Prince Darcy

by Allison Smith

  Elizabeth glanced at Lydia, who regarded them without the hint of her usual ribald insouciance. “That is true. Jane is lovely, but Lydia is vivacious. She may well capture the imagination of a titled gentleman. She is far more able than Jane to. . .shape the hearts of men.”

  “That’s very kind of you to say so, Lizzy,” Lydia said.

  “I suppose it is all settled then,” Mary said with no inflection of irony, giving her mother an oblique look as she passed by.

  Elizabeth looked at Adelaide. “Are we agreed? We shall be allies in this?”

  “You want the same things, Mama,” Lydia urged. “If you fight each other at every turn, then it shall all come to naught.”

  “We do not want the same things,” Stepmother snapped. “You idealise Elizabeth when really her only concern has always been Jane and herself. She always treated you three as if you were not true Bennets.”

  Elizabeth stared at her. “That is untrue, and unfair.”

  “A bit of self-reflection is called for. I know you do not like me—you never have. You considered me the thief of your father’s affections.”

  Elizabeth snorted. Such as they were. Not that Mr Bennet had been an unkind husband or father, but he’d been rather more interested in his books than in running the household or spending time with his family. Time Elizabeth had craved growing up. It was why she developed such a love of reading. As soon as he realised she shared his passion and could be counted on to sit quietly in his study in a corner and read—thereby not troubling him—he warmed considerably to her shadow.

  “And thus,” Adelaide continued, “you have only ever acted in your own self-interest, rather than in the interests of us all.”

  Elizabeth shut her mouth on the words threatening to tumble out. Demands for proof, instant denial of any such preference of Jane over the others—at least not at their expense. She could hardly be faulted for loving her eldest sister best, could she? But she had never done other but help care for the youngest as well.

  She inhaled. “Be that as it may—and I am not agreeing with your ill assessment, only accepting that that is what you choose to believe—my bargain stands. Do not interfere with Jane and Bingley, and I will help secure husbands for Lydia and Kitty.”

  “No one has ever asked me if I desired to wed Collins,” Mary said to the air.

  They all ignored her. The entire family knew she was best suited to be the bride of their ridiculous cousin—and it would keep Longbourn in the possession of a Bennet.

  “I shall be watching you very closely, Elizabeth,” Adelaide said. “At the first hint of duplicity you shall see the full force of my wrath. The doors of Longbourn shall be forever closed to you.”

  Elizabeth said nothing about the irony of that proclamation. Her mouth twisted, but she nodded. “Allies, then.”

  It was not until her stepmother walked away that Elizabeth realised what, in the heat of battle, she had promised. Her heart sank. If after Jane was wed, she was to remain and help Lydia and Kitty find husbands, how long would it be until she was free to leave and find her heart?

  Chapter Twelve

  They argued with Lydia, of all people, whether to take the carriage or ride on horseback. Lydia insisted taking the carriage was the most foolish of things to do.

  “Look at the sky, it is certain to rain!” she exclaimed, sprawled on Jane’s bed as they readied themselves. “If you go by horseback, you shall be drenched and then you must stay the night at the very least. It is what I would do, were I you.”

  “I do not,” Elizabeth replied, “relish the thought of dying from a chill, nor Jane, due to our own machinations. It is bad enough that we are shameless husband hunters, let us not be foolish as well.” However. . . .

  . . .the idea had some merit.

  Lydia sniffed. “One must give one’s very best effort at these things, dear Lizzy, or not bother with them at all. No, no, not that ribbon, Jane. And what are you doing with your hair?”

  They had not much to wear between the two of them, having already chosen their best gowns to be remade over in anticipation of invitations to the upcoming ball. It was still a solid rumour, not quite fact, though the baker and local candle makers had reported news of recent large orders from Netherfield. Local society held its collective breath waiting on the first official sighting of an invitation.

  Jane wore a pretty gown in pale yellow, and Elizabeth knew she looked well in her customary blue. They opted finally to take the horses, setting off under an already grey sky.

