“I have. Your mother is an excellent hostess.”
After a few moments of polite discourse, Darcy turned the conversation. “Mrs Fiennes appears to have gone home,” he said. “I hope she is well.”
A soft laugh escaped Mrs Wilkens. “Eliza does not care for large gatherings. Her daughter is her whole world, and only lately has she once more begun to appear in society.”
“She is young—surely she still wishes to enjoy life.”
Mrs Wilkens gave a small shrug. “Elizabeth married very young—barely out. The matched astonished us all. More than one mama in Meryton was provoked to see the neighbourhood’s most eligible gentleman carried off by a mere girl. Yet they seemed devoted—Mr Fiennes especially. Then they removed to London. We were shocked to hear of his death. Poor Elizabeth returned to us much altered, changed as only grief over losing a loved one might do.”
He inclined his head gravely. “Pray forgive me for prying,”
Conjectures began forming in his thoughts. Her terror, her sudden withdrawals, her avoidance in certain company—none of it spoke of mere bereavement. He resolved to think on it no further for the moment and addressed his partner. “Tell me, madam, how is the hunting near Lucas Lodge?”
The remainder of the set passed pleasantly, and afterwards, courtesy demanded that he stand up with Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst before securing Miss Bennet for the final dance. Miss Bingley filled the measure with her customary observations:
“Miss Long’s gown is something to behold, is it not? And Mrs Goulding appears to be enjoying herself—I believe that is her fourth glass of punch.I ought to try it myself; it must taste exceptionally good to merit such attention.”
Darcy’s patience wore thin. He made no reply, allowing his silence and the scowl he wore to speak for him. It went unnoticed; Miss Bingley remained blissfully unaware of his silent reproof.
When the final notes ended, he withdrew to a quiet corner, weary of the press of bodies and the ceaseless chatter. Being in company was not his favourite activity. Like Mr Bennet—and Elizabeth—he preferred quiet evenings at home. The chaos made him long for his bed, and standing near a window, he stared out at the merrymakers, wishing the evening at an end. A rustle to his right warned that his respite was at an end. Miss Bingley.
“I believe I can guess the subject of your reverie,” she murmured, slipping to his side.
He scarcely heard her. His thoughts were full of the enchanting widow with whom he was rapidly falling in love.
“Pray, sir, of what have you been thinking?”
He turned at last, his patience at an end. “Of the pleasure a pair of fine eyes in the face of a pretty woman can bestow.”
Her hand tightened on his arm. “Indeed? Whose eyes merit such praise?”
“Mrs Elizabeth Fiennes.”
Her expression made him wish to laugh. “Mrs Fiennes?” she repeated, then rallied with brittle laughter. “Then tell me, sir, when am I to wish you joy?”
“I know not, Miss Bingley, but I promise you will be the first to be informed when the lady accepts my proposal.”
Leaving her astonished, he crossed the room, finding even the heat and noise preferable to spending another minute in her company.
Chapter Twenty-Four
1 November 1811
Longbourn
Elizabeth
“MydearElizabeth!”Suzannecaught her in a fierce embrace. “How I have missed you!” Stepping back, she looked her over with fond delight. “It has been an age! Please forgive me for not coming to see you sooner!”
“I am so pleased to see you too, Suzanne. And I am as much at fault, if not more. I might have gone to your estate. My friend, you look remarkably well!”
She wore a pelisse of deep mulberry wool trimmed with sable; the hue lent a graceful warmth to her appearance, neither sombre nor showy. The colour suited her perfectly—rich enough to speak of prosperity yet softened by taste and restraint.
Elizabeth took in her friend’s presence with affection. Suzanne appeared every inch the genteel widow, composed and lovely as ever. Her son, Arthur, stood beside her, attempting to appear the proper gentleman while his eyes darted to the Bennets assembled to greet their guests.
“Enough blame has been cast about. You are here now, and I intend to enjoy every moment in your presence! And Arthur—how you have grown!You carry yourself like a true young gentleman. It does my heart good to see you once more.”
Arthur’s ears reddened, and he gave her a proper bow. “Thank you, Mrs Fiennes. I am happy to be here.”
