Darcy’s gaze sharpened, as though seeing her for the first time. He looked her up and down, and she wondered if he approved or if he thought her a strange creature. She tried to show all the regret she felt as she met his eye, and all the hope that he might see her as a woman he would want to marry.
“Your accusation was ill-founded,” he said slowly, “formed on mistaken premises, but I need to act in a more gentlemanly manner. There is nothing to forgive.”
“I hope,” she stammered, “I hope that, that we can move forward in friendship.”
He bowed and held out an arm to escort her back to her friends. When they were nearly there he said quietly, “I am sorry I did not dance with you in Meryton, and am exceedingly sorry that I called you tolerable when you are in truth a handsome woman.”
Darcy left her with the Gardiners and went to join another party before Elizabeth could reply to such a statement. She watched him talk to other friends before finding Colonel Fitzwilliam and Mrs Sullivan. Her heart sank as she saw Darcy ask Mrs Sullivan to dance the supper set. It was more notice than she had ever seen him give any woman, and even more gazes followed them as they took their place in the set.
Elizabeth felt wretched for the rest of the evening. He had said he found her handsome so honestly, but there was no warmth in his eyes when he looked at her, bowed, and left. When would Darcy look at her with the same yearning she felt for him?
Chapter Twelve
Darcy shoved aside his writing box. He wanted to write to L, but that would not be wise. Besides, today was February 14. She could misconstrue his intentions on a day when the post was filled with romantic epistles from would-be lovers. He had to let that connexion fade, and a little distance from both L and Elizabeth felt necessary, especially after the ball yesterday.
Elizabeth had talked with him more than was typical for her at the beginning of the evening. She smiled at him often, even challenging him to argue with her. She was unfailingly polite, and not provoking. Then, after he had danced the supper set with Mrs Sullivan, Elizabeth had not spoken with him for the rest of the night. It was as though she had done her duty to apologise and be civil, and then suddenly her friendliness shuttered and she scarcely looked at him. Not even Mrs Sullivan’s candidness could get much more than a smile from her.
Darcy sighed and changed into his riding clothes to meet his friends. L had liked him, but not enough to pursue a relationship that might lead to marriage. Maybe Elizabeth respected him, but not enough to match the feelings he held for her. He had never had any entanglements and his cousin Fitzwilliam flirtedwith every woman he saw; and now, while Darcy nursed two disappointments, Fitzwilliam was engaged.
It was quiet in the house since Bingley had left early for Cheapside. He had not said he was going to ask Jane Bennet to marry him today, but Bingley’s grin and anxious pacing while he awaited his carriage told Darcy his intentions. Similar good fortune would come to Fitzwilliam, aside from his family’s lack of support in the beginning.
Bingley would marry, and Fitzwilliam would marry. Darcy tugged off his cravat in frustration and tried to tie it again. Dwelling on his feelings of solitude and his longing for companionship would solve nothing. He had to get over his feelings for Elizabeth and L. Neither one liked him enough, so there was no reason to be melancholy over it.
His dressing room door burst open, and his cousin came in. “Do you need help with that? Should I call your man?”
Darcy was tempted to crumple the linen into a ball and throw it at him. “Of course not.” He turned back to the mirror and forced himself to breathe calmly. “Did you talk with your father?”
Fitzwilliam threw himself into a chair. “Hours,” he said, running a hand over his face. “He talked at me for two hours, and I expect a letter with his displeasure to follow.”
Darcy heard the distress in his voice. He finished tying his cravat and sat across from his cousin. “Did he refuse to give his blessing?”
“He refused to supplement my income if I marry so far beneath me—his words,” he added. Darcy felt the sting of shame for once thinking that way about Elizabeth. “He called her ambitious. How dare the daughter of a banker think she could marry a son of an earl? He said I have to marry money, but I might have got someone younger, never married, and of a higher rank for the price. That I am settling for a mere fifteen thousandpounds when I could have someone with twice that. At the end of our conference, he consented—since he cannot stop me—but he wants me to wait until the end of the season to announce it.”
Darcy looked at him for a long moment. Who would have thought that this matchmaking scheme would have led to his cousin finding a life partner? “Congratulations.”
Fitzwilliam actually blushed before murmuring, “Thank you.” He shifted in his seat and seemed to push all sentiment from his face. “Despite the promise of your support, his lordship hopes I will change my mind, and he exacted my promise not to elope in the meantime. Will you come with me this week to talk with him, to tell him I am not throwing myself away and that I am marrying a respectable woman?”
“Of course, if you think it will help. Will Mrs Sullivan mind waiting, or mind the secrecy?”
“She is more distressed at my family’s disapproval, but Clara won’t mind, not when she has my word.”
“She is a sensible woman, and she knows how fortunate she is. I think I could even like her for her own sake rather than just for yours,” Darcy said with a teasing smile.
“Don’t put yourself out by throwing around all those compliments about my intended,” he said drily.
“She has pleasing manners. And, for some reason, she likes you a great deal, but I won’t assume her taste is entirely questionable. How is that?”
His cousin crossed his arms over his chest and gave him a mock glare. “You could do better. If that is the best you can do to compliment a woman, it is no wonder you are not engaged.”
Darcy looked away, feeling the unintended blow more than he wanted to admit. Fitzwilliam swiftly apologised and said, “Miss Elizabeth did not seem to hate you as much as you feared.”
He stood and busied himself with choosing a riding coat. “She was polite. No one could fault her civility, but after I danced with her, she wanted nothing to do with me.”
Fitzwilliam pursed his lips in thought. “Do you suppose she could be jealous of Clara?”
Darcy spun round, his heart pounding with a wild jealousy. “You think she admires you? She only met you on Tuesday.”
“What?” he asked, his face crinkled in confusion. “No, jealous of Clara. You danced with Clara twice and talked with her all night.”
