“Elizabeth!”
She closed her eyes. Of all the ways in which he might have withdrawn from the unfortunate encounter without exciting Darcy’s ire, addressing her so familiarly was by far the least likely to succeed. “Mr Greyson.” She inclined her head very slightly.
“Greyson,” Darcy all but growled.
“My apologies, Darcy,” he stammered. “Had I known you were here, I should never have attempted to speak to Eliz…to your…to her. That is?—”
“It is well, sir,” Elizabeth interrupted to save him from his own runaway tongue. “There is no harm done. Pray, do not let us detain you from your own party.”
He clamped his mouth shut, nodded, bowed, and backed away into the crowds.
“Are you hurt?” Darcy enquired, turning to her all apprehension, his eyes darting pointedly to her stomach.
“Not at all.”
“Was that Greyson?” Bingley enquired, appearing next to them to puff up Darcy’s affront with his own. “The deuced cheek of the man!”
“Where have my aunt and uncle got to?” Elizabeth said hastily, peering about in search of her relatives, in no humour to permit either gentleman’s indignation any latitude.
Mr Gardiner obligingly appeared, apologised for having been waylaid by a friend, and without delay, they all joined the hordesgoing up the stairs. About mid-way up, a whisper—half overheard, half inferred from the accompanying look of contempt—alerted Elizabeth to the possibility that her encounter with Mr Greyson would not escape elaboration by society’s rabid imagination. A second remark soon sprang up from somewhere closer, this time with unmistakable references to the mistress of Pemberley and some manner of illicit affair. She smiled to herself, for she could just imagine her father’s delight were he here to witness such a plethora of folly.
“Miss Bennet!” somebody called in a vaguely familiar voice.
She looked about.
“Miss Bennet!” the gentleman called again, coming down the stairs towards her.
“Mr Craythorne!” She felt herself blush fiercely, for all she could think of in that instant was the last time she had seen him and hisvery evidentadmiration for her on that occasion. Being now a married woman, she possessed the experience to complete the explanation her aunt had given at the time of what his trousers had ill-concealed, and she could scarcely bring herself to meet his eye for embarrassment.
“What a delightful surprise!” he said, resisting being shoved forwards by the people behind him. “You look exceedingly well. Pray, what brings you to London?”
“I live here. I am married now. May I introduce you to my husband, Mr Darcy?”
Mr Craythorne’s face fell upon hearing her news, fell farther still when he heard the name Darcy, and almost dropped off his chin when he looked up—and up—to meet her husband’s piercing stare.
To Darcy, Elizabeth said, “This is Mr Craythorne. He used to lease Purvis Lodge near Meryton.”
Both men bowed, if perfunctorily, for they had gone past each other by then and Mr Craythorne was soon engaged in greeting Mrs Gardiner on the steps below, though he did throw a forlorn farewell over his shoulder as he eventually relented to the momentum of the crowd and disappeared down the stairs.
“He seemed excessively pleased to see you,” Darcy remarked as they reached the top.
Elizabeth shrugged, not wishing to expound upon the gentleman’s particular interest in her.
Presently, her aunt, uncle and Mr Bingley arrived on the landing, and they all moved to the saloon serving their box. It was not ascrowded as downstairs, nor as noisy; thus, Elizabeth clearly heard the remark that Mr Greyson’s bumping into her had been contrived to facilitate a daring exchange of letters beneath her husband’s nose. She pressed her lips together in amusement.My, bad news travels quickly!
“Darcy! Itisyou!” boomed a large gentleman coming towards them using his glass of wine like a scythe to clear a path through the crowd. “I thought it was. What brings you to London at this time of year?”
Relieved that not every person was foolish enough to concern themselves with idle gossip, Elizabeth gladly consented to being introduced to Mr Thatcher and joined Darcy in satisfying his curiosity about the Montgomerys’ wedding. Thereafter, the conversation moved on to matters interesting only to landowners, and the party naturally divided. Mr and Mrs Gardiner struck up their own exchange, and Bingley turned to Elizabeth.
“This is precisely why I prefer balls—less talking and more dancing.”
“And precisely why Darcy dislikes them,” she replied, turning to him with a grin. “However did the pair of you end up friends?”
“I sincerely hope Darcy has not deprived you of too many dances because he does not enjoy it himself.”
“We are going to a ball in a few days, as it happens. If I am very lucky, I might persuade him to a dance or two.” She resisted the urge to turn and stare incredulously at whoever it was behind her conjecturing about her affairs with both Mr CraythorneandMr Greyson. “And what are your plans in Town? Do you intend to stay long?”
“Regrettably no, I must return tomorrow.”
