“He had better be a doting husband if he absconded with a young lady from a seaside resort,” Elizabeth said, coming up beside him and linking an arm through his as she greeted Lady Summerlin. He had such a sense of well-being with her on his arm, by his side.
Darcy looked down at Elizabeth and realised he wanted to be such a husband. What he felt for her was not some partial sentiment to be lessened with the passing of time. At that instant, she turned from Lady Summerlin and his eyes met hers. Elizabeth’s sweet smile reached his soul at once and stirred him with an emotion beyond the power of language to express.
The qualities of her mind were equal to those of her heart and her person. He respected her for her personal charms and for her cultivated understanding and refined taste and lively mind. But those qualities and attractions had ascendency over his heart and went far deeper than respect and admiration.
Even if she never encouraged him further than the kiss she gave him earlier, he would love Elizabeth forever.
Somehow, while staring at Elizabeth, he had missed Lady Summerlin leave them. He started, and noticed Elizabeth watching him curiously, surely wondering what was the matter with him. This was neither the time nor the place to confess that he had fallen in love with her.
He had to say something since she caught him staring. “All went well with the preparations for the ball, I see,” he said, looking her up and down, admiring the diamonds in her hair. While not a vain woman, he could tell she did not dislike her own looks.
“Oh, no, I have been careless of my appearance, and equally indifferent whether I came to the ball or stayed home.”
“You prepared without one expression of pleasure?” he said, noting her arch manner.
“Precisely.”
“Then it would not interest you to know that your aigrette is quite pretty? The diamonds reflect the candlelight, and I have heard it complimented more than once this evening.”
“It should be admired. My husband has excellent taste. He chose well.”
He wished he could say he chose his wife well too. But he had not chosen her, and only by great mischance had been forced to marry her. He struggled with what to say, that he was more than content with how things had turned out, that he was glad that they would go through life together, but his thoughts went straight back to their kiss from a few hours ago.
His eyes lingered on hers for a little too long, and her arch smile faded into a softer one as a flush bloomed across her cheeks. She must be remembering the same thing. When he left for Derbyshire tomorrow, should he kiss her goodbye, or wait until she kissed him again?
“Mrs Darcy?” Sir Thomas Charlton approached and asked her to dance, and Elizabeth dropped her hand from his arm.
Darcy had always thought Sir Thomas an agreeable man and an influential friend to have on one’s side. He could tolerate a card table better if someone like Sir Thomas was there. But now Darcy hated him because he prevented Elizabeth and him from spending another moment together where they might have, at least with their eyes and behaviour, made their tender feelings for each other known.
Elizabeth parted from him with a playful look and then turned her attention to Sir Thomas, asking him for how long had he known Mr Darcy and if he knew any stories about him she may not have heard.
How nicely was her seriousness mixed with vivacity, her frankness with decorum? He was a fortunate man.
Knowing his wife would not be without partners, and having no inclination to be patient with any woman aside from her, Darcy went to the card tables to wait out the evening. On his way, he noticed his acquaintance Mr Melrose catch his eye and gesture toward where he stood by the door. Darcy joined him, wondering what Melrose wanted.He was a barrister, a younger son of a baron, and he had not seen him since he returned to London.
“Congratulations on your joyous news,” Melrose said amiably. “I have sent round my card, but we still owe the new Mrs Darcy a visit.”
“The card tables can spare you for an hour, I am sure,” Darcy said good-naturedly. While neither a spendthrift nor a drunk, Melrose had, in his opinion, not quite grown up yet.
“Are you happy, then? Not regretting being taken in at a watering place by a pretty face looking to move up in the world?”
“If I was, you cannot think I would admit to it,” he said darkly.
Melrose flushed and stammered an apology. “Of course, forgive me. I meant no disrespect. You seem content, and she seems good-humoured and is handsome. My wife noticed her hair ornament with an appreciative and envious eye. A wedding gift? You put me to shame,” he added with a laugh. “Mrs Melrose will expect a token of my continuing esteem.”
He suspected Mrs Melrose would be happier if her husband came home not smelling of spirits, but he kept his silence. “It is from Rundell, Bridge, and Rundell in Ludgate Hill, but you did not call me over to ascertain my domestic happiness or for a recommendation for a jeweller.”
“No,” he agreed, and dropping his voice and moving closer to the wall, he said, “I wanted to ask about your sister.”
Darcy forced himself to stay calm. Melrose was a bit of a rattle, but not the sort to provoke a friend. “I have not seen her since she left Ramsgate with her lover. I do not accept her husband, and we do not correspond.”
“Quite right,” Melrose said approvingly. “I like a long evening out the same as the next man, but that Mr Wickham has no discretion, no comportment at all.” Melrose gave him a shrewd look. “You do know he is in town?”
He had not known, but it did not surprise him. “Have you seen him?”
“I saw him two nights ago, and not at the Inns of Court,” he said heavily. Wickham and Melrose must have been at the same gamingclub. “I was at a new place with card tables near Cavendish Square spending too much money. Wickham was upstairs.”
He let out a slow exhale. Not a club then, but at a brothel with game tables downstairs. “What were you doing in such a place?”
