Elizabeth chuckled. “I have no interest in Mr. Bingley, I promise. Jane and he are perfectly suited to one another, and I would never interfere with their happiness. Look at them! Have you ever seen two people more ideally matched?”
Jane and Mr. Bingley sat in a corner, whispering together as they worked on some ornament or other. Jane’s blue gown complemented her fair features, and her admirer wore a coat in a similar hue. They looked as though they had been fashioned to suit one another.
“You will not distract me, Lizzy.” Mrs. Gardiner tapped the back of Elizabeth’s hand with her finger. “Who is he?”
Elizabeth smoothed her blush-colored skirt and clasped her hands in her lap. “He is Mr. Darcy of Pemberley in Derbyshire. He came with Mr. Bingley, and I fear I have foolishly fallen in love with him.”
“Mr. Darcy?” Mrs. Gardiner’s surprise made Elizabeth turn to face her. “How very singular. Lambton lies but five miles from Pemberley. ’Tis a beautiful place—one I would not mind visiting again someday.” Her brow furrowed. “I do not recall meeting him. The Darcys rarely left the estate. There were rumors that the boy was disfigured—”
“There is nothing wrong with his appearance!” Elizabeth interrupted hotly.
“Peace, Elizabeth. I am merely telling you what was said. I understand he bears a wine stain mark on his face. I recall hearing that the elder Mr. Darcy was an imposing, handsome man—very concerned with appearances. You can imagine what having a less than perfect son meant to him.”
Elizabeth’s heart ached for her love and the trials he had suffered at the hands of those who ought to cherish him. “His misfortunes have been great, indeed,” she whispered aloud. “Oh, Aunt. He did not even say farewell.”
“Did he leave you with expectations of his return?” Mrs. Gardiner asked.
“He as good as told me he wished to propose. I did not discourage him—indeed, I anticipated it! And then—” She choked on a sob. “Then he was gone. He did not come back. I have foolishly given my heart to someone who will not love me in return.”
Hastily, Elizabeth drew a handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed at her eyes, hoping her tears went unnoticed by the others. “I want to hate him for it, Aunt, but I cannot. Instead,the ache inside me grows and presses upon me, for I am unable to reveal my heartbreak, as almost no one suspects he paid me court. Mary, observant as she is, discovered it—and now you—but I have felt alone in my misery.”
Her aunt slipped an arm around her shoulders. “Come to me in the new year,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to Elizabeth’s temple. “We shall host you for the season, and you will forget all about dishonorable men.”
Sniffing, Elizabeth nodded. “May I wait until Charlotte and Mr. Collins have married?” she asked. “She has requested that I stand up with her.”
“Of course, dearest. I shall speak with your uncle and father to make the arrangements. Perhaps Mary would like to join you.” Mrs. Gardiner gave her niece another brief embrace and rose to speak with her husband about their plans.
The idea of Mary’s company seemed like a fine one. As the most overlooked sister, Mary was often left out of such invitations. Since Elizabeth had begun confiding in her, a stronger bond had formed between them. Perhaps it might grow even more if they shared a season in town. Resolving to pose the idea to her sister immediately, she glanced about the room.
Mary sat at the pianoforte, playing Christmas songs. The melody ofGod Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemenfloated across the space, adding warmth to the festive atmosphere. Elizabeth approached and reached out to turn the page as her sister finished a stanza. Her sister looked up and smiled gratefully. As Mary played on, Elizabeth shared their aunt’s invitation and asked whether she would like to come.
Mary nodded happily. With that settled, Elizabeth went to her aunt and informed her that she and Mary would be delighted to visit London in January. Pleased, Aunt Gardiner assured them they would enjoy all that town had to offer. Elizabeth agreed, inwardly resolute that she would put Mr. Darcy from her mind.
It was Christmas, after all. She ought to enjoy every moment.
Chapter Sixteen
January 13, 1812
London
Darcy
Timehadceasedtohave meaning. One day was very much like another. Darcy never left his chambers, eating little and drinking more than he ought. Georgiana remained with their aunt and uncle, unaware that her brother had returned to town. He remembered writing to her from Netherfield Park, asking for her to come. Then, a brief note indicating a change in his plans to keep her with Lord and Lady Matlock, affording Darcy the solitude he needed to mourn in peace.
A fire blazed in the grate, making the room oppressively hot. He did not care. His valet came and went, removing half-eaten trays of food and refilling the decanter when ordered.He wondered morosely what day it was. Friday? Tuesday? Was Elizabeth happy?
You do not care,he scolded his wayward thoughts.She is just like all the rest. Worse, for she hid her disgust, luring me in with her wit and vivaciousness.At least the others made no secret of their disdain. Many tried to hide it, only to betray themselves in time. Not Elizabeth. She should be an actress on the stage,he grumbled to himself.Never have I seen a better performance!
Darcy wallowed in his misery. Soon enough, he would conquer this infatuation.No,he thought.It is not an infatuation.He loved her, and that made the betrayal all the more painful. She had pretended she would accept him when he proposed—only for him to learn she had merely been preparing the way for her friend, Miss Lucas! It was the worst sort of deception.
How can I go on?hemoaned, rolling to his side. The sheets twisted around his legs, and he kicked to free himself. At last, he sat up and left his bed. Swaying slightly, he maneuvered past the furniture until he stood before a looking glass.
Disgusting,he thought, looking away. The wine-colored mark seemed even more vivid in the dim light and the jagged scar trailing down one side of his face rendered him more grotesque still.She could never want this.Darcy closed his eyes. What woman would wish to spend her life waking beside a monster?
Anger surged within him, and without thinking, he curled his hand into a fist and struck the looking glass.
“Blast!” he shouted, cradling his bleeding hand. Stumbling, Darcy rang for his valet. “I require assistance,” he said, motioning to his wounded hand. Brisby rushed to do as he was bid, bringing a cloth and a pitcher of water. Sighing heavily, Darcy sat and allowed his man to bandage his hand. Once it was cleaned and wrapped in white linen, he dismissed the servant and padded to his bed.
