Chapter 1 Irredeemably Devoted
Tuesday, 15thOctober 1811, Meryton assembly
Holy Mother of…!
The fetid smell of tallow and sweat hit his nostrils with the strength of a filthy chicken coop. The musicians stopped playing, and the dancing plebeians halted abruptly mid-step and turned their mercenary eyes towards the new arrivals—mainly him. To avoid being dragged into insipid conversation—or worse, being introduced to marriage-minded maidens and their mercenary mamas—he avoided their probing eyes and spoke not a word. Rejoicing in his success, he deliberately separated from the amiable and sociable Bingley, disregarding the tattle about his fortune—ten thousand a year was a gross understatement. Strolling leisurely about the outskirts of the room, circumventing the advancing Miss Bingley, he spent half an hour beside a matron who was easily deterred from conversing by his fierce scowl. When his joints began to ache from disuse, he set out for another turn about the room, until his luck ran out. Silent as a snake in the grass, his friend startled him with his presence.
“May I introduce you to my partner’s sister?” Bingley proposed with the exuberance of a puppy. “She is a pretty girl, sitting over there, by the refreshment table.”
Darcy turned slowly in the appointed direction and saw neither beauty nor fashion. Of course, it would be one of the country bumpkins who could not even entice the butcher’s son to engage her for a set.
“Which of the mousy misses in desperate need of a partner do you mean?” slipped out of his mouth before he had the wherewithal to disabuse his friend of the notion that he was remotely interested. Bingley had danced with the only beautiful girl in the room, and plain curiosity drove him to review his friend’s suggestion, despite his low expectations.
Darcy’s first glance at the lady to whom he was being cajoled into an introduction was not promising. The girl was sitting out a set, obviously slighted by all the other men. She wore a yellow muslin with pink flowers that was mended at the hem. A shawl was wrapped tightly round her shoulders, concealing her form likely for good reason. Her lowered head and long dark ringlets conveniently enshrouded her face. She was so subdued that he would not be surprised if she was cripplingly timid and selectively mute.
A harsh rebuke waited eagerly on the tip of his tongue. He was exhausted from chasing after the dastardly Wickham, who had managed to escape him yet again. His timely rescue at Ramsgate, where he had foiled the scoundrel’s attempt to elope with his sister, had left Georgiana heartbroken and suffering from terrible megrims he knew not how to mend. She cried incessantly, and his aunt Lady Matlock had finally convinced him that a little distance from the brother she had so grievously disappointed would not come amiss. The calamity had left him quite prepared to call in Wickham’s debts and have him transported as far away as possible—if only he could find him. Subsequently, he was in no mood to be introduced to an insignificant rustic girl, even if she was Bingley’s newest angel’s sister.
The eavesdropping country bumpkin had heard Bingley’s plea, and his own uncharitable remarks. Her head rose, and she looked him straight in the eyes without a trace of timidity in her expression.
The beat of his heart came to a full stop, the air left his lungs, and the march of time ground to an abrupt halt. Seconds later he revived with violent force, breathing harshly in and out, each breath moving him closer to equilibrium and farther away from oblivion. He welcomed the reinstatement of his faculties with equal measures of relief and resentment.
The young miss was staring at him as if daring him to refuse. Then her pink tongue darted out of her mouth and ran across the outline of her full lips.
His knees buckled as a stabbing pain struck his heart.Dear God!Am I suffering from an apoplexy?What was certain was that he must ask the lady to dance. Never had he seen that particular shade of dark green in anyone’s eyes.Remarkable!The jewels were framed by graceful eyebrows and long, lush lashes. Such beautiful, fawnlike, unique, and riveting eyes. Emerald, celadon, and cobalt rays shot from the pupil, causing the face of a tolerably pretty woman to render him incapable of forming any coherent thought beyond admiration. Her complexion was not as pale as was fashionable, and she had a dusting of freckles across her nose. Yet despite these significant flaws in her appearance, he was profoundly affected, and his throat dried in an instant. Could the heart he only deemed a useful sort of bellow to pump blood through his veins still be struck by cupid’s arrows—buried as it had been beneath grief and heavy burdens? He must have considered this conundrum for too long because all colour drained from her face. He swallowed hard and nodded his acceptance.
Bingley was delighted and beckoned the blonde beauty to perform the introductions.
#
Exuding impatience, arrogance, and aloofness, a fine, tall person of handsome features and a noble mien had entered the assembly at the tail of Mr Bingley’s party. His aura of superiority, square English jaw, and cobalt blue eyes had their attractions until he behaved as if far above the fine people of Meryton and proved quite impossible to please. He had appeared in their society with the novelty of a sunny spring day that had shifted into a gust of autumn wind within the hour. Ere long his intimidating silence had turned poor garrulous Mrs Long into a mute statue, who dared not address the displeased scowl. His manners ensured that the initial favourable reports were replaced with disgust, and not even ten thousand a year could save him. It was as if he were enclosed within a moat he did not want to cross, and her neighbours eddied around him at a polite but careful distance. A cluster of matrons gathered and stared avidly at him like mice regarding a cat who had intruded upon their nest.
Elizabeth shuddered when Jane led Mr Bingley and the peacock her way. Why could Mr Darcy not have remained posed against the wall, with his hands behind his back, as if surveying a livestock market filled with old, retired nowts. Having hitherto avoided the gentleman’s scowl and severe judgment, she would have preferred to remain unnoticed. She would visit the vicar on the morrow and review what sin she had committed to deserve this sudden plunge into purgatory.
#
“Enchanted, madam.” Darcy bowed low over Miss Elizabeth’s hand after Bingley’s new amorous interest had introduced them. By an eerie involuntary power, he brought it to his lips for a tender kiss and was overwhelmed by its diminutive size as it lay dwarfed within his masculine fingers.
“May I have the pleasure of your next free set?”
Bingley was regarding him strangely, but that mattered not when the apparition before him brightened at his request. The colour returned to her face with an additional glow. Her face transformed when adorned with a smile, adding a delightful mischievous lustre to her gorgeous eyes. His carefully planned future crumbled, affections and wishes revolted before this woman who, judging by her unfashionable apparel, unquestionably was far beneath him in consequence.
“It would be my pleasure,” she replied in a voice sculpted from chocolate that soothed his senses until every objection was lulled.
He could not quash the tugging at the corners of his mouth and surrendered to the smile her acceptance compelled, which in turn made Bingley frown at him. His friend was being ridiculous; it was not like he had never smiled before.
The next set was called, which led to another problem—his tied tongue. He was ill-qualified to recommend himself to strangers because he could never catch their tone of conversation nor affect interest in their concerns. Standing before the lady with the twinkling eyes, he could not think of a single topic of conversation and contented himself with staring at her. After several discomfiting minutes, Miss Elizabeth broke the silence.
“I amdesperatefor conversation. It would be awkward to spend half an hour together, quiet asmice, with nary a word spoken between us,” she remarked wryly.
Darcy’s tongue was loosened by the lethal combination of a sharp intellect, a wry sense of humour, and a desire to provoke him.
“Certainly! Tell me what you would most like to hear, and I shall be most obliged to comply.”
Miss Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed slightly and took on a mischievous expression.
“You may regret offering me sovereignty of the conversation, but I shall not suspend any pleasure of yours by declining. You may begin with expressing how I am the most handsome woman of your acquaintance,” she demanded, smiling radiantly.
“You are the most handsome woman of my acquaintance,” he hastened to say in all seriousness.
