Darcy had already been pacing outside the dressing room, so she had grabbed a fichu, adjusted it as best as she could, and pinned it in place, whilst her maid sewed coarse stitches along the skirt’s side split.
Why had she not donned an extra petticoat beneath the dress? Because in her anxiety, she had not thought about the simple solution.
“Stay close to me for the rest of the evening,” Darcy directed, breaking the silence in the carriage with the cryptic message.
“Certainly,” Elizabeth agreed. “I have no intention of acting otherwise, as I am not likely to encounter any of my acquaintances.”
It was unfortunate that Jane and Mr Bingley were travelling through Yorkshire. Not that she was ungrateful; Elizabeth was anticipating her first ball as Mrs Darcy, an event that Lady Matlock had condescended to hold in their honour.
The carriage drew to a halt before Matlock House, and the gallant Darcy helped her out once the steps had been lowered. On each side of the entrance, a figure stood to greet the guests. On the right was a blonde angel with large feathered wings. She spoke about heaven, redemption, and forgiveness. On the left side stood a black-clad devil, with horns and black painted eyes who was trying to lure the arriving guests into all sorts of sinful temptations.
“I am suspecting the evening’s theme isParadise Lost,”Elizabeth musedsotto voce.
She was proved correct in her assumption when they stepped through the door and espied a tableau of an apple tree with a scantily dressed Adam and Eve reaching for a lush red fruit. It was something to study while they waited in line to greet their hosts.
Lady Matlock glanced at her bosom. The ghost of a crevice between her brows developed but disappeared quickly. Was the fichu visible? A knot of suspicion formed at the pit of her stomach before the butler escorted them to the ballroom and announced to all: “Mr and Mrs Fitzwilliam Darcy!”
Elizabeth could not have been prouder had the Prince Regent himself escorted her. All eyes turned to watch the new Mrs Darcy, and she smiled to the room in general, not knowing where to look in the sea of faces.Goodness gracious, there must be upwards of three hundred people!An angel carrying a tray of champagne glasses arrested her attention. The room was decorated in flowers, soft colours, and vines, depicting heaven, making Elizabeth wonder which room was hell…
Elizabeth had been to enough assemblies and private balls to be familiar with the ebb and flow of arguments and laughter. A note was missing, reminding her of how birds fell silent before a storm. To remove her unease, she looked at Darcy and could not help but grin at his serious mien.
“Heaven forfend! She smiles so much that I can count all her teeth,” someone snickered to her left.
If she had thought all the young maidens of thebon tonwould be at home, crying inconsolably because the most eligible bachelor had married, she had been sorely mistaken. They had dried their eyes to attend Lady Matlock’s ball—claws out. Her forced smile faltered only a fraction but enough for Darcy to send her a concerned look. There was something inward about him, as if he was drawn tight beneath his fitted coat. His cravat was slightly askew, and her fingers itched to tug it straight, but he would take umbrage if she corrected his attire in public.
The insults were not at an end. “Mrs Darcy is too broad between the eyes—like a cow!” someone giggled. “Where in heaven is her fan? Does she not know they are essential at a crush like this? And her dress is so dowdy, hardly any adornments and no embroidery, but then I have heard she is poor.” A blessed soul corrected her friends that the overlay was Dhaka muslin, which ended the insults about her attire. “Does she have the means to purchase anything from the fashionable side of town?” asked someone who appeared doubtful of the reasonable voice amongst them. The nidget continued her careless commenting. “Mrs Darcy has no concept of money. She gave Augusta Molesworth an invaluable Shanggui.”
So her embarrassment had become common knowledge.
A lonely voice of reason hushed the laughter that followed. “I understand that she retrieved the item later. Perhaps it was a loan.” The giggling that followed, no sense could quash.
Darcy’s head snapped up and made a turn towards the tittering females.
“Pray, disregard their spitefulness,” Elizabeth said. “I am sure that losing such an excellent gentleman as yourself has left a trail of broken hearts. No good can come of admonishing them. They have my sympathy having suffered such a loss as your handsome countenance, excellent seat, and intelligent conversation.”
Darcy studied her eyes for an inordinately long time.
“Truly, I am not offended,” she persisted.
Which was not entirely true, and his doubtful mien prompted her to add, “How can I be, when I am blessed with an excellent husband?”
His expression softened and he gave her a curt nod.
Elizabeth sighed in relief, certain to have avoided an unpleasant scene. It was startling though, the insolence of those who forwarded proper comportment. She was not the only woman in the room who lacked symmetry in her face or had sat out a set or two in the course of an evening. It was voicing their disapprobation aloud, within hearing of the owner of said imperfections, that was so shockingly rude. Charlotte had an unflattering bump on her nose, a sallow complexion, and work-worn hands, but Elizabeth would never disparage her for matters she could not help. Nor would she demean anybody else, regardless of whether they were connected to her or not. Was it just thebeau mondewho were extraordinarily rude? Probably not. Her mother could not be restrained and often lamented upon Charlotte’s deficiencies. Was one supposed to go about offending people, criticising their appearance or perceived lack of attributes? No. Jane would never do so, and she was the moral compass in Elizabeth’s life. Yet, it made her uneasy how similar their petty comments were to what Darcy had uttered at the Meryton assembly…
#
Something uncertain shadowed Elizabeth’s pretty countenance, and the light within her dimmed like doused theatre lights. Her pleading eyes settled upon him with a stoic resignation he understood extremely well. She wanted to return to the safety of Darcy House, but taking the cowardly route would lead to certain ruin in the eyes of society.
Among the myriad ways Darcy could have destroyed his name over the years—getting caught showing his unmentionables to Wickham and Richard at the ripe old age of five, tumbling with a willing bar wench ten years later, if the branch he had used to climb through the much older widowed Lady Stanton’s window only two years later had snapped, not to forget the bleak consequences Georgiana’s indiscretion would have brought upon the family, if it had become known—somehow, marrying a worthy lady was his downfall. He could not have imagined it, not before he met Miss Elizabeth Bennet and lost his faculties to a pair of uncommonly pretty eyes. Disconcerting as it was to have his misgivings confirmed, this was much worse than he had expected.This must be the true purpose behind Lord Matlock agreeing to hosting this ball. It had surprised him that the earl had not rescinded the invitation after their altercation only a fortnight ago. His uncle wished to utterly humiliate him before his friends and family as a punishment for thwarting the earl’s carefully laid plans about his future. It would be a battle to restore his name without the aid of his relatives. If it was at all possible. Darcy pushed the thought away as trotting farther down that path would only lead to resentment, and, at present, he did not have time to entertain it.
Elizabeth stood like a fraud in the ballroom, unaware of the gaiety, music, and profusion of colours swirling about her. He should take her home, but that would defeat the purpose. They must conquer theton, one lord at a time. She was witty and vivacious; surely someone would notice… Then she bravely raised her eyes to him. It was like watching the mist retreat from Pemberley’s downs in the morning. He could not have been prouder of his irrepressible wife, even though tentativeness and uncertainty still lingered within the windows of her soul.
He offered her his arm and led her through the throng with purpose. Beyond the dining room lay the library, a safe haven in this travesty of a ball.
Darcy regretted his choice of escape once he set foot in the much-altered room. The air was warm and thick with an odour of sweat, smoke, and perfume. He was offered a brandy by a man dressed as the devil, though he could hardly see anything else in the dimly lit room. Black fabric hung from ceiling to floor, while partitions and hidden alcoves had been added to the walls, creating an atmosphere of gothic mystery.
“I suppose this is hell,” Elizabeth remarked wryly. “What an abuse to such a treasure as a well-stocked library.”
