The Remarkable Miss Darcy

by Jennifer Joy

  He bowed, "Good evening to you, Miss Bennet." With another bow to Georgiana, he added, "Miss Darcy."

  Georgiana tried not to look smug. Mr. Nelson had not been fooled for a second.

  "I thought I was more convincing than that," Lydia huffed.

  Mr. Nelson's eyebrows pulled together. "I am sorry I did not react as you meant me to. Perhaps, if I understood your game, I might do better at your next attempt."

  Lydia lowered her heels to the floor. Tsking her tongue at Mr. Nelson, she owned, "I see I cannot deceive you, and so I will turn my attention elsewhere." Whispering quickly into Georgiana's ear, she said, "I swear I will not do anything you would not do, Georgie. I will behave so prim and proper, nobody would believe I was not you. Now is your chance! Encourage him!"

  For Mr. Nelson's benefit, she added in a louder voice, "I admit I am enjoying myself immensely. When I am not so busy creating gossip for the old biddies, I have a chance to hear some of it."

  And just like that, Lydia disappeared into a gaggle of ladies strolling by. Mrs. Wiggins dutifully followed, leaving Georgiana as alone with Mr. Nelson as two people could be in a crowded ballroom.

  Chapter 10

  Michael had received a message earlier the same day from Nathan. Business called him out of town, and he gave no estimation as to his return. Michael hoped Nathan's business would keep his mind too occupied to linger on painful memories. Nothing good ever came from dwelling on the past (or from worrying excessively, as Michael knew himself capable of doing) over affairs one had little enough power to change or improve.

  After two days of active avoidance, in which he dared not venture near Darcy House, Michael was in such an ill-humor he found himself in the astounding position of being unable to endure his own company.

  The chambers would not have him back yet, and they were so proud of themselves for putting his welfare ahead of their own, Michael could not correct them.

  If he had to spend one more evening alone in his apartment, he feared he would go mad.

  It was not until he saw the pile of neglected invitations laying against his coffee pot on the table that he remembered he ought to have gone to the tailor. But that was not the sort of company he sought.

  The company he craved was too precious to put at risk, and Michael did not feel it just to inflict his poor tailor with his present mood.

  When he opened the invitation for the masked ball, it seemed like a perfect compromise. Miss Darcy would not likely be there, and he could hardly be putting her at any risk if he were to chance upon her at such a large gathering where anyone could be anything.

  And she stood before him now, wearing an outrageously bold mask. The attention-seeking plumes contradicted her unassuming character, but she did not wilt in self-consciousness. She donned the impressive arrangement with a confidence that fanned the flames of his curiosity and admiration.

  "There is an appalling lack of curtains in the ballroom," Michael teased once Miss Bennet had departed with a dutiful (and awake) Mrs. Wiggins trailing behind her.

  He offered Miss Darcy his arm, and his temperament lightened with the touch of her gloved hand.

  "I had noticed," she said. "However, given the height of my costume, I do not think even curtains would conceal me tonight." She fingered a protruding feather, adding emphasis to her point.

  Michael laughed, pleased with Miss Darcy's ability to laugh at herself. She did not take herself too seriously.

  It was difficult to hear over the buzz of the crowd, so he led her toward the gardens. "I admit to a great curiosity regarding your choice of mask. I never would have guessed you would choose such a … striking … headdress," he said.

  Miss Darcy sighed. "Sometimes the price of friendship is rather steep."

  So the headdress had not been her idea. His interest was piqued. "I should love to hear how that came about if you wish to tell it." Please do, he thought while she considered.

  Another sigh. Then finally, "I might as well. Were it not for Miss Bennet, I daresay I would not have come here at all tonight. However, one does what one can to add to others' happiness … even at the cost of one's comfort."

  "One does," Michael agreed wholeheartedly, hoping she would continue.

