by A J Woods
It was Lizzy's turn to shake her head with lack of understanding.
“Where his library is!” Jane exclaimed. “Where his many books reside, waiting for just the right authoress to come along and explore their riches.”
At this, Elizabeth began to grasp Jane’s meaning. She peered into the mirror at her sibling, marveling for the countless time at how different the two were in both looks and personality. Yet Jane so thoroughly intuited the contents of her sister’s heart.
Jane met her eyes and continued. “Though you will no doubt have a full card, I am sure you can invent a way to excuse yourself from dancing for a few moments by reason of a torn hem, the necessity of fresh air—anything, really—and wander off in search of his book room.”
She finished braiding Elizabeth’s hair and tied it neatly with a pale ribbon from the dresser top, then shrugged with utmost nonchalance. “There, you will locate the information your story is missing that has kept you from writing these last few days.”
Elizabeth opened her mouth to speak but did not get a word out.
“Do not begin to tell me something has not been bothering you, because I know you, sister, and you are intolerably cross when you are not working on your book,” Jane said, before continuing where she’d left off, ignoring Elizabeth, whose mouth still hung open in a most unladylike fashion. “After you locate what you require, you will return to dancing as if not a thing has happened—”
“And none shall be the wiser,” Lizzy finished for her. “No dance partner would dare be so indecorous as to ask where I had got off to or with what feminine task I had been occupied.”
She put a finger to her lips and then leapt from the chair. “My goodness, you are right, Jane. It is the perfect way to obtain the information I need for my manuscript, without accepting Mr. Darcy's invitation to use his library and in the process indebting myself to such a proud man.”
“Precisely. As you saw at breakfast, our aunt and uncle would not imagine turning down such an invitation, despite its nearness to the event, and Aunt has insisted we accept so that she may send a response early in the morning.”
Jane turned down the bedcovers and snuggled in, picking up a book from the bedside stand while she waited for Elizabeth to change into her night clothes. “Besides, Mama would never forgive Aunt if she allowed us to decline attendance to an event at which there are sure to be many eligible suitors.”
“And, as the invitation includes all four of us, I will not be exclusively obliged to Mr. Darcy beyond our stay here at Gardiner House.” Elizabeth donned her bed shift and jacket and got under the covers as Jane cracked open her book. “You know I could not abide such a thing. As soon as we leave for home, there will be no strings to attach us, and no further reason for Mr. Darcy ever to cross my path again. And most importantly, I can finally finish the scene that has been troubling me so and move on to the end of my story.”
Elizabeth clapped her hands together. “Oh, it is perfect, Jane! Well done.”
Perhaps, in addition to serving Elizabeth’s research, attending a ball at Darcy House might give Jane a chance to renew her acquaintance with Mr. Bingley. For all her irritation where Mr. Darcy was concerned, Elizabeth did wish to resolve the matter of Bingley’s sudden and unexplained withdrawal from Jane, if only to help her sister mend her heart in the interest of rediscovering hope. If anyone deserved happiness, it was dear Jane, and Lizzy would stop at nothing to ensure she had every chance to secure it for a lifetime.
Yes—even if that meant facing Mr. Darcy once again.
Quite content with this newly devised plan in place, Elizabeth snuggled beneath the warm covers and rested her head on the soft pillow, turning to stare out of the gauzy window covering at the night sky. She was too preoccupied with her own thoughts, which were focused on the plot of her novel and a list she had begun to devise of research tidbits she would collect as quickly as possible, once she’d found her way into the grand Darcy House library—to notice the satisfied smile that passed over Jane’s lips, as she blew out the candle and bid her sister goodnight.
Chapter 5
“You appear exceedingly nervous, Darcy,” Charles said by way of greeting as he entered the large drawing room of his friend’s townhouse on the last night of the year. It had been transformed over the course of the morning into a most festive setting for a ball.
His staff had removed the furniture except for a few chairs placed here and there against the walls, and long mirrors were positioned about to extend the reach of light from the great chandelier above. Branches adorned the mantlepiece and tripods in each corner of the room, and seasonal floral arrangements had been selected as ornaments for the rest of the house, in areas through which guests would pass.
When Darcy chose not to respond—mostly because his friend’s assessment of his inner feelings was not inaccurate—Charles continued.
“I realize that inviting them in the first instance hovered on the edge of propriety, as all the other invitations were delivered weeks ago. Yet, I maintain it was the right thing to do, for I must find Miss Bennet this evening and speak with her about…certain matters,” he said, accepting, with a word of thanks, a glass of wassail from a passing footman.
At this, Darcy turned and spoke as firmly as he could while avoiding unwanted attention, considering his position as host. “Hovering on the edge of propriety? Really, Charles, I have gone so far over that edge of late, in the name of civility to the Bennet sisters, that I could not even see propriety should I turn back to look.”
“Yes," Charles said, grinning as he raised the glass to his lips. “I wonder what might cause a man to behave in such a manner.”
Darcy passed him a look that had on previous occasions struck dread in men who were not such close friends, but Bingley wasn’t fazed.
