“Thank you, Mr Darcy.” Her heart fluttered even as it sank. It was a disorienting sensation. “We would be delighted. If there are no prior invitations we have agreed to, Aunt?”
“We are not otherwise engaged this evening. How thoughtful, Mr Darcy.”
“Then we shall be pleased to attend.”
Mr Darcy stood stiffly, at a loss for words. “Well,” he said finally.
Suddenly, Elizabeth recognised that playing this part was, perhaps, as taxing and unfamiliar for him as it was for her.
“Thank you again, Mr Darcy,” she said, imbuing as much gratitude as she could bear into the words. What she meant wasthank you for participating in this farce with me. To her mingled surprise and relief, he seemed to interpret her meaning correctly.
With a promise to send his carriage for them that evening, he departed, leaving Elizabeth wondering if she had indeed made the right choice.
Chapter 5
The play, which was indeed cleverly written and acted to a tee, was merely the beginning of their charade. Over the next week, London society became a stage upon which Elizabeth and Darcy performed with tiresome regularity. Their supposed courtship demanded not only appearances at parties and assemblies, but promenades through the park, social calls to the Gardiner household, shopping, and attendance at musicales that tested their patience.
Elizabeth’s composure was even more severely tested, as her attempts to gather more information on the source of the rumours against her family proved futile. The scandal sheets had no remorse in reporting on her presumptive schemes on trapping Mr Darcy, and giving the cruel assessment that they were ill-matched, but no further slander was thrown on Jane or Georgiana’s name, and all attempts to determine the source of the rumours were met with dead ends.
One morning in Hyde Park, Elizabeth walked beside Mr Darcy with Mrs Gardiner close behind. They passed beneath a line of elms, acutely aware of the curious gazes following them. A pair of ladies whispered beneath their parasols as Mr Darcy courteously offered Elizabeth his arm. Frustrated at her lack ofprogress, she did not notice straightaway, and to the onlookers, it appeared that she hesitated a moment too long before taking it. Mr Darcy was unaffected by her misstep, but Elizabeth could practically see the ripple of speculative glances as they continued their promenade, following them like a tide upon the shore. She resolved to ensure such an oversight would not happen again, even if she began to doubt the effectiveness of their scheme.
She had the opportunity to make amends when attending the gallery opening at Somerset House. It was crowded enough to satisfy the most voracious gossip, which made Mr Darcy’s suggestion that they attend very sensible. Elizabeth and Mr Darcy stood shoulder-to-shoulder before a landscape painting of the Derbyshire peaks, glowing in early morning light.
Mr Darcy leaned in to scrutinise the work, hands clasped behind his back. “The artist has taken quite a heavy hand. One need not render rock in such a stiff manner. It muddles the sense of perspective.”
Elizabeth nearly laughed aloud. Mr Darcy complaining of something being too stiff? The irony was quite amusing. She turned her focus to the painting as the soft chatter of gallery-viewers floated through the room. “I find the boldness rather pleasing,” she offered. “They are quite unshakable, and decidedly unmoving. In any case, someone ought to notify the mountains that their perspective is in question.”
Mr Darcy glanced at her sidelong. “I shall write immediately.”
She bit back a smile, but the effort faltered when she spied movement in her periphery.
Mr Haversham, purveyor of half-truths and whole scandals, was circling them like a carrion bird, pretendinginterest in the paintings while craning shamelessly in their direction. His expression glowed with anticipation, as though Mr Darcy and Elizabeth might at any moment confess undying devotion into his waiting ears.
Elizabeth met Mr Darcy’s gaze and drew closer, slipping her hand lightly around his arm in what she hoped resembled a comfortable familiarity that bordered on romantic ease.
Mr Darcy startled only a fraction before playing his part: he inclined his head toward her, his voice now pitched deliberately low. “Miss Elizabeth,” he said, “your insight into landscapes is, as ever, enlightening.”
“Only because you insist on making it so,” she returned sweetly.
Mr Haversham’s eyes widened. His quill would surely fly that night.
Elizabeth smiled to herself as they moved to another painting, pleased that the ruse was working so well.
Yet, as she and Darcy stood side-by-side, staring at another painting of the sea, she could not help but wonder if this was the best course of action.
They’d had no new leads for a week. She had thought that by embracing the gossip’s assertion that she and Mr Darcy were indeed courting, it might provoke them into making a mistake. And yet, nothing. Perhaps their quarry was merely waiting to make their next move. If so, she and Mr Darcy would be prepared.
The Winter Assembly only a few nights away might prove fruitful. Time would only tell. As Elizabeth rested her arm on Mr Darcy’s sleeve, she prayed their ruse need not go on too long.
∞∞∞
A damp chill clung to the London night air, but inside the party the room hummed with warmth and anticipation. It seemed improbable that in a sea of satin gowns and faces hungry for the night’s entertainment, there lurked a foe with dark intentions. But if there was one place the scandal-maker could be, it was here.
Elizabeth adjusted the button on her glove as the swell of music washed over the assembly. Mr Darcy found her quickly, bowing first to her, then to the Gardiners and Jane. The titters around them signalled that his attentions had not gone unnoticed.
Mr Darcy wordlessly proffered his arm, which Elizabeth took. They kept to the perimeter of the ballroom floor, weaving around couples whose speculative whispers danced just out of earshot. Mr Darcy’s brow pulled low in concentration.
“You need not look so grave,” Elizabeth commented lightly. “You behave as if we are marching toward a battlefield rather than a dance floor.”
