Chapter 17

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The ball truly was a compliment to Jane. Miss Bingley has done well , Elizabeth thought, taking in the flowers, the candles, and the chalk on the dance floor that was a special design incorporating Jane and Bingley's initials entwined with vines.

Some part of her was excessively conscious of the two men she wished most to avoid. She walked about a little, dreading any meeting, but fortune was kind. She saw neither of them, though she did see Lord Saye with a shockingly pretty young woman with whom Elizabeth was not acquainted. The elusive Miss Goddard, perhaps?

She crossed paths with them not long thereafter, as the set began to form. An introduction to Miss Goddard revealed her to be as sweet as she was pretty, and Lord Saye to be plainly smitten with her. Elizabeth smiled at that, wondering at how uncomplicated romance was for some people.

"Miss Elizabeth, you are the talk of London," Miss Goddard told her.

"So I hear." Elizabeth decided to treat it humorously and rolled her eyes at the pronouncement.

"There have been bets on my engagement—or lack thereof—for some years now," Miss Goddard confided.

"Bets which I intend to bring to a conclusion very soon," Lord Saye interjected.

"I have already told you I am not going to marry you," she said to him but smiled in such a way that it seemed more encouraging than not.

"We shall see about that," Lord Saye replied airily. "I have some arts remaining which are yet unknown to you."

With that, Miss Goddard gave Elizabeth a roll of her eyes and a mouthed ‘help me' but it all seemed in good humour and she allowed Lord Saye to lead her off soon after.

When the dance began, Elizabeth still had not seen either Colonel Fitzwilliam or Mr Darcy, and she was heartily thankful for that. She danced with Philips, making sure that her mother saw them. Afterwards, relieved to escape, she hurried below stairs to play seamstress for the rest of the night.

Mrs Nicholls had a little room near the kitchen that had a long table and little stools that were ideal for sewing. She seemed scandalised that Elizabeth was missing the ball to sew, saying to her, "Miss Bingley's maid could surely be put to work?"—but Elizabeth refused her, saying Miss Bingley's maid was likely collapsed in exhaustion after tending to her mistress. That made the housekeeper laugh.

"I am not inclined to dance tonight," Elizabeth reassured her. "I was quite looking forward to my evening below stairs."

Mrs Nicholls fussed a bit more, lighting lamps and bringing in a glass of ratafia for Elizabeth to sip while she worked. Soon enough, however, Elizabeth was alone with the gowns, and it suited her very well. Or at least she told herself it suited her. She wondered how different things might have been if Lydia had not said what she said, or if she herself had not lost her temper as she had. "Or if pigs flew and my eyes were blue," she said with a little chuckle. What was the point in regretting what could not be?

Fixing the pink gown to fit her was easy enough. She easily took in the bodice, and equally rapidly took up the hem. Before half an hour had passed, it was done. She inspected her handiwork, satisfied with what she saw, though she shuddered anew at the excessive ornamentation. "How is it that there seems to be even more lace on this? Is it multiplying, or expanding in some way?" she wondered aloud.

For Jane's gown, more work was required. Elizabeth first let out the bodice, relying on her knowledge of her sister to guide her; there would be time for more minor alterations tomorrow, she hoped. Then she began the more arduous task of removing the rosettes from the pink gown and inserting them into the sleeves of the ivory. She had just begun on the second when a noise from outside the little room startled her. Her heart plunged when she looked up and beheld Mr Darcy on the threshold, gazing at her.

"May I join you?"

Not trusting herself to speak, she nodded, and he stepped into the room. She heard a thud as the door swung closed behind him.

"Oh," he said, turning, "I suppose I should?—"

"It does not signify," she said. "The servants are busy with the ball." She could not imagine that Mr Darcy would speak to her for more than a few minutes.

She studied the gown intently as he settled himself on the stool beside hers. Her hands had begun to shake, so she kept them hidden beneath the folds of material, though to continue sewing was impossible.

"What are you doing down here?" he asked in a voice much gentler than she deserved.

"Jane's gown—" Her voice betrayed her, breaking on the word ‘gown'. Suddenly tears swam in her eyes, making everything a blur. She did not dare look up and prayed, mightily, that he would leave her.

She could not speak, and it seemed Mr Darcy would not either. Was he so content to merely sit and watch her staring at Jane's wedding gown? What did he want? An apology? Very well; she would apologise. With a deep breath, she raised her eyes to look at him. He perched uncomfortably on the stool, his long legs clad in ballroom finery. He wore a dark blue jacket—she had never seen him in that colour, and it suited him well.

