by Maria Grace
He avoided her gaze. “I feel as though I hardly know you now at all.”
“That is too cruel. Do not say such things. You know me very well.”
He turned suddenly and took her hands in his. “Then stop this foolishness, dear, sweet Anne of mine. Consent to be my wife and come away with me.”
She edged half a step back, stammering.
“Do not deny me or you will be the worst flirt, the most despicable tease in all of England.” He lunged, pulling her close, and kissed her forcefully.
Fitzwilliam tensed, but hesitated.
Anne pushed hard against his chest. “No! Stop—let me go!”
He grabbed at her again, ripping her bodice.
Fitzwilliam plunged through the door, snarling like a wild cat, blind to everything but Sir Jasper. He threw his arm around Jasper’s neck and tightened his elbow around it, adding his other hand to his wrist for leverage. A little backward pressure forced Jasper to release Anne, who crumpled to the ground.
Fitzwilliam threw Jasper to the carpet. He screamed with his first unencumbered breath, as Fitzwilliam’s fists rained down upon his chest. Jasper threw up his arms to shield himself, but to little avail. Clearly the man had never fought to save his own life, much less that of another.
The door flew open and banged against the wall.
“What is going on?” Darcy boomed, his voice carrying all the authority of a general.
Several footmen stopped near Fitzwilliam but hesitated to put their hands on him. Smart, probably saved themselves injury that way. He pushed himself up, controlling the urge to kick Jasper in the ribs. The footmen rushed in to restrain the bruised and bleeding baronet.
Fitzwilliam dashed to Anne and helped her to her feet. She clung to him, weeping, her face buried in his shoulder.
Darcy approached. “What happened?”
“Sir Jasper made her an offer of marriage. When she hesitated, he attempted to force her.”
Darcy leaned down close to Anne’s face. “Is this true?”
She nodded into Fitzwilliam’s shoulder.
Darcy whirled on his heel and stalked to Sir Jasper. “You and your cousins have one hour to leave the bounds of Pemberley. If you make any attempt, if there is any mention or even hint of Miss de Bourgh and yourself in any of the society pages, I will see that you are ruined, utterly and completely. Am I understood?”
Fitzwilliam wrapped his arm tightly around Anne. “If you trouble her in any way again, I will personally see to it that you will forever regret your actions. Never let her see your face again.”
“My men will see to your departure. Do not permit him out of your sight and send two riders to escort them off the estate. Follow them all the way to Lambton. Send someone to find Wharton and Sadler and get them out of here as well.” Darcy dismissed them with a wave of his hand.
The footmen escorted Sir Jasper out.
Darcy touched Anne’s elbow. “I will fetch Elizabeth.”
Anne lifted her head. “Pray do not tell my mother.”
“She need know nothing about this.” Fitzwilliam caught Darcy’s eye.
He nodded sharply and left.
“Are you injured?” Fitzwilliam pulled her closer again, as much to assure himself of her safety as for her comfort.
“I do not think so. Where were you? How did you come so quickly?”
“You will not like it.” He chuckled softly. Yes, it was a little forced, but a touch of levity was necessary. “I was in the servants’ passage.”
“Why?”
“I wanted to talk to you, but did not know if you would receive me. I hid there to try to discern your mood.”
“Have I truly been that awful to you?” She peered up at him.
“I am thankful you did not encourage that bounder, that you did not accept his offer. I am proud of you that you made the decision to trust what I had told you, even though you did not like what I had to say.”
“And that is what you heard in all of that.” Her eyes shimmered.
“Do you wish to correct me?”
She sniffled and choked back a sob. A strangled cry broke free, and she shuddered in his arms. He pressed her close and rubbed her back.
Pray Elizabeth would know what to do to comfort her, but at least now she was safe and content with his friendship once again.
Chapter 9
The next two days threw Pemberley into a frenzy, the likes of which Darcy had never seen. Miss Gifford had been, not unexpectedly, distressed at the dismissal of her cousins from Pemberley. What Darcy had not anticipated was the amount of noise and commotion one upset young woman could produce in the halls of his home. The fury only became worse when Anne stepped in to try to explain to her friend what had actually happened.
Being a good sort of girl who could hardly believe ill of her relations, she decried the slander of her cousin and insisted she and her companion would leave immediately as well. Darcy offered to send a rider ahead of them to try to find and inform Sir Jasper’s party of their departure and a pair of men to accompany their party until they could join with her cousins. Thankfully, those offers were accepted, and Darcy could see them off with a clear conscience as to their safety. That it enabled them to depart somewhat sooner was a happy side effect.
Explaining the affair to Aunt Catherine without divulging the actual nature of Sir Jasper’s transgressions proved less difficult than Darcy feared. She was so pleased that Sir Jasper and all his despicable family were leaving that she never bothered to ask what finally moved Darcy to throw him out, although she made certain to complain it had taken too long.
The next day, the day before the ball, on the suggestion of Mrs. Darcy, he invited Fitzwilliam to spend the day hunting and leave the house and all the preparations to those more equipped to handle them. Perhaps not the most politic way to put it all, but she was correct, and they were both only too happy for the contemplation the woods offered. Fitzwilliam was uncharacteristically quiet the entire hunt, which was a bit unusual, but no doubt, being forced to physically restrain Sir Jasper weighed on him. That evening, the ladies all took dinner trays in their rooms, and the whole party retired early in anticipation of the final push the next day.
