Chapter 19

Elizabeth continued to be very busy as Easter approached. Jane and she often spent the morning with various ladies they had lately met, sometimes together and sometimes not. To some extent, their new circles diverged; Jane found more in common with married ladies, and Elizabeth preferred the company of those who spoke of something other than their husbands, domestic arrangements, and children. Miss Reed introduced her to other young ladies, and when the weather permitted, they enjoyed promenading in the park. Viscount Bramwell often appeared wherever Miss Reed and Elizabeth were.

“Have you known Lord Bramwell long?” Elizabeth asked one day. They had returned to Miss Reed’s home to take refreshments after some shopping.

“All my life. Our fathers have been friends since boyhood, along with my cousin Darcy’s.”

“From the view of a relative stranger, I have the impression the viscount’s interest in you?—”

“Oh, please do not say it!” Miss Reed interjected, adding a nervous laugh. “I do not know whether I can bear being teased about him.”

“Very well, I shall not say another word related to that gentleman.”

Miss Reed squeezed her hand. “Thank you. In truth, I do not know what to make of his behaviour. I am used to thinking of him as a cousin of my cousin and…well, not exactly a rake but certainly not serious and far too much of a flirt. Not that he would misuse anyone! Oh, what a muddle I am making of it!” She took a deep breath before going on. “He is a decent sort, but one would be reckless to take any interest he shows in them seriously. Do you know, he asks me about you often. Not in the way of a romantic interest, you understand, but he always wants to hear about our activities and what I know of you.”

Elizabeth arched her brow and managed a faint, “Oh?”

Miss Reed nodded. “Something he said led me to believe you and Darcy knew each other better than I had supposed.”

“We have been in company together frequently in the past. I would not call us friends, however. At best, we are indifferent acquaintances.”

Elizabeth did her best to hide her discomfort, but she doubted she was successful. The long pause before Miss Reed spoke showed as much.

“Did you and he—? I cannot believe I almost asked you that when I just begged you not to speak of Lord Bramwell.”

Elizabeth offered her a little smile and shook her head. “Think nothing of it. And think nothing of my friendship—or lack thereof—with your cousin. There is truly nothing to tell.” And I suspect the viscount is only hoping to discover whether I still harbour ambitions where Mr Darcy is concerned.

Miss Reed’s expression eased, and Elizabeth saw a mischievous gleam in her eyes. “While we are speaking of gentlemen, what think you of Mr Robert Grey? He appears to be quite captivated by you.”

“Captivated? We hardly know each other. He is amiable.”

“You have not instantly fallen madly in love with him?”

Elizabeth laughed again. “I do not believe I am capable of being so reckless.” I was reckless when I gave Mr Darcy my heart last summer, and I suffer for it still. Never again! “Viscount Bramwell has not made you swoon and dream of becoming his viscountess? Perhaps you endlessly scribble what could be your name? Lady Rebecca Fitzwilliam, Viscountess Bramwell.”

“Could you imagine? I might have been so silly when I was twelve, but at one-and-twenty, I hope I have gained a little maturity. Perhaps we should stop discussing gentlemen.”

“I agree. With all my heart!”

At breakfast one morning shortly before Easter, Bingley proposed that they attend the opera to see Le Nozze di Figaro. “We must invite Grey too. I know that will please one of us especially, will it not?”

He winked at Elizabeth, and Jane chastised him for teasing her. Elizabeth continued to see Mr Grey regularly, and she had yet to find anything to disapprove of in him. He was attentive, interesting, treated everyone with respect regardless of their social position, and she had never heard him say so much as one unkind word of anyone.

“I was thinking of asking Darcy,” Bingley said, and Elizabeth felt her spine stiffen. “We have spent little time with him—but perhaps I ought not, since you and he do not enjoy each other’s company.” He indicated Elizabeth.

“I believe we simply ran out of things to speak of and are content to let each other live our lives without feigning a closeness we shall never feel. Do not let it affect your friendship.” Elizabeth chuckled and inwardly reprimanded herself. Did she want Bingley to invite Mr Darcy? She was afraid the answer was yes, although it would be much better for her if he did not. And for Mr Darcy. I have seen that it is difficult for him to be near me, and he will refuse.

“I suppose it feels more natural to have you dislike each other,” Bingley said.

