Darcy grimaced, all too aware of Elizabeth’s propensity to walk unaccompanied, sometimes for many miles.
Fitzwilliam let out an almighty sigh. “Very well! I shall go myself and explain to Miss Bennet that Mulhall cannot be spared from his duties. But I beg you would make this the last time I must interfere in your disastrous love life.”
It was on the tip of Darcy’s tongue to remind Fitzwilliam of the damage he had already done to his love life by the careless disclosure to Elizabeth of his part in separating Bingley and her sister. Were it not for that, Darcy’s proposal might not have been so emphatically rejected, and his efforts to win back Elizabeth’s good opinion might have met with more success.
He said nothing of it. The past could not be changed, and he needed Fitzwilliam to help avoid a future disaster. He only thanked him and prayed no further incidents would occur at the barracks that would prevent him going this time.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“What are you doing tomorrow?” Elizabeth asked quietly.
She was not entirely sure that her aunt heard the question. The candles were burning low, Kitty had long since gone up to bed, and Mr Gardiner was still in the dining parlour, demolishing his finest bottle of port with the two men of business who had come for dinner. Mrs Gardiner, too polite to retire to her own bed until her husband’s guests departed, had grown sleepy, her head lolling against the wing of her chair and her eyes closed more often than they were open. She spoke eventually but mumbled her answer and kept her eyes closed.
“I have no fixed engagements. Why do you ask?”
“I was wondering whether you might accompany me to the British Institution again.”
Mrs Gardiner did not move other than to open her eyes and squint doubtfully. “You surprise me, Lizzy. It was a fine exhibition, but you gave no hint of having enjoyed it so well.”
“I am sorry if I gave that impression. You were very good to take me, and I liked it very much, truly. But I shall not lie—it is not the exhibition I wish to see this time.”
The look on her aunt’s face as she came fully alert and sat up in her chair was everything Elizabeth had wished to avoid, but there had been no choice but to ask her to act as chaperon. Appealing to Kitty had been pointless after their quarrel; Annie, the maid, had said she had other business the next day and was not available to help; and Pall Mall was too far, and the gallery too full of propriety-conscious busybodies for Elizabeth to go alone. This was her last resort, and it had taken until almost midnight to drum up the courage to broach the matter.
“Out with it, then,” Mrs Gardiner said warily. “What is it you wish to see?”
“’Tis not what but whom. Miss Darcy will be there tomorrow. I would like to speak to her.”
Her aunt gave a quiet groan and shook her head. “Lizzy, this has to stop. You cannot continue to?—”
“Pray, allow me to explain. This has nothing to do with Mr Darcy. At least, not in the way you are imagining. I am well awarethatsituation is hopeless, and I assure you, this is not some indelicate scheme to renew the acquaintance. Indeed, I am hopeful that he will never find out I have spoken to his sister.”
“You do not think it likely Miss Darcy would tell him?”
“No. In fact, I believe the subject I wish to speak of is one she would vastly prefer to keep him from finding out about at all costs.”
“You have something specific to say to her, then? I assumed you only wished to say ‘how do you do’.” She waved the matter away and slid to the edge of her seat. “You had better tell me what this is about.”
Elizabeth knew she must tread a careful path between deception and truth, undesirous of trespassing upon either. She had meant it when she said she did not wish to lie to her aunt; nevertheless, it was surely not necessary to disclose every detail. Vagueness seemed the safest course to take. Thus, she began byexplaining that she and Kitty had returned to the gallery without elaborating as to why.
Mrs Gardiner seemed not to notice the omission. “Now I comprehend her high dudgeon this evening. Your sister has never been much of a one for the arts.”
Elizabeth did not contradict her and went on, instead, to explain her cowardly lunge for cover upon seeing Miss Darcy, as well as her subsequent overhearings.
“I take it, from your expression, that this troubles you,” her aunt replied, “but I cannot see that anything overly worrying occurred. Their introduction was a little improper, to be sure, but if Miss Darcy wishes to see the gentleman again, it is no business of ours.”
“I would agree with you entirely if Lord Rutherford were a man of honour.”
“Have you reason to think he is not?”
“Unfortunately, yes. There was talk about him at the gallery. Kitty heard him referred to as a rake.”
Her aunt regarded her expectantly for a moment, before asking in a disapproving tone, “Was that it?”
Elizabeth shifted on her seat, uncomfortable to be sailing so close to disguise. “No. I also understand, from what I heard myself, that he was at the gallery to meet a different lady but threw her over as soon as he set eyes on Miss Darcy. It cannot speak well of his character that he was willing to disappoint one young lady the moment another took his fancy.”
“Lizzy, this is meaningless gossip—a few spurious remarks overheard in a busy gallery. You ought to know better than to pay attention to such things.”
“And in the usual course of things, I would think nothing of it. But I have another reason to be concerned.”
