Page 7 of Tempted (Heart to Heart Collection #2)

Chapter 7

“W as Mr Darcy very much put out?” asked a nervous Jane when Elizabeth retired upstairs.

“He certainly was , but he is no longer.” Elizabeth dropped her gloves on a table and wandered into the sitting room, having no particular object.

Jane followed her, coming around to cross into her path. “So, he accepted your apology?”

“In a manner of speaking. He maintained that my apology was unnecessary, but I could see that it was.” Elizabeth walked away from her sister and went to stand beside the tall windows overlooking the gardens.

“It must have been some apology to last over an hour and a half,” Jane said. “Or did you have to wait that long for him to come out?”

“I was only waiting for a few moments. The rest of the time, we were playing chess.”

Jane moved deliberately to catch her sister’s eye again, for Elizabeth had been gazing out the window. “ Chess? Chess! With Mr Darcy?”

“Oh, yes. He keeps a table in his study.”

Jane narrowed her eyes. “You… ahh… you did not trounce him, I hope.”

“Trounce Mr Darcy on his own chess board? A man who, by his admission, was captain of the chess team at… oh, dear, what was the name of his school? It started with a ‘C’… Billy would know.”

Jane leaned forward. “Do you mean he beat you?”

“It was a stalemate, but we have agreed to a rematch. And Jane, I shall never again point fun at Mr Darcy, no matter how he might frustrate me.”

Jane lifted a dubious brow. “What has he done to merit such special consideration from you?”

Elizabeth shrugged and turned her eyes to the window again. “He might seem sour and fearfully rigid, but that is only on the surface. I believe I began to see today the man Richard knows, and do you know, I think he was as afraid of me as I was of him.”

“ You were afraid of Mr Darcy?” Jane gasped.

“Why should I not be? Have you looked at the man? He looks like a Greek god, he is rich as Croesus, and he is the one with the power over my circumstances at present. You know how badly I react when I am not in control, and how should I work upon him ? He seemed unassailable, but now I have seen that his armour is really little more than for show. And so, since I know now that I can wound him, I am determined not to. Jane, did you know that poor man has been father and mother to Miss Darcy for better than five years already?”

“‘Poor man?’ I doubt I would have called him that. What brought that up so suddenly?”

“I wonder how old he is,” Elizabeth continued, ignoring her sister. “Richard never said, but I always got the impression that Mr Darcy was much older, by the way Richard talked of him. However, now I think he might be younger.”

Jane opened her mouth in a helpless quest for some reply to her sister’s distracted rambling, but the maid knocked on the door. “Come in,” Elizabeth called out.

It was Margaret, who seemed to have been assigned as “their” maid. “Excuse me, Mrs Fitzwilliam and Miss Bennet. Mr Darcy asks if you will join his guest for dinner tomorrow evening. I have brought some gowns for you to try.”

“Oh.” Elizabeth blinked at Jane, a look filled with surprise. They had been expecting to remain in their room all the next day, avoiding Mr Darcy’s guest. “That is most kind of Mr Darcy. Please give him our thanks, but there is no need for new gowns. We have a few of our own.”

Margaret’s lip twitched. “I beg your pardon, Mrs Fitzwilliam, but Jenny is bringing the sewing basket. We will make any alterations necessary before tomorrow, and Miss Darcy asked us to try a particular style for your hair.”

Elizabeth glanced down at her attire, met Jane’s eyes, and humbly accepted the maid’s help.

“F itzwilliam is married? No! I do not believe it.”

Charles Bingley, Darcy’s oldest friend and one of the most trustworthy men of his acquaintance, had scarcely doffed his hat before Darcy took him aside for a private word in the study.

“It is a matter of some delicacy,” Darcy insisted. “I am telling you because it cannot be helped.”

“But you do not want me to spread word of the lady’s existence,” Bingley finished for him. “Do you think she is a fraud?”

“No.” Darcy stirred in his seat and avoided his friend’s gaze as he tried to justify the continued secrecy. “I freely admit I do not know all the facts, but no, I do not doubt her. That is not why we are keeping her presence concealed.”

“Then what is it? Is she a disgrace?”

“She is an American.”

