Page 34

IF MUSIC BE THE FOOD OF LOVE

D arcy despised not being master of himself.

He had always taken the utmost pride in being self-possessed, yet this past week, he had lost all command of his sensibilities.

The humiliation of ingratiating himself into the Fulcombes’ notice had enraged him beyond reason; every demurral he had been obliged to give, denying his engagement to Elizabeth, had plunged him into greater agonies.

He had not even managed to keep a rational head about commonplace matters, snapping at his manservant and waxing morose over a report from his steward.

He knew very well the cause and reviled his inability to reason himself out of the fascination, but the hope that his suffering would ease with time diminished with every dawn, when he awoke missing Elizabeth more than the day before.

“No need to look so glum,” Cunningham said, reaching over from his side of the carriage to give Darcy a poke. “Tonight ought to be fun.”

His cousins had contrived to secure their own invitations to the Fulcombes’ dinner and prevailed upon him to give them a lift.

He wished he had refused, for when they had climbed into his carriage, it was to present him with a printed caricature that was apparently doing the rounds, which he would rather not have seen.

As caricatures went, it was blessedly flattering, but that was where the good news ended.

Any depiction of Elizabeth and him together would perpetuate the rumours about them, and this sketch in particular—of them at the altar, obstinately insisting they were unknown to each other whilst he slipped a ring onto her finger—could only encourage people to believe they were secretly a couple.

It explained why strangers had begun recognising him everywhere he went, but he sincerely hoped Elizabeth had not seen it, for it could do nothing to improve her opinion of his sphere.

Indeed, it perfectly exemplified her reproof of the society of which he had been so absurdly proud—of which he had judged her to be unworthy!

His circle was titillated by this story and did think it was amusing to gossip them into a relationship where, at least on one side, there was no affection.

“Fun for you perhaps. Nobody is chasing after you, insisting you must be engaged to every woman you ever looked at.”

“Why accept Lady Fulcombe’s invitation if the attention is so abhorrent to you?” Cunningham asked. “Indeed, why stay in London at all when you could dip back up to Pemberley and wait for it all to blow over?”

Darcy made no reply, though he gave Fitzwilliam the slightest of nods in recognition of the fact that he had honoured his pledge not to tell his brother the whole truth.

“That would also give you the advantage of avoiding my father’s questions,” Cunningham added.

Darcy looked at him sharply. “Your father knows?”

“All of London is talking about his nephew. You cannot have expected him to remain in the dark forever.”

“Pray tell me he does not believe it.”

Cunningham shrugged. “There is no smoke without fire.”

“How many times must I refute this before people start to believe me?”

Fitzwilliam clicked his tongue. “The problem is, Darcy, people want to believe it. It has caught their imaginations. Your supposed alliance with Miss Bennet is too fashionable a cause not to support now.”

Darcy snarled in disgust. “Idiocy.”

“Untwist your small clothes,” Cunningham said. “We shall spend the evening denying it to anyone who will listen. All will be well.”

It soon became evident that the evening would be very far from well when they entered Lord and Lady Fulcombe’s drawing room, and the first person Darcy set eyes on was Elizabeth.

He did his best to maintain a semblance of composure, though the deluge of sentiments, questions, and concerns that erupted in his head made it near impossible.

Elizabeth did a sterling job of maintaining her poise, but the flash of dismay that preceded her impassive smile cut him to the quick.

It did not help that the room fell silent, every occupant staring expectantly between them to see how they would act—or that, behind him, Fitzwilliam replied to Cunningham’s maddeningly loud whisper that yes, that was the woman in question.

Despite all that, he was elated to see her.

She looked beautiful, as ever, her presence going a long way to settling the aching restiveness that had plagued him for days.

He dared not smile, for he could only imagine how she might perceive that after what had transpired during their last encounter, but neither could he leave her alone as she must be wishing.

They were well beyond pretending to be passing acquaintances.

For now, he inclined his head in acknowledgement and turned with his cousins to greet his hosts, thankful to hear the hum of conversation return to the room.

“We are delighted you could all join us,” Lady Fulcombe said, adding with flagrant disregard for Cunningham and Fitzwilliam, “I have long said we ought to know you better, Mr Darcy, for your reputation precedes you. Miss Elizabeth’s too. She and her family are perfectly charming.”

Darcy looked over his shoulder in surprise, noticing what he had not before: Elizabeth was not alone.

Her sister, aunt, and uncle were in attendance also, talking—quite at ease, it would seem—to Lord and Lady Rothersea.

He wished he had known the earl and countess were coming; he could have asked them to secure him an invitation instead of jumping through a thousand hoops.

He had to smile. He was one of the richest landowners in Derbyshire, grandson of an earl, eligibility incarnate, and he had been required to connive and scheme his way here.

Elizabeth, and the relations he had scorned, had simply been invited on the basis of character. She never failed to humble him.

“Yes, they are all excellent company,” he agreed.

An excruciating quarter of an hour followed as he and his cousins made their way around the gathering, greeting familiar faces and being introduced to new ones.

The room quieted again when the time eventually came for Elizabeth and him to greet each other, and people strained to listen.

They need not have troubled themselves, for there was nothing interesting to hear; it was all torturously civil.

Elizabeth bade him and Fitzwilliam good evening and accepted an introduction to Cunningham with studied indifference.

He told her his sister had very much enjoyed her call, and despite her obvious disbelief, she thanked him politely.

It was true; Georgiana had enjoyed it enormously.

Forbidding her from returning the call had been difficult to justify, but necessary, for he would not impose upon Elizabeth a connexion she had made very clear she did not want.

He could explain none of that at present, however, and was obliged to fall back on platitudes.

It was almost a relief when they were swamped by people wishing to talk to them, for it prevented either from uttering another word to each other until they were called in to dinner.

He was exasperated to find himself seated next to her, exactly halfway down the huge table, in full contravention of precedence and in full view of all the other guests.

She discreetly rolled her eyes at him as they took their seats, which felt like vast progress, but after that, their earlier stiltedness returned.

They exchanged a few words about the size of the party and number of dishes, but she was largely occupied by the bombastic fellow on her left, and the woman on Darcy’s right scarcely stopped talking from the moment she sat down.

He glanced at Elizabeth often from the corner of his eye, unbearably aware of her proximity and willing her to return his look.

She did, now and again, and though it electrified him every time, he could not be sure from her expression what she was thinking.

He wished he could tell her how well she looked.

She would not wish to hear it, but she would, he hoped, be pleased by his design of discovering her mother’s whereabouts.

There came a moment, between courses, as the servants were clearing the table and both their other dining partners were otherwise occupied, that it seemed he might speak with relative privacy, and he took the chance.

“You look much better,” he said quietly. “I trust you are fully recovered.”

“As much as can be expected, thank you,” she replied under her breath.

After a brief pause, he ventured, “I am here because—” but at the same time, Elizabeth began, “I did not know you would be here—” and they both stopped again.

“Pray, continue,” he urged her.

She gave him a fleeting and perfunctory smile. “I hope you do not think I came here with any intention of obtruding into your life. I could not get out of it without causing offence. I hope it does not worsen the talk about us.”

It wounded Darcy to hear her aversion to having anything to do with him spoken so plainly.

“It surely cannot get any worse. But I, too, was obliged to come, for I have found out that Lord Fulcombe is good friends with Mrs Randall’s new sponsor.

I hope to uncover his name, or perhaps his address, in the course of the evening. ”

“Oh.”

A light blush suffused her cheeks. So much for giving her hope; he had only succeeded in mortifying her. Wonderful.

“I shall speak to him after dinner and let you know whether I have any success.”