Chapter 34

CHAPTER 34

E lizabeth sucked in her breath and lifted her chin, forcing herself to smile. Not one person besides Mr. Collins had asked her to dance. Not even her father! He was too busy glaring at Mr. Darcy and tearing up notes to notice how none of their neighbors approached. Around them, people whispered and laughed, but the moment she neared a group, they dispersed. After a few attempts, she remained at her father’s side. There, at least, she was not entirely alone.

As two dances passed, and a third was about to begin, Elizabeth’s bravado was wearing thin.

Her eyes had blurred too much for her to notice Colonel Fitzwilliam approach until he stood directly before her and bowed with his hand extended. “Might I have the honor of this dance?” he asked.

She took his hand eagerly. “Yes!” Her father could not object to the colonel. He had nothing to do with his precious painting .

Colonel Fitzwilliam patted her hand protectively, leaning closer to her as they walked to the end of the lined dancers. “Poor Darcy. He wishes it were him standing here with you, but families must take care of their own.”

Elizabeth’s heart soared. Mr. Darcy wanted to dance with her! Feeling much improved, she noticed him dancing once again with his sister when the colonel had yet to dance with her, a detail the circumstances allowed Elizabeth to notice. She teased, “You do not feel the same responsibility?”

He shrugged and chuckled. “I looked forward to dancing with Georgie. She, however, threatened me with my own sword if I did not ask you in her stead.”

Elizabeth laughed. “I do not know if I ought to feel the compliment of having such kind-hearted friends to save me from my predicament or if I should take offense that it took such a threat to get you to dance with me.”

His smile faded. “I do not know what has happened, but I wish for you to know that it is a pleasure for me to dance with you, not an obligation. Any gentleman worth the word would feel the same.”

“Thank you, Colonel.” Her voice cracked. The evening had been dreadful, but Mr. Darcy’s thoughtfulness and Colonel Fitzwilliam’s gesture made it bearable.

He bowed, and they fell into step with the rest. “I am delighted to oblige.”

Feeling the need for more levity, she brought up a subject she had long been meaning to inquire about. “You mentioned your sword. I sense there is a story there, and I would love to hear it if you are inclined to continue obliging me.”

He grinned. “Are you certain? Darcy teases me relentlessly about Connie.”

“Any sword with such a name must have a story worth telling.”

Over the next few minutes, she was glad she had asked about the scimitar. Not only did the colonel tell her about its origins aboard a pirate ship, but he regaled her with tales of how Constance had come to his aid over the years, including how he had scared off a band of thieves at Seven Dials shortly before he and Mr. Darcy arrived at Netherfield Park. To hear that Mr. Darcy had ventured into such a place dressed as a dockworker doused in rum to retrieve the Rembrandt filled her with as much alarm as it did mirth.

“I would have liked to see that,” she said.

“Aye, he was a sight! Although you did see the remnants of our excursion.” He brushed his eye and winked.

“Of course! His bruised eye was from the street brawl!” How exciting and how utterly terrifying! Elizabeth would have loved to see Mr. Darcy fending off the dozen scrappy fighters Colonel Fitzwilliam detailed to her―a slight exaggeration in number, she suspected. However, she was equally inclined to march over to Mr. Darcy and insist that he never do something so dangerous ever again .

So much did she enjoy herself that she hardly knew the music had changed into another dance until Mr. Darcy tapped on his cousin’s shoulder. Elizabeth was elated to have him near, but her father was undoubtedly on his way to remove her from his company. She met his gaze boldly, drinking in every detail of his face, knowing she would soon be pulled away from him.

The colonel jabbed him in the ribs. “I told Miss Elizabeth about our little adventure at Seven Dials.”

Mr. Darcy’s eyes caressed Elizabeth’s skin, sending a shiver all the way to her toes. The gentleness in his voice made her heart melt. “I apologize for not dancing with you sooner. I had to request permission from your father.”

“He agreed to speak to you?” She looked at where her father had been standing. He was not there.

“It was a process. He refused more times than I care to admit to, but he finally relented.”

What Mr. Darcy must have promised to get her father to agree, Elizabeth could not imagine, but she was thankful. The lengths he had gone to in order to secure this dance meant everything to her.

“I told her about the twenty ruffians who attacked us, and how Connie saved our lives.”

Elizabeth grinned, her eyes still locked with Mr. Darcy’s. “Oh, so there were twenty men now? Will there be fifty next time?”

“There were five,” Mr. Darcy said, taking her hand and tucking it in the crook of his arm.

Elizabeth’s heart soared, and though her slippers had pinched her toes only moments before, she hardly felt her feet touch the floor.

“It is a grand story and therefore must become grander with every telling,” the colonel said jovially, standing aside to allow them to pass.

“Cousin Elizabeth!” Mr. Collins burst like a thundercloud into their path, startlingly loud and dressed in black.

Mr. Darcy pulled her closer, and she clutched his arm tighter. “What is the meaning of this?” he demanded calmly in a tone which did not encourage the curious to listen in.