Bingley’s brows shot up and he tapped his lips with his finger. “Well, what of that?” he decided. “Lady Matlock is also an American. Why should Fitzwilliam not follow in his brother’s footsteps and claim a fair creature from the States?”

Darcy nearly laughed but hid it by coughing as he rose from his chair. “You could not find two creatures less alike than Sheila Fitzwilliam, Lady Matlock, and this girl. She is not an heiress, Bingley. In fact, if my guess is correct, Richard was trying to rescue the lady from unfortunate circumstances.”

“And you knew nothing of her? No word at all until she turned up on Matlock’s doorstep?”

“Richard said something of her in his letters, but he never let on that he had married. And yes, she came with her sister and a cousin as an escort and sent a note to Lady Matlock—the Dowager, that is—that she desired to meet her. This was just the day after we had the telegram about Richard, and you can imagine how the family viewed that bit of impertinence. She did not mention her relationship to him when she called, only introducing herself as ‘the former Elizabeth Bennet, of whom Colonel Fitzwilliam had written.’ She was probably trying to be delicate, not knowing what the family knew of her, but it sounded to them like a fraud of some kind.

“After two such calls, I took it upon myself to dispatch the pretender—as I saw her—by disclosing the truth of Richard’s circumstances. I expected she would put on a sufficiently distraught act, beg for money to see her through until her next ‘protector’ could be secured, and that would be the end of it. I was not prepared for the reality.”

“Which was? Did she faint?”

“More or less. And the better I come to know the lady, the more fully I comprehend the sort of blow that must be required to render her senseless. I expect she has sustained rougher physical knocks than many men, and has no doubt seen more hardship. But the news of Richard’s disappearance seemed to quite undo her. I can only conclude that she genuinely cared for him.”

“Or was depending upon his protection,” Bingley suggested. “You did say that Fitzwilliam might have been trying to save her from something.”

“Well, and what if he was? What woman of sense does not feel some tenderness towards a man who would exert himself for her? Richard is a good man, so why should some lady not take note of that fact? Do not think me blinded by a woman’s tears, for I am quite pragmatic about the matter. She confessed to me she did not know Richard well before they married, but her reasons for attaching herself to him seemed more honest than many of our own acquaintance.”

“But what shall you do with her?” Bingley wondered. “What if Fitzwilliam never returns? Will you keep his widow here?”

Darcy frowned and went to the sideboard to pour them each a drink. “Well, he does have some small inheritance to which she would be entitled as his wife. And I do not yet know whether she might be with child—I expect that detail will assert itself in due time.”

Bingley rose from his seat to accept the glass Darcy handed him. “But what I do not understand is all this secrecy about her. So, what if Fitzwilliam married? Many soldiers do, and if she has a valid license to prove it, then where is the difficulty?”

Darcy swallowed his drink and tightened his lips. “The decision is not mine alone. The earl asked it to be kept quiet until we could know more of Mrs Fitzwilliam. I have been observing her personally, so I am more willing to accept it as a fact. My aunt, however, flatly denies that any such alliance could have taken place, and even Reginald has his doubts. I mean to speak with him further when I return to London next week, and perhaps then Mrs Fitzwilliam will be accepted and comforted by Richard’s own family.”

“Well, then, perhaps I should be asking why I have been let in on the family secret. Why not keep the ladies above stairs and me in the billiards room during my stay? I am leaving again in the morning, so it is not as if you could not have done it.”

He frowned. “Let us say it is a sign of respect—my trust in you, and my faith in the lady. I believe she will view it as a sign of acceptance, though I am not yet at liberty to introduce her to society at large.”

“You say that as if you expect difficulties when you do introduce her.”

“Difficulties… that would be putting it mildly. She is… well, perhaps I should allow you to form your own impressions.”

T he moment Darcy introduced Bingley to his guests, he regretted it.

Contrary to his apprehensions, Mrs Fitzwilliam and Miss Bennet presented themselves well. Thanks to his maids and Georgiana’s advice, they were attired properly for dinner, and their manners, if unpolished, were not without charm. Even that gauche Collins only mumbled two or three phrases to make the ladies blush.

