Masquerade

by Emma East

  Soon the dance was finished and Elizabeth joined the new line that formed. Mr. Darcy joined her after a short delay.

  “Miss Elizabeth.”

  “Mr. Darcy.”

  To the side of the floor, Miss Bingley pursed her lips and Elizabeth suspected that Darcy had thrust her into the middle of a romantic couple. Or, at least, someone’s hope for a coupling.

  Mr. Darcy offered his hand after a bow to start the dance. She took it and they led the line, Elizabeth unable to help but notice the gazes upon her partner as they crossed the floor. Despite his proper steps, Mr. Darcy did not appear to enjoy the dance. His haughty expression only turned cold at the attention.

  “The night is uncommonly warm, is it not?”

  “It is warm for the time of the year, yes,” he replied, and spun away.

  Elizabeth bit her lip, catching the eye of Charlotte in the crowd watching the dancers. She had attempted to begin a conversation. He had shut it down, quite decisively. Not knowing his interests, she hesitated to make another conversational opening. Though he appeared content to spend half an hour in silence, Elizabeth was uncomfortable with sharing the silence with a stranger. She longed for a potted plant.

  “Do you enjoy an Irish reel, Mr. Darcy? I am certain that, if you do not, the musicians would be amenable to a change after this.”

  “It is acceptable.”

  She pursed her lips and focused on her footwork rather than the man’s appalling manners. Charlotte cannot say I did not make the attempt! Acceptable! Mr. Darcy can lead the next round of dazzling conversation, then.

  Mr. Darcy stayed silent for the next several minutes and Elizabeth despaired of the next half hour passing in an uncomfortable, awkward silence. However, after walking her to the back of the line, Mr. Darcy opened with an unexpected comment.

  “You dance elegantly, Miss Elizabeth. Have you had much chance to practice this one?”

  This unsolicited compliment surprised her and his flawless delivery of it further surprised her. “I must confess that my sisters and I practice regularly when it is too rainy outside to enjoy the day or when we do not otherwise desire doing useful work.”

  “Then I am glad of the rainy season we are having.”

  Looking away, Elizabeth demurred. “I thank you, sir, but I am sure my mother would prefer the use of her morning room.”

  “And have you practiced the waltz?”

  She blinked. “Rarely. There has been no instructor in Meryton so far, so there has been little chance. It is more a dance for the ton and not for us simple folk.”

  He did not respond to her arch tone and a sliver of guilt wormed through her. She glanced up to find his brow drawn low. What did he mean by his question? The waltz… it was a fashionable dance, but not one that had become so popular it had swept through the countryside. The controversy of it repelled the stodgy old women in every town, the ones who prided themselves on preserving the virtue of every young maiden in the county. Fathers likewise agreed after witnessing the dance practiced, disliking the excessive amount of touching required. Naturally, the daughters and sons whose virtues were risked with every twirl were viciously heartbroken to be so restricted.

  Mr. Darcy drew her close then, his hands properly on her waist, his head dipping down as if to whisper in her ear. “’Tis a pity. I practiced it recently.”

  This was a strange turn in conversation. “Yes?”

  “August, in fact. It was a warm night, warmer than tonight.”

  “Oh.” She smiled back at him, endeavoring to conceal her confusion. It was often warmer in August than October. “Then I hope you found it to your satisfaction. Unfortunately, you are unlikely to find it here in Hertfordshire.”

  Mr. Darcy straightened, and they stepped away from one another. She could not decipher the emotion in his gaze, only that he searched for something in her expression, an expression he could not find because the corners of his eyes deepened with a frown.

  “A pity,” he said.

  She danced away, reflecting on Mr. Darcy’s strange fascination with the waltz. What a peculiar man. She had danced the waltz only a few times and counted herself very poor at it. The last and only time she had danced it publicly, she had made a right mess of it and stepped on her partner’s toes.

