Page 69 of The Shades of Pemberley

L ittle though they might have wished it, the season still had a claim on their time, though their participation was much more muted.

Chief among the amusements in which they indulged was a dinner party or two, and a ball given by a family acquainted with the Fitzwilliam family.

Had it been one of Darcy’s friends, he might have begged off, knowing they would take no offense.

As it was a member of higher society and a family friendly with the Fitzwilliams, they decided they had little choice but to attend.

“Do we need to go?”

Pleased with the amused smile he provoked with his overly dramatic question, Darcy watched his wife as she sat before her vanity preparing for the evening.

Darcy had learned within the first few days of his marriage that if he prepared for an outing early enough, he could enter his wife’s chambers and watch while the maid prepared Elizabeth for the evening.

It was gratifying to see her transformation, though Darcy did not think his wife required any enhancements to her beauty, and it allowed them a few more precious moments in each other’s company with only the maid in attendance.

Perhaps it was unusual behavior in their society, but Darcy had never cared much for such things and did not mean anyone else to learn of it, regardless.

“Was it not your opinion that we must put aside our preferences tonight?” was her rhetorical question.

“I know you do not appreciate a ball, William, but I enjoy them. We are attempting to pass ourselves off with credit, so it is sensible that we perform to the masses or at least give the appearance of it.”

“The appearance is about all I will offer,” said Darcy. “Anything more and what I see of society might just cause me to cast up my accounts.”

The tinkling sound of Elizabeth’s laughter sent Darcy’s heart soaring, and even the maid sported the ghost of a smile as she continued to arrange Elizabeth’s hair, her deft fingers inserting pins or brushing strands of her silky tresses until they gleamed.

Though Darcy had heard more comments about the unfortunate nature of his prior engagement when a more “proper wife” would have fit his current position in society, anyone who spouted such drivel was nothing more than a rank dullard.

Far from being trapped in a relationship with a lesser woman, Darcy was inclined to think that the good fortune was all on his side.

There was no woman in society more remarkable than Elizabeth, and anyone who could not see it was not worth his time.

“Then I suppose we must attend,” said Darcy, though offering an exaggerated sense of resignation he knew did not mislead her.

“If I must endure all the puffed-up dandies, the drunkards, and those looking to curry favor, then I must have your company to sustain me. I think about half of the sets this evening should do the trick.”

Elizabeth regarded him in the mirror, the laugh lines around her eyes showing her merriment. “I am curious, Husband, for I might have thought I was worth more than half the dances. Should you not have demanded them all ?”

“If I thought I could do so, I would in a moment.”

“Unfortunate though it is, for I prefer your company, I am afraid we would scandalize all of London and forever brand ourselves as lacking the ability to behave if we did so. Thus, I believe you must content yourself with my first, supper, and last sets.”

“Then that must suffice,” replied Darcy. “I shall regret every moment we must be apart, every other man who commands your attention, for none of them are worthy of you.”

“Perhaps they are not,” agreed Elizabeth. “But I must endure them anyway. If you wish to spend the time we are separated in less objectionable circumstances, you might offer to dance with the young ladies, though they will not, of course, be my equal.”

“Not by half,” averred Darcy. “The notion does not fill me with pleasure, Elizabeth, but I shall do my best if only to please you.”

Watching Elizabeth dance with other men, Darcy reflected later that evening, was no less than torture.

Though he had no concerns for her devotion to him and knew she preferred his company to those she was forced to endure, the masses of gentlemen who looked on her as a target were not hidden from Darcy’s scrutiny.

Not everyone was so, of course, and Darcy did not descend to painting them all with the same brush, but there were enough who set his teeth grinding to take much of the pleasure out of the evening.

“You know, Darcy,” said Fitzwilliam as he stood watching Elizabeth on the dance floor with some minor lordling, “if I had a woman like your wife, I too would be jealous of her attention. Half the men in attendance appear to look on her as if they think they can hoodwink her with a few pretty words, while the other half regard her as if she were diseased.”

