Page 14 of Love Drunk for Mr Darcy

"My dear Darcy, your aunt has been so occupied arranging Anne’s marriage to you that she has failed to notice Anne and I making plans right under her nose."

Darcy felt a reluctant smile pull at his mouth. "This explains a great deal, cousin. And I wish you both every joy. It will make my heart glad to see her out from under the influence of the old dragon downstairs."

Fitzwilliam laughed, the open, gregarious sound distracting Darcy from his own romantic misfortunes for a moment. "That may be the least Darcy-like thing I have ever heard you say. If this is the influence of the lovely Miss Elizabeth, then I advise you to do whatever is necessary to secure her. How do you feel about a double wedding?"

Darcy ignored that. "What do you require from me?"

Fitzwilliam’s grin returned. "Only that you appear appropriately concerned when Anne injures herself, then allow another partner to take her place before she recovers." He smirked at his cousin, though Darcy did not acknowledge the knowing look. "I’m sure we can find someone suitable if we look very, very hard."

"Very well, I shall aid your cause."

Fitzwilliam rose and straightened his coat. "Cousin, have I ever told you that you are the very best of men?"

"Not often enough," Darcy grumbled as they left the room together.

✽✽✽

Darcy stood in the grand entrance hall of Rosings and was overwhelmed by the effusion of decoration. Flowers covered every conceivable surface, column and balustrade, while gold ribbon had been deployed in such quantities that it felt like being trapped inside a wedding cake. His aunt stood at the head of the receiving line, her back ramrod straight and her expression that of a ruling empress awaiting tribute from her subjects. Anne was at her side, dressed in a soft blue gown more flattering than any Darcy had ever seen her wear. The colour brought warmth to her pale complexion, and her golden hair had been arranged more softly than usual, with a few delicate curls framing her face. She looked truly lovely.

Fitzwilliam appeared to think so too. He caught his betrothed’s eye from his place beside Darcy and offered her a broad smile. Anne received it with a warmth that transformed her whole face before she turned to greet the next arrivals. Darcy wondered how his aunt had remained blind to them for this long, though he supposed he had been similarly blinkered. People saw what they expected to see. Had that not been one of the reasons for his disastrous proposal? He had mistaken Elizabeth’s lively manner for a regard she had never felt. In truth, she had thought him proud and quite possibly the worst man in England. He closed his eyes and shook his head, trying to dispel the vision of Elizabeth’s flashing eyes as she refused him in no uncertain terms.

The neighbourhood had begun to arrive in earnest. Carriages rolled one after another beneath the portico, depositing ladies in fine gowns of every colour who entered chattering eagerly, delighted by the rare opportunity to see inside Rosings after dark. Gentlemen bowed over Lady Catherine’s hand while she received their compliments as no more than her due. Voices and music swelled around Darcy until the grand hall seemed to press in on him from every side. He was suddenly far too hot.

He moved through the crowd, attempting to maintain an impassive expression, and offering the sort of polite nod that did not invite further conversation, but his attention returned again and again to the open doors. Each time a carriage drew up, his heart lifted with humiliating eagerness. Each time another family entered, it sank again. What if she did not come? It was quite possible she had not believed a word of his letter and her heart had hardened against him. She may have left the county entirely. The possibility had occurred to him repeatedly during the past week, though he had tried not to dwell upon it.

"She will not arrive any sooner because you glare at the entrance," Fitzwilliam murmured beside him.

"I am doing no such thing."

"No, of course not. You are having a splendid time among our aunt’s guests and have not spent the past ten minutes attempting to drag Miss Bennet’s carriage up the drive by force of will."

Before he could make a response, a footman stepped forwards and announced Mr and Mrs Collins. Then, as time seemed to slow around him, Elizabeth.

Darcy’s heart struck hard against his ribs. Mr Collins entered first in a coat which was too tight across the stomach, his hair slicked back with some sort of greasy substance that gave him an oily appearance. He wore an expression of unbridled delight on his face. He bowed deeply while he was still some feet from Lady Catherine in such a way that Darcy feared he might lose his balance as he advanced while bent almost double. Mrs Collins followed her husband sedately, composed and sensibly dressed in a modest gown of dark green.

Elizabeth entered behind her, and Darcy’s heart seemed to stop altogether. She wore a gown of rich amber which caught the candlelight and made her skin—always a little sunkissed from her love of walking—glow. A little gold embroidery edged the neckline, drawing his attention to the curve of her figure despite every effort at restraint, while the short sleeves revealed the elegant line of her arms above pale gloves. Her dark hair had been gathered loosely at the crown with a gold comb, though several curls had escaped to rest against her temples and the graceful column of her neck. She wore no jewellery other than her simple garnet cross and Darcy thought it looked finer than the most ornate diamond or emerald creations ever could.

For a few blessed seconds, he forgot his proposal and the misery that had marked the past week. He could only stare at the woman he loved, and wonder how he had ever believed himself capable of leaving Kent without seeing her again.

Then Elizabeth looked up and found him watching her. She had been smiling at something Mrs Collins said, but the amusement faded quickly when she noticed him. She stopped just inside the doors and drew in a slow breath, as though the sight of him had unsettled her too. Her gaze moved over his face and remained there. He saw uncertainty, but none of the anger he had feared. Could it be that her feelings had softened? The first fragile stirrings of hope took hold, despite telling himself firmly that he had no right to expect anything from her.

Fitzwilliam touched his elbow. "Close your mouth, cousin."

Darcy looked at him with a slightly dazed expression. He had forgotten he was there.

"You looked on the verge of catching flies."

"I did not," Darcy muttered.

"You did. Fortunately, the lovely Miss Bennet appeared too occupied staring back to notice."

Darcy refused to answer that. Across the hall, Elizabeth had reached Lady Catherine and was making her curtsey. His aunt said something which made Mrs Collins’ expression tighten, while Elizabeth’s lips quirked with a faint hint of amusement. Whatever reply she gave caused Anne to look down quickly, hiding a smile.

The musicians struck a bright chord from the ballroom, and Lady Catherine immediately began directing her guests through the open double doors. She had arranged the room with the same restraint she had shown elsewhere. Great urns of hothouse flowers stood between the windows, more gold ribbon looped between the sconces and hundreds of candles blazed in chandeliers overhead. The room shone so brightly that Darcy suspected the glow was visible from the London Road. The polished floor shone beneath them, reflecting silk skirts and the white-stockinged legs of the gentlemen as the company moved into place.

Darcy allowed himself to be carried with the crowd, his eyes never moving from Elizabeth, who remained on the opposite side of the room beside Mrs Collins and Anne talking quietly. She did not look towards him again.

He told himself this was for the best. He had promised himself he would not impose upon her. He would not pursue her around the ballroom demanding reassurance or attempt to turn one softened glance into something it was not. She had read his letter and now knew the truth. Anything further must be left to her.