  "Then you understand my predicament. After so much exertion encouraging her spirits, you can imagine my reaction when Miss Bennet was saddened to see, on our way here, more than a few other ladies wearing the same mask. Unwilling to allow the coincidence to spoil her evening, I offered to swap with her. I should not have regretted it were nothing more than my own comfort affected, but as you experienced, she seized on the opportunity to switch identities entirely."

  "That explains her disappointment when I recognized you."

  "You did," she said softly.

  The gentleness in her tone warmed his cheeks.

  Another sensation, one that had him straightening his posture and holding the arm she held further out from his side, made him look over his shoulder. Mr. Darcy's steely gaze cooled Michael's complexion like a blast of frigid air.

  Right. He must not forget his place. Miss Darcy was kindness personified, and he would not flatter himself by adding more meaning to her words than she, in fact, spoke.

  Michael cleared his throat and returned the conversation to Miss Bennet. "Surely she does not expect anyone of your acquaintance to be fooled by her act."

  "That will not keep her from trying," Miss Darcy said with a smile, turning to face the ballroom once they reached the balustrade separating them from the dark gardens below.

  There was no vanity or jealousy in Miss Darcy's tone, and she bore the discomfort of which she spoke elegantly.

  Clearing his throat again, Michael acknowledged, "Yes, Miss Bennet does seem like the sort of lady to make the best of any situation." Would Miss Darcy resent his praise of another? Most ladies would.

  "It is what I love most about her," Miss Darcy said, her eyes softening as they searched the crowd for her friend.

  The glow of sincere affection flattered her fair features more than the hundreds of candles casting their light from the ballroom chandeliers. Miss Darcy was as beautiful inside as she was in appearance.

  Oh dear.

  Michael felt himself in danger. He looked through the doors hoping to see Mr. Darcy's stern stare fixed on him. That would interrupt the warmth spreading over Michael like liquid honey. Delicious and dangerous. He was powerless to resist her, his desire to know more about the fascinating woman as intense as the bright moon in the cloudless sky bathing them in its brilliance.

  "Remarkable," he muttered.

  "How two complete opposites should be the best of friends? My brother would agree with you, Mr. Nelson," she said.

  That was not at all what he had meant with his comment, but he had no right to encourage affection when he had determined to keep his distance from the Darcys. After tonight. He had not seen the man with the scar since his call, and it was unlikely such a man would attempt to gain entry into an event where his presence would not be tolerated.

  Just a couple more minutes. Just one more question. Just one more detail he could ponder after they parted ways.

  Pointing at her fingers, Michael said, "I imagine Miss Bennet inspires you with many stories. Do you write them?"

  Miss Darcy's eyes widened, and she looked around nervously. Had there been more light to see with, Michael was certain he would have seen the color drain from her complexion.

  Dropping her voice, she asked, "How did you know?"

  He could not have imagined her strong reaction at his simple observation. Unwittingly, he had touched on a sore subject, and since he could not unsay the words which had caused her distress, he could at least attempt to console her. "It is imperative in my profession to notice things. I could not help but observe how your fingers were stained with ink when I last called at Darcy House. And though you had scrubbed your fingers admirably, I noticed a trace of ink lingering under a fingernail where it is most difficult to remove t
he evidence of one who writes a great deal. More than merely letters to friends…" His sentence trailed off as Miss Darcy's distress increased.

  What a brute! He spoke of evidence as if she were a criminal. Think, man, think!

  She twisted her hands together and nibbled on her lips, avoiding his direct gaze.

  He tried again. Anything to ease her anxiety. "Of course, I am often wrong as I am certain to be in your case."

  Smoothing her hands over her skirt, Miss Darcy straightened her shoulders and locked eyes with him. "You are right. I am only ashamed I have not allowed myself to admit to it. While I do write a great many letters, I am also an authoress." She held her breath and her firm gaze.

  Miss Darcy had entrusted him with something precious to her, and he would not give her cause to lament her admission.

  He said, "Writers are keen observers of human nature. I would say you are well-suited to it."