DislikeMr Darcy? Elizabeth could never do that, not again, and their present situation did not seem at all natural to her. What did was being his wife, living and laughing with him and striving together to build their family and future.

“Oh, I think it is too much to say Lizzy dislikes Mr Darcy. They simply…are not friends,” Jane said.

He appeared to think about it for a moment, his lower lip jutted out, before nodding. “Well, I shall not invite him, but I shall invite Grey. How does that sound?”

Jane—echoed by Elizabeth—agreed that it was a very good plan.

In the end, Mr Darcy did attend the opera, though he was with his own party. Elizabeth saw him before the performance began, but they were already in their separate boxes. She was not certain whom he had accompanied, so quickly had she looked away when she glimpsed his tall, unmistakable form. She did not leave the box during the interval lest she encounter him, and when Mr Grey mentioned seeing him to Bingley, she expressed disinterested surprise.

All this changed during the third act. As the Countessa Almaviva sang of her betrayal and heartache during the Dove Sono i Bei Momenti aria, tears formed in Elizabeth’s eyes, and her throat tightened. Her gaze drifted to Mr Darcy, who she found was watching her in return. Some of the song’s lyrics struck her like a knife through the heart.

Where are the beautiful moments of sweetness and pleasure, where have they gone, those vows of a deceiving tongue?

Why has everything changed into tears and pain for me?

Elizabeth’s situation with Mr Darcy was not the same as the Contessa’s with her husband, but Elizabeth did feel that he had betrayed her. Like the fictional woman, she remembered the moments during which she and Mr Darcy had been in concord, when she had felt they perfectly understood each other and shared a beautiful love. But unlike Almaviva, Elizabeth had no thoughts of changing Mr Darcy’s mind, of attempting to make him love her again.

What would be the use, when he has proved his feelings for me are so easily set aside? Regardless of the looks he gives me, I cannot believe he truly loves me. If he did, his family’s opinion would not matter. That is how he has betrayed me.

Darcy knew Elizabeth was in attendance that evening. There was something in the air that assured him she was nearby, a certain lightness or rightness that told him the world was not as dour as it had seemed. He glanced at her during the performance, attempting to overlook Mr Grey’s presence. Darcy had met him but would not call him a friend; their paths had not crossed frequently.

Seeing how easy he was with Elizabeth, Darcy loathed him. It was jealousy, as he was perfectly willing to admit, but that did not change how much Darcy wished Mr Grey would be called away to the country, or say something Elizabeth would find objectionable, or really that anything would happen that might disrupt their growing friendship.

I ought to wish her happy, hope she finds another man who is free to love her as I am not, but that is asking entirely too much of me.

Weeks ago, Bramwell had offered the opinion that there was no reason Darcy should not marry Elizabeth. He advised Darcy to tell her the truth of what had transpired at Ramsgate and its effect on Georgiana. What would it do to his sister if he did? The earl and countess would certainly berate him, as would Fitzwilliam, but he cared nothing for their angry words. Would it be more than Elizabeth could bear—both the ugliness of his tale and what they would have to confront to be together?

Seeing the utter dejection on her beautiful face as they looked at each other during the aria, he knew something had to change. The only way it would was if Elizabeth fully understood the situation.

As the opera ended, he used the crush of the crowd to hide his actions. Without drawing the attention of Elizabeth’s companions, Darcy approached her from behind, lightly touched her arm, and whispered into her ear. “We must talk. Meet me tomorrow, in the park by the gate.”

She started and met his eye, shaking her head.

“I beg of you. Early—before the breakfast hour. There is much you do not understand.”

“Darcy!” Bingley called, as jovial as ever.

Darcy’s hand dropped to his side, and he hoped no one had noticed him grasping Elizabeth’s elbow.

“Bingley.” Darcy bowed to the others. “Mrs Bingley, Mr Grey.”

“You must join us for supper.” To his wife, Bingley continued, “I told him that at the interval, but I think he worries he is imposing. Tell him he is not, my dear.”

Before Mrs Bingley could be convinced to do so, Darcy spoke. “I cannot, but thank you. I am meeting some friends. It was a pleasure to see you all, but if you will excuse me, I must find them.”

Darcy gave Elizabeth an imploring look before she averted her gaze, and as he walked away, he prayed she would not leave him waiting alone the next morning.