“She has softened somewhat. And she is arriving tomorrow, so you must be nice,” Jane said. She turned and studied her sister, narrowing her light-blue eyes. “Promise me you’ll be pleasant.”
“Whenever am I not pleasant?” Elizabeth said, winking.
Jane gave her a worried half-smile. “Indeed. You should know we also invited two new acquaintances whom Charles desperately wants to impress: Mr. Elton Potter and his wife, Margaret. They are friends of Mr. Jannis’, but they run a successful venture in Charles’ field.” Jane lowered her voice, as she always did when discussing her husband’s origins—and continued business—in trade. “It would be most beneficial to impress them, and Charles hopes to form a friendship with Mr. Potter.”
“I shall be on my best behavior,” Elizabeth promised, giving Jane a wide, overly friendly smile.
Jane shook at her head at Elizabeth’s antics, and then they both turned in sisterly silence to enjoy the beauty of August in the countryside. Elizabeth propped herself up on her elbows as the sun beat down, warming her clothes and making her thoughts nice and slow, like honey. The fields were so green and the trees so lush, the sky so blue and the clouds so white, that the entire afternoon began to feel surreal and hazy. A fat bee flew near, dipping in lazy circles through the warm air. From across the lawn, the children’s laughter could be heard drawing nearer, their father Charles Bingley reprimanding them in his doting, loving and completely ineffectual way.
Lizzy’s gaze wandered out past the garden wilderness, to the fields and forest beyond. Her skin was growing warm and her bodice felt tight. She shifted, wishing she was home at Steadham House, where she could pull her skirts up a bit with no one to watch or judge her.
Just then, movement caught her eye. “What—who is that?” Lizzy said, sitting up to get a better look. From the north a rider appeared, moving quickly as if racing with the wind.
Indeed, the man knew how to ride. And what a beast he sat upon! A stallion, black and mammoth and gleaming in the bright sunlight.
“Jane, do you know this man? Oh, look!”
Without breaking stride, man and beast leapt cleanly over a fallen tree. Elizabeth felt her breathing speed. She had learned to ride late in life and she loved it. But she had never galloped with such finesse and grace and—and freedom.
Jane turned from waving at her children and squinted. She was too vain to wear spectacles in front of anyone but her close family, and even though Mr. Jannis was now family, he had not been family long enough to be allowed to see her in spectacles.
“I cannot see him clearly,” she admitted. “But he is coming in rather fast, is he not?”
Elizabeth watched, entranced, as the man maneuvered his horse across the long field. The sun shone on the animal’s thick hide, and the man bent low, urging to stallion to race faster and faster.
“Yes,” Elizabeth murmured. After a childhood fall, she had been terrified of horses for years. Her husband had made it a point to cure her of that. She smiled at the thought; Daniel had created a schedule for her to practice riding, beginning with simply brushing the horse down. She was now proficient and unafraid, though she had never seemed to become one with an animal, the way the rider below was.
“Oh,” Jane said quietly. “I forgot. Is it one man, and is he dressed as a gentleman?”
Elizabeth laughed. “Wear your spectacles, and yes, he is a lone man, and from what I can tell, dressed quite fine. Though his spectacular horse is more impressive than what I can see of his coat.”
“It must be he. Oh gracious Lizzy, I’m sorry I forgot to tell you—it must be Charles’ old friend. He invited him here for the house party, though we never thought he would actually accept.”
“And who is this mystery guest?” Lizzy said. “And will he allow me to borrow his steed?”
Jane laughed. “He is no mystery. Why, you met him years ago, though I dare say we all thought him quite pompous.”
Elizabeth inhaled sharply. It could not be…
“I’m sure you don’t remember him,” Jane continued. “He was, at one time, one of Charles’ very dear friends. But after our marriage—and Papa passing, and you getting married—he and Charles drifted apart.”
Elizabeth swallowed as the man rode closer to the stables. She could almost see his face now. He paused, still in the fields, and took water to drink. She could see dark hair, but no burning blue eyes…
Please, please, let it not be him. Let it not be the one man I detest above all others…and the one man I could never quite forget.
