Page 5

E lizabeth had intended to change her plans for a season in London when the Gardiners announced they were to travel to Green Hill.

The Esterberrys, her Aunt Gardiner’s family, had a modest income and a great many children, but the old manor house was quite large, and several of the children and their families were to return for the festive season.

As the Gardiners typically spent Christmas at Longbourn, they had in turn invited the Bennets to accompany them. Elizabeth had asked to accompany them.

“You have the opportunity to enjoy an entire season in town,” Mamma had said, nearly aghast that Elizabeth would think of travelling north with them. “And you have already accepted the invitation. It would be ungrateful to change your plans now.”

A fortnight in London and already engaged to be married.

Mamma would be ecstatic. But Elizabeth had no intention of allowing it to continue.

She was here for Arabella, not for matrimony.

And she would have to be quick to end it, for her mother would descend upon town the very moment she heard the news, determined to secure the match.

Once arrived, she would spread the tale with such extravagant embellishments that there would be no possibility of escape for anyone.

Her mother would be here within the month, no doubt. Elizabeth took a deep breath and blew it out slowly to dispel the panic building within her. She would have to do whatever she could to make sure this entire incident was resolved before Mamma arrived.

The circumstances were, admittedly, not ideal. Elizabeth would grant Mr. Darcy that much. It did look rather suspicious that her slipper had been in his hand rather than on her foot. But neither did she think tonight’s events the catastrophe that everyone else seemed to believe.

Unfortunately, there was no quick escape. She could not return to Longbourn until her family did.

And so here she was, stepping into the warmth of the Abernathys’ home after the ball, reeling from the unexpected turn of events.

She had barely pulled off her gloves when Mrs. Abernathy reached for her hands, squeezing them with motherly affection.

Mr. Abernathy entered behind them, and at a look from her father, Arabella continued upstairs.

Elizabeth was ushered into the parlour for a little privacy.

Elizabeth had always considered the Abernathys the dearest of friends, a second set of parents who had, for as long as she could remember, enveloped her in the warmth and generous affection that was not always available to her at home.

She had spent many a childhood afternoon running through the halls of Netherfield, laughing breathlessly with Arabella as they made up wild games, pilfered biscuits from the kitchens, and spoiled Mr. Abernathy’s hounds with bits of their dinner.

In her younger years, she had listened with rapt attention as Mrs. Abernathy spun stories borrowed from King Arthur, but always with a happy ending, where handsome knights and clever heroines found true love.

It felt all rather out of reach now.

“Lizzy, dearest,” Mrs. Abernathy said warmly, taking Elizabeth’s hands in her own and squeezing them with motherly affection. “You must know how very pleased we are.”

Elizabeth, who had not yet sat down and very much wished to be anywhere else, stiffened. “Pleased?” she echoed.

“Of course!” Mr. Abernathy, seated comfortably in his armchair, beamed at her.

“Mr. Darcy is a friend. We know him to be a most admirable gentleman, with a fine estate and impeccable reputation. And that he has offered for you in such a decisive manner—” He chuckled, shaking his head.

“Well, there can be no doubt that he is a man of honour.”

Elizabeth barely kept from grimacing. It was rather unfair that the man who had held on to her slipper when he might have simply handed it back was being given all the credit of having saved her reputation. “You are very good, sir.”

Mr. Abernathy’s expression was gentle but knowing. “The circumstances are not what any of us would wish, but I have known Darcy since we first came to town two years ago. He is more than honourable, he is kind. He will make you a good husband.”

“We know,” Mrs. Abernathy continued, “that this was not how you imagined your future. And oh, I am so very sorry we lost you at the ball. We ought to have been better chaperones for you.”

“Indeed,” Mr. Abernathy agreed, and he did appear genuinely apologetic.

“But we also know you, and we know Mr. Darcy. And truly, child, we could not have chosen better for you if we had arranged it ourselves.”

Her husband nodded. “A serious man, to be sure—”

“Still waters and the like,” his wife interrupted. He smiled at her before continuing.

“You have always needed someone with sense enough to steady your fire and wit enough to keep pace with it, my girl. I believe Darcy is just the man for that.”

Elizabeth glanced between them, suspicion warring with something like relief. “You are not . . . disappointed in me?”

Mrs. Abernathy laughed. “Disappointed? Not at all.”

