Lady Matlock patted his arm and kissed Georgiana fondly on the cheek. “You looked radiant tonight, dearest. It is a pity so few were here to see it.”
Georgiana’s face broke into a genuine smile, the first of the evening, and she retired as soon as the door closed behind her aunt. Mr Darcy hastened after his sister, begging for a private word.
Mrs Bennet yawned and ushered her daughters to bed, whilst Elizabeth remained rooted to the spot in utter abandonment. Staring at the aperture leading out into the refreshing night air, she then bolted out of the door. Beyond the flickering light from the torches, the verdure in the square beckoned, and Elizabeth ran out of the gate, away from the closed doors along the street, and into the central garden, not stopping until she reached the gilt statue of George I in the middle. Grosvenor Square’s houses posed like looming shadows—threatening and uninviting. Only here could she allow her tightly wound pretence to fall. She wrapped her arms around herself whilst heaving for breath. What could be done to save her reputation? Nothing! There was nothing left to try. Nothing could be done!
“Elizabeth!”
Darcy called from a distance, but she could not make herself reply. She needed more time than a mere moment to comport herself.
“Elizabeth!”
The voice had moved closer, and seconds later her husband drew her to his chest and pulled his coat round her shivering body.
They stood thus in silence for a short spell.
“Can we leave for Pemberley?” she asked in a thin voice.
Elizabeth coveted nothing more than the quietude of the country. London had lost what little allure it had possessed.
“No.”
Her heart sank whilst her ire sparked.
“Whyever not?”
There was, after all, nothing left to do but be despised and censured.
“To run with our tails between our legs would be cowardice, and we are, neither of us, faint-hearted. This evening was not a reflection of you or me. If anything, today’s events have convinced me that someone is deliberately trying to ruin us. I shall not be deterred from finding the culprit, and he will rue the day he crossed me.”
“Are you certain it is a he?”
“Yes. This is someone with enormous influence, most likely of elevated rank. Do not be concerned. I intend to resolve the matter on the morrow.”
Only six more weeks until Jane returns. The thought must sustain her for the foreseeable future.
Chapter 16 Take the Bull by the Horns
“The Marquess of Downshire is calling, sir.”
Blast and damnation!What did a man have to do to get a moment to contemplate? Darcy’s first instinct was to turn Lord Downshire away as petty revenge for not attending Elizabeth’s ball. The four-and-twenty-year-old marquess was one of the gentlemen he regarded as his closest friends. What excuses could he have for the slight? He must have heard the wild, nefarious rumours circulating about the Darcys’ marriage and known fully how his support would have done much to appease theton.Downshire had known him for years and could not believe he would choose to marry a lady with such egregious flaws as the quidnuncs had asserted.
Curiosity, however, made him ask his butler to send him in.
The marquess’s rapid footsteps approached, and he entered but a moment later.
“You do not appear to be ill!” Lord Downshire exclaimed in what sounded like an accusatory tone.
“Of course not!” Darcy lied. Although his health was excellent, a melancholy had settled within that he was helpless to dispel. “I am always well. Whyever would you think otherwise?”
The marquess threw a note onto his desk. Darcy picked up the paper and read:
Mr Darcy’s Grand Ball on June 1stis cancelled due to ill health.
FD
The writing was atrocious, in execution more like something Bingley would write, but the D and F resembled his handwriting. It was a bad forgery, with enough resemblance to his hand, however, to possibly fool an unsuspecting recipient. But it would explain why so few guests had attended the ball.
“I thought you must be at death’s door. The note looks like it is written in a feverish hand.”
