Page 14

GOSSIP OF AN INSIDIOUS SORT

A longside his engagements with his usual set, Darcy was pleased to receive an invitation to dine with a friend whom he had not seen in an age.

Even in the usual course of events they saw each other only occasionally, for they moved in different circles, but Newton had married the previous summer and hied off to the country to enjoy his wedded bliss away from the madding crowd, so it had been an even longer hiatus than usual.

It was a pleasant evening; Newton was an interesting man with interesting friends.

Towards the end of dinner, however, one of them—Miss Stevens—began to grate on Darcy’s nerves.

She was engaging enough, even rather amusing at times, but as the night wore on, her obvious attempts to secure his approbation grew tiresome.

“ You have not drunk much, Mr Darcy,” she said after a servant refilled her wine glass. She leant closer to him, so their shoulders brushed against each other. “Are you worried how you might behave if you allow yourself to over imbibe?”

“Our ideas of what amounts to overindulgence appear to be at odds. I have had more than enough to satisfy me, but perhaps you have a stronger constitution.”

She twirled her wine glass back and forth between her fingertips. “Far from it, sir, but if I had not taken some Dutch courage, I should have been entirely too nervous to speak to you.”

Would that the servant had been less eager to refill her glass! “We are all Mr Newton’s friends. There can be no occasion to be nervous of each other.”

She gave him a coy look. “But you are so clever, Mr Darcy. I worry I might say something you think is stupid.”

“Pray, waste no more time worrying about that.” That horse had long since bolted. “There is no reason to suspect I am any cleverer than any other person present.”

“But you are the most illustrious.”

“Does that matter?”

Darcy heard himself say it but could not quite believe the words were his.

His consequence was vastly superior to hers; of course it mattered.

There had been a time, not so very long ago, when he had expected such deference—been insulted when he had not received it.

He knew not what had brought about the alteration of his feelings—perhaps his stay at Netherfield, where close confinement had made Miss Bingley’s officious attention insufferable.

He sipped his wine to drown the voice whispering that it more likely dated from the moment Elizabeth refused to show him any such deference, and he had liked it far more than he ought to have done.

“You have been very sly, Mr Newton,” Miss Stevens called across the table, piquing the interest of most of the other diners, who all looked on with amusement as she added, “You did not tell us that Mr Darcy was gracious as well as handsome.”

Newton cast Darcy an amused look and shook his head. “I do not recall telling you he was handsome either—and you must not expect me to join you in flattering him. I would not make Mrs Newton jealous.”

“You are wasting your time in any case, Perdita,” Mrs Newton added from her end of the table. “Mr Darcy is spoken for.”

Darcy raised an eyebrow, faintly vexed but wholly resigned. He had not thought the rumour his cousin mentioned had enough substance to spread farther than the debauched party at which he heard it, but rumours often took on a life of their own in London. He knew better than to protest too much.

Miss Stevens showed no such restraint and rounded on him with comical affront, all her affectations disappeared. “By whom?”

“Yes, by whom, Darcy?” Newton echoed. “You did not mention anything about a young lady.”

“There was nothing to mention.”

“There you are, my dear,” Newton said to his wife. “If Darcy says there is nothing to this report, then I am persuaded, for I have never known him to utter a falsehood.”

“That can be said of all the best liars,” observed Goodman, another old acquaintance of Darcy’s, picking up on the conversation. “Come on, old boy, tell us who she is.”

“You had better ask Mrs Newton,” Darcy replied. “She seems to know a good deal more than I do.”

“I doubt that, sir,” she said, smiling meaningfully, “but if you will insist on making me adopt the pretence, then I shall reveal everything I have heard.”

“Do your worst—I am all anticipation to discover who my mystery lady is.”

“I do not know her name—only that she is very pretty, and she makes you smile.”

“My dear, you have just achieved that!” cried Newton—and, indeed, Darcy had chuckled upon hearing the paltry extent of Mrs Newton’s information.

“I am not making it up!” she objected, though she, too, was laughing now. “Mrs Daniels saw them together, and by her account, Mr Darcy was quite enraptured.”

Miss Stevens made a noise of disgust. “Mrs Daniels could make a scandal out of a nun’s wimple.”

“There is no suggestion of scandal,” Mrs Newton admonished.

“Happy news,” Darcy said drily.

“Which puts an end to it,” Newton said, “for what other reason could there be to conceal an understanding with an attractive young lady?”

“Only Darcy can answer that,” Goodman replied with a sly grin. “But judging from the way he adamantly refused to introduce her to Atkins in Hyde Park last week, my guess is that he wishes to prevent the rest of us from discovering her, that he might keep her to himself.”

“You cannot mean Miss Elizabeth Bennet?”

Darcy regretted the words before they were all the way out of his mouth. Mrs Newton’s eyes gleamed with victory; Goodman sat up straighter in his seat; all those who had not yet abandoned their own conversations to attend to his now did so.

“I do not know— do I?” Goodman replied lazily. “I suppose I might, if she is the same dark-haired beauty you were seen talking to outside White’s the other week.”

“Or the same young lady you were seen handing into a carriage over near Covent Garden,” Mrs Newton added.

Darcy cursed to himself. It had never occurred to him that Fitzwilliam’s rumour might pertain to Elizabeth!

He had assumed it must be a woman of his own circle—one with whom he had dined or danced.

One whose family was known to his and would not be considered a reprehensible connexion.

He had not fought to disentangle himself from Elizabeth’s power in Hertfordshire only for his reputation to be imperilled by the association here in town!

Knowing the worst thing he could do would be to respond with indignation, he did his utmost to answer composedly.

“It was Miss Bennet I ran into on St James’s Street, though we did not talk for long.

Whether she is the same woman to whom your various reports refer, I could not say—but, much though I hate to disappoint you, she and I are not involved in an intrigue. ”

“How are the two of you acquainted?” Mrs Newton enquired.

“We met last year when I stayed with a friend near her father’s estate. I should be happy to introduce you, if we ever happen to be in the same room at the same time, but we are not on such familiar terms as makes that likely.”

She managed to look disappointed as she thanked him.

“Your interrogation of Darcy is over, I presume, my dear?” Newton asked his wife. He looked a little sheepish, as well he should, that one of his guests had been so mercilessly impugned. Darcy was relieved to see a look pass between them that heralded a decisive change of subject.

He forced himself to join in as though he was wholly untroubled by what had passed.

Indeed, there was little else to be done unless he hoped to raise the suspicions of the whole ton .

Elizabeth would have made a better job of it.

She would have made a mockery of Mrs Newton’s insinuations, charmed Goodman into silence, and outvied all Miss Stevens’s attempts to bewitch him.

Such reveries could not lull him into forgetting those causes of repugnance that had resolved him against any attachment to begin with.

He shuddered to think what this dinner would be like with Elizabeth’s younger sisters at the table; if any of Elizabeth’s aunts or uncles were to make an appearance and begin discussing their trades—or, God forbid, if Mrs Bennet should attend and take it into her head to wrap her legs around another of his friends.

If word spread that he was connected to such a family, he and Georgiana would be made pariahs before the Season even began.

His one consolation was that Newton and his friends were not his usual set.

It could only be hoped that this rumour never reached beyond the limit of their sphere.