Page 39 of Count the Cost (The Secrets of Elizabeth Bennet #2)
D arcy leaned back in his chair, his eyes closed, allowing himself to simply be without thought, as his valet shaved him carefully.
Mr. Maunder might snore abominably, keeping Darcy awake when away from home, but he was utterly loyal and Darcy could trust him absolutely. He smiled very slightly, and the blade hesitated before continuing when Darcy had composed himself once more.
Darcy allowed himself to think of his amusement once he had his features better under control. Lady Bedford had approached him after he had been here two nights, to demand that Maunder be accommodated with his other servants.
Darcy had shaken his head, forcing a smile.
“Lady Bedford, of course I would wish to accommodate you in this. But I can assure you that, although your own daughters are without reproach, I have never stayed anywhere where there are single young ladies without an attempt by one of them to compromise me. Having my servant with me is the only way to be certain of avoiding the gossip.” He had put on his best smile, even if it could not be considered charming.
“I am sure you would not wish Horston Grange to be mentioned in the scandal sheets, when they talk of my refusal to marry a lady who has ruined herself.”
She had been silenced, and Darcy had remained with his faithful man as guard. If she had not, then he would have departed the same day. He shivered, and Maunder jumped backwards.
“Have a care, sir!”
“I am sorry, Mr. Maunder. I must not allow my thoughts to wander.”
“Especially not this evening, sir. I would be mortified if you appeared with a cut face.”
“You are correct.” Darcy sighed. “I will be still.”
It was the evening of the ball. The gentlemen — without exception — had been sent out on a shooting party while the ladies were relegated to activities in the drawing room as the ballroom was prepared, the dining room set up for the supper, and the rear parlours turned into retiring rooms. Darcy wondered how Miss Bennet had fared.
He was sorry he had been cold and withdrawn towards her yesterday.
The wounded look in her eyes had haunted his night.
How did he think he could protect her, perhaps be fortunate enough to win her, if he would treat her with coldness for no reason other than his own fears?
Darcy descended the stairs, rather thinking he was overdressed for this ball at a country house.
Mr. Maunder was obviously in competition with other valets here, and Darcy rather wished he would not stand out with his pale blue silk waistcoat, shot though with silver threads, and his crisp white cravat fastened with his father’s favourite sapphire stickpin.
He shook his head at his thoughts and moved through the hall, taking a glass of wine from the nearest footman’s tray, nodding his thanks.
As he entered the ballroom, he glanced around at the lavish decorations, the multitude of candles lighting the elaborate chalk work on the floor, and then at the swirling mass of ladies in their finery, with the occasional dark-suited gentleman interrupting the colours.
Darcy’s eyes took in the room, searching for one particular lady.
He didn’t even know what colour her gown was, and, with the influx of local people to make the numbers up, he might not have seen her for a long while.
However, his gaze was drawn to a certain area, he knew not how, and he saw her, standing beside Lady Mildred, protecting her from the view of the many people the younger lady might not know.
His heart swelled. Miss Bennet. She was the kindest of women, the most lovely to his eyes, and — he ought to have known it, clad in a very deceptive austerely-cut ball gown of a rich, vibrant violet. Another colour he had never seen. He smiled faintly. Lady Bedford would be furious.
Darcy drew in a deep breath and began to move towards her, vaguely acknowledging greetings from others he passed, barely noticing them. He must speak to her.
He bowed. Her gown was even more enticing when he could see it closely.
The bodice was daringly square-cut, and she had a simple gold chain from which hung a deep violet teardrop amethyst. He almost gasped.
A stone of that colour must have come from the Siberian Ural Mountain region, and its value was almost incalculable.
But the colour matched her gown perfectly, and the setting was exquisite.
Matching earrings and an elegant bracelet made up the set.
Darcy was rendered speechless for a moment and her eyebrow rose enquiringly.
He recovered himself, and bowed. “Lady Mildred, Miss Bennet. You both look utterly enchanting this evening.”
The ladies curtsied in response. “I thank you.” Miss Bennet’s voice was cool, and she hadn’t waited for the senior lady to answer, as if knowing that Lady Mildred was overwhelmed. That young lady looked at her friend gratefully.
He cleared his throat. “I would wish to confirm the dances I have secured if that is still amenable to you?” He turned to the girl — she seemed almost as young as Georgiana, what were her parents thinking of? — “I believe we have the second, my lady?”
She nodded jerkily, and he turned back to Miss Bennet; she of the dangerous eyes. “I am greatly anticipating the supper dance, madam, and another opportunity for further irreverent conversation over the meal.”
Her lips twitched, though her expression was still guarded. “It is yours, sir.” She lifted her dance card, and he saw his name pencilled in.
But she had turned to the girl beside her. “Why do you not join us at supper with your dance partner? We will have such fun.”
He smiled at them both. He would much rather have Miss Bennet to himself at supper, but he could not fault her kindness to the vulnerable young lady.
Darcy bowed quietly, and retreated to the wall, where he could observe the lady he was attracted to above all others. But he had hurt her yesterday. An apology was due to her, and a quiet explanation, and contrition. He hoped it would be enough.
When the second dance was called, Darcy returned to the ladies and offered Lady Mildred his hand, smiling kindly at her. During the first dance, he had considered his strategy carefully.
He had seen several gentlemen approaching Miss Bennet, but each time she had shaken her head, indicating her young friend, and then offering her dance card.
Lord Bedford was dancing the first with the other daughter, Lady Cecilia.
He had frowned, did the family not have a suitable male relative to dance the first with Lady Mildred?
It seemed unsatisfactory, and he determined to be as friendly as possible to the young lady during the second. And it would please Miss Bennet, too.
He imagined how he would like a gentleman to treat his sister at her first ball, dancing with a gentleman she barely knew, and he moderated his conversation and tone accordingly.
He was gratified at the way she blossomed and grew in confidence during the dances and afterwards he escorted her back to Miss Bennet quite pleased with himself.
She had noticed, and gave him a bright smile, which was reward enough, and he retreated back to his section of wall to consider the rest of the evening.
He would have to dance more, he supposed, although he thought Miss Bennet — and Lady Mildred — might be pleased if he did not dance with Lady Cecilia, unless he was approached by her parents.
He would dance with the other young ladies of the house party, he thought, and not with the outside guests; after all they had not been introduced. Perhaps Miss Beresford first, and then Miss Standish. That would be enough before the supper dance.
As he danced a cotillion with Miss Standish, he was able to observe Miss Bennet dancing with Cunningham, fortunate man!
His acquaintance was showing his interest far more openly than he had previously.
Perhaps the quality of Miss Bennet’s costume and jewellery were doing her no favours, if she really wished no entanglements.
She seemed brightly cheerful, but Darcy was pleased to see that she was perfectly polite with no signs of a flirtatious manner.
How could he have believed what he had overheard Lady Bedford saying?
And he had been cold to Miss Bennet, for no good reason and had hurt her.
It was no credit to the constancy of his character. He must do better.
With a start, he came back to the present. He must concentrate on the dance, and on his current partner. To dream in this way was not being gentlemanly.
But he could hardly wait for the supper dance.