Page 24

D arcy had been attracted to the woman on his arm from nearly the moment they had been introduced, but everything ought to have proceeded in the proper order.

If he had only handed her slipper back immediately, he might have called on her, invited her to the theatre, to Bullock’s Museum, even to the British Museum, and they might now be enjoying a more traditional courtship.

When her hands had landed on his, he could not breathe for a moment. Even now, with her hand on his arm, he had to fight to keep from lifting it to his lips. He won that altercation with himself, of course. He was a gentleman.

And because he was a gentleman, he would release Miss Bennet should she truly not find herself willing to wed. But the consequences of such a rupture would be difficult for her, far more than for him. Socially, at least.

Abernathy had said to court her, and they were barely over a fortnight into their engagement. She just required time. He hoped.

They entered the Blue Room. The promised nymph stood in the centre—a young woman frozen in the act of stepping into water, her marble drapery appearing to flutter in an invisible breeze.

Miss Bennet’s expression was transformed by genuine admiration as she studied the marble form.

This was the woman he had glimpsed at the masquerade, and again at Bullock’s.

Passionate, thoughtful, engaged with the world in a way so many of his acquaintances were not.

Her observations were always precise, her enthusiasm authentic.

He found himself unexpectedly moved by her capacity for wonder.

"The artist has captured such movement in stillness," Miss Bennet murmured, circling the pedestal slowly. "The stone truly seems to flow like fabric.”

Darcy nodded, though she was still examining the statue.

Miss Bennet’s voice was hushed as she continued. “I cannot understand how the artists ever imagine such possibilities in the stone. What must if feel like, to see a figure emerge from marble through the work of your own hands." She looked up at him now and her eyes were shining.

"It is remarkable," Darcy said, stepping closer beside her, maintaining his composure notwithstanding his intense attraction to her at this moment. If only he could inspire such a look. "I wished to join you earlier, but my aunt insisted I keep my distance."

"Your aunt is an astute woman," Miss Bennet replied. "She explained that I must establish myself without your assistance."

"And how have you fared?" he asked quietly, though he already knew the answer.

"I have survived," Miss Bennet said with a small smile. "Though I believe I have made a few enemies in the process."

"That is something you could hardly avoid, I am sorry to say. I observed your encounters," Darcy admitted. "You handled them brilliantly." He could not keep the note of pride from his voice, despite his best efforts to remain measured.

Miss Bennet's slight look of disbelief at his tone did not escape his notice. "Your aunt informed me that the Abernathys have been shielding me from the worst of society's reactions to our engagement."

"Yes," he acknowledged, "I believe that to be the case. Though I suspect you would have faced even the harshest critics with similar resolution."

“Your ability to compliment is improving,” she replied with a slight smile.

His breath caught for a moment. He had complimented her, had he not? And somehow, she had not fled the room or been offended. It was a start.

"I do not believe I have overstated the case.

" Darcy met her gaze steadily, allowing himself to appreciate her more openly than he had before.

"I have observed your strength of character from the beginning, Miss Bennet.

It is one of the many qualities I—" He stopped himself, realising he was about to speak too frankly.

To go further now might frighten her away. "It is a quality I greatly admire."

She looked away, and he wondered if he had made her uncomfortable. He wished to explain himself better, to tell her how her handling of the evening's challenges had only confirmed what he already esteemed about her. But the words would not come, and now he knew better than to force them.

"What do you think of my aunt's latest treasure?" he asked instead.

"It is exquisite," Miss Bennet replied. "Though I confess I am drawn to that smaller piece in the corner as well." She nodded towards a marble figure of Minerva.

"You have good taste," said a new voice—deep, cultured, and unfortunately, instantly familiar. "It is one of Nollekens's personal favourites, I am told."

Darcy stiffened as Lord Ellington appeared behind them, impeccably dressed and wearing a smile that could only be described as predatory. He felt a surge of protectiveness as Ellington's gaze lingered too long on Miss Bennet.

"Ellington," Darcy said, not bothering to disguise the coldness in his voice. "I was unaware you had an interest in the arts."

