He arrived with Colonel Fitzwilliam and another man, whom she supposed must be the viscount, on either side of him. Mr Darcy looked half-ill, she thought, almost greenish. He certainly did not have the haughty air with which he had entered the assembly at Meryton last autumn. She almost pitied him, wondering what made him look as he did.Surely not me,she thought.If anything, just the pure misery of having to associate with those beneath him.
From the corner of her eye, she observed him. He went immediately to Jane and Bingley, as they stood with Mr and Mrs Robinson. He bowed over the hands of the two ladies and said something that made Jane blush and smile. He then shook hands with Mr Robinson. Elizabeth wondered what they were all speaking of. Mr Darcy’s pallor was abating, and he appeared increasingly at ease standing with the couple he had tried so hard to tear apart.
“The famed Miss Elizabeth Bennet.” A gentleman’s lazy drawl jerked her out of her observations. She blushed to be caught staring at Mr Darcy, and then blushed still further as she had no immediate reply to cover her confusion.
To her great relief, Colonel Fitzwilliam arrived next to the gentleman only moments later. “A pleasure to see you again, Miss Bennet. When we left each other in Kent, I had not imagined I should have such an opportunity so soon.”
“It is my pleasure as well,” Elizabeth replied. “I am sure I had no idea of seeing you at my sister’s nuptials, but we are delighted you are here.”
“My brother here wishes to be introduced to you, if you would permit it?”
So this was—as she had expected upon first seeing him enter—the viscount who had sent her mother into raptures.Mrs Bennet had expressed boundless delight upon receiving the request to invite the sons of the Earl of Matlock to Jane’s wedding. What followed was a flurry of additions to menus and arrangements that Mrs Bennet thought would make her parties the rival of anything the viscount had seen in London.
To add to such flutterings, Mr Darcy had reportedly, on his arrival, gone round to all those in the neighbourhood. The explanation that he proffered for his largesse was to express his thanks for their generous hospitality last autumn and for seeing his friend so welcomed on his return. Mrs Bennet had, herself, been the delighted recipient of an Alençon lace shawl and fine-milled rose-scented soaps. Mr Bennet had been given some tobacco that he regarded satirically but enjoyed unreservedly. Mr Darcy’s popularity within the region had thus soared, and scarcely could a conversation be heard that did not include some matron or another preening about her soaps.
Elizabeth gave the viscount a respectful curtsey as the colonel performed the introductions.
“Lot of handsome ladies here,” Lord Saye remarked. “Am I to understand they are all your sisters?”
“Not all of them, no,” she said with a smile, then gestured towards those with whom she claimed a true attachment, telling him their names. She managed, barely, to repress a wince as Lydia appeared to tickle Mr Denny as they beheld her.
“I must have you introduce me to your mother,” Lord Saye proclaimed. “I am Romeo to Darcy’s Mercutio, and your dear neighbours are charming to permit it.”
Remembering Mrs Bennet’s raptures over Mr Darcy’s soaps made Elizabeth shudder—the attentions of the viscount could only incite worse. Pushing that aside for now, she enquired, “But do you, sir, have dancing shoes with nimble soles?”
His lordship looked at her quizzically. “What’s that now?”
Elizabeth glanced uncertainly at the colonel, who informed his brother, “You just referred to a scene wherein Romeo goes to the Capulets’ party and tells Mercutio, I believe, that he has dancing shoes with nimble soles while he himself has a soul of lead.”
“Well, lord, I do not have it memorised,” Lord Saye replied with a sniff. “But I assure you, I have never had any complaints about nimbleness.”
Elizabeth laughed. “And we are not feuding houses.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam gave her a little wink. “Not yet. The night is still young.”
“If anyone here has a soul of lead,” said Lord Saye with a conspiratorial look, “it must be our cousin Darcy. Tell me, Miss Bennet, have you ever known anyone so gloomy at such a happy occasion? Surely there must be some way we can enliven him?”
Elizabeth’s eyes slid towards Mr Darcy again. The Robinsons, Jane, and Bingley had left him, and he stood alone. His discomfort seemed to have returned in full measure; he lingered by the mantel, his eyes fixed on nothing and a slight frown on his countenance. With all the perverseness of mischance, he looked over at her just then. She quickly turned her attention back to the present conversation.
“Um,” she said, reaching for her hair and twisting a curl by her neck around her finger. “Perhaps he is…um…hungry?”
It was a ridiculous comment, and she was immediately mortified for saying so. Whatwasthe source of Mr Darcy’s misery? She did not imagine it truly was hunger. Was he so very unhappy to be present? If so, the cause was likelyher.
“I understand he did not much make himself agreeable in his first visit to Hertfordshire,” said Lord Saye. “He may be feeling all the discomfort of prior associations.”
The colonel gave his brother what he no doubt believed was a discreet elbow to the ribs; Elizabeth saw it clearly but was uncertain as to the meaning of it.
“I am sure Mr Darcy need not feel any discomfort,” she said. “All of Mr Bingley’s guests are very welcome.”
“Some more than others, perhaps?” the colonel said. He had a knowing twinkle in his eye, though what it was he believed he knew was a mystery to Elizabeth. Were the Fitzwilliam brothers in their cousin’s confidence? Elizabeth glanced between them, seeing nothing that gave her any indication.
Thankfully, dinner was called just then, and people sought their various partners to escort into the dining room. She observed Lord Saye being paired with her mother, which was polite but nevertheless concerning. Fortunately, it seemed her mother was too much in awe of his lordship to make much fuss. She had high colour but did not appear to say a word as Lord Saye rattled away beside her.
The dining table had been adorned with large arrangements of flowers, greenery, and candles. Mrs Robinson sat Elizabeth between her cousin Philips, lately down from university, and Mr William Goulding. Having known both all her life, the dinner passed quickly and with much laughter—even if she felt uncomfortably aware of Mr Darcy some places down between one of the Miss Longs and Miss Bingley. She chanced to glance at him now and again. Not once was his dark gaze upon hers, nor did their eyes meet. He was, it seemed, content to be speaking with his own two dinner partners.
I suppose he never did look at me to find fault, else he would still be staring, she mused.Perhaps he looked at me because…She did not complete that thought. It did not signify. Not now.
CHAPTER EIGHT
