Chapter Two

London, January 1811

F our grand chandeliers hung from a lofty ceiling, thousands of crystal prisms and mirrors refracting the warm light of hundreds of candles. Elizabeth tilted her head back to admire them before glancing at her sister.

"Are you happy?" she asked and squeezed Jane's hand.

Jane squeezed back before releasing it and using both hands to smooth her already perfect skirt. "It is stunning," she said, a little breathless. "Just as I imagined."

It was not precisely what Elizabeth had asked, but she would not press.

The gowns they had commissioned from Mrs. Bird of Great Charles Street were extraordinarily fine compared to the remade dresses they had worn at home the past few years. It had been difficult to part with so much money all at once, but seeing how well they fit in this evening made it worth every shilling.

They walked a little farther into the ballroom. Girandoles flanked the floor backed by mirrors, musicians were warming up their instruments, servants were walking about with wine in fluted glasses on silver trays, and women in gowns of every colour sauntered past on the arms of their husbands, fathers, brothers, cousins. They snapped open their fans, nodded their heads at those they knew, and cast looks over their shoulders to see who else might be in attendance.

"Oh, I am sorry," Amelia said as she came up behind them. "My uncle and aunt were detained at the end of the receiving line, and they wished to introduce me to some of their friends."

At seventeen, Amelia was one of the youngest members of a very large family—her aunt was the first of eight children and Amelia's mother had been the last. The earl and countess had been pleased for Amelia to have some friends near her own age about. Beyond that, Elizabeth could not make the Carlisles out. But then, she and Jane had been in town only since the day after Christmas, and it was now just the week following Twelfth Night, barely a fortnight. Enough time to have the gowns they ordered in November delivered and fittings completed, but not much else. These things took time.

"We were simply admiring the room," Jane said.

"I have never seen the like," Elizabeth added.

"Yes, do you not adore the chalk?" Amelia asked with a giggle.

The chalk was to keep the dancers from slipping on the waxed floors, but it had been used to draw an enormous family crest that depicted a stag with its antlers lifted high, a strong oak, a sunburst, and a flowing river. It was a transitory piece of art.

"My aunt says that balls here are always very grand."

"Even when it begins in November, the season cannot really be considered open until Lady Ashford throws her January ball," Lady Carlisle agreed as she joined the girls and cast her gaze about to determine who of her acquaintance was nearby. "Well, we have now been greeted by the hosts, exchanged courtesies, and surveyed the room, girls. Shall I do my duty as your chaperone and introduce you to some eligible young men from good families so that you may dance all evening?"

Amelia clasped her hands together with excitement. "Yes, please, Aunt."

The countess led them to a young man standing with another young lady. "Mr. Loughty, Miss Loughty," she said with a nod. "This is my niece, Miss Hamilton and her friends, Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth Bennet."

"Ladies," Mr. Loughty said with a bow. While the women exchanged courtesies, his eyes raked over Jane slowly.

"The Miss Bennets are our guests this season," Lady Carlisle told Mr. Loughty. "The earl and I are quite taken with them."

Mr. Loughty's eyes snapped back to the countess. "I am sure they will be very charming company, my lady. May I be so bold as to request the hand of each of the ladies for a dance this evening?"

Lady Carlisle nodded regally.

Miss Loughty watched her brother out of the corner of her eye and cast an apologetic glance at Jane. "He is a terrible flirt," she whispered, adjusting her spectacles, "and a gossip, but otherwise quite safe. It is fortunate you are claimed by the Carlisles, Miss Bennet, for it will provide protection not only from flirts but the rakes as well." Miss Loughty was a small, slender girl with a freckle at the corner of one eye. She was not unattractive, but neither did she have anything compelling about her. Yet the words she had spoken did not sound like jealousy. They sounded wistful. Resigned, even.

Before Elizabeth could think more on what this might mean, Lady Carlisle had pulled them away to meet Viscount Fellington. He was a man in his mid-thirties and uncommonly attentive—to Jane.

After he had secured a dance, Lady Carlisle arched a single eyebrow at Jane, whose cheeks were tinged with a deepening pink. "If you do not make a match this season, Miss Bennet, it will not be for a lack of offers. "

Elizabeth could not help nudging her sister as they moved away from the viscount towards a corner of the room where four gentlemen stood in a group. Two were clearly relations, as both had reddish-brown hair and similar countenances. One was blond, and the last was darker, taller, and built on a larger scale than the rest. One of the shorter men smiled and bowed to Lady Carlisle as she approached.

"Viscount Milton." Lady Carlisle's greeting was a warm one. "How do you do this evening?"

"Very well indeed, my lady. Will Simon be in attendance?"

"So he tells me, but as you are aware, my son has no sense of time."

"Well do I know it," the viscount said with a little laugh, and then his eyes alit on Jane before flicking back to the countess. "May we be introduced to your companions, Lady Carlisle?"

