* * * *
When Darcy's servants, whom he had sent for from Pemberley, located a suitable dressmaker, he escorted Elizabeth to see the woman. He introduced Elizabeth as his cousin and said that he wanted her suitably attired as befitted her station in life.
"And the cost, sir?" the dressmaker inquired.
"That, madame, is immaterial," Darcy replied.
Elizabeth glared at him. "It is far from immaterial." she contradicted. She turned to the dressmaker for support. "One must know how much one is going to pay, mustn't one?"
"Exactly, mademoiselle," the dressmaker responded.
"There you are!" Elizabeth exclaimed triumphantly.
Darcy raised one eyebrow superciliously. "I have never liked penny-pinching, Miss Bennet," he informed her loftily.
"What you call penny-pinching, Mr. Darcy, and what I call penny-pinching," Elizabeth retorted, "are two entirely different things."
"I have no wish to haggle," Darcy declared.
"I am sure Madame here is not in the habit of haggling," Elizabeth returned.
"No indeed!" the dressmaker cried as if horrified by the suggestion.
"However," Elizabeth concluded, "I am equally convinced that a little economizing never hurt anyone."
Darcy sighed. "I do not propose to argue with you," he told her.
"Good," Elizabeth began. "Then perhaps..."
But Darcy was not listening.
"Madame," he addressed the dressmaker wearily, "make up some gowns for my cousin and send me the bill. I am certain she will see to it I am not overcharged."
"Yes, sir," the dressmaker responded.
Then, overlooking the growling noise which Elizabeth made, Darcy departed.
Being fitted for a new gown was not one of Elizabeth's favorite pastimes. She found it extremely tedious, but she endured it because she knew that it was necessary. She tried very hard to be patient as this pin was put in that fold, and that hemline was raised or lowered, but eventually she became restless.
"Are you tired, Mademoiselle Bennet?" the dressmaker inquired in a French accent.
"No. Not at all," Elizabeth answered. "I am sorry I was fidgeting. I have never been able to keep still while I was having clothes made for me."
"I understand, mademoiselle," the dressmaker replied. "You are not vain. That is a good sign."
"Thank you. You are very kind."
The dressmaker nodded, acknowledging the compliment, and busied herself with yet another slight but essential adjustment.
Chapter Ten
As soon as she had a spare minute, as she had promised, Elizabeth wrote to Jane. She told her sister that she was in London and that she had found congenial employment. She reiterated her vow not to marry Mr. Collins and she concluded by saying that she was well looked after and that there was no cause for alarm.
However, though she mentioned that she was staying in London, she did not put her address on the letter, nor did she give Jane a clue regarding the fact that she wasn't living with the Gardiners.
Once the letter had been dispatched, Elizabeth considered she had done her duty as far as her relations in Hertfordshire were concerned. She vowed to write once a month to her mother and sisters. However, she wasn't going to divulge her whereabouts.
As she glanced at herself in the mirror, Elizabeth knew that her resolution was a wise one. The gowns which the dressmaker had created for her were exquisite and allowed her to compete easily with the other ladies in society. They transformed her so that she not only looked but felt as if she had always belonged to the uppermost echelons.
However, though she delighted in wearing such lovely garments, Elizabeth experienced a vague sensation of guilt. In her heart she acknowledged that her family would disapprove of her accepting such lavish gifts from a man who was neither her betrothed nor a relation.
But Elizabeth suppressed the nagging voice deep down inside her which hinted unpleasantly that no good would come of what she was doing. She was enjoying herself. Why shouldn't she continue to do so?
* * * *
As far as Darcy was concerned, Elizabeth was the perfect chaperone. She never displayed the slightest sign of petulance when he spoke to another woman. She never embarrassed him with either bad manners or tantrums. She was at ease with his gentlemen acquaintances as well as with their wives. She was witty and amusing.