Without the drama offered by Anne’s—now former—friends, the final flurry of ball preparations proved quite tolerable, even a bit intriguing as the house slowly transformed into a fanciful, mythical setting. Normal paintings were changed out for images from folklore, both local and classical—had Georgiana and Anne drawn those? Some were really quite good. Soft swags of fabric hid bookcases and curio cabinets, erasing elements of the everyday. In the ballroom, two artists worked diligently, chalking the floor with the fully drawn images of the night sky’s constellations. By evening Pemberley was a different, wondrous place indeed. Mother would have been proud.
∞∞∞
Just before the first guests were set to arrive, Darcy knocked on Elizabeth’s dressing room door. She had been so gracious as to excuse him from fancy dress that night—nothing could overcome his abhorrence of it, especially after Lady Matlock’s Twelfth Night ball two years ago. The mark cousin Letty had left on his psyche might well be indelible. That did not keep him from anticipating seeing Elizabeth in her fancy dress, though.
Her lady’s maid opened the door for him. He stepped in and gasped.
She stood in the center of the room, bathed in a mix of fire and candlelight, warm and flickering, wrapped in the exotic blue and purple saree. Gold threads in the silk glittered, surrounding her in a glow nearly divine. Her hair, held back from her face with elaborate pins and ribbons, cascaded in curls down her back.
“Have I your approval sir?” She smiled—half-shy, half-enticing.
He ran his fingers around the inside of his cravat. “I am not certain I should permit you out of this room, Mrs. Darcy. Should other men have the privilege of seeing you thus?”
She flushed brightly, and looked down. Trying to be demure now? No, that was simply more teasing o
n her part. Utterly delightful.
He stepped closer and held her shoulders. “I try not to be a jealous man, my dear, but tonight may be very, very difficult. Would I be selfish if I ask that you dance with no one but me?”
She rose on tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “I would be happy to oblige you.”
Best not tell her that he would not have permitted her to leave her room had she not agreed.
Elizabeth glowed in a way he had never seen before as he escorted her down the great stairs. It was a shame there was not an audience to receive her as they descended. But it did mean he kept her to himself just a little while longer, and that was not a bad thing.
Fitzwilliam and Aunt Catherine waited for them in the transformed drawing room, every bit as fantastical a place as the ballroom. A nymph, or perhaps Pan himself might jump out at them from any corner. How had she managed it?
“You have truly outdone yourself tonight, Elizabeth. Everything is as stunning as our hostess.” Fitzwilliam grinned saucily—exactly in the way that he knew would most provoke Darcy.
But tonight, nothing was going to provoke him, not even Aunt Catherine’s mutterings from the corner about why Elizabeth had chosen something foreign to wear. Was something English not good enough?
Guests arrived and the drawing room was filled with swans, princesses, knights, and—was that someone playing at Napoleon? Hopefully it would not incite Fitzwilliam. Somehow all the odd characters seemed to fit in the fantasy world that Elizabeth had created.
She glanced at him. It was time. He signaled Fitzwilliam who hurried upstairs.
∞∞∞
Fitzwilliam dressed as an English courtier—a few visits to used clothes sellers and rifling through the attics at Matlock had produced a quite passable fancy dress with little strain on his purse. How fitting a garb it was for him while escorting Georgiana into the ball.
He knocked on her door, and she appeared swathed in white gauzy stuff, wispy, with wings and feathers. Her hair was done up in flowers and pearl headed pins. She was every bit the fairy she had hoped to be.
“You will be the talk of the evening, my dear, in all the right ways. Will you allow me to conduct you to your ball?” He offered her his arm.
She slipped her hand in the crook of his elbow.
They paused at the top of the stairs. The low crowd noises from below fell silent. Darcy and Elizabeth stood at either side at the base of the stairs, offering silent encouragement. Georgiana squeezed his arm hard and nodded with a bit less certainty.
“No doubt Darcy has already requested the first dance. Might I have the pleasure of one during the evening?” They started down the stairs.
“I would be honored to dance with a courtier.” Her voice was a little shaky, but whose would not be at their first ball?
Her friends applauded her entrance and immediately gathered around her as Darcy and Elizabeth began the process of making formal introductions. He stepped back. She was doing well, and looked more relaxed with each one. There was little for him to do right now.
Aunt Catherine appeared at his elbow. Blast it all, the room was too crowded to escape her. “Good evening, Aunt.”
“That is your grandfather’s wig, you know.”
“Really? I thought it had been my grandmother’s.” He wrapped one of the white curls around his finger and smiled as effeminately as he knew how.
“I need none of your cheek young man.” She slapped his shoulder with her fan. Like Darcy, Aunt Catherine had nothing to do with fancy dress, wearing her most elaborate—and rather out of fashion—Chinese silk gown.
“What a shame when I have so much to offer.”
“You are trying to vex me.” Her face wrinkled into a Rowlandson’s caricature of a sour old woman.
