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And she did not, for the most part. Darcy would prefer to monopolise her time at Matlock; she had felt his intent gaze the previous evening in the drawing room, as well as his impatience to steal away with her.

She would not tell him that she was enjoying some time apart to converse with ladies she would come to know better when she became Mrs Darcy.

Currently nine of them, save Lady Aurelia and Miss Balton-Sycke, were settled into chairs in the blue sitting room, enjoying the afternoon sun and restoring themselves for the evening’s festivities.

“I ate too much marzipan. My stays are poking me,” whispered the tallest and most well-endowed of the ladies near her. Elizabeth paused, running names through her head. Miss Barlowe?

Miss Parker lowered her voice. “We shan’t need stays tomorrow if we are truly to be savages. Lord Saye says island ladies do not wear gowns, only grass skirts on their bottoms! ”

When Elizabeth’s eyes met Miss Goddard’s equally mirthful ones, she started to giggle. Mortified, she clapped her hand over her mouth.

“Hush, ladies. You will only give Saye more ideas for creating misery.” Miss Goddard patted Elizabeth’s hand. “Enough about the gentlemen. I believe most of us are acquainted in some manner, Miss Bennet. It is nice to have time for us all to get to know you without the men swirling about.”

Elizabeth was overcome by such kindness. “Please, call me Elizabeth. I am in need of new friends and confidantes, and Mr Darcy has told me you are a kind-hearted lady.”

Miss Goddard laughed, a dimple appearing in her cheek. “Has he? I am honoured. Mr Darcy is not a gentleman known for sharing his opinion of any particular young lady.”

“Oh yes, the poor hunted man,” Elizabeth replied. “I understand he has been challenged for years in society to politely ignore the attention of ladies.”

“Until you, Elizabeth—and I understand you made little effort to attract his attention, but caught it nevertheless. An enviable achievement,” said Miss Hawkridge, smiling kindly at her.

Elizabeth blushed, having wondered how, exactly, the scorned and ignored ladies of the ton would view her fortunate situation.

“Miss Bennet. As the only lady here who is betrothed, and to a man many of our mothers wished for us—” Miss Hilgrove, a thin girl with impressively arched eyebrows, blushed before forging ahead.

“As a result of your success, would you have some insight as to how gentlemen think? After all, you were disinclined towards Mr Darcy, and he nonetheless pursued you. It paints such a romantic picture in our minds, the spurned lover winning over the hand of the lady he admires.”

Miss Bentley looked doubtful. “Do you suppose a lady’s success in winning a proposal is best achieved by spurning interested gentlemen? Rejecting the addresses of the man whom they secretly mean to accept?”

“Perhaps,” Miss Fisher replied thoughtfully. “It is not the first such tale I have heard.”

“Breaking a man’s heart as a means to win him as a husband is dishonest, if not cruel,” Miss Hawkridge opined.

Elizabeth frowned, recalling her earlier conversation with Miss Bentley. She wondered whether the lady had herself once been spurned.

“The gentlemen are sharing their own confidences downstairs, boasting of their acumen in sport, more likely,” offered Miss Hilgrove. “That is what my brothers do.”

“Your brothers are only sixteen. These are gentlemen.” Miss Hawkridge rolled her eyes before adding, a touch of mischief in her voice, “Perhaps they are choosing their favourites.”

At least two ladies spoke as one. “Shall we choose ours? ”

Elizabeth could not hide a smile at their eagerness, nor at their similarity to her sisters.

Miss Goddard cleared her throat. “There are many eligible gentlemen gathered here. Each has something to recommend him, quite aside from being a friend of Lord Saye.”

“The viscount is said to be quite the rake.” Miss Morgan’s pronouncement drew its intended response from the ladies; even Miss Goddard looked down at her hands before nodding slightly.

“A rake?” Elizabeth asked carefully, “Surely not! I know him the least of all of you, I daresay, but he seems to be a lively gentleman who holds his friends and family dear, and wishes for all of us gathered here to enjoy ourselves.”

“Lord Saye is the opposite of your betrothed,” said Miss Hilgrove firmly.

Miss Hilgrove’s intemperate declaration prompted a reproof from Miss Hawkridge. “You believe Mr Darcy does not hold his friends and family dear or wish joy on them?”

“No, no! I mean Mr Darcy is not lively, or was never seen as such until, well, he became betrothed to Miss Bennet. He is altered.”

Miss Fisher nodded with all the accumulated wisdom of her eighteen years. “I have seen Mr Darcy smile on three occasions today, and laugh at least once!”