  Jane smoothed her hands down her lap a third time. Elizabeth glanced at her. “Don’t be nervous. His sisters will adore you, I’m sure.”

  “But what if they do not? He must surely take their confidences, and if they decide to dislike me, it will makes things difficult.”

  “If they dislike you, they are fools. And Bingley is a grown man, capable of choosing his own wife. Their approval would be nice, but I am certain he does not require it.” Elizabeth spoke with surety, though she half doubted her own words. Bingley was such an amiable fellow, to the point where he seemed to want to please everyone. “There is no use in worrying. Come, we are here.”

  When they were escorted into the drawing room, Bingley exclaimed, leaping forward to come and greet Jane. They had passed through elegant halls, floors gleaming, a wide staircase spiralling up and up. Longbourn was no hovel, but Netherfield made it appear as if so.

  Elizabeth curtsied, murmuring a greeting even though Bingley was not paying the slightest of attention to her. Her lips curled. She did not mind one bit.

  “Miss Elizabeth.”

  Mr Williams stepped forward, walking rather more slowly than the friend to whom he gave an oblique look. He inclined his head, and Elizabeth repeated her curtsy, her smile smoothing into something harder.

  “Mr Williams, a delight.” Gazes locked. If they had horns, those would have locked as well. He was all the more aggravating for how blessed he was with masculine attractiveness. Well-proportioned features, poetic dark hair a trifle longer than fashion dictated and piercing eyes. In fact, she fancied he rather looked like a prince. Certainly the cut of his attire projected restrained regality, the cloth of superior make.

  And then he spoke in his slightly superior, slight critical tone of voice, and ruined her fantasy. “I am certain it is so.” He said nothing more for a moment, then, “I am pleased to see you.”

  Mr Bingley’s head jerked around.

  Elizabeth felt a similar astonishment. “I. . .pardon me?”

  Blue eyes glinted. “I find our encounters invigorating. It is seldom one encounters a lady so convinced of her own opinions.”

  Elizabeth searched for the insult, certain it was there, but his pleasant tone left her no room for anything but a polite reply. “I am absolutely delighted to be so diverting. I pray you will be equally so.”

  His mouth curved. “I am certain I shall rise to the occasion.” His brow arched towards Bingley, who started.

  “Ah, yes,” Bingley said. “Perhaps you should go into dinner together, to facilitate conversation. It would please me best that my best friend acquaint himself with my—uh, with Miss Bennet’s sister.”

  Elizabeth gaze honed in on Bingley. What had he been about to say? His what?

  Just then, two ladies approached, elegantly dressed, perhaps a trifle more elegantly than a family dinner with guests from the neighbourhood warranted. But that was just Elizabeth’s opinion. Certainly she begrudged no woman the right to dress as fashionably as she chose, according to her means.

  Introductions were made, and Elizabeth found herself under scrutiny of the svelte, unwed sister, Mrs Hurst having struck up a conversation with Jane as they all migrated towards pleasantly arranged seating, couches in the latest fashion and another high-backed chair in which Mr Williams sat.

  The conversation was stilted enough that Elizabeth alternated between discomfort and amusement. She preferred more lively debate and a less formal manner when merely dining with nei
ghbours—no matter how grand—but supposed as she was the guest, she must follow their suit.

  Finally, dinner was announced. Mr Williams rose, swiftly stepping towards Elizabeth to offer an arm as escort into dinner.

  He did not speak much at first and Elizabeth was content for a time to let it remain so. Watching Jane and Bingley converse satisfied her more than a conversation of her own. She felt sure that if their burgeoning courtship was allowed to proceed unmolested, they would have an announcement soon.

  “I have never seen a sister look so pleased at another sister’s good fortune,” Mr Williams murmured.

  She almost jumped in her seat, for his words were low and close to her ear. “Would you not be pleased for your sister?”

  “Of course.” He gazed at Bingley. “They do seem at ease with one another. It was my mother’s wish I too be blessed with so happy a union.”