He would have to find that print and give a copy to Darcy next Christmastide. For his private enjoyment of course. “Is that not why you came to me, because you were in need of vexation.”
She grumbled something low under her breath. “I need you to do something.”
Of course, she did. “Of what service are you in need?”
“Anne refuses to come out of her room. She cannot afford to miss this event and the opportunities it affords her. She needs to make new acquaintances. The company here in Derbyshire is promising—”
“You mean it is now without de Bourghs.” Fitzwilliam crossed his arms over his chest.
“That is one appeal, yes. She is insistent that she will refuse any match I propose. But one that Mrs. Darcy introduces her to might be more acceptable.”
“You have already instructed Mrs. Darcy on the introductions you wish her to make—and those she should not.”
“That is none of your concern. I need you to bring Anne out of her room and see that she receives those introductions. Go now, and make haste. She should not miss the start of the dancing.” She propelled him toward the stairs with the end of her fan.
The woman could brandish that thing like a sword. Poor Anne. After the trauma Sir Jasper had inflicted, it was little surprise she would not be in the mood for company. But perhaps the festivities would help take her mind off things. She did not, after all, have to dance. There was a room set up for cards and games that should be a suitable diversion.
He knocked on her door.
The maid peeked it open. “She does not wish to see anyone, sir.”
“I am not anyone. Anne, I am coming in, you had best be presentable.” He glanced at the maid for confirmation.
She nodded, eyes wide and losing the color in her face. He shouldered past her and marched into the dressing room.
Dresses, lengths of fabric and sewing paraphernalia littered every dresser, press, chair and even draped the side of the long mirror. Enough candles to light an entire cottage brightened the space. Anne stood, resplendent, in the center of the room, commanding attention from everything and everyone within.
“I told you I do not want company!” She spun to face him, the hem of her rich, red skirt flaring and swirling around her.
“You are stunning.” And she was, stopping him in his tracks. The red complimented her features and the dress, her figure in remarkable ways. “Simply stunning.”
“You do not have to say that.”
“I know. I would not except that it is true.” He walked a full circle around her. “A phoenix?”
“That was the effect I was trying for.” Her shrug was listless, even hopeless.
“And you have achieved it.” He braced his shoulder on the wall and leaned against it, staring unabashed. “There is a place for all manner of fanciful creatures downstairs you know.”
“I am not going.”
“So, I had heard.”
“Then why are you still here?”
“I have been sent to fetch you.”
“Tell Mother—”
“No, I am no messenger boy.” He pushed away from the wall. “Besides I think she is right. You do no one any good hiding here in your room. You should be at the ball, honoring your cousins and their hospitality in inviting you to attend.”
“This is Georgiana’s night, not mine. No one needs my presence or will even miss me. And I do not need the reminder that we are going through these motions in order to find husbands to make us all respectable women.”
“It is not so bad.”
“How would you know? Men are despicable creatures.”
“I do not appreciate being included in that remark.” He crossed his arms and rocked back on his heels.
She cuffed his shoulder. “I am not talking about you, you ninny. You are not a man.”
“Excuse me? Now you have truly offended me. I dare say there are many who would heartily disagree with you.”
She stomped. It was nice to see a little of her fire back. “You know that is not what I meant.”
“But it is what you said.”
“You are not like them!”
“I am glad you noticed.”
“And so, did those two addle-pates who
will be no doubt hanging off your arms tonight. It is easy for you men. There are pretty women lurking about on every corner. But for women—” She looked him full in the eye. “Where am I going to find a man like you to marry?”
Her eyes were full of fire and challenge, enough to heat his blood and arouse his mind, rare as the phoenix she portrayed. She had always been bold and blunt with him like no other woman had. Shiny bits and bobs applied like beauty marks glittered on her face—it was impossible to look away. Darcy might think her looks rather unremarkable, but had he ever really looked at her?
“There is one, right here before you.” He spread open hands toward her.
“Oh, do be serious, Fitzwilliam. It is not kind of you to tease me when I am already so vexed.”
He took her hand. “I am not teasing you. I have never been so serious with you, ever. We have been very good friends for such a long time. What makes better sense than for us to marry?”
True, he had not actively considered the idea in quite some time, but it was so obvious right now, and so completely right.
Oh, the look on her face, at once perplexed and yet bordering on pleased.
“You know all my flaws and I know yours. There will be few surprises on those grounds. I enjoy your company more than nearly anyone else’s—”
“Even outspoken as I am? I will not be returning to my soft-spoken guise not for anyone, even you.” Her flashing green eyes dared him to find fault.
“I relish this bit of fire that you have donned. Not the vengeful bit that was flaunting your rebellion to your mother, but the genuine spark in you—yes, I like that very much. It is the woman you always were in your letters. At least, I am certain I shall never be bored with her. I feel very comfortable that I know her.”
“I think you are the only one.” Botheration—she was still not taking him seriously.
“Indeed. And I possess one more irresistible quality.”
“Do tell me what that might be.”
“You always said you would never marry a man of whom your mother approved. We both know, she has never thought well of a match between the two of us. My fortune is not equal to it.”