by AmyJ
The battles were swift and furious. They took turns battling two against one.
By the end, they were all tired.
After wiping down and changing into their regular clothes, they adjourned to the library for tea. "So how is it you have an afternoon free, Darcy?" Blakeslee asked. "Between your intended and your sister, I did not think your time was your own anymore."
Darcy joined the others in a chuckle and shook his head amusedly, ignoring the underlying ripple of jealousy. If he trusted himself more, he would be with Elizabeth. For now though, he needed to deflect the line of questioning. "That is an easy explanation. My sister prefers the company of Elizabeth now."
"To be dismissed by them both, and not yet married. It does not bode well for your future felicity." Blakeslee rejoined. He turned to Colonel Fitzwilliam. "I thought you were going to give him pointers on how to court his lady fair."
Colonel Fitzwilliam placed his hand over his heart. "I have done my best, Wesley. But some cases I fear are hopeless."
Darcy rolled his eyes. Truly, what did they expect? Wesley may think him in love, but Richard knew differently. Any appearance of courting was simply for show. He was saved from having to defend himself by a knock on the door.
"Forgive the interruption, sir," a servant said, "but you wished to be informed when Miss Elizabeth was taking her leave."
Darcy rose instantly from his seat. "Excuse me, gentlemen. I need to speak with my fiancée." Without waiting for the snickers that had become all too common from the other two, he schooled his steps to disguise his anticipation and left the room.
He caught up with Elizabeth near the front doors. Then, after being assured Georgiana was well, but resting, he asked, "Did you have a pleasant
afternoon?"
"I did. I enjoy your sister's company very much."
Elizabeth dug into her reticule and pulled out a small package wrapped in
brown paper. "It is not much, but I knew you would appreciate this." She dropped her eyes to floor, suddenly feeling very shy.
Darcy's heart began to thud against his chest. It did not matter what the
package contained; it could have been an empty box for all he cared. She had been thinking of him! Surely that was a good sign, was it not? He pulled back the wrapping to find a jade inkwell with intricate eastern carvings in the sides.
"It is exquisite!" he gasped. "I... I... love it."
Then, before he acted on his impulse, he blurted out, "I trust you have saved the first and last set for me at the Granville ball?"
"Knowing how much you detest the activity, I had thought not to dance at all."
At Darcy's stunned expression, Elizabeth had to pinch her lips tight to keep from laughing. "If, however, you are requesting my first and last, it must be your good fortune that those sets have not been requested by any other person, save your cousin."
"My cousin has reserved your first?"
His look of incredulity mixed with a tone of annoyance broke down Elizabeth's self-control, and she let out a short giggle. "No, but he did request a set.
Several days ago, in fact."
Several unkind words and phrases passed through Darcy's head with respect to Richard Fitzwilliam. Aloud, however, he said, "Richard may dance any set with you, so long as it is neither the first, nor the last." His tone was severe and unyielding.
"This is how a gentleman reserves a dance?" Elizabeth teased while arching a brow.
Darcy thought of several ways he could demonstrate just how ungentlemanly
he could be, but instead, bowed dramatically over her hand. "Forgive me, fairest Elizabeth. Wilt thou do me the honour of granting me your first and last set at the Granville ball?"
Elizabeth laughed at the theatrics. "It shall be my pleasure, kind sir."
He responded the only way he could; his dimples flashed for just a moment
before he pressed a delicate kiss on her hand.
A moment later, the carriage pulled up and Darcy escorted his betrothed out of doors. "God bless you," he said as he handed her up. Elizabeth smiled and nodded in return, but her attention was immediately drawn to the sight of Lord Blakeslee escorting Jane to the carriage, and her sister's heightened
complexion.
When had Lord Blakeslee appeared? And what had he said to cause such a
reaction from Jane? Based on Jane's rosy cheeks, what ever it was, it was more than a friendly greeting.
