Page 18 of Superior Connections
T here were three rows of chairs in the box, and the ladies were invited to sit at the front. Elizabeth took the chair at the end of the row, and she was acutely aware of Mr Darcy taking the seat just behind her.
Being in Covent Garden for the first time since it re-opened, Elizabeth was enraptured. By the time the play began, they were all deep in enjoyable conversation. Colonel Fitzwilliam took an instant liking to Elizabeth, and she readily enjoyed his friendly manners.
The beginning of the performance invited them all to cease their discussion and turn to the stage.
“Miss Elizabeth, Miss Bennet, do you have glasses? I have a spare if you need it,” Miss Darcy offered.
“Yes, we have, thank you,” Elizabeth replied, smiling at the girl. The music began, the audience was paying attention to the stage, and Elizabeth opened her new reticule, searching for the glass. Slightly nervous, her fingers became clumsy, and she dropped the reticule and its contents. She bent down, trying to retrieve it without causing a scene, but her breath caught when her fingers entwined with Mr Darcy’s and she felt his breath at the nape of her neck. He too was trying to pick up the reticule, and he succeeded.
He held the few objects, trying to place them in Elizabeth’s hand. Already troubled by the innocent gestures that had so strong an effect upon her, a sudden sense of deep mortification and freezing panic enveloped Elizabeth, while her cheeks, ears, and neck felt like they were burning. In his palm was her handkerchief, the opera glass, and his neckcloth. He clearly recognised it instantly and looked at Elizabeth with an intense and intrigued gaze. She dared meet his eyes for only a moment. What could she tell him, especially there, in the theatre, crowded with people, with her family and his around? With trembling fingers, she tried to place everything back inside the reticule, but his hand gently stayed her.
“Allow me,” he whispered. Then he put the handkerchief and neckcloth inside, placed the glass in her hand, and tied the reticule, giving it to her.
She took it, finally whispering, “Thank you.”
“You are welcome,” he said, his voice so low that she mostly read the words on his lips rather than heard them.
The exchange was short, and it was likely nobody noticed anything unusual. A woman had dropped something, and a gentleman had picked it up for her — a most common occurrence.
Mr Darcy resumed his place, and the play began, but Elizabeth heard only her heart pounding. She felt mortified, foolish, ridiculous; he must believe that she had lost her mind and stolen his neckcloth and carried it with her. Perhaps she could pretend she had brought it to the theatre to return it to him. It would still be ridiculous to give the neckcloth back that evening, but perhaps she would appear less laughable in his eyes.
Her fingers were still unsteady and could hardly hold the opera glass. She felt dizzy when she sensed him moving again, his head lowering to hers and his voice whispering, “I never washed the gloves. I cleaned and dried them on the outside only. Inside, they are still warm.”
That was all. A few mere words; a few simple sentences with no apparent meaning. Then he sat back properly, and she heard him whispering something to the colonel.
Elizabeth’s lips were dry, her heart raced, and a thrill ran down her spine, while she felt the room was too warm and she could hardly breathe. There could be no doubts and no misunderstandings. He had seen the neckcloth and understood the significance and wished to put her at ease with his own confession.
Elizabeth did not remember much about the rest of the evening. There were a few pauses between the acts, people mingled to stretch their legs, and a few other people were introduced to Lady Rosseford, to her, and to Jane, but she remembered no faces and no names. Mr Darcy did not speak to her again, except for a few brief comments about the play. His gaze rested upon her quite often, though, and she hoped she understood the meaning of the little smile pressed between his lips.
Mr Bingley spent most of the time with Jane, but she was also the centre of attention for the colonel, the viscount, and other gentlemen. Jane was glowing, wearing a little blush on her cheeks and a timid smile on her lips. Mr Bingley looked pale and miserable, and Elizabeth would have felt pity for him if she was not certain that Jane’s heart was still his. A little bit of jealousy should be a good test of one’s feelings, Elizabeth thought.
Her opinion changed soon when two young ladies and their mother entered the box and spoke to the Matlocks as well as to Mr Darcy. The discussion was about a certain ball at Lady Jersey’s that had apparently taken place a little while ago, and they were teasing Mr Darcy about owing them a few dances. They were handsome, fashionable, and playful, competing for Mr Darcy’s attention. Elizabeth had never felt jealous until that evening, and the taste of it was quite bitter. And she suddenly felt sorry for poor Mr Bingley.
Elizabeth was rather relieved when the evening ended. If not for her turmoil, she would have probably enjoyed herself much more. As it was, she hardly remembered the performance and promised herself she would see the play again one day.
Their leave-taking was cordial but brief, as it was late and cold. Mr Darcy and Mr Bingley helped the ladies out of the carriage and into Lady Rosseford’s house, and Elizabeth found a moment to say, “Mr Darcy, thank you for helping me with my reticule.”
“It was my pleasure, Miss Elizabeth. Truly my pleasure,” he repeated, his dark gaze proving the truth of his words.