Indeed, Elizabeth played the role of Mr. Darcy's cousin so well that no one, except perhaps Caroline Bingley, had the faintest suspicion that she was not, as she appeared to be, related to him.
Caroline, however, had cause to observe how skillfully Elizabeth came between herself and Darcy. No matter what ploy Caroline invented, it seemed to her that Elizabeth prevented it from succeeding.
Caroline bided her time. She watched Darcy and noted his habits. He acted aloof which caused her to speculate on his unhappiness to no end. She saw that he was inclined, during the interval of a play or opera, to wander off by himself apparently lost in thought, leaving Elizabeth behind. And the latter, perfect companion that she was, did not impose upon him. If he wanted solitude; he could have it as far as Elizabeth was concerned.
Caroline smiled secretively to herself. She had a plan.
* * * *
That evening, Mr. Darcy took Elizabeth to the opera.
Everyone was there. The house was filled to capacity and at the interval, a milling throng filled the foyer, eagerly discussing the moving scenes of the first act.
Darcy had risen merely in order to stretch his legs. When he saw the huge crowds outside the door of his box, he grimaced, and excusing himself, he made his way to a more secluded part of the theater to wait until the performance commenced once more.
Caroline, who had been watching him closely, was gratified. Keeping out of his sight, she stole stealthily towards him.
"Ah! Mr. Darcy!" she breathed tragically as she reached his side. "Thank heavens I have found you."
Darcy cursed silently. He was both amazed and alarmed to discover that he was on his own with her.
"Why?" he questioned. "What is it?"
"A disaster! It is unbelievable! Horrible! I could not believe it when I heard! But they assure me it is true!"
Darcy's eyes narrowed. In a split second he took in the fact that Caroline was attired in black velvet discreetly trimmed with gold and that her outfit became her.
"Has someone died?" he asked, unable to keep the note of sarcasm out of his voice.
"Worse!" Caroline moaned. "Far worse than that!"
"I do not follow you, Miss Bingley."
"You don't?"
Caroline edged cautiously towards him, inch by inch, astutely positioning her body so that he could not go past her without brushing against her or pushing her aside.
"But surely you know! Someone must have told you the terrible news!" she exclaimed.
Darcy frowned. "Pray enlighten me," he commanded.
"My brother is courting a girl from Hertfordshire," Caroline accounted. "He wrote to me and said he met her at an assembly in Meryton. Apparently her father recently died and has left the family penniless! And one of the sisters refuses to do her duty and marry the family heir."
"That is unfortunate," Darcy said calmly, stepping away from her.
Caroline turned a shade paler. She swayed, and managed to make up the ground she had just lost between them, as she steadied herself.
"Charles refuses to tell me the lady's name in his letters," she continued. "I suppose he is waiting to see if she shares his affections before making a grand announcement. How could she not! She must be in want of an advantageous marriage given her reduced circumstances," she finished, half-swooning now.
"I see what you mean," Darcy responded with little interest in his voice.
"Oh, heavens!" And with those words, she fainted clean away.
Caroline, overcome by emotion, not to mention the tightness of her stays, had genuinely passed out. But that had been her plan. Sad as she was at the state of
her brother's love life, it could not have come at a better moment.
Caroline had intended to seek Darcy out at the opera, give him the news and then faint in his arms. She knew that when she opened her eyes again, they would no longer be alone. A crowd would have gathered. And she, only half-conscious, could murmur words of endearment. The sort that only a wife could utter with impunity and then only to her husband.
Covered with confusion, blushing with embarrassment, she would realize that she and Darcy were not on their own anymore, and that she had—alas! compromised herself.
But what could he do? Why, propose to her, what else? That was the one thing that would save her reputation now that she had expressed her feelings for Darcy so clearly.
And what if he refused to ask her to become his wife?
He dare not, was Caroline's only thought. Society would ostracize him forever if he did not offer for her in that situation.