“Charles always invites him for our summer parties, and he never attends. Why, he’s rather a recluse like you, I suppose.” Jane nudged Elizabeth playfully, but Elizabeth barely felt her touch. The man rode closer, moving toward the stables to the east.
“But for some reason, this year, he agreed to come. And he has accepted Charles’ offer to stay at least a fortnight. Why, yes, I can see him now!”
A rushing sound filled Elizabeth’s ears, like she was sinking underwater. Please, let it not be him…
“Yes, yes it is. Come, darling, let us go tell Charles—Mr. Darcy has arrived!”
4
Elizabeth
“That’s the last pin, Mrs. Allerton.” Jane’s maid stepped back from the chair, nodding approvingly. “Don’t tell Mrs. Bingley, ma’am, but your hair is so easy to work with.”
Elizabeth smiled at the girl, wondering if it truly was her rather unruly brown hair that was simple to style, or the fact that Elizabeth had barely paid attention to what the girl was doing.
“It’s not my old head of hair. It’s your skill, Smith. You are a wonder.”
The maid laughed and began gathering up the combs and brushes she’d brought. Elizabeth had traveled here from London with her mother, and therefore had decided not to bring her own maid from Steadham House. She knew Jane and Charles always had plenty of help, and Jane would have trained her staff to care more about fashion than Lizzy did. In fact, Jane would be mortified to know that on many a morning, Lizzy simply braided her hair and left it that way all day long.
Maybe Jane is right, Lizzy mused. Perhaps I have become a bit of recluse.
She certainly wished she could play the hermit tonight. But it would be abominably rude to avoid the formal dinner her sister had worried over so.
But perhaps it would be worth it…if I could avoid seeing Mr. Darcy.
“Will that be all, Mrs. Allerton?”
Sometimes her surname still startled Lizzy. Some part of her still felt that Bennet belonged to her more than Allerton, and Smith had to repeat her name before Elizabeth jumped slightly. Then Elizabeth smiled as serenely as possible and thanked Smith for all her help. After the girl left, Elizabeth allowed herself one moment to stare in the looking glass.
Smith was a wonder, Elizabeth mused. It had been some time since she’d gone to a formal dinner. Her home was twenty miles south of London, and while she dined with her neighbors on occasion, she typically only dressed for dinner when visiting Jane and Charles, or the Gardiners and her mother in the city.
Her freckles were in full bloom, but other than that, Elizabeth did not recognize herself. Her dark hair had been transformed into a complicated updo and Smith had convinced Lizzy to use some of Jane’s Rose Lip Salve, though Elizabeth had declined the offer of some Pear’s Liquid Blooms of Roses on her cheeks.
She had enough color from her afternoon in the sun—color that complemented the dress Jane had insisted on lending her: a shimmering, wine-red concoction that felt almost like wearing silk, or wearing nothing at all. Except in the bodice.
It was entirely too fitted and lower than Elizabeth was accustomed to, even if it was the fashion.
Elizabeth frowned and tried to tug up a bit of the fabric. The dress had no give and was too revealing, but there was nothing to be done now. She glanced at the clock and realized she would be late. Perhaps Mr. Darcy would skip this evening’s festivities? It was the first night of the house party and he had t
raveled for at least part of the day. Perhaps he would be tired and take a tray in his room?
She knew it was a foolish thought. He would attend the first night’s dinner. A proud, proper man like Mr. Darcy would not insult his hosts by missing it.
Why was he here? Why, now?
Elizabeth glanced at her reflection once more. The woman in the mirror looked…almost regal. Or at least more refined than what she normally appeared as, when Elizabeth happened to catch her reflection in one of the hall mirrors at Steadham House. This woman in the mirror had perfect hair, dark eyes and long lashes. Her lips were pink and she looked…she looked both younger than Elizabeth felt, but older and wiser, too.
She looked like she had secrets in her eyes—and Lizzy did, didn’t she?