∞∞∞
A sleepless night could be exceedingly pleasant, Darcy thought. After the evening at the theatre, Georgiana and Mrs Annesley had retired, but Bingley had remained, and they had shared some drinks and opinions. Bingley kept talking about Jane Bennet’s beauty, which Darcy agreed with while his mind was only filled with Elizabeth’s image. She was always beautiful, especially when her face was streaked with mud, but that evening she had been particularly alluring — so much so that he had felt dizzy the moment she entered the carriage. She had sat next to him, and while there had been a slight distance between them, the motion of the vehicle had made their bodies move close enough to brush against each other at times. He had felt her nervousness and hoped it was because of him.
Since her arrival in London, he had tried not to impose his presence on her too much and had encouraged Bingley to do the same, yet he had delighted in seeing the bond between Georgiana and Elizabeth growing without his direct involvement.
He had allowed Elizabeth time to meet other people without his interference. However, unlike in the past, he had accepted several invitations to parties that he would usually have avoided, simply because he knew Elizabeth would attend. Seeing her in the midst of the people — including all the other young ladies — he had known for years, Darcy had begun to understand his attraction for her: to him, she was simply different. There was a certain light in her sparkling eyes and in her smiles, a certain charm in her open manners that singled her out to him. She might not be the image of the perfect lady to some people, but to him, she was his perfect match. If only she felt the same.
Lady Rosseford seemed to have followed her plan diligently and had introduced her nieces in some of the most exclusive houses of the ton. She was obviously wasting a significant amount of money on that purpose, and he wondered whether it was worth it. The only visible result was that Bingley suffered from jealousy and did not dare open his heart to Miss Jane Bennet, while the lady looked happier in his presence than surrounded by the most eligible men in London.
That evening, at the theatre, Darcy had received his answer, revealed by the little reticule dropped on the carpet. Elizabeth had kept his neckcloth that he had used to bandage her ankle all that time ago. Furthermore, she kept it in her reticule. That little piece of fabric was the best proof he could have discovered of her feelings, which seemed to be stronger than he could have hoped for.
He supposed she could have brought the neckcloth in order to return it to him, but if that were the case, she would not have been so nervous and clearly mortified. Furthermore, his last doubts had vanished when he had gathered the courage to tell her about the gloves and had witnessed her response.
He had to find a way to speak to her as soon as possible. He had already wasted enough time. After Bingley left, Darcy went to bed, but he spent most of the night thinking of a way to catch a few moments alone with Elizabeth; and somehow, in every set of circumstances he imagined, she always ended up in his arms, her lips captured by his and her bare hands resting in his palms. He could see and feel those little scenes in every fibre of his body, and it was no wonder he did not find a moment’s rest.
Therefore, he rose at dawn to read some letters and to write several others. Around breakfast time, Colonel Fitzwilliam appeared, requesting coffee and food.
“What happened to you, Darcy? You look as tired as I am, and I am quite sure you did not go on to a party after last night’s theatre performance.”
“I did not, but I slept little. Nothing to worry yourself about.”
“So, what an evening it was! Lady Rosseford is quite a woman. She seems like a dangerous combination of Mother and Lady Catherine.”
Darcy laughed. “That was exactly my description when I first met her.”
“Her nieces are charming. Even last night at the party, all the men that had met them agreed about that. Most of the women did not, as you may expect.”
“I hope Lady Rosseford and her nieces were not your main subject of conversation.”
“Well, they were talked about a considerable amount. Very few new people enter our circle, so curiosity about them is only human. And some of us — including myself — were quite taken with the two Miss Bennets.”
Darcy said nothing.
“Mama likes Lady Rosseford very much. She said she reminds her of her own mother.”
“I am glad to hear that.”
“And speaking of ladies, Lady Catherine asked Father about our visit to Kent this spring. She also mentioned something about your intention to name a date for marrying Anne.”
“She wrote to me too — I have just replied. I am not certain of my plans for this spring, but I am absolutely certain I have no intention of marrying Anne. Anne knows that — she has known it for years. Only Lady Catherine refuses to acknowledge reality. I refuse to discuss this subject further.”
“You know, Darcy,” the colonel asked hesitantly, “I was wondering… Anne and I have always been good friends. What would you say if I pursued her? I am very fond of her, and she is very fond of me, which is more than most arranged marriages can boast.”
Darcy gazed at his cousin intently. “You do not need my approval to pursue Anne, Cousin. She is your relative as much as mine, and I know you are fond of each other. But I want you to ponder carefully before you begin. Courting a woman might mean little to you, but it would certainly mean a lot to Anne. I trust you not to break her heart.”
“I am not a merciless rascal, Darcy.”
“As I said, I trust you. But you must be warned that Lady Catherine will be furious. She will not accept any other way but her own.”
“Lady Catherine is always furious. She must learn she cannot always have her way.”
Darcy smiled. “Lady Rosseford has the same tendency — to only have her own way.”
“If we are to be honest, Darcy, you are no stranger to it either. At least that is the way you used to be. I have had few chances to verify it lately. You seem somehow changed since you returned from Hertfordshire. Even my mother has noticed it.”
“I am somehow changed,” he admitted with another smile to himself.