Page 93 of The Matchmaker’s Mistake

In the carriage her aunt said only, “You are quiet, Lizzy.”

“I am thinking about the music.”

Aunt Gardiner did not appear satisfied with this answer, but she did not press further, and Elizabeth was grateful for it. She could not have explained, not without confessing to feelings that she would rather keep to herself. She had been pleased by Mr. Darcy’s nearness and gratified by his concern for his sister, by his careful questions, by the cup of tea. She had allowed each small kindness to mean something more than the act itself.

She was being foolish.

Mr. Darcy had not promised her anything. He had not even hinted at anything. He had been civil, attentive, sorry for the pain he had once caused her. That was all. Lady Anne had seen her son more clearly than Elizabeth, and she had chosen Miss Finch.

Elizabeth turned her face towards the dark window.

It did not matter what she felt, and she told herself as much. Lady Anne had chosen a bride for Mr. Darcy.

But it was not Elizabeth.

CHAPTER 23

By Monday the rumours were considerably more difficult to ignore.

At Brooks’s, where three newspapers and one pot of tepid coffee had produced no interesting news whatsoever, Darcy listened while Milton and Richard discussed the latest versions.

“On Saturday, Aldridge was only expected to make an offer when he returned,” Milton said, eyeing his coffee with suspicion. “By Sunday, the settlements were already being discussed. This morning, he is apparently to be married by special licence before Lady Day, though why he would need one or how he would even obtain one remain a mystery.”

The man had been out of town five days and had accomplished more by rumour than most men could have done in person.

“You will observe,” Richard said, casting a glance at Darcy, “that no one has yet troubled themselves to discover the bride’s identity.”

And that was the source of Darcy’s unease. If he knew, he could act. He could speak, or stand aside, or at least decide what he ought to feel. But he did not know.

At the next table, one gentleman was already relating the Lady Day version to a friend, though he added that a house was being taken in Berkeley Square.

“Grosvenor Square,” the friend said. “I had it as Grosvenor Square.”

“Then you had it wrong.”

“I had it from Forsythe.”

“Forsythe has never once had anything right, including his own age,” said the first gentleman.

“The lady is fortunate,” Milton observed, “whoever she is. She is to be married in three distinct counties at four different churches. Most ladies must content themselves with one of each.”

Darcy sat with his undrinkable coffee and reminded himself that none of this mattered. Aldridge may or may not have uttered one careless sentence at Boodle’s before leaving for Berkshire. That was all that could be established.

But Darcy knew better than most that society needed no evidence of anything before beginning its gossip. Lady Anne Darcy had introduced Aldridge to a young lady upon whom he had called more than once. The last call had been the day before he left town. That was more than enough; the ton could do that sum in its sleep.

So could Darcy.

“You are very quiet,” Milton said.

“I am always quiet.”

“Not always.” Milton set down his cup. “You take no view of the Aldridge business?”

“I take the view that a man’s private affairs ought not be speculated upon. When he returns, his actions will lay the matter to rest one way or the other.”

“There,” Richard said, leaning back in his chair. “You have your headline for the afternoon edition. ‘Darcy Disapproves.’”

“No one will buy it,” Milton said, “for it is not news. Darcy disapproves of everything.”