Her husband shook his head. “I am sorry that we lost sight of you. In retrospect, a masquerade was not the best choice for your first London ball. Fortunately for us, Darcy came to your rescue.”

Elizabeth nearly choked. “Rescue,” she muttered, finally sinking onto the settee.

“We shall invite Mr. Darcy to dinner tomorrow and smooth everything over.” Mrs. Abernathy patted Elizabeth’s knee.

Elizabeth’s stomach twisted. “Dinner?” Why could she do nothing but repeat things? She should be convincing the Abernathys to break with Mr. Darcy, at least in the matter of her engagement. But their warm approbation had shocked her.

“Yes, my dear,” Mrs. Abernathy said cheerfully. “A small gathering with close friends and acquaintances. It will allow society to see that you and Mr. Darcy are happily engaged, and that nothing improper occurred.”

“Nothing improper did occur,” Elizabeth said through clenched teeth.

“Precisely!” Mr. Abernathy said. “Which is why it is all the more important that we promote our story before any of those troublesome whispers from this evening take root.”

Elizabeth frowned as her wits began to return.

The Abernathys were compassionate people.

They thought there was no way out of this marriage and were attempting to make her feel better about it.

If she refused, she would wound the Abernathys deeply —they had known her since she was in leading strings, had treated her as a daughter, and were only thinking of her welfare.

And more than that—of her sisters, Jane, Mary, Kitty, and Lydia.

She swallowed. She could not be so selfish. And yet, she also could not walk meekly down the aisle like a lamb to slaughter, resigning herself to a marriage that was nothing more than a transaction, an agreement to preserve reputation rather than to demonstrate affection.

Elizabeth had seen the reality of an unhappy marriage in her own home. She had no wish to live her mother’s life. And she had no desire to compel Mr. Darcy to live her father’s.

Elizabeth forced herself to breathe. She would not allow a marriage filled with regret to be her fate. She had not succeeded at the ball, but she had not given up. She would make Mr. Darcy break the engagement. He was kind enough, she hoped, to do so quietly.

Her heart steadied, her resolve hardened.

“Lizzy?” Mrs. Abernathy prompted. “Will you have dinner with Mr. Darcy?”

Elizabeth straightened, smoothing her skirts. “Very well,” she said, lifting her chin.

Mr. Abernathy beamed. “There now, that is our girl.”

Mrs. Abernathy patted her hand. “I knew you would see sense. You have such an excellent head on your shoulders, my dear. And truly, you must count yourself lucky. Mr. Darcy is a most eligible gentleman.”

“Or he was,” Mr. Abernathy said with a laugh.

“Indeed,” Elizabeth said, voice dry.

“And so handsome,” Mrs. Abernathy added, eyes gleaming.

Elizabeth bit the inside of her cheek to keep from sighing. She would have to play her part for now. The Abernathys did love her. But as she curtsied, thanked them for their hospitality, and excused herself for the evening, she knew she would find no help from them.

By tomorrow’s dinner, she must have a plan.

Darcy sat before the hearth, his elbow resting on the arm of the chair, fingers pressed against his temple as he stared into the flames.

To one side, his cousin Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam lounged with the ease of a man accustomed to both battlefield strategy and drawing room intrigue. Fitzwilliam held a brandy in his hand and studyied his cousin with a knowing, slightly amused expression.

“Well,” Fitzwilliam said at last, stretching out his legs, “I can honestly say I never thought to see the day when my fastidious cousin became the subject of a scandal.”

Darcy exhaled sharply, not quite a sigh, not quite a scoff. “Nor I.”

Fitzwilliam smirked. “I suppose congratulations are in order, then. You have finally become interesting.”

Darcy cast him a flat look, but Fitzwilliam only raised a brow, waiting. He did not take the bait. Instead, he said, “She does not wish to marry me.”

Fitzwilliam blinked. “No?”

“No.”

“Your problem is solved, then.”

Darcy shook his head. “Not solved.”

His cousin grunted and took a sip of his drink. “Ah. I take it you have not released her from the engagement.”

His jaw tensed. “I cannot.”

Fitzwilliam studied him for a long moment, his amusement fading. “You feel obligated.”

“In part.” Darcy lifted his gaze, watching the firelight dance across the rim of his glass. “I am friends with Abernathy.”

