Page 25

ARGUMENTS ARE TOO MUCH LIKE DISPUTES

W ith his free hand, Darcy turned his collar up against the cold. The day was not freezing, but atop his horse, the wind made it feel so. By rights, he ought to be roasting, for his heart was pounding as though he had fought ten bouts at Jackson’s.

His perturbation was not on account of the audience towards which he rode.

He was confident of posing a sufficiently pleasing offer, and Elizabeth’s acceptance would be reward aplenty for any awkwardness compassed in the asking.

Rather, it was his persistent brooding on the many objections to the match that had kept his heart racing and his mind whirling with agitation since deciding to propose.

It was not enough to change his mind; all his incessant reveries these past few weeks, all his tortured longing these past five months, none of it had compared to holding her in his arms for the duration of one waltz.

That he wished her to be his wife was the only thing about which he was in no doubt.

But her connexions had not altered overnight; her family’s situation had not improved.

There was a significant possibility that, at some point, society would fall out of love with her.

Add to that her mother’s infidelity, which would forever dangle over the marriage like the blasted Sword of Damocles, and Darcy thought he could be forgiven for his lingering qualms.

Even so, when he turned Jupiter into Gracechurch Street and recognised one of two women approaching on foot as Elizabeth, he felt the serenity he had been unable to find on his own finally settle upon him. She grounded him in that way. It was another reason he knew she was for him.

He saw the moment she noticed him, for she stopped walking and began speaking to her companion—her sister, he could see now—in a somewhat urgent manner.

He dismounted, thinking it more polite to approach on foot, but the nearer he got, the more animated Elizabeth became.

In the end, with one final hasty glance in his direction, she gave her parcels into Miss Bennet’s possession and propelled her with a little shove up the nearest steps to what he presumed was her uncle’s front door.

Initially gratified by her eagerness to speak to him alone, Darcy’s pleasure faltered when Elizabeth began striding towards him with an expression that looked anything but eager.

He slowed Jupiter to a standstill and bowed.

“I was on my way to call on you. If I might just take my horse?—”

“I do not think a call would be appropriate today.”

“Pardon?”

“I cannot allow you to come in.”

Darcy belatedly perceived the fire in her eyes. She was angry, then. He tried not to be vexed in turn, but it seemed unlikely the interview would go as he had imagined, and disappointment tugged resentfully at his composure.

“Might I enquire why not?”

“My sister is too distressed to see you.”

“Miss Bennet?”

“Yes. You recall her, I suppose? I find it difficult to believe you can have forgotten the unfeeling words you spoke to her at Mrs Hurst’s house. I assure you she has not.”

Darcy must have gripped the reins tighter, for Jupiter tossed his head in displeasure. He absently stroked his muzzle. “I have not forgotten, but I assumed you knew. Am I to understand that you have only just been informed?”

“Do you truly think I would have been indifferent to it, had I known? You think I would have willingly walked through London, sat to drink tea, danced a waltz—done anything to encourage rumours that I was involved with a man who holds my most beloved sister’s happiness in utter contempt?”

He took a long, measured breath. “I regret that my words gave you or your sister any pain, but they were necessary.”

She gaped at him. “You stand by them?”

“I do.”

“Jane is—” She paused as someone walked by them. Jupiter snorted impatiently into the hiatus, and Elizabeth resumed in a low but heated voice. “Jane is a gentleman’s daughter. Pray tell me why an alliance between her and the son of a tradesman should be ‘out of the question’.”

“Is this not all moot? Surely her heart is not still engaged.”

“If it were, it would be in vain, for it seems you have done everything in your power to keep her away from Mr Bingley.”

Darcy comprehended, with grim resignation, that he was going to have to tell her the truth.

“Can you deny it?” she demanded.

“I have no wish of denying it. If we might go somewhere more private, I shall explain. It is not a discussion to be had in the middle of Gracechurch Street.”

“Oh yes! Heaven forbid you should be seen in this part of town. I can only imagine what mortification it must have cost you to come into it. Pray do not remain on my account. And you must not feel under any obligation to keep your engagement with my aunt and uncle on Monday.”

Darcy regarded her with rising indignation. He had overlooked the inferiority of those very relations and come into this dreadful part of town to ask for her hand. It felt rather as though she had delivered it to him in a stinging blow to his cheek.

“You mistake my meaning, madam,” he said more coldly than he meant to.