“That is not unexpected,” grunted Darcy, reflecting that Fitzwilliam had the right of it. “Though I did not move in the higher sets often, even the second circles have those above their company and dangers aplenty.”

After Darcy had danced the first with Elizabeth, regretting giving her into another man’s arms for the second sets—even if that man was Fitzwilliam, whom he had grown to trust implicitly—he had put Elizabeth’s suggestion into practice, dancing a few times himself.

For a time, he had successfully distracted himself, even if he remained aware of where Elizabeth was at all times.

As they came together in the times between dances, it had not been difficult to keep track of her partners, for they must brave his displeasure to secure a dance with his wife.

After Fitzwilliam, she had danced with several more men, and none had been objectionable, Elizabeth reporting pleasant conversations when she had returned to him. Until now, that was.

“She does not appear happy with him,” observed Fitzwilliam as she passed them in the set, her stony glare at them speaking to her displeasure.

Darcy snorted his annoyance. “Nor did I suppose dancing with him would prove pleasurable. If not for that damnable convention preventing her from dancing again, she would have refused his application with relish.”

“Elizabeth can handle him,” said Fitzwilliam. “Douglas is the sort of man who considers himself a predator but has only the pretense rather than the reality. There are many of his ilk in society.”

Darcy grunted as he watched them continue through the steps.

Arthur Douglas was a man perhaps two or three years Darcy’s elder, a baronet if he recalled correctly.

The man was not so notorious as several other highborn rakes, a few of whom were in attendance that evening, but he was not without renown either.

Unmarried, he had the reputation of setting his sights on married women, for all that Darcy thought his rate of success was far inferior to any rumor about him.

Such a man would find Elizabeth an irresistible attraction, for she was inexperienced in society, and her husband was a man newly raised to his current estate.

If he thought he could collect Elizabeth as one might a trophy, the man would come to regret any improper overtures he might make.

“Elizabeth has become a popular partner for a dance,” said Darcy, little liking the truth. “I might have expected more would ignore us until we proved ourselves.”

“For that, I believe you can thank your wife’s character,” said Fitzwilliam. “The novelty is an element, of course, but her effervescence is as much a lure as any curiosity.”

“That Elizabeth would draw many to her was one part of our elevation I never doubted. Unlike me, she is comfortable in all aspects of society, whereas I struggle to find comfort, especially in a company such as this with whom I am not well acquainted.”

Fitzwilliam chuckled and clapped Darcy on the shoulder.

“I do not suppose that any of us ever find true comfort, for there are far too many objectionable aspects for that. Though I have always found general ease in society, there are certain parts, people, and activities that I do not enjoy. Even those who profess their belonging in such circles know when to remain wary.”

“Such as when their wives are dancing with Arthur Douglas,” murmured Darcy.

“Oh, do not concern yourself for Douglas, for he is naught but a puppy. It is men like Lord Winchester that you should watch, for they are far more dangerous than the likes of Douglas.”

A gesture accompanied Fitzwilliam’s comment, and when Darcy followed it, he could see the man of whom he spoke.

Lord Winchester was an earl and one of the most notorious men in the kingdom.

It was said that his activities were wide-ranging, as were his appetites, his scruples nonexistent.

His lordship was in a group of other men of his level of society, and though he appeared to be concentrating on his discussion, Darcy saw his gaze flicker to other parts of the room.

On at least one or two of these occasions, Darcy was certain his eyes fell on Elizabeth, and he did not think Winchester lacked appreciation for what he saw.

“If he thinks he will charm Elizabeth, he is mistaken,” was Darcy’s curt comment to his companion.

“Winchester can be among the most depraved men I have ever known,” said Fitzwilliam.

“Yet I cannot suppose he will act with such disdain toward Elizabeth’s boundaries.

Father does not like him, but they have cordial relations and mutual respect—Winchester knows of my father’s approval of you and your wife and will not wish to provoke his displeasure. ”

“I hope so,” said Darcy. “If he or anyone else steps out of line, I have no compunction about calling them out.”

“Well, you might need to exercise that determination, for Elizabeth does not appear happy with Douglas at all.”