Mr. Collins, however, only had one volume: loud. The puff in his chest deflated ever so slightly and he huffed and stuttered to form a reply. Bowing deeply, as though he were addressing royalty, he said, “Pray forgive my cousin’s impertinence, Mr. Darcy. As the rector of your esteemed aunt Lady Catherine de Bourgh, I regret that I must inform you of my connection to this young lady when I have only just learned the depths of her depravity.”

Elizabeth gasped. He made her sound like a fallen woman!

Mr. Darcy stiffened. “You would insult your own cousin before an assembly? How dare you, sir!”

The size of the crowd doubled in the room, and yet not a sound could be heard other than their own breath.

She felt ill. Depravity? “Mr. Collins, I do not understand your accusation, but I assure you that I have done nothing worthy of this censure.”

His face reddened. “Then it is not true?”

Mr. Darcy spoke. “Sir, this is neither the time nor the place.”

“Her ladyship will learn of the connection, and she will know that her own nephews had been misled regarding my relatives. Lady Catherine will disapprove.”

Elizabeth did not know this Lady Catherine, but she failed to see how anyone’s disapproval should hold so much influence over another to encourage him to act as Mr. Collins did presently.

“Did you or did you not pretend to be a man so that you could engage in trade?” Mr. Collins blustered.

All the strength and warmth drained out of Elizabeth. She remained standing, but only just. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the shock on her father’s face.

Meanwhile, her uncle made a futile attempt to stop her mother from rushing toward her. “Mr. Collins! Do not give credence to this nonsense! My Lizzy is the daughter of a gentleman. She would never engage in trade or pretend to be anything other than the lady she is.” Mama looked at her, nodding too enthusiastically, urging Elizabeth to agree and laugh off the ridiculous accusation with a witty explanation.

A path parted through the crowd, and Miss Bingley joined Mr. Collins. She looked over the assembly, saying in a sanctimonious tone, “Let us not waste our time on things which only diminish the joy of my guests.”

“B-but—” Mr. Collins’s eyes bulged.

Miss Bingley clapped her hands. “Let us dance! Music, please, sirs,” she directed at the musicians. They lifted their instruments, but after only a few notes where nobody formed to dance, they stopped.

Mama turned to Elizabeth, her eyes watery. “Lizzy? Tell them it is not true!”

Elizabeth removed her hand from Mr. Darcy’s arm. The confusion in his eyes broke her heart. He had held her up, had stood firmly at her side, but she could not allow him to continue supporting her when the accusation was true, and her shame was made public.

“It is true. I have been selling my paintings under a man’s name for several years now.” She left her uncles out of it. The consequences were hers to bear.

Mama’s eyes rolled back into her head, and her legs gave out.

Mr. Darcy caught her. “Is the surgeon here? Someone send for a physician!” He carried Mama toward Papa, who clutched his heart and leaned against a wall, gasping for breath. “Carriage. Get the carriage,” he begged. He was as white as death. Elizabeth ran to him.

Mr. Bingley raced to the entrance hall. “Fetch the Bennets’ carriage immediately, and for God’s sake, find the surgeon!”

“Mr. Jones did not plan to arrive early. He might be at his shop yet.” Elizabeth recognized her uncle Philips’s voice, but she dared not look away from her father until she reached his side. He waved his arm, fending her off, and Elizabeth stopped, stunned.

“I shall fetch him!” offered Mr. Bingley.

Colonel Fitzwilliam brushed past her to assist Papa. “Your daughters are collecting their coats and wraps.”

“Good. Good. We must go home,” Papa gasped.

Elizabeth felt the eyes of the multitude on her. Her cheeks burned and her eyes blurred so much, it was only with Mary’s guidance that she made it out to the carriage without incident. Mama was already inside. Mr. Darcy was gone.

“I shall remain behind with Aunt and Uncle,” Mary said determinately. “I will report everything I see and hear so that we may know how best to respond on the morrow.”

Elizabeth’s chin quivered at her sister’s kindness. “Do you not disapprove of me?”

“Of what use is mercy if I cannot extend it to my own sister? I will do my best to be useful while you take care of Papa and Mama.” With a kiss on Elizabeth’s cheek, Mary turned away from the carriage.

Papa was stunned beyond speech all the way home. The same could not be said of Mama, Kitty, and Lydia, who made their frustrations and anger clear.

Jane spoke little, but what she did say cut Elizabeth to the quick. “How could you keep this secret from us, Lizzy?”

The tears fell freely and plentifully then, increasing when Jane pressed her handkerchief into Elizabeth’s hand.

What did Mr. Darcy think of her now? Things had happened so fast, she had not looked at him, and now she would wonder and doubt.

“Mr. Collins will not want to marry any of you, and what will happen to us then? He was our last hope!” Mama wailed.

The full weight of what had happened overwhelmed Elizabeth. Not only was she a disgrace, but her sisters were ruined.

And it had all been her doing.