A rush of fondness for him washed over her. If gratitude and esteem were good foundations of affection, Darcy had earned that weeks ago. She was eager to spend time with him, adored hearing his opinions, enjoyed provoking him into a smile. No time was better spent than a moment in discussion alone with him. While before she had been determined to make the most of their situation, now Elizabeth was convinced she would be happy with him.
Had the man described to her as “dull” and who called her “tolerable” conquered her heart by tender sentiment and serious conversations?
She had fallen in love with him. She did not know when she married him with a borrowed ring in Scotland that she would ever love Darcy as she did now. And, more than that, she had the greatest hope of creating a regard for herself deep in Darcy’s heart that matched her own feelings.
“They had a fine selection of hair ornaments, but I asked for a slight change and arranged to have it delivered today. I have no inventive fancy to design something for you,” he went on, “but I thought you would like what I had found. It originally had an array of different coloured stones about the ribbon, but I asked them to replace them allwith diamonds. Then, then it could match whatever colour gown you wore and?—”
Elizabeth set down the box and put her fingertips on his mouth, feeling his breath escape him. The gesture was intended to silence him, not elicit an overpowering desire to replace her fingertips with her lips. Now, that was all she wanted to do. There was enough heat in his eyes to warm her courage, and she moved her hand to cup his cheek and pressed a light, lingering kiss to his lips.
Darcy kissed her back instantly, with no hesitation, and she moaned a little in delighted surprise. One arm curved around her waist and the other went to her hair, his fingertips teasing along her nape. She parted her lips on a breath, and Darcy gently coaxed her lips open and their tongues touched, sending shivers of pleasure across her. He kissed her slowly, patiently, like he was savouring every moment.
She wanted him to pull her nearer until he was touching her everywhere, as closely as their lips fit together. Instead, after a few more seconds of bliss, he dragged his lips from hers and put both hands on her hips. They stared at one another for a breathless moment, both of them unsure what to do or say.
After a moment, he looked at her hair rather than into her eyes. He tried to push tendrils back into place and then gave up. “I am afraid I have ruined your hair.”
“I do not mind,” she said quickly, hoping to imply that she would welcome any disarray if it accompanied kisses like that. He smiled and gave a long look to her mouth that made her heart pound before the clock chimed the hour. He let her go, and the reluctance in his looks at doing so made her hope that he might someday love her back.
“I, I suppose we ought to get ready for tonight, though I would rather—Lady Summerlin will ask you to begin the ball; we must not be late.”
She nodded, wishing they could stay in together and kiss and talk more rather than dance at a ball until dawn. “Yes, you must be right. Will you ask me to dance, or are you too correct to dance with your own wife?”
She saw him hold back a smile and try to be serious. “Am I not an old married man, and my dancing days are over? That is the greatestbenefit of being married: I am no longer expected to stand up with every lady obliged to sit down.”
“Will you retreat to the card room, then, with all the other old men?”
He tried again to tuck back a lock of hair that had fallen from its pin. The look of concentration on his face was endearing. “No. I cannot believe the new bride will find herself without a partner, but if you sit down once, I will be at your side in an instant to ask you to dance.”
Elizabeth wanted to put her arms around his shoulders and kiss him again. She could never tire of the feel of Darcy’s hands on her, or his lips over hers. But she satisfied herself by saying, “Thank you, for the aigrette, for thinking of me.”
Darcy bowed, and then handed her the jewellery box, before gesturing to the door that she ought to precede him out. In her own chamber, she set the aigrette box on her toilet table, and dressed for the ball with much of the happy agitations that typically belongs to a ball but, in her case, it was all due to her hopes for Darcy.
She loved him, but did he want her affection, to love her in return? Or was this simply a part of the friendly marriage they had agreed upon? His being able to love her certainly seemed more possible now than it did in the innyard in Gretna Green.
Darcy watchedElizabeth open the ball with Lord Summerlin and knew she would not sit down until the carriage was called at dawn. He saw with pleasure the elegance of her appearance, and how much she smiled. He noticed other guests watch her too, and saw there were few persons present who were not disposed to praise her. She was attractive; she was modest; she was lively. It was enough to give Elizabeth general favour amongst his circle.
He was glad to see her admired, but he regretted having to come out tonight and his departure tomorrow. Elizabeth had kissed him today. It had put him into an absolute passion, but he had kissed her back with restraint. There could be no mistaking her regard for him, but how deep did those sentiments go? How soon could he taste those soft lips again?
“Everyone wants to dance with the new bride,” said Lady Summerlin, coming up to him and pushing away all thoughts of kissing or any other lasting embraces. A long-time friend of his departed mother, Darcy suspected her ladyship only invited people inclined to approve of anyone Darcy married.
“I am just as glad no one expects the new groom to dance, madam,” he replied.
Lady Summerlin laughed knowingly. “Your wife has a glow of complexion. She is not a great beauty, but a striking woman, quite lively,” she added with a perceptive look.
“Very unlike my own untoward gravity of deportment, you mean?”
“You are reserved, like your mother was; Mrs Darcy is animated, and draws people to her, like your father did. Mrs Darcy will counteract your gravity and cheer your spirits, and your seriousness and standing will steady her and raise her importance.”
They watched the dancing end and partners were exchanged, and people moved about and talked while they awaited the next. Elizabeth spoke with a group of ladies, but Darcy could not discern their tone. They might smile and say all the polite things on the surface, but perhaps their tone and hints were more cutting. After what her father had hinted about her character, after Miss Bingley’s snide remarks, after Lady Catherine’s insolence, he did not want anyone to distress her.
“No one of consequence will care that her connexions and fortunes are not what most would have expected for me?” he cautiously asked his mother’s friend with a tilt of his head toward the group. He knew the answer, so why did he ask it? He did not ask for his own pride, but because he did not want another person to insult or discredit his wife. She deserved better than that.
“She can hold her own, Darcy,” Lady Summerlin assured him. “She looks and acts the part, and does nothing to offend. Her reputation of elegance and respectability matters as much as wealth and connexions to people of rank, and I would argue it is less easily attained.”
Their visit to town had done its intended purpose. His sister’s consequence might have sunk, but at the least his had not fallen. Heshould feel more relieved, more proud, but thoughts of his marriage were more pressing than thoughts of his standing. Coming to London was the right choice, but now he wanted to hide away with his wife and see if she would kiss him again.
“Your wife wears a handsome aigrette,” said his mother’s friend. “I assume it was a gift from a doting husband?”
“Doting, madam?” Was he a fond, affectionate husband?