Naturally, there was no doubt about what her answer would be. She had her response already worked out. Lowering her lashes demurely, she would murmur something about how unexpected this was and then, having hesitated properly, she would say yes.
Caroline felt consciousness returning. She sensed an arm around her. But how light it was! She would not have imagined that Darcy could hold her so delicately!
Her lips parted. "My darling..." she murmured softly. "My...my only love..."
"Smelling salts!" a female voice stated briskly. "She is delirious. Quickly, or she will swoon again!"
Caroline gasped as the strong scent wafted in front of her. She opened her eyes wide and saw that it was not Mr. Darcy but Elizabeth who was holding her.
"Ah!" Elizabeth exclaimed. "She is coming round!"
"Oh, thank heavens!" someone in the crowd cried.
Caroline passed her hand across her forehead.
She glanced up to make sure it was not a nightmare she was having. But no. It was real. Elizabeth was there.
Caroline ground her teeth. She had not seen Elizabeth following her. She had not been aware that Elizabeth had been standing near, with her eyebrows skeptically raised, watching intently as Caroline had sidled closer and closer to Darcy. And thus, when Caroline had fainted, it was not Darcy but Elizabeth who had caught her; Elizabeth who had called for assistance, and Elizabeth who was there now.
Caroline glared at her rival. If looks could have killed, Elizabeth would have died instantly.
"I am better now, thank you," Caroline said weakly.
"Oh, I am so glad," Elizabeth replied. "Whatever could have brought this on?"
Caroline looked away from Elizabeth. She had no desire to offer the girl an explanation.
Elizabeth returned to Darcy's box to find him leaning over the balustrade, frowning.
"Penny for your thoughts," she murmured.
He looked at her. "Truly?" he challenged.
Elizabeth took a huge cartwheel penny out of her reticule and handed it to him.
Darcy laughed. "I had forgotten those wretched things," he declared, fingering it. "No. Keep it."
"What were you thinking about? Miss Bingley?"
"Her brother, Charles," he answered directly. "I have seen him in love before. I fear he is making a terrible decision when his feelings are not to be returned."
"Perhaps, this time is different," Elizabeth suggested.
"Yes, different," Darcy scoffed. "This young lady has no fortune or social standing. I'm afraid my friend will marry before I can convince him of the girl's indifference."
Elizabeth was completely overwhelmed by Darcy's words. His interference in his friend's affairs was all about his pride, his sense of dignity, and his notions of his friend's proper place in society. It was nothing more.
Darcy touched her hand gently as he gave the penny back. Whatever he intended to say next died on his lips as the interval came to an end, the lights dimmed, and the opera continued.
Chapter Eleven
After having returned to Darcy House from the theater, Elizabeth felt sick. She had caught the few words which told her enough of Mr. Darcy's character regarding how he treated his friends.
"I need some fresh air," she reflected hazily.
She made her way out of the house and into the garden and sank down onto a seat. Scarcely a minute later, a pair of gloved hands touched her shoulders and a woolen shawl slipped over her.
"You should have taken this," Darcy admonished. "It is too cold to sit out in the garden without a wrap."
"I wasn't thinking," Elizabeth responded. "Thank you for bringing it to me."
Darcy sat down beside her. "What is the matter?" he inquired.
"Nothing. Why?"
"You are as white as a sheet. Has something upset you?"
"Nothing of importance, I suppose," she resigned, knowing it would do no use to start an argument with him over something she had no say in.
"Oh, good," he sighed.
She shivered involuntarily once more. "Gracious, it is cold! I think I shall go inside."
Darcy nodded in assent. He stood up and watched her as she scurried into the house. Presently, he came in after her.
"Elizabeth," he called to her. "I want to talk to you."
Elizabeth, in the act of going upstairs, turned and followed him into the drawing room.
"What is it?" she inquired.
"It occurred to me that I haven't paid you," he informed her.
"Paid me?" Elizabeth echoed.
"For being my chaperone. You ought to be paid for that, don't you think?"