  She exhaled, carefully weighing her words as she added, "I enjoy chronicling the adventures that have befallen my family in recent years."

  What adventures could possibly befall a family of the highest circles? "Adventures befallen? What an odd pairing of words," Michael said, regretting how his phrasing might imply anything less than literary perfection from the wordsmith confiding in him. He did not have to read her work to know she possessed great talent. Everything Miss Darcy did was certain to be exceptional.

  She dropped her voice, reeling Michael in and increasing his suspense with her caution. "Of the greatest sort. Murder, deception, house fires, threats, betrayal, pugilism, drugged tea, kidnapping…" Miss Darcy's reserved nature melted away with every dangerous scenario crossing her rosebud lips.

  Michael swallowed hard, pulling his gaze away from her tantalizing mouth and up to her eyes. Two summer-blue orbs sparkled with excitement — an enthusiasm directed exclusively at him. She trusted him with her secret. He gripped the balustrade for fear of floating away on a cloud of elation.

  Where was Mr. Darcy? Michael looked through the windows and opened doors, but there was no glare to weigh down his feet and return him to reality.

  In conclusion, she said, "Perhaps I shall let you read them some day."

  Michael pressed his hand against his heart. It was doing strange things in his chest. "There is nothing I would like more. It promises to be a gripping collection of stories."

  Her eyelashes fluttered, and she looked down at her hands again. "I hope it is as absorbing to read as it was to write. It will have to last, as I have had very little about which to write lately … much to the consternation of my publisher. I cannot seem to convince him that all adventures eventually come to an end."

  Michael would do anything to restore Miss Darcy's daring liveliness. "That is only true in a novel. In reality, the adventure continues for the duration of our lifetime."

  "Life is not so adventuresome for a lady, I fear," she said, adding quickly, "Although I cannot complain when I have had more than my fair share of excitement."

  She was too young to content herself with decades of uneventful resignation. "You should listen in at court. In the course of one day, you could hear such stories to inspire and break your heart, to crush your spirits with the cruelty of men and raise them up again when their kindness restores your faith in humanity." Michael fanned the spark he had witnessed, trying to reignite the fire within her before they turned to ash and suffocated her soul.

  She tilted her chin. "Is that why you became a barrister?"

  Michael chuckled. "Aside from necessity?" He did not need to pretend around Miss Darcy, nor would he give himself airs.

  "There are other professions a gentleman can pursue," she commented.

  She wanted a real answer, so Michael gave her one. "It is my passion."

  When she leaned forward, her eyes ablaze, thirsty for more, he continued, "When I was a boy, I accompanied my father to the courts. He had an interest in a case in which he stood to inherit a small sum of money. Nothing became of it, but that was the day I saw William Garrow."

  "I have heard of him," Miss Darcy said. "Did he not proclaim every man to be innocent until he is proved otherwise?"

  Miss Darcy knew of William Garrow? It was a first for Michael, whose mention of the great man was more often met with blank stares. Her interest spurred his enthusiasm. His memories carried him back to the courtroom, his body tingling with excitement as it had that glorious day. "That was he. It was amazing to observe how he defended the poor unceasingly until his retirement, sometimes appearing in upwards of twenty trials in a day. He helped many people, building such a legacy as to continue to benefit thousands."

  "And he inspired you to do the same?" she asked.

  Michael looked at Miss Darcy intently. This was the point in which his views differed from the majority. "Is it not our privilege to help others when they are in need?"

  Without hesitation, she replied, "I have always believed so. If a lady is motivated by love for her fellow man, it will always be a privilege. Not a duty to be performed begrudgingly. That kind of help, often more kindly referred to as charity, discourages the proud from accepting assistance when it is most needed and so is not helpful at all."

  Her insight moved Michael to ask more. "Do you believe there is good in everyone?" He believed it with his whole heart.