Two days before the ball found Elizabeth and Jane in their room on
Gracechurch Street. Elizabeth moved between open cases, the bureau and the
closet, carefully folding garments and placing them in her trunks. On the bed sat Jane, carefully sorting through the jumble of ribbons, and rolling each one for easy retrieval.
In just a few days, Jane would return to Longbourn, but Elizabeth would take up residence in Lanelle House.
"I wish you could stay," Elizabeth remarked. "I fear I will be in great need of your comforting spirit."
"Lizzy, there is no cause for such consternation. Lady Matlock must think highly of you if she offered to sponsor you. Besides, Mama needs me at home to help get ready for your wedding, and after that I will be for Kent."
At the mention of Mr. Collins, Elizabeth's nose automatically wrinkled, earning an admonishing look from her sister. "Lizzy, be kind," Jane said. "It is no surprise Mr. Collins is more concerned with his patroness' opinion. They must
live quite near Lady Catherine, and she has done a great deal for them. Besides, Charlotte is very pleased for you."
Elizabeth demurred. "I still wish you could remain in London. Who else will remind me not to think meanly of others if you are not around? I feel I shall be in need of a great many of reminders."
Jane giggled softly before teasing, "Then I shall write one in each of my letters.
Besides, if I am in London, who would stop Mama from hanging all the lace in Meryton in the church?"
Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "Perhaps you are correct. Please, do not let her make a spectacle of us."
Jane smiled triumphantly. "So you see, I must return to Longbourn."
"And perchance a certain colonel will find himself in Hertfordshire as well."
"Lizzy!" Jane hissed, as she turned bright red. Elizabeth could only laugh.
"And what of Lord Blakeslee? I noticed him speaking with you the other day."
"It was nothing really. He was only being polite. He requested a set at the ball."
"I believe politeness had very little to do with it," Elizabeth remarked. "I think he fancies you."
Jane shook her head vigorously. "I am certain, were I not your sister, he would not notice me at all."
At this, Elizabeth barked a short laugh. "You are always noticed, dear sister, but pray, which set did the Earl reserve for himself?"
Jane's complexion once again turned a rosy hue. "The supper dance," she murmured.
"I knew it!"
"Lizzy, it is nothing like that," Jane pleaded. "Mr. Darcy likely requested it of him, so I would not have to dine alone."
Elizabeth shook her head. "You are too modest by far, Jane." In a sing song voice, she added, "Do not believe me if you wish, but you will have two admirers at the ball, and likely more." She pondered whether to bring up Mr.
Bingley, but decided against it. It was perhaps being selfish, but she had
precious few moments with her sister before she was wed, and did not wish to ruin the merry spirit.
On the eve of the ball, Elizabeth, not surprisingly, found sleep difficult to attain. Afraid of waking Jane with her tossing and turning, she climbed out of bed and padded over to the window seat. She pulled back the curtains and
looked out into the black night. When the moon was full, she could sometimes see the mews below, but not tonight. The clouds hid the sliver of a moon,
rendering the night especially dark. It did not matter. She was not looking for
anything in particular, merely something to occupy h
er mind - something other than the ball.
Tomorrow, she would be presented to London society as Darcy's intended. All eyes would be upon her, wondering who she was, from where she hailed, and
most of all, why Darcy had chosen her. Would they accept her? Or would they shun her?
Knowing it was a private ball, eased her mind only a little. The guest list had been belaboured, almost to the point of tedium, and so it was unlikely anyone would shun her. That, however, did not mean she would be warmly accepted.
Recalling her first meeting with Mrs. Stephens, she wondered how many other families and women had been disappointed by her engagement. Aside from
Miss Bingley, she was unaware of any others who had actively pursued Darcy, though she was not naïve enough to believe others did not exist. Thoughts of Miss Bingley sparked a flash of anger. Unfortunately, Mr. Bingley's close
association with Darcy required he be invited; and, so not to insult her
betrothed's friend, Miss Bingley had to be included. She could only hope that woman did not cause a scene.