It was the way Bingley was staring at Miss Bennet that gave him pause. Darcy checked his pocket watch, more out of a restless embarrassment than a need to know the time. Georgiana made him proud when she properly and delicately induced Mr Collins to escort her to dinner—though, all the while, he could read the distaste writ over her features. He briefly contemplated asking for Miss Bennet’s hand to dinner, simply to break Bingley’s gaze for a moment, but his eyes lit on Mrs Fitzwilliam instead. There, they remained.

She was easy to talk to. Perhaps it was her informal ways, or perhaps it was simply something in her expression. It may have been that hour over the chessboard—one of the most pleasurable games of his life, if he were to own it—that had helped him to lower his guard enough to see her as a woman and not a trial.

The first course had been laid, and she was looking down now, her brow dimpled ever so slightly as her hand hovered over the silverware—a more formal service than she had yet encountered in his homes. Darcy could not help a smile as her eyes discreetly wandered to his own hand. “Start on the outside,” he whispered. She flashed him a look of gratitude and followed his direction.

“I say, Miss Bennet,” Bingley was postulating from the other end of the table, “Wyoming must be the most beautiful state in the country. Is it quite vast?”

Darcy listened as Miss Bennet shyly described such things as his eyes had never witnessed. Rabbits the size of dogs, bears and wolves roaming freely within sight of town, and native peoples who could still be seen occasionally to practise their ancient ways. He glanced frequently at Mrs Fitzwilliam as if to verify the truth of her sister’s words. She always met his gaze with a look of amusement. Perhaps there remained much he did not know of the lady and the myriad forces that had swayed her life until Fate delivered her to his door.

That Bingley was enraptured with Miss Bennet needed not a moment for him to determine. His friend spent most of the evening gazing at her the way the earl’s little children adored a sweet treat from the confectioner’s. And coffee! Bingley never took coffee after dinner, but when the suggestion arose after the party had adjourned to the drawing-room and Miss Bennet expressed her interest, Bingley was the first to second it. What the devil was Bingley thinking?

“Something amiss, Mr Darcy?” came Mrs Fitzwilliam’s low tones at his side.

He started and glanced to his left. “I beg your pardon?”

She lowered into a seat near enough to him that they might converse quietly and looked down at her cup while she spoke. “You disapprove of their conversation?”

“Am I that obvious?”

Her cheek dimpled as she blew the steam from her cup—yet another of her mannerisms he found curious. “Indeed, you are. Shall I acquire a sudden headache and take my sister upstairs for the evening?”

He stretched his arm over the chair rest, leaning somewhat closer to her as he did so. “And why would you seek to be so accommodating? Does Miss Bennet appear displeased? I was trying to decide.”

She raised her eyes and gazed thoughtfully at the pair for a moment. “Sir, you do not know my sister well, so you cannot be expected to interpret her feelings. However, I have seldom seen her take so much pleasure in any gentleman’s company. That, I presume, is why you are frowning so darkly just now.”

“Was I?”

“Oh, I quite understand, sir. It is impossible for anything to come of it, is it not? No matter…” Her brow furrowed, and she stared at the remnant of her coffee.

“No matter what, Mrs Fitzwilliam?”

She forced a smile. “I meant to say that no matter what comes of my future, I do not think anyone expected Jane to remain in England. She came for me because that is the sort of sister she is. However, we had assumed when matters were settled, and I knew what was to come…” She blinked and made a flippant gesture with her hand. “Well, it would not seem prudent for her to form an attachment here, nor for your friend to lose his heart to a lady with nothing to offer.”

Darcy gazed at her for a moment, a half-smile tugging at his mouth. “Has anyone told you that you are astonishingly frank, Mrs Fitzwilliam?”

“Many times, and that is why I wonder at your invitation for us to mingle with your guest. Did you not tell us only yesterday afternoon that you intended the opposite?”

“I did, and I reconsidered. You are Richard’s wife, and I intend to show you the respect you deserve. The earl can take his grievances up with me, if he has them.”

At this, she turned to him with a full, grateful smile, and might have spoken something equally enchanting. Her cousin, however, had enough of being ignored by Georgiana and sought someone else to amuse him.

“Mr Darcy, sir—may I sit? Sir—” he dropped into the chair on Darcy’s right—“I was trying to learn more of the Earl of Matlock. I am to understand the family have a remarkable history. When was the title first granted, if I may be so bold?”

