someone wished to devise a personal hell specifically for him, Darcy mused, they could not possibly create a better one. He stood at the foot of the stairs to Colonel Fitzwilliam’s new London townhouse. It was not as grand as Darcy House and the neighborhood was not quite as fashionable, but it was certainly elegant and spacious enough for a second son who, until three weeks ago, had no expectations of aspiring to any accommodations beyond a set of rooms to let.
Darcy regarded the house’s impressive neo-Classical façade. He had been anticipating this day with all the joy most people might give a raging fever. Now that he had arrived, somehow his legs had turned to lead and would not obey his instructions to climb the stairs.
Even a simple glance at the townhouse caused dread to curl into a t
ight knot in his stomach. How would he survive the evening with his dignity intact? No, that was beyond hope. How would he survive the evening at all?
His eyes closed briefly, blocking the view of the offending structure. Darcy had quit Rosings the morning after Fitzwilliam’s awful announcement. Fortunately, Darcy’s plans had already been fixed, so no one thought his swift departure odd, and Richard apparently perceived no strangeness in Darcy’s manner. Perhaps he should consider a career on the stage.
Richard’s letters had described how he had traveled to Hertfordshire, easily securing Mr. Bennet’s consent to the marriage, and then returned to Hunsford where he escorted Elizabeth to her uncle’s house in London. In the intervening weeks, Richard had sold his commission and visited his estate, attending to all the urgent matters involved in taking immediate possession. Meanwhile, Elizabeth and her aunt made preparations for a wedding scheduled for some three months hence.
Darcy had tortured himself by quite thoroughly perusing each of Richard’s letters, absorbing every detail of his cousin’s felicity with Elizabeth. Bizarrely, he almost preferred to hear news of her—even when it concerned her betrothal to another man—than to know nothing of her life, a true sign of how pathetic his obsession had become.
He had tried—oh, how he had tried!—to resume his former indifference toward Elizabeth. However, now he had confessed his feelings to himself, the genie refused to return into the lamp. In a moment of honesty, during one of many nights spent staring at his ceiling, Darcy admitted to himself that he had never been truly indifferent to Elizabeth. When he had thought himself indifferent, he had only been fooling himself.
Darcy could only count one slim success in his favor over the past weeks. Since returning from Hunsford, he had adroitly avoided both Richard and Elizabeth.
Until today.
Richard was hosting a dinner so his family could be better acquainted with Elizabeth’s. Darcy could not escape the invitation.
He had considered inventing urgent business at Pemberley. Or a sudden illness. Despite Darcy’s abhorrence of disguise, these thoughts held alarming appeal, but finally, he had conceded the necessity of facing the happy couple eventually. Prolonging the inevitable smacked of cowardice—and he had faults enough without adding to them.
Darcy opened his eyes. He might as well be a French nobleman facing the guillotine. Perhaps cowardice had something to recommend it.
His stomach churned sickeningly, and his hands were wet with perspiration inside his gloves. But there was nothing for it. He must go. He willed his feet to climb the steps, one at a time, until he reached the porch, having failed to be struck down by a conveniently timed meteor.
His knock was answered almost immediately by a smartly dressed footman who took Darcy’s coat and ushered him into Richard’s study. Darcy saw no sign of other guests.
Richard glanced up with a smile when Darcy entered. He was seated behind a massive oaken desk, every inch the industrious landowner. “Darcy, good to see you!” He maneuvered around the desk to shake Darcy’s hand and gestured toward to a couple of elegant chairs near the fireplace. “Brandy?” Richard asked. Darcy nodded; spirits could only help him survive the night.
Richard poured two glasses from a crystal decanter and handed one to Darcy before taking his seat. “I am pleased you have the opportunity to see the house,” Richard remarked.
Was that a subtle suggestion that Darcy might have visited sooner? Well, Darcy supposed he would have visited more than once by now were it not for his cousin’s engagement. “It is an elegant residence,” Darcy said. “I hope you are pleased with it.”
“Oh, quite,” Fitzwilliam said. “It is nothing to Darcy House, of course, but far superior to my set of apartments.”
“Indeed.” Darcy admired the room’s large marble fireplace, happy to have a neutral topic of conversation.
“The furnishings are a bit out of fashion, but Elizabeth will have the opportunity to redecorate as she wishes.” Ah, so much for neutrality. Darcy suppressed his flinch at the mention of her name but finished his brandy in one gulp. “Where are the other guests?”
“I invited you here early. I wished to speak with you privately.”
“Oh?” Without waiting for Richard’s assistance, Darcy rose and visited the sideboard to refill his brandy glass.