"Certainly."

Lady Carlisle introduced Amelia and Jane. "And this is Miss Elizabeth Bennet. The Bennets are from Longbourn in Hertfordshire, and they are staying with us at Carlisle House this season."

The viscount did the honours for his friends. "This is my brother, Colonel Fitzwilliam." He nodded to the taller man. "And this is my cousin, Mr. Darcy of Pemberley in Derbyshire."

The county of Derbyshire. That was where her Aunt Gardiner hailed from. Elizabeth wondered if she had heard of Mr. Darcy or his estate.

"And this is Darcy's friend, Mr. Bingley."

The blond man bowed, and as he straightened, his gaze caught Jane's. Unlike the men they had met earlier, his eyes did not appraise her figure but rather remained locked on hers. Jane's cheeks had already been pink from all the attention being paid her, but now that pink deepened to a dusky red.

Yet she did not look away .

It could not have been more than a few seconds before Mr. Darcy cleared his throat and Mr. Bingley blushed and glanced away, but Elizabeth wondered if she had been wrong to say that Jane would have a proposal by Easter. It began to appear that her sister would not have to wait nearly so long.

Darcy grunted. It was not fair to declare the season a failure before he had danced a single dance; he simply disliked the artifice of it all. He preferred to be in his bed at a reasonable hour rather than remain awake all night and out of sorts all the next day. An early riser by nature, it cost him two days of recovery for each ball such as this. At the theatre or the opera, the evening never ran so long that the sun was rising before he arrived home.

And of course, he had been stared at and whispered about since the moment he entered the building. He was untitled, but evidently his family wealth covered a myriad of sins. One young woman had already attempted to faint in his arms. He had pivoted out of her way and allowed her mother to arrest her fall. It had hardly been necessary, for her recovery had been swift.

And now, here they were. Introductions had been made, and Bingley was staring unblinkingly at Miss Bennet. Had they not been in mixed company, Darcy would have rolled his eyes in frustration at his friend's behaviour. Bingley was in love. Again. He had no idea how the man managed it.

Bingley at last looked away from Miss Bennet, who was at least passably pretty. The niece of Lady Carlisle was too young for any interest on his part. She had even giggled nervously behind an intricately painted fan when they were introduced .

He had more interest in the fan than the woman.

The third woman, Miss Elizabeth, was a few years older than the niece. She was smaller, darker, and less buxom than her sister. Better for her, honestly. With her few attractions she would not draw the worst of men to her, though he grudgingly conceded that they would both be protected by the Carlisle name. The earl was a powerful man, and there were few men stupid enough to insult him.

He pondered how the Bennets of Hertfordshire—of whom he had never heard—had gained an alliance with such a prominent family.

"And you, Mr. Darcy?" Lady Carlisle asked. "Are you ready to dance as your cousins and friend seem to be?"

Damn. He ought to have been paying more attention. "Certainly, my lady." Flustered, but not willing to admit he had not been paying attention, he turned to the woman who had last been in his thoughts. "Miss Elizabeth, would you care to dance the first with me?" No one would ever suspect him of having an interest in such a girl, making her the perfect partner for that set.

The woman's dark eyes flashed as they met his, and in them he could read surprise, wariness, and, strangely, amusement. Darcy looked away.

Lady Carlisle's lips twitched—it was an expression of disappointment, quickly and carefully concealed. "And Miss Hamilton, the supper set if you have it available?" he inquired, and the young lady agreed.

Peace was restored.

Darcy would allow Bingley to monopolize the blonde. Two offers to dance was quite enough on his part.

Satisfied, the countess herded the ladies away to make more introductions.

"You are a sly one, Darcy," Milton said and waggled his eyebrows. "I would never have selected the younger sister for you. "

"He likes the dark-haired ones, brother."

"Shut it, Fitz."

The colonel laughed. "Steady there, Darcy. Standing next to her sister might throw her in the shade a bit, but that is hardly her fault. She is quite a winning creature all on her own. You were too preoccupied to notice that we all secured a dance with her. Well, not Bingley—he only had eyes for Miss Bennet."

"Poor Miss Hamilton," Milton said. "You are fortunate you rectified your error in not asking her first, Darcy. Lady Carlisle has a way of making her displeasure felt."

"I suppose she thinks you a good match for Miss Hamilton," Bingley said with a shrug. "She is the niece of an earl, and you are the nephew of one."

If a connection to the aristocracy was all that Darcy required, he would already be wed to his cousin Lady Henrietta, who was here with his uncle, somewhere. "Miss Hamilton is barely out of the schoolroom," he grumbled.

"I will agree with you there," Fitz said. "She had her come-out recently, so is still rather young. However, her relations will be willing to offer her another season or two, and by then she will be much improved, as Hen was. The Bennet girls may not be so fortunate, particularly if the countess thinks they are outshining her niece."

