“You are correct. I regret it and I apologise.”
The sincerity of his tone softened any remaining ire. “I came here tonight because I refuse to be frightened into silence.And because I believe, despite everything, that our alliance is not yet beyond repair.”
Mr Darcy’s expression brightened considerably. “If you are willing to continue it, Miss Elizabeth, I will devote myself to it entirely.”
She inclined her head. “Then let us turn our attention to it now.”
Mr Darcy nodded. “The mystery remains unresolved, but I believe we are nearer the truth than our enemy suspects.”
In her surprise and excitement at the hint, it took all Elizabeth’s self-control to stop herself from grabbing his arm. “Have you learned something?”
“Enough to know that our adversary watches us closely and feeds upon our reactions. I propose we give him something worth reacting to.”
“A trap?” asked Elizabeth, with a glint of mischief lighting her expression despite the gravity of their situation.
Darcy nodded. “If he thrives on rumour, let us supply one of our own. A false report. One so tempting, he will not be able to restrain himself from attempting to capitalise on it at once.”
“An excellent stratagem. If we can prompt him into immediate action, we may be able to catch the villain.”
Darcy’s mouth curved into the faintest smile. “You think as I do.”
“Let us hope,” Elizabeth said dryly, “that our enemy is not thinking as we do.”
They bent their heads together, lowering their voices as music swelled behind them. When they had finished refining their scheme, they parted. The stage was set, their audience ready.
As Elizabeth left to rejoin her aunt, she felt an encouraging momentum. With Darcy alongside her once more, she was confident that their plan would work.
Chapter 12
Elizabeth and Mr Darcy had chosen their fiction carefully. As they circulated among acquaintances at the assembly, Elizabeth allowed a few carefully chosen remarks to slip into conversation. Hints of familial displeasure and of powerful disapproval were spoken within earshot of those who would carry her words to other parties.
For his part, Mr Darcy wore an air of restrained concern. When questioned, he offered neither confirmation nor denial of the rumour, only a measured silence that suggested truth far more effectively than any declaration.
“It is unfortunate,” Elizabeth murmured within earshot of a particularly loquacious matron, “that Lord Matlock should take such offence.”
Mr Darcy inclined his head gravely. “My uncle is not accustomed to being contradicted.”
The matron’s eyes widened. “The Earl of Matlock is displeased?”
“Furious,” Elizabeth said with a sigh that implied weary resignation. “He considers my lack of fortune and family connections a grievous affront.”
Mr Darcy patted her hand reassuringly; an effective display, Elizabeth judged, if rather theatrical. “You need not worry, Miss Elizabeth. My uncle can vow what he likes, but I shall not heed him. He will soon see that I cannot be compelled, even if hehasvowed to put an end to this attachment by whatever means he deems necessary,” he declared with a frown of displeasure. The words, though false, fell with convincing weight.
Elizabeth heard the rumour take wing instantly. As she and Mr Darcy moved through the room, they listened for the tremor of reaction spreading among their peers. Fans fluttered and heads leaned close as they passed. A scandal involving a Bennet had become common fare, but one involving a powerful earl’s wrath promised a far richer spectacle.
Elizabeth concealed her satisfaction behind a polite smile.
There remained one final touch to set their trap. They finished their turn about the ballroom and settled near the refreshment table within earshot of Caroline Bingley, whose sharp gaze had been following them with open interest. As they neared her, Miss Bingley intercepted a mutual acquaintance and, with scarcely veiled relish, repeated the latest gossip.
“So unfortunate that Miss Elizabeth Bennet should presume so far beyond her station. One cannot expect a gentleman’s family to endure such an indignity without protest,” she said with false sweetness.
Her voice carried just far enough to ensure an audience.
“Lord Matlock is said to be in quite a rage,” Miss Bingley continued. “And who can blame him? If I were in his position, I should be equally determined to put a stop to so ill-advised a connection.”
Elizabeth sipped delicately from her glass as Miss Bingley spread the tale with brisk efficiency. In each retelling, she sharpened its edges, and each listener widened the circle of belief, until nearly all those present truly believed the Earl of Matlock was enraged at his nephew’s courtship.
There was a particular spiteful pleasure in Miss Bingley’s manner at the thought of Elizabeth humbled by aristocratic disapproval. And while her desire for gossip was a decidedly unpleasant trait, it was one that they had counted on to see their ruse succeed.
