Page 58 of Tempted (Heart to Heart Collection #2)

I pressed my fingers to my temples and sank lower in my chair as another moan sounded from behind the door. None of it had been my fault, but I bore the blame of it. Between the deepest groans, it was my name she cursed in her agony.

Footsteps raced from the basin to the bed, voices echoed low and strained, but the sounds of despair went on unabated… weaker now than when they first began all those hours ago.

I ought to have felt sorrow, guilt, fear… a father’s desperation or a husband’s anguish… but I was simply numb. Maids came and went—I could hear the door to the main hall opening and closing repeatedly, but I could only hold my vigil in the adjacent sitting room, a powerless wretch who knew not even his own mind.

The hands marched round the face of the clock, and the room grew quieter as they advanced. Then, what I had most dreaded and longed for came in a moment. The door creaked, and Mrs Reynolds stepped softly into the room behind me. I never turned to face her—there was no need.

“The babe?”

I heard her sigh. “No,” she whispered.

“And Mrs Darcy?”

There was a long pause, then; “Mrs Darcy’s suffering is over.”

I blinked, staring at the wall, and swallowed. “Then we are both free.”

Six Months Later

I stood before the steps of my family’s crypt, frozen in place by emotions so strong I could barely draw breath. I studied the carved letters… and I could step no closer. Months of mourning had clarified my feelings, and now, I knew what I wished to say and think and do. What had I felt this year and a half since she had come into my life? It would be impossible to catalogue the tumultuous whirlwind that had been my sentiments. Each moment had been so changeable, and each day I had treaded upon glass, but no more. Now, I knew my own mind; I unclenched my teeth and the words that had simmered so long in my heart tumbled forth.

“They say it is wrong to speak ill of the dead. But I will speak—I will! I am finished with the pretty falsehoods of polite manners. All those things I longed to say to you in life, but never dared, for the sake of my precious dignity—would you have listened, my wife? But now, you shall hear, for the truth is… I hated you. Oh, how I hated you! Even in death, I hate you still. If not for the scandal, you would not grace the hallowed crypt of my ancestors, for you are unworthy to share an eternal resting place beside them.”

The cold stone yielded no response.

“I was a good man once; honourable, the pride of my family, and no shadow ever besmirched my character. I shall never be so innocent again, and I lay the fault for that at your feet. I curse the day I ever laid eyes upon you! You, with your second-rate arts and allurements, your studied charm, and the way you teased—as if a bit of whimsy and flirtation were sufficient to secure me! Ah, but they were, were they not? You and your abominable family saw to that.

“Your family!” I felt like roaring, thundering against the dead and beating that stone slab with my fists… but instead, I lowered my tones to a contemptuous snarl. “Their behaviour, connections, interests… yes interests… all deplorable. And I, the scion of Pemberley, was forced to align—no, degrade myself—to you and to them through a marriage not of my making! Your mother’s machinations were your undoing and I glory in the fact that you are now paying for your misdeeds. She should be proud that her matchmaking skills—nay, let us call them what they were—compromising tactics, were so successful. I feel no shame in saying that everything about you disgusted me. I despised your voice, the colour of your hair, that twisted smile and even your very name!

“Worse, I loathed the gossips hinting at a compromise and the rumours of an increasing bride that necessitated a hasty nuptial. As if you could have tempted me! Yet, half the matrons of the ton were counting on their fingers in anticipation of the blessed event. Who was the father, my unfaithful bride? Whoever he was, he was cleverer than I, to sully your bower and yet escape the noose. You were nothing to him but a light-skirt… an easy conquest. A whore, my wife. How dare you come to me unchaste!

“My one satisfaction is that the babe could never have been mine. My hands are clean, and your bastard will never bear my name. And I?” I brushed off my sleeve and turned away. “I am finally free, and I shall be happy without you, Elizabeth Darcy.”