  She blushed at the memory. The prudish old women who banned the dance from public assemblies were right to do so. It was a dance to perform with a lover. A lover with firm hands that lingered in all the right places. She could not blame the entire night on the champagne—but on those hands and those eyes the color of a thunderstorm.

  “Miss Elizabeth, are you sure we have not met before now? There is something familiar about your… expression I cannot place.”

  Elizabeth’s eyebrows rose. If this was Mr. Darcy’s manner of flirting, then it was an amusing strategy. But there was something underneath his question, a tone she could not identify that ran under his words like a fish just under the water. If her curiosity had been a hunting dog, it would have sat up and sniffed the air.

  “I am positive we have not been introduced,” she said. “But perhaps we have seen one another in passing or on the street, though that would be an extraordinary coincidence!”

  “How so?”

  “I visit my relatives in London at least twice per year, but rarely do we move in society. They are homebodies, you see, and do not enjoy frequent engagements.”

  “Then an extraordinary coincidence it is, for we have met before. I am convinced of it.”

  Elizabeth bit the inside of her cheek, her curiosity itching at her, and her gaze drifted to the side to study Mr. Darcy’s countenance. But the dance involved several couples passing between them and she saw such brief glimpses of his face it forced her to rely more on memory than sight. He was handsome, certainly, with a strong jaw and a brooding brow. Perhaps a cousin of one of her aunt’s friends she had met at one of their salons? But no… she would have remembered his income, if nothing else. The entire assembly had known Mr. Darcy’s annual income within a half hour of his arrival. In a smaller setting, she was confident the whispers would have reached her even sooner. No, she had never met with a person of his considerable income before.

  “Perhaps you could give me a hint of where you have met me before? A memorable encounter it was not, considering your confusion. Perhaps there is another young lady that has a similar profile.”

  Mr. Darcy glanced down at her and she saw admiration and humor in his gaze. “No, I could not believe that.”

  Her cheeks heated, and she glanced away. Her amused smile wavered.

  The dance soon ended and Elizabeth readied herself for the close of this intriguing conversation, clapping for the musicians and dancers with the rest of the room. He is certainly not as boring as I expected!

  “Miss Elizabeth, it has been a pleasure to dance with you again.”

  She laughed. “That assumes we have danced together before, and I am not yet convinced of it, sir!”

  Mr. Darcy’s gaze warmed. “Then I wonder what it will take to convince you, kitten?”

  Elizabeth’s hands froze mid-clap. Her heartbeat thrummed in her mouth, suddenly heavy with saliva as if she would soon be sick. She clasped her arms, suddenly cold in the too warm room.

  And Mr. Darcy just watched and watched.

  She spun, charging through the crowd, desperate for an escape from his eyes. His thunderstorm eyes.

  Chapter Eight

  “—is the matter? Lizzy, you are acting so strange… do I need to call for Mama?”

  Darcy could not make out what she said in reply, but whatever she said did not satisfy the sister—Mary, he thought. She grabbed her sister’s hands and exclaimed, “Goodness, you are shaking!”

  An uneasy laugh. No one else passing through the entrance hall took note of the women as they came and went for refreshments and their coats to end a long night, but she glanced around warily. “It is merely… I merely need a rest. Perhaps you will understand when you are an old wom
an like me!”

  Mary’s expression did not lose its concern, but Elizabeth only had to spend a few more minutes convincing her sister to let her rest. Darcy stood to the side, out of immediate sight of the sisters. He waited until Mary walked past back into the assembly room proper, her thin lips turned into a frown, before he approached her sister.

  “Miss Elizabeth.”

  Elizabeth spun around so quickly that she nearly tripped over her skirt. Her eyes shimmered with tears.

  “Oh,” he murmured. “No, I did not mean to upset you.”

  Elizabeth turned away from him and lifted a hand to her nose, squeezing the bridge of her nose. Darcy remained silent. He had truly not meant to upset her. It had seemed a sly, witty way to surprise her with the news—obviously, the surprise was not a wanted one.

  Perhaps it is only me who has looked back fondly on our liaison. She seemed perfectly happy to forget the memory.

