Fitzwilliam crossed his arms over his chest, looking suspicious. “You never change your mind that easily. What has happened?”
“Anyone would think youwantedme to leave. Stoppestering me and go and tell Georgiana the good news.”
“Where areyougoing?”
“To have my belongings moved into whichever room is Saye’s.”
Fitzwilliam grinned. “This is going to be fun.”
9
Mr Darcy. Here. In Brighton. Of all people and in all places!
The thought, and the consternation it brought with it, had not left Elizabeth’s mind for a single moment since meeting him. Neither had her heart ceased rattling about in her chest, rendering the lively set she had just danced even more arduous. Mr Denny returned her back to Mr Hartham out of breath and thirsty.
Mr Hartham handed her a glass of lemonade and smirked. “Poor Denny. I am sure he was trying his best to be entertaining. He cannot help it if he is as dry as a bone.”
“Pardon?”
“Well, I know he is a little dull, but you might have pretended to be amused.”
Elizabeth glanced regretfully at Mr Denny’s retreating back, then sighed. “I did not mean to be uncivil.”
“You mistake me, my dear. I do not accuse you ofbeing uncivil—only inattentive.” With a smile that belied his words, he added, “It is my fault. I should not have obliged you to come.”
Indeed, hehadrather forced her hand. She had left her house directly after her encounter with Lady Preston the previous day, determined not to be present when Mr Hartham returned to make arrangements for the ball. He had not been so easily deterred, however, and had asked Mr Mullens where she was staying, then sent a note to the Millhouses’ residence, addressed to Mrs Gardiner, informingherthat he would collect her niece at nine this evening.
It was a sneaky move, for once Elizabeth’s relations knew she had been invited to go out into society, there was no getting out of it. Lady Preston had even volunteered herself as chaperon—though she was not paying much attention to anyone or anything beyond the punch bowl, as far as Elizabeth could tell.
Mr Hartham’s overbearing machinations had not vexed Elizabeth as much as they might have, however, for he had sent her a separate note of explanation.
Be not offended, madam, when I say that I have no interest in courting you. I should, however, be eternally grateful if you would agree to attend Lady Rosse’s ball with me, for then I might appease my aunt, who is unlikely to give me a moment’s peace until she has seen me dance with at least one handsome lady. Some might argue that I am not best qualified to judge this matter, but I have eyes, and therefore declare that you perfectly fit the bill. In recompense for my underhandedness, I place myself in your debt until such time as I have repaid your kindness.
Amused, Elizabeth had resolved to come, certainthat a ball in the company of such an eccentric gentleman would be the safest way to avoid all thoughts of Mr Darcy. It might have worked, had it not been for her encounter earlier that day.
“I am sorry, Mr Hartham. I am unpardonably preoccupied. I…well, I saw someone earlier today, a former acquaintance who I did not know was in Brighton. It unsettled me more than I wished to admit.”
He frowned. “Unsettled in what way? I hope this person is no threat to you.”
“Oh, no, it is nothing like that. Perhaps only a threat to my equanimity.”
His frown was replaced with a knowing grin. “Ah. A gentleman, I presume?”
Elizabeth wondered briefly at the propriety of revealing too much to someone who was essentially a stranger, but in many ways that was the chief of his charm. Mr Hartham did not know Mr Darcy—or Mr Bingley, or Mr Wickham, nor any of the web of misunderstandings that had arisen between them all in Hertfordshire. She had no need to fear his ill opinion of the mistakes she had made.
“Yes,” she admitted. “Someone I thought never to see again. And certainly not someone I would have guessed would be pleased about it if I did.”
Mr Hartham raised an eyebrow. “You are teasing me with these trifling details. I shall need more if I am to be truly invested in your misery.”
Elizabeth laughed, though it felt hollow. She was not miserable, exactly, but she was not happy either. Time and the distraction of her house had allowed her to put thoughts of Mr Darcy to the back of her mind. Not out of her mind entirely—one did not forget sosignificant an acquaintance quickly, if ever. But she had been able to set aside her regrets.
Seeing him had brought back all her remorse in a flash—which had surprised her, frankly. If someone had asked her beforehand what she thought her prevailing sentiment would be upon seeing him again, she was sure she would have said indignation. It washe, after all, who made such an offensive offer of marriage,hewho had separated Jane from Mr Bingley. But it was she who had hurled unfounded charges at him, and she who had cruelly spurned an earnest, if ill-worded, proposal. Despite that, hehad greeted her with perfect civility, even expressing a wish to see her again. It had left her feeling…unworthy. And that was not a sentiment which sat comfortably upon her.
“His name is Mr Darcy. He proposed to me at Easter, but there were some unresolved misunderstandings between us, and I refused him. Pray do not mention it to my family. They do not know.”
“My lips are sealed,” he said solemnly. “But do I detect a note of regret in your voice?”
“I have many regrets. I cannot say whether refusing him is one of them, but I am heartily ashamed of the manner in which I did it.”