One Week Later

“D arcy! I had not looked for you for another month yet. What the devil brought you from Pemberley so early?”

Charles Bingley rose from his chair, hand outstretched to grasp mine. “Egad, but it is good to see you! How long are you in Town this time?”

I could not be easy until the footman had closed the door. Bingley’s house was one of the few places where I might be free to speak without fear of some reprisal, but only when his sisters could not hear. After that reassuring click, my shoulders dropped, and I could finally fill my chest with air. “For good, Bingley. At least long enough to put these last months behind me. I’ve no plans to return north again for some time.”

Bingley’s ruddy brows rose, and he poured us each a drink from his decanter. “Yes, I should think. You have finished mourning, now, have you not? You will be seeking a new mistress for the house, I presume.”

“For my house or for my bed, I care not which,” I grumbled, and drained the brandy as if it had been water. It might as well have been.

Bingley’s polite smile became something of a grimace. “I do not believe I have ever heard you speak so, Darcy.”

“And so I never have, but you see before you a changed man. I shan’t be pressed into marriage again at the whim of any other, and certainly not for the begetting of an heir. I’ve time enough for that. What I want is good company, a bit of feminine cheer, and to seek my own pleasure for once in my life. Be that with lady or madam, I shall do precisely as I wish, and devil take the hindmost.”

A low whistle sounded upon Bingley’s lips. “Well… I say… ahem, I had counted on your advice regarding the estate I am leasing. You did receive my letter, I presume? But I suppose with such a resolve, you would rather remain in London.”

“I had your letter the day before I left. Hertfordshire, is it? You do rush into things in a dreadful, headlong manner, Bingley. Have you even viewed the property yet?”

“Yes, I spent a day looking about the area. A capital situation, Darcy! It is just what I want—a quiet neighbourhood, a house with some fashion about it, and the perfect setting for my plans.”

I swirled the last drops round the bottom of my glass. Hardly any colour either. “You still hope to breed hunters?”

Bingley lifted his shoulders in a show of bashful self-deprecation. “I always have, you know. No money in it, I understand, but what care I for that? And a man cannot do without land, of course, so at last I shall have everything I need. You said I might buy a few of your mares. Also, I was very much counting on your advice, if you can spare it.”

I grunted, somewhat obligingly. Bingley’s humble request was as good as a challenge to my honour, whether he knew it or not. “When do you take up residence at this luxurious palace of yours?”

Bingley fairly beamed. “I leave in two days. I planned to ride ahead of the carriage. Oh, do come, Darcy. Why, the half-day’s ride in fresh air alone will do wonders for you! You will come, will you not?”

“I may as well, but why so soon? How can it even be ready?”

“Oh, as to that, the house came with trained servants, and they are making the preparations as we speak. I wish to be settled before Michaelmas, while the weather is still fine. I understand the shooting is spectacular! I believe this will be the first season I have not come to Pemb—” Bingley broke off, clearing his throat, and quickly refilled both our glasses.

“The past is done,” I insisted, perhaps a little too loudly, because Bingley flinched. I lowered my voice. “I intend to cleanse my life of the stench of that woman. It will be as if she never was!”

“Of course, Darcy, of course!” Bingley fingered his glass nervously. “Colchester is hosting a soiree tomorrow evening. All the finest debutantes, as well as some of our old mates. I told him I would attend… I am sure he would welcome you, if he knew you were in Town.”

“I was invited.”

“Brilliant! Then you will come? There are sure to be any number of ladies worthy of your attention. Perhaps….”

“I might begin my search for amusement on the more respectable side of town?”

“Well—” Bingley grinned sheepishly—“I thought perhaps you might want to start slowly, you know.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Caution is warranted, naturally. As I recall too well.”

I stood against the wall, trying to avoid the temptation to admire the draperies. Bingley had immediately offered his arm to one lady after another—most of whom looked beyond him towards myself, the highly eligible widower. Calculating, disingenuous, mercenary trollops….