  Those dark green eyes no longer gazed up at him with admiration and timid desire. No, now her gaze communicated just how fiercely she wished they had never met a second time.

  “Why did you come here? To speak about my foolishness and shame me? My family has no money to repay you for your silence, if that is why you came to Hertfordshire.”

  Darcy stiffened. “I would never—”

  But why would she think otherwise when I have stupidly revealed myself to her in such a teasing manner? Why else would I target her with my attention all evening?

  Elizabeth did not attempt to listen. “You may as well continue with your plan and return to town well satisfied with my ruination, Mr. Darcy. There is nothing else here for you.”

  “You mistake me, madam. That has not been my intention tonight—nor would it be a benefit to my image to do such a cowardly act.”

  Elizabeth straightened, her hands balled into fists at her sides. “Then explain your intention, sir, because I find myself taken aback by your abrupt appearance.”

  Flustered, Darcy glanced around the hall. “There are many people here tonight, Elizabeth. Perhaps we can save this conversation for another time?”

  Her glare hardened. “There is no better time, Mr. Darcy.”

  Darcy sensed the tide turning against him and scrambled to find a way out of the rising waves. Would he need to plead with the woman? Good God.

  “I did not come here intending to find you. That has been only a pleasant surprise.”

  “It surprised you to find me in a small assembly in Hertfordshire, more than a half day’s journey from London? The odds are extraordinary for it to be an innocent coincidence.”

  “To find you in a small assembly in Meryton, a half day’s journey from London, a neighbor to my dear friend, Mr. Bingley… yes, I would count that as an extraordinary coincidence. It was certainly not premeditated.”

  Her set jaw, the flush along her skin, and even the narrowing of her eyes spoke to Darcy. Combined, it told him to step cautiously or else he might lose a foot.

  He glanced around, but there was no one close enough to overhear their conversation. He took the risk. “A pleasant coincidence, on my part. We did not have ample time to say our goodbyes the last we met.”

  Derision quickly squashed her shock at his remark. Despite her shorter stature, she looked up at him as if he were the size of a bug. “So that is what you want from me since I do not have the funds to silence you.”

  “No!” Darcy said, the outcry making several nearby attendees startle and look their way. Feeling as if he only had seconds before this conversation turned on its head again, he continued in a rush. “I do not intend to force you into anything. On my honor, our secret will remain between us.”

  Why had he approached her in the first place? Because she appeared so similar to the bewitching woman at the masquerade? Because he had spent the rest of the season searching for her in every parlor, in every ballroom? He had even risked another masquerade, but with no luck in finding the mysterious woman with dark green eyes and the mischievous smile.

  He had searched for her in every face, in every salon, in every walk down the street. Yet, he found her amid a small assembly full of unself-conscious country airs in Hertfordshire, a half-day’s ride away from civilization. A jewel in the stables.

  And as angry as any wild stallion.

  “I swear to you, Miss Elizabeth,” he said. “You will find no ulterior motive from me.”

  Although, since it was your pleasing figure that alerted me to your identity tonight, I would not say no to another chance of memorizing it.

  Her mouth, twisted unattractively as she stared at him, relaxed. But her eyes remained wary.

  “Fine,” she said. “Then I expect no more… mentions of that night, sir, and complete silence on our acquaintance with one another.”

  He considered this a woeful prospect. He was certain that the only reason the interaction lingered so strongly in his memory was because of her abrupt departure. If he could understand why she would give a stranger such a precious gift, and with no incentive otherwise, then perhaps she would fade from his mind. But the question irritated him nearly daily, and it rankled to have her in front of him, close enough he could shake her, and yet unable to discuss the matter with her.

  But he would do as he must.

  “If those terms will make you trust my word, then I agree,” he said with a small bow. He held her gaze and watched her shuffle back uncertainly, looking away.

  “Very well,” she said. She cleared her throat. Her gaze landed everywhere except on him. “Good night, Mr. Darcy.”

