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“I pray you have a seat, Mr. Darcy.” She gestured to a chair across the room, but he took the one closest to her settee, perching on the edge of the chair with his hat resting on his knee. She managed not to sigh; apparently, he was determined to be difficult. “It is so good of you to call.”
He cleared his throat. “I, er, said I would. I apologize for not arriving sooner. I was obliged to return to London for business.”
“Of course. You are forgiven,” she said lightly.
Mr. Darcy frowned as if he would have preferred not to be forgiven. “And I brought you a gift.”
Elizabeth tilted her head inquisitively. He appeared to have nothing on his person.
Before she said anything, the door burst open, and Dawkins bustled in, carrying the most magnificent display of hothouse flowers Elizabeth had ever seen. Why there must have been a dozen or more roses, both pink and red, plus a profusion of other blossoms whose names Elizabeth did not know. She could not suppress a gasp.
“Here you go, miss,” the housekeeper announced in a voice full of admiration for the gift. “I took the liberty of putting them in a vase for you.” She set a crystal vase exploding with riotous color on the table beside Elizabeth’s settee before hurrying out again.
She was quite overwhelmed by their magnificence—as well as the wealth on display. She could not imagine what they had cost. “I am—I thank you. They are lovely.”
He inclined his head in acknowledgement.
The flowers were so beautiful she could scarcely look away from them. “I hardly know what to say.”
At least this dispels any doubts about whether he intends to court me, she thought with dismay, ignoring the secret thrill that raced down her spine. No man would buy such a bouquet to express friendship. In fact, they constituted a gauntlet thrown at Mr. Wickham’s feet—a declaration of intentions. Mr. Darcy knew the officer could not match such an extravagant gift; perhaps he hoped the other man would see them in the colonel’s drawing room.
Elizabeth smiled inwardly at the thought of the officer’s dismay. Wait! I do not want Mr. Wickham to be unhappy. I cannot encourage Mr. Darcy. Why was that simple fact so difficult to remember?
Mr. Darcy regarded her with his peculiar intensity. “Say you will accompany me on a ride about town. I have a curricle with a fine set of matched bays, and the weather is magnificent.”
The idea was quite tempting, but surely she could not accept for Mr. Wickham’s sake. Elizabeth opened her mouth to decline, but no sound emerged. Colonel Forster’s entrance saved her from the necessity of an immediate response. The two men exchanged handshakes and pleasantries. They knew each other from Meryton, of course, but she did not believe their acquaintance was extensive. Dawkins soon followed with a tea service, which Elizabeth poured.
“What brings you to Brighton?” the colonel asked Mr. Darcy when they had all been served. Elizabeth peered up from her cup, curious about the response. “Do you have some business here?”
Mr. Darcy’s eyes were fixed on his tea. “Not as such, no.” He hesitated a moment. “I enjoy the seaside and thought to visit before the weather turns cold.”
By himself? Certainly wealthy men could indulge their whims, but Mr. Darcy hardly seemed the sort of man who would impulsively travel across the country simply for some pleasant scenery.
“Did you ride all the way from Derbyshire?” the colonel asked. “It must have taken days.”
Mr. Darcy rested a biscuit on the edge of his saucer. “Not so far. I was in Hertfordshire.”
“Hertfordshire?” The word burst from Elizabeth before she could stop it. Why had he been in that part of the country?
“Yes…um…” Mr. Darcy colored and fixed his attention on the biscuit. “I…ah…was visiting Netherfield with Bingley. I thought you might have received news of it.”
Mr. Bingley! “No,” Elizabeth said faintly. “I have not received a letter for a couple of days.” I must write to Jane! How had such a visit come about? Had Jane seen Mr. Bingley? Elizabeth bubbled over with questions. “Mr. Bingley remained in Hertfordshire?”
“Yes.” Mr. Darcy cleared his throat. “I believe he has some plans for improvements to Netherfield.”
“He is not planning to give it up?” This was the best news Elizabeth had received in weeks.
“I do not believe so.” Mr. Darcy colored slightly. Was he recalling their conversation about Mr. Bingley at Hunsford? Had he played a role in his friend’s return to Netherfield?
The colonel scrutinized Mr. Darcy carefully. “And you decided to follow my regiment to Brighton? Are you so desperate for fellow whist players?”
Mr. Darcy chuckled good-naturedly. “No…um…Rather you might say I was inspired by news of your departure. It occurred to me that now would be an ideal season for visiting Brighton.” Glancing up, he caught and held Elizabeth’s eyes for several seconds before looking away.
It was impossible to mistake his meaning. Elizabeth felt faint. He came to Brighton for me! He had visited Longbourn, discovered I was in Brighton with Mr. Wickham, and traveled here—alone and on horseback—because he feared for my safety…
As warmth flooded her heart, any residual irritation melted away. The man might be proud and high-handed, but she could not remain indifferent to these signs of his concern. If only there were some way she could reassure him that she was not under Mr. Wickham’s spell! He did not deserve to labor under such a delusion.
“I just invited Miss Elizabeth for a drive in my curricle,” Mr. Darcy informed the colonel. “I guessed that—since you have not been in Brighton long—she has not seen much of the town or surrounding countryside?”