I made a noise in my throat. I had been a fool to think I might find what I sought in the drawing rooms of London. Here, I was assured of nothing but the very thing I despised. Elizabeth had been my equal, had she not? And her family knew precisely what they were about, grooming her to be thrown directly into my path.

I gagged faintly as a lady passed by wearing a similar fragrance to hers . Why, even the mere thought of her name made my brow grow cold and my stomach turn. No! Every female with family and standing only desired one thing from me, and I would never fall prey to such again. What I wanted was a simple woman, one who understood that her place in my life was retained at my pleasure and would therefore take pains to secure it.

From behind the wall echoed the irregular clinking of billiard balls. As always, the gentlemen too intoxicated or too married to join the ladies on the dance floor had retreated to that masculine refuge. I glanced over my shoulder, considering. Bingley twirled by in the quadrille, clasping hands with a stunning, lively brunette. Both looked my way: Bingley with open delight, and the lady—a Miss Charlotte Bevan, if I recalled correctly—with lowered lashes and a curve to her lips.

That cemented my decision, and I slipped from the room. Women! The whole blasted lot of them could wait one more day. A footman opened the door and a wave of cigar smoke and male laughter washed over me like the enveloping darkness of a sanctuary. I stiffened my spine and strode into the room as if I were the master of it. Indeed, I was in a way, for most of these men looked to me as their superior in status, or fencing, or wealth, or some other matter of consequence.

Colchester himself was leaning over the table with a smouldering Havana clenched between his teeth. Beside him stood Ramsey and Carlisle, both old school fellows I had not expected to encounter this evening. I frowned but said nothing. Carlisle nursed a drink, while Ramsey twirled a cue and held forth with idle gossip.

“… they say Winslow is strung. Can’t stay away from the gaming hells, I hear. His estate is….” Ramsey fell silent then and nudged Carlisle with his elbow.

Colchester missed his shot and glanced up to learn why the temperature of the room had seemed to drop. The master of the house straightened then and pulled the cigar from his mouth. “Darcy! I had not expected you to really come. Welcome, old friend!”

“Thank you, Colchester.” I nodded to the men I knew as my eyes scanned the room… and then stopped dead. “Benedict,” I breathed, the hair standing on the back of my neck. “How dare you show your face here?”

The other scoffed. “I ought to ask the same of you, Darcy. It is I who bear the grievance, not yourself, but—” he sighed, smiled tightly, and offered a formal bow—“I would never embarrass my host in his own home.”

“You speak of grievances?” I stalked towards him. “As if the contrivances leading to your family’s ruin were not of your own making? As if there were any honour worth defending in that wretched string of syllables you call your family name?”

“Here, now!” Colchester interrupted. “Darcy, have a drink. Let us put this unpleasantness aside.”

“Indeed, Darcy.” Benedict shot his cuffs and squared his shoulders with a jerk. “Fancy that! A man walks into a friendly game and practically throws down a challenge, with no provocation whatsoever!” He gestured roundly to his fellows, drawing a few knowing smirks. “Ought you not to be still haunting your own bloody house, rather than casting your gloom all about London? If I did not know better, I would think you did not sincerely mourn your late wife. Damned indecent, man.”

“Indecent?” I hissed. I ought to have turned away, preserved my dignity, but I had enough—nay, a good deal too much. “Mourn a whore and a parasite?”

Benedict’s complexion drained to a pasty white. “That is my sister whose honour you defame, sir! Would you disgrace the dead so?”

“I speak only the truth. Her disgrace was her own.” I shot a hard glance over Ramsey and Carlisle. “Honour? Such a virtue ought never be pronounced in the same breath as her name!”

“Darcy, Darcy…” A hand clapped on my shoulder.

“Keep out of this, Ramsey,” I growled. “My business is not with you.”

“Come on, old fellow, let bygones be bygones, shall we?” Ramsey urged.