“Do I? Will you tell me, then, that you do not disdain my aunt and uncle’s situation?”

“I trust you saw last night that I made every endeavour to engage them both.”

“I did, and foolishly, I thought that meant you recognised their worth. But in the cold light of day, the acquaintance is not quite so innocuous, is it?”

“No,” he snapped, tired of being admonished. “Their condition in life is decidedly beneath my own, and I will not be ashamed of observing as much—but neither will I scruple to admit that they conducted themselves very agreeably last night. Would that all your family could boast such decorum.”

“Is this about my mother?”

Darcy baulked. That was precisely his meaning, but he regretted invoking the matter so crudely. He opened his mouth to repeat his request that they go somewhere more private that he might explain, but Elizabeth anticipated him with a sharp exhalation and a shake of her head.

“You said I could depend on your secrecy—you all but insisted that I tell you my concerns. Now I find that you have taken what I said to you in confidence and used it as another excuse to justify your part in separating my sister from your friend.”

“I did not need another excuse to do that, as you would understand if you would only—blast it!” He muttered this last under his breath as he comprehended, too late, that they were being approached by one of his own acquaintances.

Elizabeth looked behind her to see what had silenced him and gave an impatient sigh, but to her credit, she observably checked her temper and forced a cordial smile to her face.

The Countess of Rothersea reached Elizabeth’s side and looked between her and Darcy with a small but expressive smile. Her retinue of ladies fanned out around her, all of them mirroring her curiosity.

“Mr Darcy, I am surprised to see you. I did not think you favoured this part of town.”

“Nor I you, my lady.”

“Oh, I come here all the time. It is absolutely the best place for knick-knacks. Now, I hate to interrupt your little”—she waggled a pointed a finger between him and Elizabeth—“tête-à-tête, but I must be on my way, and I should not like to miss this opportunity of making the acquaintance of your…friend. Would you do me the honour of introducing her to me?”

Darcy tried to catch Elizabeth’s eye to at least give the pretence of asking her permission, but her gaze remained obstinately fixed on the countess.

“Of course,” he replied. “Lady Rothersea, Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”

Elizabeth curtseyed. “It is an honour to meet you.”

“I have heard a great many things about you, but not nearly enough to satisfy me. You must come to my soiree a week today and let us interrogate you.”

Darcy was dismayed that the rumours Elizabeth had, moments before, despaired of encouraging should be so openly acknowledged.

He worried she would say no to spite him, but he ought to have known better.

She had never flouted propriety to his knowledge, and she was not swayed by pettiness to do so now.

“Thank you. Your ladyship is very kind. If my aunt is not otherwise engaged that day and able to accompany me, I should be happy to?—”

Lady Rothersea waved a hand dismissively. “Never mind about that. Only ladies will be in attendance—you will not need to be chaperoned. Where ought I to send a note?”

Elizabeth gave her uncle’s direction, pointing down the road towards the house in question and casting Darcy a pointed look in the process. Lady Rothersea did not so much as blink at the address, proving that the ton truly had lost their minds over Elizabeth.

“I shall look forward to it, Miss Bennet. Now, if you will excuse me, I shall leave the two of you to finish your lovers’ tiff in peace.” She walked away, laughing with her ladies at her own joke.

Elizabeth’s civility dissolved the instant the countess’s back was turned. “Is there nowhere in the whole of London that a person can remain inconspicuous?”

“Not if one is known, no,” Darcy replied, hoping churlishly that she was beginning to comprehend his world at last.

It only infuriated her.

“I am only known because of you! If you would only leave me alone, I could go back to being unknown !”

Darcy held himself still until the sting of her words passed. When it did not seem as though it was going to, he forced himself to say, “I can get you out of it, if you would like.”

“What I would like, sir, is not to be the current on dit of a society in which women with more money than sense think it is amusing to gossip people who have nothing in common into relationships to which neither of them are even remotely inclined. But we both know I must go. I will not risk my uncle’s hard-earned reputation on the whims of such a woman. ”

She began to leave but changed her mind and turned back. “You must not worry. No amount of gossip could persuade me to marry a man who disdains everything and everyone I hold dear. You are quite as safe as Mr Bingley.”

Darcy made no attempt to prevent her from walking away. With his heart now thundering so powerfully it had begun to hurt, and his ire burning so hot it made him want to throw his coat into the gutter, he mounted his horse and urged it homeward.