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The autumn air hit Darcy’s face like a cold bath, sobering his wayward contemplations and agitated feelings. He was alone with his friend; the rest of their tardy party had yet to don their shawls and coats.
Bingley made a fishhook with his finger, inserted it into his mouth, tugged it upwards, and widened his eyes like a cod on land.
“Desist! You are as smitten as I am,” Darcy protested.
“True, but I have been bewitched many times before. You, on the other hand, have never acted like a mooncalf for as long as I have known you.”
Darcy made no reply but did a quick mental summary of the evening while they waited for the carriage, concluding that he had done nothing untoward. The premonitions of a headache drummed at his temples, and he thanked the divine for Miss Bingley’s silent reproaches. She was scowling at him on the dimly lit street, scowls that became invisible upon his entering the darkened carriage. Bingley chattered incessantly the two miles back to Netherfield, making his dull headache bloom into a full-fledged hammering.
Excusing himself as soon as they arrived home, Darcy hied to his chamber and shut the door with a resonating thump that did nothing to assuage his pounding head. A restlessness settled, compelling him to pace the floor until his valet emerged from the dressing room. Grey only glanced at him before he disappeared for a minute and returned with powders to relieve his master’s sore head. Stripped and medicated, Darcy tucked the covers around his chilled body.
The Deviltake it!Miss Elizabeth’s eyes, which had looked so prettily at him, turned dull in the light of reality. She was a lowly squire’s daughter, and he was Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley in Derbyshire, nephew to the Earl of Matlock—descended from an ancient noble line. To imagine a connection beyond the innocent antics of a country assembly was insupportable. Love was absurd and nothing he expected from marriage. His tastes were simple; he needed beauty, brains, breeding, and… Darcy struggled to find a word that meant fortune beginning with the letter b.
Marriage was the most important business arrangement he would ever make, and it was crucial to increase the family fortune, not to forget strengthening their standing in society. It was the burden of the master of a great estate, not that he minded much.
With that conundrum settled in his mind, he fell into a restorative sleep.
Chapter 2 A Torrid Affair
“He is in love with you!”
That the Lucases and Bennets should meet and talk over a ball was absolutely necessary, and the morning after the assembly brought the former to Longbourn for a morning of gossip. But on this occasion, Miss Lucas appeared to have left her sense at home.
“Do not be ridiculous, Charlotte, we have only just met. How can one fall in love with someone after a mere four-hour acquaintance,” Elizabeth contradicted despite the delicious sensation the assertion had provoked. “I am certain Mr Darcy is courting dozens of beautiful ladies in town.” Elizabeth giggled but Charlotte was not amused. Instead, her jest prompted all colour to drain from her friend’s face.
“I am not,” a stentorian voice refuted from behind.
Elizabeth leapt to her feet, turned, and stood facing none other than Mr Darcy. Her cheeks caught on fire, and she covered them with her cold hands. How much of the mortifying conversation had he heard?Yet he did not appear displeased—quite the contrary. The corners of his mouth twitched as he brought a bouquet from behind his back and offered it to her with an exaggerated bow.
“Miss Elizabeth. These reminded me of you,” Mr Darcy said. “Please accept these flowers as a token of my gratitude for making a dull event into a splendid evening.”
Elizabeth accepted the bouquet of lavender roses with an obliging curtsey.
“Thank you! They are lovely.” She lifted the bouquet to her nose and sniffed. “The scent is simply divine.”
In the whirlwind of events that followed, the roses were put in a vase, tea was served, and biscuits were eaten, but Elizabeth only had eyes for Mr Darcy, and he was scarcely less attentive to her. Not a word was said between them after the greeting, but more could hardly be expected in the company of Mrs Bennet and Lady Lucas.
The allotted fifteen minutes passed quickly, with Elizabeth every so often drawing a breath preparatory to enquiring after Mr Darcy’s health, family, or even raising the trivial topic of the current weather. Anything to begin a tête-à-tête. But before she could utter a word, the conversation was repeatedly usurped by one of the matrons.
Mr Darcy rose and kissed her hand before reminding Mr Bingley of the time. As all-consuming as the presence of Mr Darcy was, the quarter of an hour had passed without Elizabeth even noticing that Mr Bingley had accompanied his friend. He was currently occupied in an intimate conversation with a blushing Jane and rose with slow deliberation followed by whispered murmurs only her sister could hear. She too followed the gentlemen into the entrance hall, where Mrs Hill paused the endless task of keeping the floor swept to find the gentlemen’s hats. Elizabeth waved until the carriage disappeared round the bend; only then did she allow a shiver from the cold to rack her body.
It was unfortunate that the Lucases had remained through the Netherfield gentlemen’s call because Charlotte could be counted on to tease her mercilessly for the rest of the morning. Elizabeth had never seen so many mirthful faces at once as those that greeted her when she re-entered the parlour. And so little talking… Everyone faced the sisters’ flickering eyes with eager anticipation.
“Are you familiar with the language of roses?” Charlotte questioned.
Elizabeth chuckled, trying valiantly to fight the heat threatening to suffuse her face whilst shaking her head in denial.
“You may laugh all you want, but lavender roses mean enchantment, splendour, and love at first sight…” Charlotte remarked knowingly. “I shall be surprised if he has not proposed before the festive season commences.”
“I am certain they were the only ones attainable in Netherfield’s orangery,” Elizabeth countered.
“I assure you that is not the case because Mr Bingley gave Jane a bouquet with a mixture of pink, red, and yellow roses, so there were other flowers to be had.”
“Mr Darcy may not know the language of flowers,” Elizabeth suggested.
Charlotte, in a moment of selective deafness, prattled on. “It was only a matter of time before a gentleman fell deeply and irrevocably in love with you, my dear friend. Who can withstand such beauty of countenance and tenderness of heart?”