“I wonder at you, Ramsey. And you, Colchester! Know you what deceitful filth you have invited into your home?”

“Come, Darcy, you speak as if he is a farmer or a tradesman!” Carlisle laughed.

My lip curled. “Farmers and tradesmen come by their earnings justly.”

“Enough!” Benedict thundered. He rushed to stand before me, his frame quivering with rage. “I know too much about you!”

I could not restrain a snort. “He who digs in the dirt often finds himself covered with it.”

“Blackguard! Tomorrow at dawn. Let us settle the matter!”

“Darcy!” Colchester protested, coming to stand between us. “Benedict, be reasonable, man!”

I paused—not in uncertainty but contempt. I stared back at Benedict before offering my reply and took perverse pleasure in the anxiety and confusion growing on his sallow face. Benedict was panting, his eyes dilated, and nostrils flared like some over-wrought ewe. Still, I kept silent. After a full minute, a few uncomfortable chuckles arose from the lookers-on.

“Do be serious, Benedict,” I retorted at last, my voice dripping condescension. “We both know you cannot hit a stile at ten paces.”

“I will have satisfaction, Darcy!”

“I will, as well. The satisfaction of witnessing your failure, and the satisfaction of a better life than I was sentenced to, shackled to Elizabeth Benedict.”

A throat cleared, and I glanced over my shoulder. Bingley had just entered the room and looked as if he were trying to pretend he had not heard the slurry of insults. “Ah, Darcy, if you do not mind, I should like to make an early start for Hertfordshire tomorrow. Shall we?”

I smiled, an expression that caused even Colchester to stiffen in apprehension. “Indeed.”

B ingley was right. The crisp air, the rolling scenery, and the thrill of swift horseflesh had been just what I needed. And the quiet. Bingley chattered more than most men, but he was virtually mute compared to his sisters, who trailed some distance behind us in the carriage. I hoped this Netherfield Park he had leased was very large, fitted with many a spacious room in which one might lose oneself.

“There it is!” he exclaimed, standing in his irons and pointing. I drew rein and squinted. Indeed, I could just make out an amber glint in the distance which must have been part of the roof. Over the next forty-five minutes, Bingley became a fount of information as each crested rise brought more and more of the house and property into view. At length, we stood in the drive as Bingley’s new stable hands rushed to take our horses.

“Well, Darcy, what do you think?”

My initial impression wanted not a moment. The facade of the house was good, the columns well-formed, but some flaws leapt out to my attention. “I think,” replied I, “that the western windows will require some repair. See the water stains? Was there any concession regarding that in your lease contract?”

His brow furrowed. “Why, no, I do not recall any mention of it.”

“Then the responsibility will fall to you.”

Some pleasure fled from Bingley’s face. “I see. Well… I have it from the agent that the house has been vacant for over a year but has been well-maintained for all that. I certainly hope the fellow spoke the truth.”

I pressed my lips together. “Let us hope.”

Bingley nodded as he doffed his hat and looked up at the windows, looking crestfallen and nervous.

“It is a fine property,” I offered by way of consolation. “The grounds are more than adequate, and the styling of the house appears to be everything it ought. Come, I should like a tour.”

A flash of his habitual delight surfaced, and he gestured expansively. “Then let us see it!”

By the following afternoon, I had assured myself that my friend had not been entirely unfortunate—rash as had been his judgment in taking the place. Netherfield Park was almost grand in its proportions, and a more thorough inspection of the property yielded only a few issues of concern, most of which were trifling. It boasted comfortable drawing rooms, a dismal library, a respectable ballroom, and gardens after the more modern style rather than the glaringly formal arrangements still displayed at outdated estates. A cursory ride about its borders brought mercifully few complaints regarding the management of its croplands and tenant houses. Most importantly, it was surrounded by pristine fields and coveys perfectly suited for Bingley’s wants—and my own if I am to confess it, for we were more often out of doors than in.