  Elizabeth looked at him. “Your mother is no longer living?” Her voice was gentle.

  His gaze met hers, a light sadness in their blue depths but no active grief. “No. She passed many years ago. Before she died, she insisted I promise to wed only for love.” His eyelids lowered, as if he was surprised at his own confession.

  Elizabeth smiled. “It sounds as if she loved you very much.”

  “Her own marriage was very happy, though the weight of my family’s responsibilities rested heavily on my father’s shoulders.”

  “Then having observed so, no doubt she wanted you to have the comfort of a spouse with whom there was a tender affection and respect.”

  “Yes. My father—” He paused.

  Elizabeth laughed softly. “Let me guess. The directive was to marry for duty?”

  His head tilted. “How did you know?”

  “I think I see his burden on your shoulders. You do not smile much or seem to make merry easily.”

  And rather than a flaw in his character, she was beginning to realise it was simply a byproduct of a sober life. Which led to her next thought. . .was it true he could be. . . ? But no. The man in front of her, while proud and elegant, did not carry himself with the fancy a hauteur one would expect from a prince. His clothes were fine, but not sumptuous. His manners flawless, if distant, but with no self-indulgence of flamboyance to his air.

  He could not be a prince.

  Elizabeth realised her statement was a trifle more personal than their acquaintance warranted. She winced. “Forgive me for being impertinent. I speak too freely.”

  “If I did not desire your speech, I would have said so,” was the mild reply. “I confess, I admire your determination to see your elder sister cared for. Many young ladies are not so selfless. My sister’s happiness is also more important to me than my own.”

  “I think I would like to meet your sister,” she replied without thinking. “She must be truly elegant, if she is anything like you.” Elizabeth then blushed. She had paid him an inadvertent comment—and perhaps a forward one. What was wrong with her? She eyed her wine and reached for her glass of water.

  Mr Williams smiled, however. “Do you know? I think you would find each other eminently agreeable.”

  Something passed over his face, but too quickly for her to analyse what he may be thinking. She steered the conversation to a lighter topic. “I have been to Lambton, though not for at least two years now. A charming place, though we were unable to tour Pemberley, an estate which seems a credit to your principality.”

  “I daresay it is. Did you enjoy Lambton?”

  “Oh, very much. London is well, but I find, sometimes, there is more pleasure in the quieter places. I love to walk through the woods, and there were plenty of opportunities to do so. And, of course, the cheer of spending time with old friends.”

  “You must give me their names. When I return, I will convey your greetings in person.”

  “How kind of you to offer, Mr Williams,” she said, surprised.

  “Not at all. I make it a point to try and get to know a few more of my people. . .neighbours. . .each year.”

  The beat of her heart increased. What had he meant by ‘my people’? That was a strange turn of phrase to use regarding one’s neighbours.

  “Mr Williams, Miss Elizabeth, you must tell us what you are whispering about,” Miss Caroline called out from across the table.

  After that, they conversed less with each other and more with the table in general, Jane and Bingley also seeming to emerge from their invisible bubble. Elizabeth was content to make a remark here and there to do her duty as a guest, but otherwise remain quiet.

  By the time the evening was coming to an end, she found herself regretful to quit the night. Despite the general coolness of the Bingley sisters, she had quite enjoyed herself.

  But when it was time for her and Jane to leave, a footman came into the drawing room and spoke quietly with Mr Bingley.

  “But of course!” Mr Bingley exclaimed. “Miss Bennet, Miss Elizabeth, I was just informed that the weather has taken a dreadful turn. Heavy rain, and you ladies on horseback. You must stay the evening.”

  Miss Caroline stared at her brother.

  Elizabeth glanced at her, then said, “How kind of you to offer. I would be loath to impose on your hospitality. But perhaps we might borrow a carriage. . . ?”

  “Nonsense, it is far too dangerous to travel by carriage in this weather,” Mr Williams said, then turned to the footman. “Have rooms arranged for the ladies.”