"Miss Bennet would outshine any woman," Bingley said dreamily, his eyes already scanning the room for her.

Fitz, always the gallant, conceded the point. "Miss Bennet is uncommonly handsome."

"Have they any fortune to speak of?" Milton asked.

"Twenty-thousand each, so I hear," Fitzwilliam said.

Not enough for Fitz. He had a modest inheritance, and his father gave him an allowance, but his habits required a woman of larger fortune. With his status as the second son of an earl, he could command it. Darcy shifted from one foot to the other, wishing he could leave and chastising himself at the same time. He had been to private balls such as these before and had been able to tolerate them reasonably well. Why, then, was he so miserable this evening?

It was the expectations, he supposed. He had participated in previous seasons for a few weeks, a month, but he had not truly been searching for a wife. He had been buried with other responsibilities, and a month in London with his cousins and friends had been a respite for his beleaguered spirit. That had changed over the past year. Now it was Pemberley that offered him sanctuary from the world, and while he still appreciated the benefits of town, being forced to remain for months on end was not to his liking. But his uncle had insisted it was time for him to find a wife. And so he was here.

Certainly, he could find a suitable woman in one season here and not be required to do this again. A month or six weeks in London each year during the season—that was more than enough. And it would mean his uncle, the earl of Matlock, would stop haranguing him to set up his nursery.

"The Faerie Dance," Lord Ashford called, and Darcy straightened his shoulders. It was time to collect Miss Elizabeth and escort her to the floor. The sooner he had this dance out of the way, the sooner he could request the hand of a woman whose family was not a mystery to him.

It was a simple thing to locate her group. The three women were huddled about Lady Carlisle as though she were the hen, and they her chicks.

Viscount Fellington approached at the same time as Darcy and Fitzwilliam, and for a moment Darcy worried that the man was about to start an altercation, so hot was his glare. But when Darcy reached for Miss Elizabeth's hand and Fitz for Miss Hamilton's, the man was all smiles.

Lady Carlisle would have her hands full protecting Miss Bennet this evening.

"Good evening, Miss Elizabeth," Darcy said. "Shall we?"

Her hand, small and delicate, slipped into his, and he guided her to the floor. There they stepped back from one another and awaited the music.

The top two couples skipped forward for the right-hand star.

"Do you like to dance, Mr. Darcy?" she asked while they waited their turn.

The second couple joined the first.

"Not if I can avoid it, madam, no." There was no point in encouraging the woman when he was unlikely to ever dance with her again.

"I thought as much," she replied, appearing rather pleased with herself.

This was not the response he had expected, and it made him study her more closely than he had intended. Not as short as he had believed at first, and rather comely. Raven curls, a light and pleasing figure, and dark, intelligent eyes. She was well suited to this dance, for there was the look of the pixie about her. "Why would you say so?"

"Only that you are standing in a glittering ballroom at the beginning of a wonderful evening," she said, "and yet you wear a pronounced glower."

"Forgive me, Miss Elizabeth," he said, but the apology was perfunctory. He had done nothing wrong.

"There is nothing to forgive, sir. You feel as you feel."

Somewhat mollified, he forced himself to offer her some conversation. "Women enjoy this sort of thing more than the men."

Her brows lifted in challenge. "Why do you say that?"

Was it not obvious? "You are far more likely to see a man frown at a ball than a woman."

Miss Elizabeth smiled and shook her head. "That is because we have it drilled into us that it is impolite to do so. I do wonder that men do not receive the same training."

Was she calling him impolite? "I beg your pardon?"

Her eyes danced, and her feet soon followed. They moved to the centre of the circle before moving back again. Then they took hands and began to follow the leaders.

"Forgiveness is yours again, Mr. Darcy," she said, "though I do not know why you insist upon asking for it."

He had been signalling his affront, not asking for forgiveness, but her quick repartee interested him. "You are asserting that women are not naturally more polite but that they receive more training for their positions in the world than men?"

She glanced at him. "Undoubtedly."

They separated, skipped back to their original places, made a small, tight circle, and skipped forward to take one another's hands again. As they traversed the circle in the other direction, he replied, "And what languages have you learned for use in town, Miss Elizabeth?"

"French and Italian," she told him.

"But neither Latin nor Greek? I fear your argument is already in peril."

"I admit little success with Greek, Mr. Darcy, but I do know Latin."

This surprised Darcy. "You do?"

"It aids in the study of other languages, I find. But you did not ask me which languages I knew, sir, only those I meant to employ in town. I do not expect to require Latin at a ball or a dinner party."