Avoiding Bingley’s sisters had become something of an art I had perfected over the years. Mrs Hurst was a simple enough matter, but Miss Bingley was quite another. After much practice, I believe I had persuaded her that I was an obsessive ornithologist, a word I was obliged to define for her on more than one occasion. This brought the double blessing of Miss Bingley making a show of searching her brother’s meagre library for reference material, while leaving me free to gaze out the window in peace. She was little more than an annoyance—certainly not the sort of woman clever enough or devious enough to cause me any true concern—but I remained cautious, nonetheless.

On the second day of our installation at Netherfield Park, a rather pompous, curious fellow named Sir William Lucas introduced himself, and graced us with an invitation to a public Assembly the following week. We could do nothing but accept, though I am sure Bingley did so with more enthusiasm than did I.

Sir William’s arrival seemed an incendiary of some sort, for in his wake trailed an assortment of local gentlemen. No doubt they had all produced too many daughters and were eager to pass them off. It was my good fortune that I had purposed most of that day for letters to various stock breeders and to my own stables, on Bingley’s behalf, so I met none of them.

By the sixth evening after our arrival, I had made efficient work of the immediate tasks at hand. Bingley would soon be the proud owner of a magnificent stallion and sixteen fine mares, eight of which were already in foal. I had also secured for him the services of a top stable manager and, as a gift, a smart-looking pair of pointers.

By morning we filled the kitchen with goose and pheasant, and by afternoon we admired the wheat, hay, and fleece produced by the estate. I wrote to Georgiana twice, and to Richard once. On the whole, we were an amicable party, taking our ease as we might. Mr Hurst ate and drank, the ladies talked unceasingly, and Bingley was as gratified and contented as I had ever seen a man.

I, on the other hand, was bored and irritable. My agitation over my apparently stagnant life was rotting away the final shreds of my good sense. For the first time in my memory, I did not dread the upcoming Assembly.

“O h, Mr Darcy, how shall I endure the evening? I am quite certain that someone will tread upon my gown in an assembly such as this. The very idea! I simply do not know how I could have it mended, either, for I am sure there is no one here with adequate skill. I declare! Is that a cotton frock that girl is wearing?” Miss Bingley gave a throaty laugh. “How quaint. I believe I can guess your thoughts as well.”

I reclaimed my arm from Bingley’s sister on the pretence of offering her some refreshment as the first wave of waiters passed by. “I would imagine not.”

She smiled and leaned close as she accepted the glass. “You are thinking how insupportable it would be to spend many an evening in such… tedious company.” She blinked and sipped daintily.

“Indeed, the company is tedious,” I agreed. “If you will excuse me, Miss Bingley.”

I had the pleasure of seeing her start in surprise as I bowed my regrets. Naturally, I would be obliged to dance with her that evening, but I had no intention of making Caroline Bingley my first and only conquest. In a room full of modest, country gentry and tradespeople, it was not impossible that I might discover a fresh-faced, empty-headed, and preferably buxom beauty—sufficiently in awe of me to appreciate the compliment of my notice, yet possessing just enough grace and comportment that I need not be ashamed to be seen with her.

I’d no thought of marrying the wench. It was simply an Assembly—one night, after all! I had no expectations that any in this region could successfully contrive to ensnare my honour. I did not even know precisely what my own intentions were. I knew only that I was hungry—starved—and by heaven, there must be some pleasant women left in this world!

I was suffering from the deplorable affliction common to all healthy young males, and I am afraid my difficulties were compounded by a decade of gentlemanly conduct even a monk could not fault, followed by a year and a half of daily frustration such as would drive a saint to swear. Would I have been so eager to seek the comradeship of these simple country females, had I been in full possession of my good sense and faculties? Unlikely, but that realisation offered little help for me just then.

