“I knew it! Did I not say that new prospects awaited us in Ireland? My Elizabeth, engaged to Mr Darcy of Pemberley! She has done excellently well!”
Mrs Ahearn ushered them into a sitting room and moved to close the door against the crowd, but Miss Bennet’s motherslipped through before the barrier could be established. She positioned herself next to them, practically vibrating with satisfaction.
“This is wonderful news! We must begin planning immediately. The wedding breakfast, the invitation list, the trousseau, there is so much to arrange!”
“Sister, surely they require time to become better acquainted before the arrangements commence?” Mrs Ahearn’s interruption carried unusual firmness. She turned to Elizabeth and Darcy, her expression thoughtful. “You have only just met today, have you not?”
Mrs Bennet waved away the concern. “They like each other well enough for Mr Darcy to make an offer, surely they are eager! Elizabeth is not the sort to accept a proposal without some basis of affection. She has always been far too particular for her own good.”
Mrs Ahearn studied them both with shrewd attention. “I have the distinct impression that the announcement took you both by surprise. Rather as though neither of you had anticipated the news becoming public in quite a fashion, or perhaps at all.”
A sparrow pecked at the glass outside, the only sound audible. Beside him, Darcy could see Miss Bennet’s hands twisting together in her lap, her knuckles white with tension. She looked, he realised with growing concern, as if she might actually faint.
Mrs Bennet frowned, her triumphant mood dimming as she took in her daughter’s pallor. “Lizzy? What is the matter? You look quite unwell.”
“I...” Miss Bennet’s curled her hands into fists before releasing them again. “I find I have developed a severe headache. Mama, might I be excused to retire for the evening?”
“A headache? Now? But there is so much to discuss—”
“Your daughter has had rather an overwhelming afternoon,” Darcy cut in. “Perhaps rest would be beneficial for her. I shall call tomorrow, when she is recovered, and we might address matters then with clearer minds.”
For a brief moment, Mrs Bennet looked as if she wished to protest this delay in her matrimonial celebrations, but something in his tone forestalled argument. “Very well. However, I do think a simple headache hardly warrants such fuss when one’s engagement has just been announced.”
Miss Bennet rose unsteadily, swaying slightly before catching herself against the arm of the settee. She did not look at him nor did she look at anyone, in fact. Her gaze remained fixed on some point beyond the room and she departed without another word, moving with the careful deliberation of someone navigating unfamiliar terrain in darkness.
The door closed behind her with a soft click that seemed unnaturally loud in the sudden quiet.
As Darcy watched her go, he had the recognition that he needed to leave as well. He, too, had to understand what had just occurred and determine how best to navigate this impossiblesituation. Remaining here would only invite more questions and complications layered upon an already complicated mess.
“I shall take my leave too,” he announced, rising. “The hour grows late, and I must return to Glenmont Hall. Mrs Ahearn, Mrs Bennet, I thank you for your hospitality this evening. I shall return to speak with Miss Bennet once she is recovered.”
Mrs Bennet beamed at this promise. “Of course! How thoughtful you are, Mr Darcy. I am certain Elizabeth will be quite herself by morning, and you may make all your plans together. And of course, you shall need to speak to Mr Bennet. It is traditionally the father who gives his blessing for such things. But he will, of course. He will with delight.”
Darcy merely bowed and made his escape before either lady could detain him further. He collected his hat and gloves from a hovering servant, acutely aware of the curious glances from guests still lingering in the entrance hall.
He made his way to his carriage with as much haste as dignity permitted. The evening air struck cool against his face, a welcome contrast to the stifling atmosphere within.
He leant back against the seat as the vehicle lurched into motion, closing his eyes as the surreal events of the past hour swept into his mind.
He was engaged to Elizabeth Bennet.
Except, of course, he was not actually engaged. The entire thing was a fabrication, a desperate improvisation that had spiralled catastrophically out of control. By tomorrow morning, surely, cooler heads would prevail and the gossip would settle.They could speak privately and devise some tactful means of retracting the announcement with minimal damage to her reputation.
Darcy opened his eyes and gazed out at the darkening Irish countryside rolling past the window. Elizabeth Bennet was undoubtedly an interesting woman, the most engaging conversationalist he had encountered in months. Under different circumstances, he might have welcomed the opportunity to know her better, to explore whether the rapport they had established during their conversation might develop into something deeper.
But marriage on the basis of a single afternoon’s acquaintance and an impulsive lie told to thwart fortune hunters was another matter.
He barely knew her and she barely knew him. They had shared one pleasant conversation and a few dances. That hardly constituted foundation for a lifetime commitment. His parents’ marriage had been built on years of acquaintance and affection developed over time. He had always imagined his own marriage would follow a similar pattern, allowing for an understanding of his partner’s character and temperament. This bore no resemblance to that vision.
The carriage turned onto the road leading to his lodgings, and he permitted himself a moment of bitter amusement. He had survived London’s countless social ambushes and maintained his freedom with meticulous care.
Ireland, it seemed, required different strategies.
And then there was his cousin, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam. He would find this situation hilarious. Darcy could already envision his cousin’s reaction. The raised eyebrows, the poorly suppressed grin.
And the inevitable commentary about how even the great Fitzwilliam Darcy could be caught in a matrimonial trap when he least expected it.
Chapter Five