"Sir, I-I spoke to your cousin?—"

"Which?"

"Lord Saye."

"Pray disregard whatever he said," Mr Darcy said immediately. "He is a rattle and enjoys being shocking."

She smiled faintly. "He explained the particulars of the wagers to me. How it all happened."

"You must believe me when I tell you I care nothing for any bet," he replied fiercely. "You must know enough of me to know that money could never induce me to chase a woman who had spurned me."

"So he told me."

That took a bit of the starch out of him. "He did?"

"My immediate thought was to imagine it was all a joke at my expense, some little farce whereby you would pretend?—"

"I would never do that," he interrupted. "Never."

"I know. Once again, Mr Darcy, I have misjudged you. I do not expect your forgiveness?—"

"You have it." He swallowed hard. "And I pray you will find it in your heart to forgive me for all this nonsense. I was not the originator of it, and all I stood to lose was the right to give you a carriage, but I ought to have done more to stop them."

"Lord Saye mentioned the carriage. I assumed he spoke in jest or was exaggerating."

"He often does, but not this time." He sighed, shifting on the stool. "You will recall the night you dined at Rosings, when you played the pianoforte with Fitzwilliam turning pages for you. I came and stood over you. You teased me about practising—said you would be proficient but you had not taken the trouble to practise and that I was a man of the world and ought to have practised speaking to you."

He shook his head with a regretful smile on his lips. "I perceived that you were perhaps playing coy with me, or in some way signalling…interest."

"I see," she said. He would not be the first man misled by her lively spirits, but that he should be susceptible to them was surprising.

"I…I am an arrogant fool and thought it was only a matter of time until I had your hand. I believed it was up to me, that once I had reconciled myself to offering for you, it would be done."

Elizabeth felt herself colour as he spoke those words. To cover her consternation, she reached for another rosette and resumed her sewing.

"So I wrote, that very night, to Hatchett & Co, telling them I intended to commission a new town coach. I also…"—he drew a deep breath—"I also opened accounts with some of the…the warehouses in town, thinking you might wish to…to redecorate the houses."

"Redecorate your houses!"

"If we were engaged, they would be our houses," he said quietly.

Our houses. A glance revealed a tenderness in his eyes that she had not before seen. It was somehow incredibly endearing, the manner in which he said it. He truly wanted me as his wife , she thought, and it was a notion more shocking than it ought to have been. He was imagining our future life together, wishing me to have all the honour of being Mrs Darcy.

She had not before considered how amazing it was that Mr Darcy had wished to share with her all that he had: his houses, his fortune, his name…his future.

"My house in town"—he continued to speak, to explain to her his plans and preparations—"is very dark. My mother did it up in wood panelling and heavy drapery, as was in fashion at the time of her marriage, but I could not imagine you would prefer it thus, though I am clearly the last man to really know your preferences."

She abandoned any pretence of sewing. "I regret refusing you," she said quietly.

"I do not," he said. "For it taught me to be better than I could have been without having experienced that evening in the Hunsford parsonage. I had grown too used to thinking I could have anything I wanted, even people. I had become proud and conceited, but I hope that…I hope that now I am not.

"I was too proud, however, to go back to the carriage makers and tell them of my stupidity. So they have carried on. I had commissioned it with your pleasure in mind, and if Fitzwilliam was the one to have the privilege of giving it to you, then so be it. At least you would have had it."

"I have been so cruel to you, so harsh in my condemnations even until yesterday" she said, her eyes fixed on the material spread over the table and her lap. "I should have imagined you would like to take the carriage and run me over with it. Or, at the very least, tell the colonel he was welcome to me."

His hand came towards her, lingering over her arm for a moment before touching her gently. "I would not expect you to fully believe that I had changed on the strength of a few parties," he said. "And I know it must have been upsetting for you to learn about the wagers. I shall say to you though, in full honesty—a wager might have induced me to come here, but it would not make me pretend to feelings that were not my own. I love you. I did when I declared myself in Kent, and I do now. Wagers have nothing to do with it."

He hid nothing from her. When she managed to peep up at him again, she saw his feelings, naked and raw, plain in his eyes.

And that was when she heard the faint ‘plunk' of a latch falling into place.