“Rain can be unpleasant,” Mr Hartham acknowledged. “But the effects of it less so.”
Elizabeth turned to look at him more fully. “What do you mean?”
With a twinkle in his eyes, Mr Hartham said, “I think you rather appreciated Mr Darcy’s state ofdéshabillé.”
Elizabeth felt herself grow flushed. “I am sure Ihave no idea what you mean,” she said with as much dignity as she could muster.
“Miss Bennet, I was born at night, but I can assure you it was notlastnight. Pray spare me your folderol.”
She held her hand to her lips to prevent herself from laughing. “I am in earnest!”
He replied with a roll of his eyes.
Elizabeth gave his arm a little shove. “I told you of my history with Mr Darcy. I daresay he and I are, by now, both perfectly unaffected by one another,déshabilléor not.”
“If you believe that,” said Mr Hartham, “then you are not half so quick as I had imagined you.”
She did not believe it, she comprehended with a start. Not even a little bit. And that terrified her.
“You saw how it was at the whist table,” she reminded him. “He was quite enchanted by Miss Larkin.”
“Maybe. Or perhaps it was merely the advantage of proximity. Did it trouble you?”
Visions thrust themselves into Elizabeth’s mind and, uncomfortably, most of them were of Mr Darcy in wet attire and shirtsleeves. One, most uncomfortable of all, was the way he had looked when he told her, in Kent, that he ardently admired and loved her.
“It troubled me more than I like to admit.”
“Then it is to you to determine why,” said Mr Hartham. “And from there, what best to do about it. But I would not ruminate long on the subject, for there are Miss Larkins in abundance, and he is a highly eligible gentleman.”
Elizabeth abruptly regretted behaving so crossly towards Mr Darcy on the balcony. He had admitted to only cheating in an attempt to help her, and she hadrepaid him with surliness. Would she never learn? Every time this man showed her his favour, she treated him abominably! What did it matter what effect hisdéshabilléhad on her when he must thinkherthe most ungrateful wretch?
Mr Hartham shifted his position suddenly and said under his breath, “Speak of the devil.”
Elizabeth followed his gaze and baulked to see the colonel approaching with Miss Larkin on one arm and on his other, a woman Elizabeth recognised as the second beauty with whom she had seen Mr Darcy walking earlier in the week.Excellent,she thought wryly.Another of his handsome friends.She forced herself to smile welcomingly.
As it turned out, the second lady was a less objectionable acquaintance than Miss Larkin. She was introduced as Miss Georgette Hawkridge, Colonel Fitzwilliam’s cousin on his mother’s side. That might not have necessarily precluded her from Mr Darcy’s affections, of course, but her evident disinclination in that direction certainly did. Elizabeth felt an undeniable sense of relief every time Miss Hawkridge joked about Mr Darcy’s taciturnity—which she did uncommonly often—but a little more vexed every time Miss Larkin rushed to his defence.
“What say you two make up a table with us next?” Colonel Fitzwilliam asked, indicating Elizabeth and Mr Hartham, then himself and Miss Hawkridge. “I hear you beat my brother in your last game, so it ought to be a decent challenge.”
Elizabeth was about done with card-playing, but Mr Hartham accepted with alacrity.
“What amIto do?” Miss Larkin complained.
Miss Hawkridge gave her a playful nudge with herelbow and inclined her head in the direction of the door. “Mr Darcy has returned. Why do not you see whether he is in need of a partner?”
Elizabeth did not allow herself to watch Miss Larkin go; she was already too bewildered by her own feelings to be able to observe the woman fawning over Mr Darcy—or him fawning over her in return—with anything approaching aplomb. Keeping her eyes on the floor, she took Mr Hartham’s proffered arm and went with him and the others to find a table.
When Darcy returned to the party, Hartham and Elizabeth were engaged in a private tête-à-tête on a settee, the position of which in the room suggested a desire for seclusion. He resolved to join them immediately but was waylaid by Lady Preston.
“It will be an excellent match,” Lady Preston observed with an air of obvious satisfaction.
“I beg your pardon?”
“My nephew and Miss Bennet. I could never have imagined that old crow, Agatha, to have such a charming and vivacious niece! But Miss Bennet is everything delightful, and I shall call hermyniece quite gladly. Are you much acquainted with her?”
Darcy swallowed hard, his eyes on the pair on the settee. Elizabeth was holding her hand to her lips, suppressing mirth about something Hartham had said; it made her eyes sparkle and her cheeks flush.
“The old crow or the delightful niece?” he enquired drily and was treated to a husky bark of laughter and a poke on the arm with the lady’s bejewelled finger.