Because although she had never told anyone—not her father, not even Jane—she remembered Mr. Darcy well. How could a girl ever forget her first marriage proposal?
Especially when it had been a complete and utter disaster.
The reflection in the mirror grimaced. Was Mr. Darcy married now? Did he hate her? No—she could not imagine that. They had barely known one another. And they obviously had not been well suited. Mr. Darcy had been powerful and rich eight years ago. Surely, he had only grown in prestige. Elizabeth knew it was pure vanity that would make her imagine that he remembered her at all.
Or at least as anything more than a youthful indiscretion.
A passing fancy.
A mistake.
He was most likely married himself now. How old would he be? Elizabeth counted the years; he must be close to five-and-thirty. He probably had a wife and family. For a moment, Elizabeth also saw Lady Catherine de Bourgh in her mind’s eye. She had not thought of Mr. Darcy’s formidable aunt for many years, though Lizzy knew that Lady Catherine’s daughter Anne sadly had died long ago.
Lizzy stared at herself once more in the mirror. She had felt completely vindicated when she had rejected Mr. Darcy’s proposal so many years ago. But…
She also had thought of him since. More often than she should have.
She could put off going downstairs no longer. There was nothing to be done but hold her head high and act a lady. But as she left her room and walked through the family’s wing and then down the grand staircase, she remembered that day, almost eight years ago now, when Mr. Darcy had proposed to her.
She had been inside the Hunsford Parsonage, visiting her friend Charlotte and her cousin Mr. Collins. Mr. Darcy had walked into Charlotte’s parlor and surprised Elizabeth horribly by proposing marriage.
In a most insulting fashion.
He’d told Lizzy that he admired her against his better judgement and then admitted to separating Jane from her Charles.
What a row they’d had. And she’d accused Mr. Darcy of ruining that man’s life—Heavens, what had his name been? Lizzy stopped on the stairs and thought back—Wickham. Yes, Wickham. Funny how she’d defended young Mr. Wickham so vigorously years ago and then he’d all but disappeared from their lives. And from her memory. Whatever had happened to him?
After the disastrous proposal, Mr. Darcy also had disappeared from their lives. Mr. Bingley had returned to Netherfield and immediately begged Jane’s forgiveness—and for her to become his wife. Elizabeth could not remember seeing Mr. Darcy since then. He had attended the wedding, but not the breakfast afterwards. And that was the last time she’d seen that horrible, stiff, proud—and unforgettable—man.
Elizabeth reached the main floor and nodded at a few servants as they rushed toward the large parlor where everyone was gathering. She paused outside the open double doors. A footman noticed her and stood at attention, his form so perfect she could not detect any evidence of inhalation or exhalation.
How differently she ran Steadham House.
And despite what Jane thought, Elizabeth felt herself much changed. At one time she would have adored a house party. To have all of one’s friends and relations in one place! To have amusements and the children running afoot. Good food, poetry and laughter and outdoor sport…
But when was the last time Elizabeth had invited anyone to dine at her home, besides her elderly neighbors, Mr. and Mrs. Crandle? When had she become such a recluse?
Inside the loud room, Lizzy could see her mother and Aunt Gardiner in the corner, laughing behind their raised hands. Mary and her Mr. Jannis stood near the fire, surrounded by the neighbors who’d come for dinner and to wish them well. Charles was gesticulating wildly to a group of young men and Jane moved easily from one group to the next, smiling at one and all.
Mr. Darcy was noticeably absent.
Please, please, let him not remember me. Or at least, not remember the details of our last interaction…
It was a dreadful trick of fate that she herself could not forget each excruciating moment of Mr. Darcy’s proposal. Every single one. How he had stood in Charlotte’s parlor, his hand on the mantel of her small fireplace. As he spoke, his long, elegant fingers had pressed harder and harder into the wood until she’d been amazed he hadn’t made indentations with the force of his grip. His face had been so grave and his blue eyes so fierce, a turbulent blue like what she imagined the ocean at night would look like.
Wide open, beautiful, all-powerful—and able to overcome her entirely.