I would have had to be blind and deaf not to notice the stares and whispers I attracted. “Ten thousand a year” was the phrase hidden by each fluttering fan, and many a maid and matron cast their eyes up and down my person. Well and good, let them know who I was. These were not people of the ton who felt they might grasp at equality with me. They were no threat at all, and for once, I decided that I would employ the renown with which I was received to my own ends.

I sought and found Bingley amidst a cluster of local notables, all vying for an introduction at the courtesy of Sir William Lucas. I was, however, too late in making my way towards him, for he was leading a young lady away from her family to the set. His expression was alight with the usual merriment… and then my eyes rested upon his chosen partner. By all that is holy, she was the most dazzling creature I had ever beheld! I felt my strides falter as I ceased to walk with purpose and began to drift in whatever direction afforded me the best view of her.

To call her hair golden would have been an injustice. It was the colour of honey, with the sheen of true Oriental silk, and even from a distance I could see a mesmerising rainbow of variegated flaxen shades dancing in the light of the room’s many candles. Her complexion was flawless ivory with flattering pink stains about her cheeks, and her eyes… angels above, her eyes…. I never knew a woman could have eyes the exact shade of a high mountain stream. They were almost turquoise around the edges, but set amid their depths, like a prince’s diamond, was clear-cut crystal, lending them a perpetual air of glory. She moved with liquid grace, her every step and gesture informed by elegant manners and a most becoming sense of modesty, yet warmed and brought to mouth-watering life by full, nubile femininity such as few London beauties could ever aspire to.

I had to know her. I was staring, and I knew it, but what cared I for the opinions of gentlemen farmers when Venus herself was before me? I followed Bingley and my goddess up and down the line—casually, of course, making some pretence of acknowledging those who must move from my path. By the end of the set, my awe-struck wanderings had brought me into Sir William’s circle, but I scarcely attended my surroundings until he pronounced my name… twice.

“Mr Darcy? Oh, Mr Darcy, I pray you are enjoying yourself. We are all easy here, quite happy neighbours as you see. I do hope you find our little gathering a pleasing one.”

“Indeed,” I obliged him, my eyes still on the ravishing one in Bingley’s arms, “everything I see is… appealing.”

They were walking towards me now, the fair vixen casting thick lashes low over her porcelain cheeks as Bingley led her with the apparent intention to introduce her to me. I vowed then to secure for my friend at least five more of my best blood stock in appreciation for his kindness.

“Darcy! May I present Miss Jane Bennet of Longbourn. Miss Bennet, my friend Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley in Derbyshire.”

I do not recall if I repeated her name, nor what cordialities I may have uttered. All I remember is that a moment later I was leading her to the set, her small perfect hand resting gently on my arm. This time, her radiant smile was mine alone, and she was sweet enough to offer it whenever we faced one another. I would swear on my father’s grave that charming expression never left her countenance even when she turned away, so pleased was she to have gained my attention.

She spoke little, which suited me well enough. If a woman had nothing meaningful to say, she ought to keep quiet lest she become like Caroline Bingley… or the former Mrs Darcy, whose mouth had been ever brimming with vanity and idle caprice, and even outright vitriol. Far better a woman who could hold her peace when the situation called for it, rather than cultivating her escort’s humiliation and disdain.

What my enchanting partner lacked in verbosity, she more than recovered in physical magnetism. Each time our hands passed one another, my nerves tingled with fire, and each time she stepped near, the soft fragrance of rose petals warmed my senses.

And her curves! Michelangelo himself never sculpted a more voluptuous figure. She was like a radiant golden pear—firm and yet velvety soft, the ripened fruit that begs to be plucked, then dribbles sweet juice down a boy’s chin on one of those nostalgic afternoons of delicious liberty. Ah, yes, she recalled every youthful pleasure. By thunder, this might be just the sort of woman I sought, this backward country miss with no designs whatsoever, and every innocent seductive quality a man could dream of.