  “Though, perhaps, you might share in a refreshment with me.”

  She froze and her gaze darted to meet his. “That would not be wise.”

  “Has anything between us been inspired by rational thought?”

  At this, the sternness faded from her expression a little, replaced by a slight smile. “This is true. But should we indulge in irrational thought again?”

  “With you? I could not resist.”

  At her blush, he rewarded himself by turning and offering his arm. “May I escort you back into the hall?”

  “That would truly not be wise.” She paused, her teeth torturing her bottom lip. “But I would not object if we met beside the punch bowl in a few minutes, by happenstance.”

  He watched her leave, gratified by a job well done. Darcy had not lied to Elizabeth. He could feel the crimson flames of Hell on his skin, but he would never regret indulging himself with her. And he would do it again if he saw the chance. One flutter of her eyelashes, one knowing smile would be all it took. His innocent little kitten had unknowingly wrapped him up in her ribbon.

  The next time they met after the assembly was in the parlor of Lucas Lodge. Darcy had spent the past few weeks avoiding Caroline Bingley’s far-fetched assumptions concerning marriage to a fair country maiden—said in the tones of one barely concealing horrified laughter. Elizabeth Bennet did not have the connection or status he looked for in a union. However, he made pointed comments enough to irritate Miss Bingley into jealous remarks every time someone brought the Bennet family up in polite conversation. Darcy was glad to escape the privacy of Netherfield for Lucas Lodge, even if the company was dull and irksome.

  Except for Elizabeth, naturally. He kept a close eye upon her during the afternoon, listening to her conversations, and watching her reactions to him with some concern. He thought after the Meryton assembly she would be more receptive to his attention. She had blushed beautifully all that night when she had caught his attention fixated upon her. However, today she spared no particular attention for him. Her smiles were brief and polite. When her eyes flashed, they flashed with laughter at the conversation of her neighbors. She endured his attention with genuine ignorance.

  Her close friend, Charlotte Lucas, clung fixedly to Elizabeth’s side, giving Darcy no chance to break Elizabeth’s frustrating disregard. Therefore, Darcy was forced to mingle with the residents of Hertfordshire privileged enough to receive an invitation to Lucas Lodge.


  “I hardly know how you can stand the small talk.”

  Darcy lifted his glass of wine in answer to Miss Bingley’s comment. “I assume it is the same as you do. Perhaps you should play, if you are bored.”

  “One of the many Bennet daughters has taken over the pianoforte the entire evening.” Miss Bingley curled her lip at this breach in etiquette. “You know, I am coming to doubt the wisdom of anyone who recommends country living. It is exceedingly tiresome when one cannot tell the neighbors from the livestock they tend.”

  “Yes, the country has become tiresome,” he said, his gaze following Elizabeth as she walked with Charlotte Lucas around the room, her eyes bright with mischief.

  “I am happy that you agree, Mr. Darcy. It gives me great relief for I once believed you to be partial to Meryton—or at least one pleasant dancer, as you described her.”

  Darcy pretended to not hear the acid in her tone.

  Miss Bingley continued with renewed enthusiasm, taking his silence as consent. “I adore her older sister, and Miss Eliza is quite the charming young lady, but there is something missing to her character. A certain elegance in her manner that a proper education could have corrected. But that would have been impossible here… and with no governess. Oh, but she is a darling girl and I do not blame her for her circumstances one bit—”

  Her sickly sweet tone should have sealed her lips shut. Alas, her open criticism and false concern continued unabated. Darcy made his mouth curve into a smile, but there was a decided lack of warmth to it. Elizabeth Bennet, the daughter to a landed gentleman, would undoubtedly have little in the way of personal income once her father passed. From the way Miss Bingley described it—she more willing to listen to neighborhood gossip than Darcy was—the estate was entailed away to a male heir. She was more or less a penniless gentlewoman and entirely unsuitable for Darcy. His breeding, society’s expectations, and even his ancestors demanded someone if not equal in estate, then possessing fine qualities and impeccable recommendations.