  The footman bowed and exited, Mr Bingley not seeming at all put out at his friend’s usurping of authority.

  “Excellent,” Bingley said. “Very practical. Wouldn’t want a wheel to get stuck in mud, after all.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Elizabeth waited until the still of night before leaving the bed she shared with Jane, wrapping a shawl around her shoulders and picking up a candle. The evening spent in a verbal dance with Mr Williams had left her restless. There was nothing for it except to find the library—earlier, Mr Bingley had assured her they kept a modest one, and he had every intention of increasing Netherfield’s collection—and pray the selection of books was not hopeless. Besides, the contents of a man’s library were a window of sorts into his soul. She must examine the titles he kept before she could further assure herself of his suitability for Jane.

  No one wanted a stupid brother-in-law or vapid nieces and nephews.

  Fortunately, her imagination was rather more practical than fanciful, or else the shadows she cast as she walked through the halls might have unnerved her. This was not a home known for any lingering traces of magic from the old days, and it had never been inhabited by other than mortals, so she supposed she was safe from accidentally stepping on a house elf or glimpsing an unsettled spirit.

  Through trial and error, Elizabeth found the correct room. The door creaked, so she quickly slipped inside and shut it behind her, lifting the candle high. After a moment she realised the glow of her candle was not the only source of light in the room.

  “Miss Elizabeth.” Mr Williams rose from a chair. The flickering shadows hollowed out his cheekbones, lending him the aura of a faerie prince.

  “I beg your pardon,” she said, gathering her dignity.

  Mr Williams walked towards her, a book dangling from his hands. “It is rather adventurous of you to roam the hallways this time of night.”

  “I could not sleep. Forgive me for disturbing you, I will choose a book and return to my room.”

  He gestured. “Do not leave on my account. I am only a guest here as well.”

  “You do not give orders as if you are a guest.”

  “Ah. I am an eldest son. Perhaps I am simply used to giving orders.”

  “Perhaps.” She walked around him and headed to the two shelves of books. Well, it was not a grand library, but it was a start for a tradesman’s son. A sigh slipped out.

  “You do not approve of his collection?”

  Elizabeth whirled, startled by the voice nearly in her ear. He stood not a foot behind her. “You make n
o more noise than a wraith!”

  His head tilted. “Shall I stomp next time?”

  “Please do,” she snapped, then turned around, back stiff, and plucked a book from the shelf at random.

  “Interesting choice.”

  Elizabeth glanced at the title. A book on animal husbandry. But be damned if she would admit he had rattled her nerves and she had picked the book up without thinking.

  She sniffed. “My family owns livestock. It is my duty to keep abreast of the latest methodologies.”

  “Indeed. I applaud your dedication to duty.”

  Oh! Infuriating man.

  “Please, choose any seat you wish, unless you are discomfited by my presence.”

  His expression remained cool, but as she looked away she thought she glimpsed his lip quirk upwards.

  “I am not at all discomfited,” she replied. “But were we discovered it would put you in an awkward position, and I have no desire to be any man’s burden.”

  His soft laughter surprised her. “An awkward position,” he mused. “This is the first I‘ve heard a woman describe a man offering his hand in marriage to preserve her reputation as an awkward situation.”

  Elizabeth sat on the edge of her chosen chair, straight-backed and rigid as if she were dressed in the primmest of dresses suitable for a governess.

  “Forced to marry a woman you do not love, nor esteem, and do not even particularly like. . .what else would you call it?”

  “Duty, if a man was so careless to allow himself to be caught in such a situation.”

  Her brow arched. “Such as we are now? Alone at night in a library and myself not clad for company?”

  “You do not seem disturbed.”

  “I have no intention of wedding, ever, merely to preserve my reputation. I would go away first. And I am far too old to concern myself overmuch with propriety.”

  “You are hardly on the shelf, Miss Elizabeth.”

  Elizabeth snorted. “Your eyes need checking. I am well past five and twenty.”

  “A spinster,” he mocked.