“Only once less than Lord Saye,” murmured Miss Goddard.

Elizabeth was diverted. “Love alters both parties. Would you believe I was an impertinent girl who preferred proverbs to puddings and cats to dogs before I met Mr Darcy?”

“No, we would not!” cried her new champions.

“I hope I was not. But we did not appear well-matched until I better understood his character.” Elizabeth turned to Miss Goddard. “I learnt that the person who most easily provoked my discomposure was the person with whom I truly shared a common interest and disposition.”

A blush appeared on Miss Goddard’s cheeks. “There is something to admire in a gentleman who is sure enough of himself to be quiet where others are in a constant need to prove themselves and entertain.”

“Indeed!” Miss Hilgrove eagerly offered a ready example of such self-confidence.

“I admire how masterful Mr Balton-Sycke was in determining that he must spare his sister the fright and danger of pressing onwards to Derby. He will take good care of his wife.” She smiled meaningfully at Miss Goddard who, Elizabeth noticed, appeared less than enthusiastic in reception of the look.

“He had best take care. An arrow can do only a little damage, but I expect spears shall follow.” Miss Hawkridge smiled slyly at Miss Bentley, who gracefully laughed along with the ladies not shocked by her comment.

The following day, as he watched Elizabeth delight the room with her warmth and wit, Darcy was struck anew with how great his fortune had been to visit Bingley in Hertfordshire.

He and his friend had each found their hearts’ desires there.

Yes, Bingley had the good fortune to be wed to his, but Darcy had met Elizabeth.

Her eyes sparkled with gaiety and humour as she conversed with the ladies and gentlemen.

He had grown accustomed to her eyes shining only for him, but here she appeared amused and pleased by nearly everyone and everything she encountered.

Darcy’s thoughts shifted abruptly when Sir Phineas’s broad, silk-clad figure intruded on his pleasing view of Elizabeth.

Inexplicably balancing a spyglass in one hand and a biscuit in the other, the older man leant towards Darcy and chuckled.

“A long engagement for you? Your Miss Bennet is a peach. Pray keep her from the ton . There are enough gentlemen here who seem delighted by her.”

It was a long engagement. Far too long. What gave Mr Bennet any standing to doubt his wisest daughter or to distrust him?

Elizabeth had not pushed at her father’s strictures as he would have wished.

She had not shown him any uncertainty in her feelings, but did she in fact need time that he did not?

Was it only her father who doubted their attachment?

“What is this, you are back to standing by the walls and admiring the draperies?” Darcy looked up to find Fitzwilliam standing next to him, garrulous and vexatious as he had been as a boy envying Darcy’s new pony. “Is Elizabeth finding the company of others preferable to yours?”

Darcy shifted his gaze from his darling lady, surrounded by new friends on the drawing room sofa, and glowered at his cousin. “Tell me, is it difficult to be the most annoying man in the room?”

“Ha! You have forgotten Ball-Sack is present.”

Before Darcy could reply or escape, he heard a hushed female voice from the window seat behind the heavy curtains.

“I like her very much. There is something engaging in her air—see how readily she laughs?”

“Very readily,” came the hushed reply. “Yet something of the country lingers in her manner.”

“Now, now, we could do with a little more laughter, Miss Barlowe.”

Skirts rustled and then Miss Fisher emerged, pausing to smile briefly before moving across the room to join Elizabeth, Miss Goddard, and others near the fireplace. A moment later, a red-faced Miss Barlowe glided past them.

Fitzwilliam cocked an eyebrow. “It appears Elizabeth’s army of admirers grows larger.”

The sentiments of the ungainly third daughter of a malcontent baronet eager to marry her off meant nothing to Darcy, but he could admire any of Elizabeth’s defenders. “I am well-pleased with Miss Fisher. ”

“You are well-pleased with the world since you discovered Elizabeth here in the library.”

Darcy ignored the sullen tone in his cousin’s voice. “You must make your own discovery. Please your mother and go and talk to a lady—please me and choose one who is unattached to me.”

Fitzwilliam let out an ungentlemanly snort. “I shall not talk to, let alone wed a lady simply to please my mother or ensure a best friend for your dear lady.”

“Shall you even try to know one who meets every requirement you have ever stated, and, in fact, exceeds many of them?”

“I am not here to make this a matchmaking party. I am here to support my brother in his curiously clumsy romantic pursuits.” Fitzwilliam took a swallow of brandy and used the glass to gesture at the assemblage of ladies.

“See how his target, Miss Goddard, sits with Elizabeth, laughing and smiling? She does none of that with Saye. She seems to want nothing to do with him.”