“I suppose that would be best,” Darcy said, sighing.
“It is exactly what she wants,” Elizabeth said, suddenly furious. Nothing about this night had been as she had wished, hoped, or dreamt, and her resentment spilt over at last. “She is a spoilt child who ought to know better, thinking herself so clever. She wants only to disrupt our evening and my husband’s plans. All she cares for is to make a fuss that centres upon her, rather than us.”
Darcy gave her a long look, then slowly nodded. “We make the announcement. Now.”
42
A FIERY LOVE
The earl had more than his title to recommend him—he was tall, like Darcy, with a commanding presence honed by generations of blue blood. When he strode towards the musicians’ platform with definite purpose in his eyes, more than one person paused to see what he was about. With a gesture from him, the music came to an abrupt halt, and everyone on the dance floor and its surrounds turned towards him immediately. Even the murmuring stopped as he began to speak.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Lord Matlock said in his carrying voice. “Tonight, we gather not simply to introduce the fine Bingley family to the neighbourhood, nor to just appreciate good music and excellent company. We come to celebrate a union so new, not even the papers have yet heard of it. My esteemed nephew, Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy, has taken a bride from amongst your own. Mrs Elizabeth Ashwood shall henceforth be known as Mrs Darcy.”
“No-oo!” shrieked a woman from towards the back of theballroom. Several people swivelled around, fruitlessly trying to locate from whence the protest had come, but Elizabeth knew immediately—she recognised that shriek. Evidently, noteveryonein the building had been aware of the Darcys’ marriage…but Fanny Ashwood had finally discovered it, just now. The rest of the room, however, applauded and even cheered.
Darcy held up her hand, then bowed to her and the company. “Did you hear that?” he murmured.
“’Twas Fanny,” she whispered back, keeping her smile in place.
Mr Bingley stepped forwards to call the supper dances and at last, at last, Elizabeth was in the place she most wanted to be—with herhusband. The music resumed, she and Darcy were crossing towards a set forming, when from the direction of the doors opening onto the terrace, they heard shouting. It drew their attention, along with that of several others.
“Wait here,” Darcy ordered.
“I do not think so,” she replied.
With an impatient scowl that was not at all lover-like, he grabbed her hand as she commenced moving towards the terrace doors. “Stay with me,” he said, revising his command.
It was not at all easy, for everyone near them had the same thought. The earl, with the colonel and Mr Bingley not far behind, were right behind them, struggling to get through the congestion. “Make way,” Darcy demanded and for the most part was obeyed, finally pulling her through the snarl of people clogging the doorways and out into the open air.
She saw, then, what the commotion and crowds had hidden.
The flagstone terrace spread out before them in a spacious semi-circle, ending in wide paved steps leading down to the gothic temple folly. There should only have been lawns before it, with nothing much to see except darkness.
Instead, on the grounds before the temple, an enormous bonfire now raged, ringed by children—all wearing some sort of white tunic—dancing and singing. Their performance was not done very tunefully or gracefully, Elizabeth noted.
“Dash it, if this is Caroline’s idea of entertainment, we shall have words,” Mr Bingley muttered, coming up behind them with Colonel Fitzwilliam on his heels. “The lawns will be ruined by that fire, and it is far too close to the folly—if it catches, she shall pay for it from her pin money, I vow.”
“The stonework will not catch,” the earl said drily, reaching them at last. “But it does present a dramatic effect.”
Dramatic effect.The words rang in Elizabeth’s ears, and she searched through the sparks and smoke and flames for what—who—she expected to see.
And there she was.
“Look,” she said, pointing. “In the tower of the temple.”
Within the turret, the small, veiled face of a person in white stood facing them, arms outstretched as if embracing the flames.
“Devil take it, that must be Anne,” Colonel Fitzwilliam snarled.
“Get her out of there!” his father urged. “If she jumps from that tower…” He let his sentence fade.”
The colonel and Mr Bingley raced towards the folly.
“I do not think there is much chance of it,” Elizabeth said. “I believe the aperture is too small.”
“I pray you are right,” the earl replied worriedly, hurrying away after them.
“Do you not wish to join in the rescue?” Elizabeth asked her husband, who frowned after them.