She had felt as if she had been about to drown—in shock, in rage—and, secretly, in some pale imitation of flattery.
Or attraction.
My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you…
The words he had said. The way he had looked at her, as if he might inhale her. Devour her. And then the change—the life leaving his blue eyes—when she had turned on him. When she had accused him of ruining Mr. Wickham’s life and of separating Jane and Charles.
How could she ever have accepted a man, who would ruin the happiness of a most beloved sister?
But it’s all in the past, Elizabeth thought. I am sure he will not even remember my face. We shall have an awkward introduction and agree silently to forget we had ever met before.
A girl could hope.
What was past, was past. And she had vowed to live in the now. She had to face Mr. Darcy sooner or later. So she should join the party.
But Elizabeth couldn’t force herself to take that final step over the threshold. From across the crowded room, Jane saw Elizabeth and nodded in greeting. When Elizabeth hesitated and stood, frozen, Jane looked concerned. She raised her eyebrows, that one gesture containing a dozen questions.
Elizabeth didn’t want to answer any of them.
Ignoring her sister’s confused expression, Elizabeth turned and walked blindly down the hall. She couldn’t breathe in this ridiculous, borrowed dress. Her hairpins dug into her scalp and—and—
“And I am a fool,” she cried, stopping suddenly and leaning the back of her head—and the over-earnest hairpins—against the wall. “And a coward.”
When had she become one to run rather than face a battle? It was a house party, not a firing squad. And yet somehow she had walked to the very end of the hallway, across from Jane’s private parlor. The kitchens were around the corner; at least no one would witness her nerves except perhaps the cook, Mrs. Greyson, or her assistants.
“You will have to see Mr. Darcy at some point,” Elizabeth whispered to herself. “It may as well be now.”
It had been almost eight years since his proposal, and seven years since she’d been married. She was sure they could meet now as indifferent acquaintances.
She stood up and adjusted her dress.
And then the door opposite her opened. The door to “Jane’s room,” a small parlor Jane had transformed into an elegant ladies’ retreat, decorated in pale pink and ecru like the insides of the cockle and scallop shells she had arranged on one high shelf.
It was as far from the house party’s gathering as one could get, without entering the servants’ area or leaving the house itself. Elizabeth could not imagine who would
be inside it at this late hour. The children should be having supper in their nursery. Jane and Charles and every other member of the family were greeting their guests.
Lizzy paused, her natural curiosity overtaking her. The door was open but an inch, as if someone stood inside and still held the handle. She could hear the low timbre of a man’s voice, though she could not make out his words. A lilting, feminine tone seemed to respond.
Elizabeth took one step forward, and then who should open the door and step into the hall, but Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy!
5
Elizabeth
She should not have recognized him on sight. It had been so many years, after all. But how could a woman fail to recognize Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy? How many English gentlemen were well over six feet tall, with those dark curls, that indomitable, haughty grace, and those burning blue eyes?
Correction, Elizabeth. Formerly burning. If once his eyes had been pure blue fire when he looked at her, they no longer were so. For now he beheld her with a chilling, glacial indifference. She could not move. Her body flashed cold, and then so hot that she felt she might dissipate into steam. Mr. Darcy, however, appeared completely untouched by her presence.
Though wasn’t that exactly what she had hoped for?
And yet Elizabeth could barely catch her breath. It would have be easier if he stared at her in anger or fury or—or anything that resembled a human emotion. Instead, his cool blue gaze met hers and although he stiffened slightly, that small movement was the only evidence that he even saw her.
He was so far above her. Beyond her. He froze her out, with barely a glance.
Good, she thought. I had wanted to meet as indifferent acquaintances. And what a lesson on indifference this is.
Mr. Darcy sketched her a very proper bow and said, his voice low like far-off thunder, “Miss Elizab—Mrs. Allerton, how pleasant to see you again.” He briefly met her eyes before turning his attention to the wall beyond her shoulder. He looked through her, as if he found the wallpaper infinitely more interesting than her.
Darcy and Diamonds Page 3