The set ended all too soon, and it was the first occasion in memory that I felt a twinge of regret as the final notes died away. I led her back to the side of the room, but not before securing a second set later in the evening. That it would engender talk troubled me not at all, for this was a woman worth knowing better. She thanked me very properly for the pleasure, and I stepped away as her next partner came forward. I am afraid I was gazing raptly after her, for Miss Bingley managed to startle me.

“I see you have found the company rather less tedious than you had feared, Mr Darcy. Tell me, did she entertain you with tales of cows and pigs?”

“I was well entertained,” I answered evenly. There was no help for it, so I offered her my arm and faced my obligatory half hour of bitter banality, for it would be some while before I could partner with my enchantress again. Mrs Hurst soon put herself in my way, and so I danced a third with her, then retired to watch my angel as one usurper after another led her up and down the set. Polite creature that she was, her eyes never strayed from whichever gentleman she partnered, but I consoled myself that her smiles seemed less warm than they had been in my own company.

“Come, Darcy, I must have you dance again. I must!” Bingley appeared at my side, after escorting his most recent partner to her friends. She remained there, mercifully distracted by feminine chatter rather than impertinently seeking an introduction to myself, and I paid her no further notice.

“Upon my word, I have never seen so many pleasant girls in all my life… some of them uncommonly pretty!” Bingley enthused. “Come, I must have you dance. I cannot see you standing around in this stupid manner.”

“I have already danced with each of your sisters, and with the only handsome girl in the room, as you well know. It would be a punishment for me to stand up with any other.”

“Oh, Darcy, she is the most beautiful girl I ever beheld! I knew you would approve. I mean to dance with her again, but of course, I must wait my turn. But come, Darcy, there are many other attractive ladies. Her younger sister just there is also very pretty, and most agreeable.”

“Which do you mean?” I asked, wondering if Venus could possess a twin.

“There,” he pointed to the lady he had just led from the floor. She inclined her head towards her friends, but already I could see that the elder sister had claimed all the family beauty before any other daughters could be born. Her stature was moderate, her figure average if not slightly flawed, her unruly tresses a dull chocolate, and her complexion ruddy from the dance. She had hardly a good feature in her face, and more disturbingly, I overheard an arch lilt to her tones which implied a fancied wit. Another woman who thought herself clever! I shuddered.

“Perfectly tolerable, I suppose,” I lied, “but not handsome enough to tempt me. What is her name?”

“Elizabeth Bennet.”

“Great hounds of Hades! Could there be a more unfortunate name in all of Christendom? Little wonder she is slighted by other men. I would not dance with her if she were the last woman in the world!”

The joy drained from Bingley’s face. “Oh, dear, forgive me. I had quite forgotten… well, or, Miss Charlotte Lucas is a very amiable girl.”

“You are wasting your time with me, Bingley. Go back and enjoy the smiles of your partners. I intend to wait for Miss Jane Bennet to be at liberty again, and I shall not put myself in the way of any woman less appealing.”

He shook his head as he walked away. “Very well, Darcy.”

I resumed my pleasant observation of Miss Bennet, undisturbed for the moment, and reflected upon what vagaries of inheritance and parenting might have produced both an angel and an imp from the same family. One the tempting fruit, the other the very branch that is cut from the tree for a switch! Perhaps one was a foundling.

As I mused on this likely conclusion, the dark one happened to pass by me. She did not acknowledge my presence openly, but there was in her countenance a peculiar knowing expression, a stifled flare of amusement, and a quirk to her lips.

I straightened, making certain that by no posture or aspect of mine would she sense cordiality on my part. She, however, passed by in complete unconcern, which alarmed me even further. No woman ever made a pretence of ignoring me unless she thought to lead me on by playing the coquette.

There could be no doubts about it—Miss Elizabeth Bennet was living, breathing danger in feminine form. I would do well to avoid any room where she might be in company. My trouble would be in pursuing her sister at the same time.