She felt a shiver run through her, and pulled her gown tightly around her as her thoughts turned towards Darcy. Was he as anxious about the ball as she? Was he awake pondering the crowd, the looks, and the whispers? She let out a silent giggle realizing that if he was, he would most likely be in bed with his head under a pillow thinking suffocation a more palatable option.
Then remembering the night of the theatre, the callers at Lanelle House, the ladies who approached for an introduction in the shops, and the appraising
looks she had received from them all, she considered for a moment he might be correct.
She let out a loud, heavy sigh and then turned sharply, hearing Jane rustling the bed sheets. Dear, sweet, Jane. If only she were as beautiful as her sister. Then people might understand how Darcy had been taken in by her beauty. Men
could not help be enraptured by Jane's loveliness and angelic spirit. She
pressed her hand to her lips to forestall a giggle at the thought of scads of men in line clamouring for a dance with Jane. There was no doubt her sister's dance card would be full.
Then, recalling Mr. Bingley would attend, she began to worry. Jane had not
seen him since that one afternoon on Bond Street, at least to her knowledge.
Would Jane welcome his company? What if he asked her to dance? More
importantly, did Jane want him to ask her? If Jane did not, there would be little Elizabeth could do; she was obliged to stay by Darcy and speak with all of the guests.
She looked over at the bed, which had quieted, and shook her head slowly,
pondering the situation. Though she could not say Jane was happy now, she
was not as low as she had been in December. Was it possible she no longer held
an attachment to Mr. Bingley? Or had time simply lessened the pain? On the other hand, Jane did seem to welcome the attentions of Colonel Fitzwilliam, and those of Lord Blakeslee. Perhaps she was getting agitated over nothing.
Realizing she could have little sway on either Jane or Mr. Bingley, she turned her musings back towards the coming month. If recent events were any
indication, it would have its share of challenges. It would be a month of tedious practice of all manner of activities, and somehow Elizabeth would have to find a way to accept the criticism that would be doled out.
Lady Matlock had already found fault with her playing, and her ability to
match china, silver, and linens. There was still her presentation at court, for which they had only begun preparations, not to mention the instruction she was to receive on dealing with the household staff and accounts, and preparing for her first dinner as Mrs. Darcy. In other words, there was a plethora of faults still left to be uncovered.
She rubbed her hand tiredly over her face. For Jane and the rest of her family's well being, she could tolerate a meagre month under Lady Matlock tutelage.
There were certainly worse fates; Charlotte had gone so far as to marry Mr.
Collins for her security.
A smile touched the corner of her lips when she realized what an idyllic life she would have in comparison. Yes, her first season would be a bit daunting, but then they would be for Pemberley; and it was not like she and Darcy did not enjoy one another's company; quite the contrary. Not only that, but she also adored Georgiana. Not everyone who entered an arranged marriage could boast such a close friendship with her husband and his sister.
Her smile broadened as memories of Darcy played through her head. At the
moment of their reintroduction in Meryton, never would she have imagined
Fizzy, her childhood playmate, would become Fitzwilliam, her soon to be
husband. It was true, when he first spoke of marriage, she had her reservations, but the more time they spent together, the more at ease she felt with the idea.
The first time he kissed her hand had been awkward, but now she looked
forward to receiving them. Nor did she mind the other little intimacies they shared. She quite liked having a strong arm to hold, while they walked;
relished her responsibility of teasing Darcy out of his sombreness; and was quite fond of the idea of always having someone around who appreciated her
bouts of playfulness and sense of humour.
Perhaps most of all, she enjoyed knowing that they would always be
companions. Once they were married, there would be no meddlesome aunts
trying to separate them, no letters to be lost in the post, no excuses of being too busy with every day life to write.
All in all, she surmised, it was perhaps not the marriage she had idealized as a girl, but it would be a good marriage.