They turned to dance round again in the other direction, and she fell silent as the dance required more of her energy. Darcy was grateful for it, for he needed time to regain his composure. Miss Elizabeth had noted that his invitation to dance had not been due to any admiration of her person, and she had chosen to laugh at him rather than be offended. That ought to put him off, truly, but it did not. Perhaps she saw, as he did, how absurd this entire ritual was. But then why would she be here in town for the season?

Despite her perspicuity, she must be in want of a husband. All unwed women were.

It was their turn to wait again, and he took up their conversation, pointedly not observing how her fine eyes were brightened by the exercise.

"And what else have you studied, madam?"

"Oh, the usual. Playing, singing . . ."

"Whereas men study fencing and riding."

"Indeed," she said with a small smile. "Women's accomplishments are meant to be used for the benefit of others while men learn for themselves. I do not suppose you were taught art or needlework?"

He had never thought of it that way, but she might be right. Still, there were exceptions. "Netting purses? Painting tables? Who are these accomplishments for, madam?"

Miss Elizabeth smiled. "I must concede your point there, for I have not spent my time in the attainment of either skill and cannot say for certain."

"For men there is serious reading, remaining current on the news of the day, and of course a man's business takes a good deal of his time."

"I would say that these things are a woman's lot as well, if only so that she may hold a rational conversation on such topics with her husband or his guests. Though not the business, I suppose. May I ask what a man's business consists of, Mr. Darcy?"

Was she teasing him? He met her eyes, which were holding his. He felt a little jolt but quashed it immediately. "I have the management of my estate, Miss Elizabeth, and many other family concerns."

"Ah, so you could add the study of estate law to your catalogue. That is an accomplishment indeed. "

Darcy could not claim as much. "My steward is also an attorney. He keeps current on the law."

"Then I shall have to strike knowledge of estate law from your list of accomplishments. I will add to my own dancing, reading, and the art of conversation."

"Is that what this is?" he asked, the words sharper than he had intended.

Miss Elizabeth did not respond to the haughtiness of his tone. If she thought lauding her own accomplishments was the best way to recommend herself to a wealthy, powerful man, she was much mistaken.

It was their turn to move through the figures again, but they did not speak now. Miss Elizabeth was clearly enjoying herself and Darcy could admit that she was a handsome woman, though in a different way than her sister. But he had the distinct impression that she not only found humour in their situation but was actively making sport of him, and that pricked at his pride. She was nobody at all, and he was Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley.

The dance ended; he returned her to Lady Carlisle's side with a stiff bow and joined Fitz at the punchbowl.

Fitz sipped his drink. "You seemed to enjoy your dance, Darcy."

"No." He tipped a full ladle into his cup.

His cousin laughed. "Come now, Darcy, I saw you enjoying yourself while I was dancing with Miss Hamilton. Even she remarked on how intelligent her friend is, and their friendship must be strong, for she gave the compliment without a touch of jealousy. It is all right, you know, to take pleasure in dancing with a pretty, clever woman."

"She is tolerable," Darcy said, "but not clever enough to tempt me. She tried to argue that men were less prepared for the season than women."

"Debate on the dance floor? I think you need not remain in town much longer, Darcy, for you have found your match."

"Do not be ridiculous." Darcy drank the punch and set his cup down. "Despite her friendship with Lady Carlisle's niece, her father is entirely unknown in town. Who knows what would happen if you shook her family tree too hard?"

Fitzwilliam shook his head. "I do not believe you mean half of what you say, Darcy, for if you did, I should have to absent myself from your company."

Darcy did not know what about this slip of a woman had nettled him so. Their conversation had been innocuous enough, but the heat in her eyes, the tilt of her head, the feeling of her small hand in his own—he could not help feeling as though he were standing on the deck of a ship in the middle of a rolling sea. He could not seem to get his footing, and he did not like it.

"I say again that she is tolerable, Fitz, but not handsome enough to take away the stench of the fortune hunter."

Fitz paled, and Darcy felt that he had been tossed completely overboard and into the storm.

"That is more than enough from you, cousin. I will inform my father that you are not fit to be in company with gently bred ladies and beg him to send you home, as that is obviously what you want." Fitz turned his back and walked away.

Darcy closed his eyes. Did he mean it? No, he had not meant it. He was the one who was out of place, and Fitz was correct. He was not fit for company tonight, and he did not understand why.

Fitz had turned to the left. Darcy turned to the right, intending to retrieve his coat and call for his carriage. But he was brought up short, and his heart plunged into his dancing slippers.

There before him stood three young women, two of them clearly displeased with him and the other frustratingly entertained. The pixie levelled him with a single look. He opened his mouth to say something, anything by way of an apology, but the words caught in his throat.

"You have proven me wrong on one point, sir," Miss Elizabeth said pertly. "For I have found use for my Latin in a ballroom after all." She swept forward, a general flanked by her lieutenants, and quietly uttered one word as she passed. "Baro."

Blockhead , she had called him, and he could not deny it.