Darcy glanced uncomfortably at Mrs Fitzwilliam. He could not say why, precisely, but it felt somehow pompous to expound about his long family heritage in her hearing. “The annals of the family history are all in the library, Mr Collins. If it intrigues you, I shall ask the maids to direct you to the correct volumes.”

“Oh!” Collins’ figure seemed to swell, and his hand clasped ridiculously over his heart. “I ask for a pittance, and you offer a treasure! You are too gracious, Mr Darcy. I presume that only the finest families in the country appear in such a book. An earl’s descendants must be utterly selective in the choosing of alliances. I have heard that your paternal family is also quite distinguished. Is it true that your father was selected personally by the former earl to be his son-in-law when he was but a lad?”

“That is nothing unusual. Many such marriages are, if not specifically contracted, at the very least proposed early in life.” Darcy’s neck felt hot as he spoke—Mrs Fitzwilliam was watching him with those solemn, penetrating eyes, and something raced down his spine as he saw her lean fractionally closer.

“And, sir,” Collins continued, “I have heard it said that such an auspicious honour has been bestowed upon yourself? Forgive me if I am seen to be impudent, but I am earnestly fascinated. Is it true that you are to ally yourself with yet another of the oldest families in the kingdom?”

Darcy wished he could refuse to answer, but to do so, in front of Mrs Fitzwilliam, would be to revert to the stick she must have thought him to be upon their first acquaintance. But hang it all, to speak of Anne, in her hearing, felt somehow disrespectful to both ladies. He cleared his throat softly and sensed the way Mrs Fitzwilliam’s breathing slowed.

“There is not an engagement, per se, but an understanding of some long duration with a lady of good family,” he confessed, glancing self-consciously at Mrs Fitzwilliam.

“I think I said before that Richard spoke of her,” she answered. “Miss Anne…?”

“De Bourgh,” he finished. “Her mother’s family had ties to Matlock, and her father was an intimate friend of my own father’s.”

“How perfectly suitable!” Collins praised him. “What a privilege it will be, sir, when you conclude and bring to completion that which was first sought by the generations before you! I dearly hope, Mr Darcy, that the joyous day is soon to come, and that we may wish you every happiness upon the occasion.”

Darcy thanked him, more stiffly than he would have liked. Mrs Fitzwilliam was still watching him with that unsettling gravity about her expression, but when he glanced her way once more, she quickly averted her eyes.

“I say,” Bingley spoke from across the room, “Miss Darcy, do you still play the piano as exquisitely as I remember?”

Darcy glanced at Georgiana, who had been seated closer to Miss Bennet, but still somewhat alone. She had seemed quite content to be left in peace and not forced to converse with anyone, but she answered Bingley readily enough.

“I am flattered that you found my playing memorable, Mr Bingley, and yes, I still play.”

Bingley flushed with pleasure—poor fellow, with his red hair and ruddy countenance, every feeling scrolled across his complexion with the clarity of the written word. “Miss Bennet, if we can induce Miss Darcy to play for us, would you show me how that dance step is done?”

“Dance step?” Darcy asked—more of Mrs Fitzwilliam than Bingley.

She lifted her shoulders. “I do not know which she means. We know very few formal ‘dances,’ as you may think of them. Typically, the figures are called by a prominent gentleman of the assembly, so everyone knows which steps to perform.”

“Permit me, sirs.” Collins rose with a flourish and a bow, and then came to stand near Georgiana at the piano. “Lizzy, you must dance with Mr Darcy, because we cannot have just one couple. Oh! I beg your pardon, sir. I trust you are willing? Now, Miss Darcy, will you please play… let me see…”

Darcy looked to Mrs Fitzwilliam, who gestured helplessly, but with a spark in her expression that inspired a mischievous grin of his own. Bingley and Miss Bennet were already taking up a place—in the middle of his Turkish Rug, apparently—and his ingrained courtesy would not permit him to refuse. And so, he gave his hand to Richard’s wife, set his other hand on the smooth curve of her hip, and gazed down into her bewitching eyes as Collins called the steps, and Georgiana rolled out a slow-metered waltz.

And that was when he decided to flee to London on the first available train.