Her shoulders twitched as another shiver overtook her, and realizing her feet were nearly frozen, she scampered back to bed, curled under the covers near the warmer, and soon fell into a deep sleep.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Darcy stood stock-still as Franklin finished tying his cravat and then brushed the dust and lint from his new tail coat. When his valet pronounced him ready, Darcy expelled the breath he did not realize he was holding.
He turned to the left and then to the right, inspecting himself with the help of an old mahogany mirror. He fingered his cravat, making certain it was not too tight, and tugged at his jacket, checking its fit in the shoulders. Everything had to be perfect tonight.
Realizing the cause of his conscientious dressing, he chastised himself. "Li'l Beth," he said under breath, "just a friend." That, however, did not stop him from one last inspection of the shine of his dancing shoes.
Not unexpectedly, as he met Cardwell - armed with his cloak, gloves, and hat -
at the front doors, he found Georgiana lying in wait.
"You are very handsome tonight, Fitzwilliam. Elizabeth will be pleased."
Darcy wanted to say it did not matter, but knowing such a comment would fall on deaf ears, merely smiled and patted Georgiana's cheek.
Despite his sister's bright mien, he could see her disappointment at not being able to attend the festivities. Her age was reason enough to leave her at home, but the truth was he would not be able to watch over both her and Elizabeth.
There would be other balls for Georgiana. "I promise to tell you about it in the morning, but I do not want you to stay up for me."
"Every detail?" Georgiana insisted. When Darcy agreed, she kissed him on the cheek. "I shall hold you to that promise. Give Elizabeth my love."
When Darcy entered the ballroom with Elizabeth on his arm, all he could see was a throng of men, looking to take his beautiful, vivacious Elizabeth from him. His first inclination was to turn and leave. That was not an option, so he settled for pulling Elizabeth just a little closer to him. "There is nothing to fear," he whispered.
His courage rose when he felt Elizabeth tighten her grip on his arm. She was nervous and needed him. He would be strong for her; he would protect her.
Guests immed
iately approached, and for his betrothed's sake, he put his most genial self forward.
Until the dancing began, Darcy moved them through the room, providing introductions where necessary, and engaging in small conversation. He hated this part; small conversation was never his forte. He had hoped to draw less attention, particularly from the women, but he soon learned that was an
unrealistic expectation. Everyone was interested in meeting the nobody he had suddenly attached himself to. More surprising, however, was that despite his engaged status, mothers and daughters alike still approached him, seeking his favour with flattery, coquettish smiles, and forced giggles. At least with
Elizabeth by his side, it was tolerable.
The attention of the ladies was a trifling matter -- Darcy knew how to cope with that -- compared to the issue of the other gentlemen. He did not appreciate the glances they bestowed on Elizabeth, the way they bowed over her hand,
and most maddening, the way they had the gumption to request a dance. While logically he knew it was expected of both the gentlemen and Elizabeth - and generally, there was not even a hint of untoward intentions - it did little to quell his urge to strangle each and every one of them. Elizabeth was his! He was the only partner she needed, and more than once did he rail against the social edict that only permitted him two dances.
Elizabeth had just granted yet another gentleman's request for a set when Lord Blakeslee approached the couple.
"Darcy!" he greeted, in his usual insouciant manner. He then bowed over Elizabeth's hand and said, "Miss Bennet, any man here tonight not frightfully jealous of my friend, has no taste." He eyed his friend while he said it, trying not to chuckle over the warning written on Darcy's face.
"Including yourself, sir?" Elizabeth countered impertinently.
"Touche!" Blakeslee chuckled. "Since I am found out, might I be favoured with a set?" Knowing Elizabeth would grant the request did not stop Darcy swearing several oaths if she did not.
It was not that Darcy held any grudge against Wesley; quite the contrary. Lord Blakeslee was one of the best men he knew. It was simply he could see how