"Oh, I have many interests, Darcy. What is beautiful is always compelling." He bowed slightly, his eyes lingering a little too long on Elizabeth. "Miss Bennet, you are looking well. Your engagement seems to agree with you. However did the two of you meet?"

Darcy’s spine straightened instinctively. There were few men capable of sounding both urbane and venomous in a single breath. It was bold, even by Lord Ellington’s standards, that he dared to broach this topic after orchestrating the very scandal that was at the root of it.

“We were introduced by the Abernathys and we were both captivated by the Plimpingtons’ art,” Elizabeth said firmly.

"Indeed," Ellington said smoothly. "How unique. But then, I find that true beauty often emerges from the most unexpected places." His gaze flicked meaningfully between Miss Bennet and Darcy. "Though private appreciation frequently precedes public acknowledgment, does it not, Darcy?"

The insinuation was unmistakable. Darcy controlled his breathing, aware that many eyes were upon them. When he spoke, he took care to keep his voice even. He would not allow this unscrupulous blackguard to discompose him.

"How strange that you should be the one to ask such a question, Ellington," Darcy replied.

"I have observed that virtuous young ladies tend to flee your company with remarkable frequency.

Perhaps your inability to convince even one to remain in your company taints your perspective on what occurs between gentlemen and ladies of genuine character?

One cannot expect expertise in matters where one has so little . . . experience."

He heard several nearby guests stifle laughter as his meaning became clear. A sense of satisfaction filled him as Ellington's complexion took on a ruddy hue.

"Such an energetic defence," Lord Ellington persisted, his voice lowering but loud enough to be heard by others. "One must wonder what occurred in that garden to inspire it. Was it merely a slipper that was removed, or were other garments misplaced as well?"

Darcy felt his hands clench involuntarily. The man had gone too far. He was preparing a cutting retort when Miss Bennet spoke.

"Lord Ellington," she said, her tone light but her eyes flashing, "your persistent interest in the details of my engagement suggests either a romantic disappointment of your own or an unfortunate lack of occupation.

For your sake, I sincerely hope it is the latter, as that, at least, might be remedied with suitable employment. "

Fitzwilliam caught Darcy’s eye from across the room. Darcy nodded, and his cousin headed in their direction.

"Indeed," Darcy agreed, seeing his opportunity to deliver a decisive blow. "Perhaps paying more attention to those whom you owe debts of honour might be a wiser use of your time?"

It was a pointed, calculated reference, and from Ellington’s expression, it had struck home. Darcy watched with satisfaction as the man's face, already flushed, turned crimson, his mouth opening and closing like a fish suddenly deprived of water.

"Speaking of debts, Ellington,” Fitzwilliam said crisply as he approached, “Lady Jersey was pleased to hear you were in attendance.

She mentioned you owed her a rather substantial sum from last Tuesday's card tables and was most insistent about speaking with you about it.

" He took Ellington firmly by the elbow. "Best not to keep her waiting."

As Fitzwilliam steered a still-sputtering Ellington away, Darcy turned to Miss Bennet, concerned about the effect of the encounter upon her.

"Miss Bennet, I must apologise."

"No," she interrupted quietly. "You have nothing for which to apologise, Mr. Darcy. Lord Ellington's behaviour reflects solely upon himself."

Darcy studied her face for a moment, searching for signs of distress but finding only composure. "You handled him splendidly."

"As did you," she replied, and he was surprised to see genuine approval in her eyes. It affected him more than it ought.

He glanced around to find several guests still watching them with undisguised interest. Some wore expressions of shock, others thinly veiled amusement. But most significantly, there was something like respect in many of their gazes, not just for him, but for Miss Bennet.

Mrs. Abernathy was suddenly there with them. "Lizzy, dear, you must see the remarkable seascape in the Gold Room. Mr. Abernathy is quite enthralled with it."

"Yes," Miss Bennet said as she transferred her arm from his to Mrs. Abernathy's. "I would not wish to miss it."

As she moved away, Darcy remained still, watching her retreating figure. The realisation struck him with surprising force: his impulsive offer of marriage, made from a sense of honour and obligation, had somehow led him to precisely the woman he would have chosen had his heart alone been his guide.

Darcy followed the ladies as they stopped at a large portrait. Miss Abernathy was staring up at it.