"No," Elizabeth responded firmly.
Darcy's eyebrows rose. "No?" he questioned.
"Definitely not!" Elizabeth exclaimed. And then, feeling the subject was closed, she made as if to leave.
However, Darcy was not a man one could easily say no to.
"I do not see why you refuse to accept money from me," he remarked. "After all, you have done an excellent job of chaperoning me. You deserve some remuneration for your trouble."
Elizabeth glared at him. "I will not be a kept woman!" she retorted.
Darcy began to pace the room, laughing.
"I don't see why that should amuse you," Elizabeth stated primly.
"Because, Miss Bennet," he replied when he had recovered, "You obviously have no idea what you are saying."
"Don't be patronizing."
"I am not be patronizing."
Just because I haven't lived a life of wealth," Elizabeth interrupted, "doesn't mean I don't know what goes on in the world."
"I beg your pardon," he mocked. "I had no idea you were so—sophisticated."
Elizabeth burned with anger. "You are making fun of me," she accused.
"I find your attitude nonsensical."
"You ought to respect it!"
Darcy sighed, shook his head, then opened his wallet and held out fifty pounds to her. "Here," he said.
Elizabeth stiffened and retreated from the money as if she were afraid it would bite her.
"No, thank you," she responded frigidly.
"I do not see why not."
"Don't you indeed!"
"No I don't. Since I have benefited from your services, it is only fair that I should pay you."
Elizabeth was horrified. "I cannot take money from you!" she declared.
"Why not?"
"It is not proper!"
"Do you find it improper to have food and shelter provided by me?"
"No," Elizabeth returned. "Not while I am your guest."
"You received clothes from me."
"Only under protest," Elizabeth reminded him. "In any case, that is different."
"I don't see how."
"Oh yes you do."
"I don't!" Darcy protested.
"Well you ought to."
"Pray explain it to me."
"I needed the clothes in order to chaperone you properly. At least," Elizabeth amended, "according to you I did. However, it is unnecessary for me to have money as everything I could possibly want ha
s already been made available to me."
"Oh, for heaven's sake!" Darcy cried in exasperation. "Are you always so severe upon your own sex?"
"I am not taking any money from you, and that is final!"
"And if I insist?"
"I should simply return it."
Darcy looked at her a little strangely. However, he did not press her further, and it seemed as if the subject was closed.
I have won, Elizabeth thought.
She was glad. She did not want money from him. She had not come with him to get rich, but to have fun. And she had been amply rewarded. She was having a marvelous time in London. There were parties, balls, and trips to the theater almost every night. Mr. Darcy had opened up a whole new world for her. And the idea of being paid by him made what was beautiful and innocent become somehow sordid.
* * * *
That afternoon, before tea, when Elizabeth had a spare minute, she went into her room, intending to look through the inlaid box she had brought with her from Longbourn. Every now and again she enjoyed turning the few precious mementos of her parents over and over in her slim fingers.
Elizabeth smiled as she lifted the lid, anticipating the pleasure to come. But today it was denied her. Her smile faded swiftly and her features froze into immobility. There on top, as though they had been deliberately placed there, were ten five-pound notes—fifty pounds.
Elizabeth stared at them in disbelief. They had to be a trick of her mind. If she shut her eyes tightly and opened them again a few seconds later the notes would have disappeared.
She tried it, but it did not work. When she re-opened her eyes, the offending currency was still visible. The neatly folded bills were no figment of her imagination. And as she gazed at them in horror, it seemed to her that they had personalities of their own. They were more than five-pound notes, they were a collection of mischievous little imps sent by the Devil himself to torment her.
Elizabeth counted the money three times to make certain of the amount. The paper seemed to burn her fingers as she did so. And yes, it was exactly the sum Mr. Darcy had offered her earlier.
She squirmed in her chair. She felt degraded. It was as though he were treating her like a servant—or worse.
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