“I am not inclined to dance tonight,” Elizabeth reassured her. “I was quite looking forward to my evening below stairs.”
Mrs Nicholls fussed a bit more, lighting lamps and bringing in a glass of ratafia for Elizabeth to sip while she worked. Soon enough, however, Elizabeth was alone with the gowns, and it suited her very well. Or at least shetoldherself it suited her. She wondered how different things might have been if Lydia had notsaid what she said, or if she herself had not lost her temper as she had. “Or if pigs flew and my eyes were blue,” she said with a little chuckle. What was the point in regretting what could not be?
Fixing the pink gown to fit her was easy enough. She easily took in the bodice, and equally rapidly took up the hem. Before half an hour had passed, it was done. She inspected her handiwork, satisfied with what she saw, though she shuddered anew at the excessive ornamentation. “How is it that there seems to be even more lace on this? Is it multiplying, or expanding in some way?” she wondered aloud.
For Jane’s gown, more work was required. Elizabeth first let out the bodice, relying on her knowledge of her sister to guide her; there would be time for more minor alterations tomorrow, she hoped. Then she began the more arduous task of removing the rosettes from the pink gown and inserting them into the sleeves of the ivory. She had just begun on the second when a noise from outside the little room startled her. Her heart plunged when she looked up and beheld Mr Darcy on the threshold, gazing at her.
“May I join you?”
Not trusting herself to speak, she nodded, and he stepped into the room. She heard a thud as the door swung closed behind him.
“Oh,” he said, turning, “I suppose I should?—”
“It does not signify,” she said. “The servants are busy with the ball.” She could not imagine that Mr Darcy would speak to her for more than a few minutes.
She studied the gown intently as he settled himself on the stool beside hers. Her hands had begun to shake, so she kept them hidden beneath the folds of material, though to continue sewing was impossible.
“What are you doing down here?” he asked in a voice much gentler than she deserved.
“Jane’s gown—” Her voice betrayed her, breaking on the word ‘gown’. Suddenly tears swam in her eyes, making everything a blur. She did not dare look up and prayed, mightily, that he would leave her.
She could not speak, and it seemed Mr Darcy would not either. Was he so content to merely sit and watch her staring at Jane’s wedding gown? What did he want? An apology? Very well; she would apologise. With a deep breath, she raised her eyes to look at him. He perched uncomfortably on the stool, his long legs clad in ballroom finery. He wore a dark blue jacket—she had never seen him in that colour, and it suited him well.
“Sir, I-I spoke to your cousin?—”
“Which?”
“Lord Saye.”
“Pray disregard whatever he said,” Mr Darcy said immediately. “He is a rattle and enjoys being shocking.”
She smiled faintly. “He explained the particulars of the wagers to me. How it all happened.”
“You must believe me when I tell you I care nothing for any bet,” he replied fiercely. “You must know enough of me to know that money could never induce me to chase a woman who had spurned me.”
“So he told me.”
That took a bit of the starch out of him. “He did?”
“My immediate thought was to imagine it was all a joke at my expense, some little farce whereby you would pretend?—”
“I would never do that,” he interrupted. “Never.”
“I know. Once again, Mr Darcy, I have misjudged you. I do not expect your forgiveness?—”
“You have it.” He swallowed hard. “And I pray you will find it in your heart to forgive me for all this nonsense. I was not theoriginator of it, and all I stood to lose was the right to give you a carriage, but I ought to have done more to stop them.”
“Lord Saye mentioned the carriage. I assumed he spoke in jest or was exaggerating.”
“He often does, but not this time.” He sighed, shifting on the stool. “You will recall the night you dined at Rosings, when you played the pianoforte with Fitzwilliam turning pages for you. I came and stood over you. You teased me about practising—said you would be proficient but you had not taken the trouble to practise and that I was a man of the world and ought to have practised speaking to you.”
He shook his head with a regretful smile on his lips. “I perceived that you were perhaps playing coy with me, or in some way signalling…interest.”
“I see,” she said. He would not be the first man misled by her lively spirits, but that he should be susceptible to them was surprising.
“I…I am an arrogant fool and thought it was only a matter of time until I had your hand. I believed it was up to me, that once I had reconciled myself to offering for you, it would be done.”
Elizabeth felt herself colour as he spoke those words. To cover her consternation, she reached for another rosette and resumed her sewing.