  Slowly, she replied, "I once believed so, but I have since met individuals who have put my belief in the good of humanity to test. While I will own that most people are inherently good, experience has taught me there are also a few who dedicate their lives to their own pleasure."

  Michael, too, had met such people. However, he was convinced they were the ones who needed the most support.

  Miss Darcy's voice trembled ever so slightly when she added, "Their selfishness causes them to hurt others without conscience if they stand to gain from them."

  The melancholy in her semblance, the hurt in her tone cut Michael's argument at the knees. By her own admittance, she spoke from experience. She knew what it was like to suffer at the hand of another, and the conviction in her words had the power to alter Michael's previously held view.

  Her sadness made him angry. Had it been someone in her family? A first love? While Michael did not like the idea, it was impossible for him to trust that a beautiful, young lady such as Miss Darcy could avoid the advances of the hordes of young men seeking her attention completely. They would be fools not to take notice of her.

  And yet, she was not broken. She shed no tears. There was a firmness in her pointy chin that bespoke a strength of character Michael was only now beginning to appreciate. From the depths of his soul, he said, "I hope the individual was brought to justice."

  "Death is the ultimate judge," she said. "He is gone and can do no further harm to me or anyone else. But, please, let us not speak of those who refuse to change their ways when we can speak of those who are eager to become the best versions of themselves."

  Michael would rather see Miss Darcy smile, and so he was eager to take her suggestion. "Very well. I know of such a family." He told her of the Porters and their hard-earned good fortune. Theirs was a happy story indeed.

  She plied him with questions, showing genuine interest in a poor family she had never met, nor was it likely she would ever meet.

  Michael made it a point to provoke Miss Darcy's smile, taking delight in their conversation until they had spoken longer than they should have.

  Chapter 11

  Georgiana could have spent hours conversing with Mr. Nelson, but it was time to bring their discussion to a close. William's persistent glares at Michael had not been lost on her.

  Elizabeth appeared on the balcony, looking from side to side as if she had lost something. Georgiana was certain it was William's doing. Very well. She had been out on the balcony for longer than she ought to have been, and she appreciated Elizabeth's clever way of conveying William's concern.

  Georgiana raised her hand to announce her presence and leave Mr. Nelson to rejoin her family …
when she saw Mrs. Wiggins behind Elizabeth, looking about anxiously.

  Strange. Strange enough to give rise to unease.

  "I wonder what has happened," Georgiana said, lowering her hand.

  She and Mr. Nelson crossed the balcony to Elizabeth, who greeted them with a question, "Do you know where Lydia is? We cannot seem to find her."

  Georgiana felt guilty. She ought not to have allowed herself to get distracted from Lydia. "She would not be content listening to gossip all night, watching others have fun. She is probably dancing," she suggested.

  Scanning over the crowd within her view, Georgiana was certain she would see Lydia laughing in the center of a group.

  Elizabeth fiddled with her necklace. "Of course, you are right. I simply did not see her and only need to look harder. I apologize for disturbing you."

  Mr. Nelson took a step toward the ballroom, his full attention already fixed on the clusters of people gathered near the French doors. "Allow me to assist you."

  "Thank you, Mr. Nelson. We will find her in no time at all, and I shall scold her for giving Mrs. Wiggins the slip," Elizabeth said with a laugh Georgiana knew to be forced.

  An hour went by, and the conviction Georgiana had held of finding Lydia now cracked under brittle uncertainty. Lydia was nowhere to be seen.

  The housekeeper joined them in their search, looking into the rooms a young lady might have slipped into.

  Elizabeth teased about Lydia's schemes. "No doubt, she is trying to compromise some poor fool into marrying her," she said.

  But Georgiana heard the concern in her tone.

  At this point, Georgiana hoped that was all that had happened. Lydia did not easily blend into a crowd — except for tonight. What a bother she chose that evening to act contrary to her nature!

  She approached friends and acquaintances, discreetly inquiring if they had seen Lydia recently.