His cousin sat up. “Abernathy, you say? Does he have a daughter, about nineteen, blonde hair, green eyes?”

“I cannot say what colour her eyes are, but the rest is true.”

“Was she with him last night?”

“She was.”

Fitzwilliam frowned. “I ought to have accepted the invitation. Your betrothed is her friend, you say?”

“I did not say, but yes. I was not aware you knew Miss Abernathy.”

“If it is the same Miss Abernathy, yes. We met last season, but nothing came of it. I was called away to the continent, as you recall.”

Darcy did. It had been an anxious time.

His cousin took a deep breath. “So what happened when you returned to the house with Miss Bennet on your arm?”

“I stood beside her while the gossips sang.” He shook his head. “She was doomed the moment Ellington targeted her.”

“Ellington.” Fitzwilliam’s expression darkened. “Of course it was him.” He rolled his glass between his palms. “And Miss Bennet? You say she objects? How do you know?”

Darcy huffed a quiet breath, something almost like a laugh. “She fought.”

“Indeed?”

Darcy rolled his eyes. “With words, you dolt.”

His cousin smirked. “Well, that is promising too.”

“Miss Bennet does not weep or wring her hands or wish to be saved,” Darcy continued, recalling their dance. “She schemes. She plots. She is searching for a way out, for any weakness in my defences.”

Fitzwilliam laughed outright at that, then stared at Darcy. “You admire her.”

He hesitated. He did, of course, though he could not say why. She did not behave in any of the ways he might expect. She was certainly not grateful to him for his sacrifice. But there was just something about her . . .

“I respect the strength of her response to the evening’s events,” he said at last. “There is no simpering, no coy pleas for assistance. No artifice. Only determination. It is . . . novel.”

Fitzwilliam eyed him. “To novel experiences, then?”

Darcy shot him a look but did not respond.

His cousin’s smugness softened. “Are you sure she is quite sound in her mind? Why would she protest when any woman of less rank than the daughter of a duke would be grasping at you with both hands? There are many who would be pleased to exchange their place for hers even if the scandal was twice as salacious.”

“I do not understand it either.” He knew it was his position those other women wanted, not him. But given the circumstances, he could not fathom why Miss Bennet was behaving as though marrying him was a fate worse than . . . well, not marrying him. She was clever, witty, beguiling—and mulish.

“You do like her.”

“I did not say that.” She was beguiling, that was all.

Fitzwilliam eyed him warily. “Darcy, forgive me for asking, but this does not have anything to do with your great uncle, does it?”

“No. Why would it?”

“You have seemed rather downcast since his death. I had not thought you two close.”

“We were not. This has nothing to do with him.”

His cousin studied him another moment before nodding and moving on.

“Well then. Be warned, cousin. I have known men like this Miss Bennet. Soldiers who refuse to surrender, even when outnumbered and outmatched. A fight to the last breath might be admirable in battle, but in matters of matrimony?” He shook his head.

“You will not enjoy the war once the battlefield is your own home.”

Darcy was silent for a long moment. His entire life had been precisely planned.

Nannies, tutors, university, estate. His days were predictable, his acquaintances respectable, his responsibilities paramount.

But Miss Bennet was not predictable. She was colour in a colourless world, a spark of fire in a heart long dulled by duty.

This was duty too, of a sort. So why did he not feel trapped? Miss Bennet certainly did. She was a chess player? Very well. He too had always been good at strategy.

Fitzwilliam sighed, finishing his drink. “You are enjoying this.”

Darcy did not deny it.

His cousin shook his head in disbelief. “She will not thank you for it.”

“She does not understand,” Darcy interrupted, voice quiet but firm.

“Not truly. If I walk away now, she will be ruined. It would harm Miss Abernathy’s chances at a good marriage, at least until her family severs ties, and the one thing that gave Miss Bennet pause was when I inquired whether she had any unwed sisters.

” He shook his head. “No, I would challenge any man who had unintentionally compromised Georgiana only to abandon her to such a fate, no matter how hard she pushed him away.”

Fitzwilliam’s teasing vanished. He exhaled slowly. “You would,” he agreed. “I wish you luck, cousin. You will need it.”

Darcy exhaled, a slow, measured breath. He both dreaded and anticipated their next bout. “Yes,” he murmured. “I believe I will.”