As much as he loathed to admit it, Darcy was not wholly disappointed that the women of whom they spoke were soon likely to arrive. When last he’d seen her family in a setting such as this, many of the Bennets had behaved reprehensibly; how he wished such a scene might happen again. For all his efforts, he could not eradicate Elizabeth from his thoughts, and perhaps seeing her again might ease them if not altogether cease their constant interruption.
And no one would ever know what he himself would not even acknowledge: that, instead of leaving such business to her as he normally would, Darcy had spent hours with his housekeeper, selecting the finest, freshest bouquets of blossoms whose natural beauty he thought might please a certain someone, and that no expense had been spared. No one would know that he’d hired the very best musicians in all of London and bid them to play select songs he’d watched that certain someone dance to with merriment at the Netherfield ball.
It was sentimental nonsense, he very well knew, but for some reason it could not be stopped. He could thus only pray that fate might intervene on his behalf, to abolish the absurd feelings he’d begun to have for Miss Elizabeth Bennet.
“Oh, look,” Charles said, handing off his barely drunk glass of wassail to Darcy. “There they are now.”
As Darcy watched, astonished once again by his friend’s complete lack of regard to hiding his feelings, Bingley brushed his hands down the front of his jacket and set off in the direction of…and there they were. As if his thoughts had turned into reality, Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner entered the ballroom, Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth directly behind.
Briskly, he forced himself to look away, turning to find his sister in conversation with Dowager Lady Godwin, a kind old woman of just the sort Georgiana preferred to befriend above others her own age—a characteristic for which he hoped he was not solely responsible.
After what had happened not so long ago between the dear girl and that most foul of men, George Wickham, he could not be certain. What he’d done, in chasing Wickham away from his sister, he could not regret—for the dishonorable man would have undoubtedly broken her heart in short succession. But he was aware that first romances—as he was certain Georgiana had imagined th
e short-lived match—could leave lasting marks. He hoped she would eventually find the courage to give her heart to someone else, someone deserving.
In the meantime, he was excessively relieved that Wickham had not set his sights on Elizabeth or any of her sisters while the regiment had been quartered in Meryton. The thought of that man going near another innocent was enough to make Darcy’s blood boil.
No sooner had he downed the last of Bingley’s wassail and handed off the empty glass than a footman arrived to introduce The Gardiners and the Bennets. Darcy bowed and the ladies curtseyed, and it was all he could do to remember to speak rather than stare openly as he would have liked, for Elizabeth Bennet was by far the most beautiful woman in the room.
She wore a red satin gown that highlighted the lovely glow of her cheeks, and her trim waist was accentuated by a band of gold about her bosom, an area from which he struggled to pull his gaze. Her dark, glossy hair was woven in a simple, elegant style with a matching band of gold tied round, and her deep brown eyes sparkled with flecks of light from the chandelier.
Darcy swallowed, willing years of practiced decorum to return from whence they’d disappeared so that he would not present himself as a complete and utter fool.
Mr. Gardiner issued a little cough. “We were so pleased to receive your invitation, Mr. Darcy. This winter has already proven fierce and will no doubt go on as it has begun. Your ball is a most welcome opportunity to escape the confines of our own drawing room.”
Darcy found himself smiling at the man, whose geniality was contagious, and about whom he had heard only kind words spoken from peers who knew him.
“Thank you, Mr. Gardiner. I am most glad you have all come.” At this, he looked at Miss Elizabeth before he could stop himself and, if he wasn’t mistaken, he’d caught a slight lift at the corner of her lips before she lowered her eyes.
“What a delightful ballroom, Mr. Darcy,” Mrs. Gardiner complimented. “Very festive indeed. I must admit while I am always rather glum to see the Christmas season pass, I am looking forward to the coming year. I feel it will bring good things.”
“I do hope you are right, Mrs. Gardiner,” he answered. He did not know if she referred to anything specific, but he could not argue with such a warm wish.
Next, Miss Bennet offered equally kind greetings, as Darcy wondered fleetingly where Bingley had disappeared to, while Elizabeth, though polite, did not say more than necessary. And after a beat of quiet passed, Darcy turned to find his sister standing by his side, smiling up at him.
“Ah, Georgiana,” he said. “I would like you to meet Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner, of Gracechurch Street, and Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth, their nieces, visiting from Hertfordshire.”
As they began to speak to each other, Darcy noticed a friendship forming almost immediately between Elizabeth and his sister, and he wasn’t sure whether to feel apprehensive or delighted. Hadn’t he, only moments ago, felt a desire for her to have friends nearer her age? Elizabeth was only four or so years her senior and Georgiana often revealed herself to be an old soul, yet he knew he could not entirely encourage a bond between them until his own feelings had been sorted.
Before long, a footman arrived with another family of guests, and Darcy was forced to resume his duties as host, but he noticed that Elizabeth and Georgiana had not parted ways. After a few moments he could no longer see the two women amongst the guests, and a short while later, dancing had commenced.
Determined to find Elizabeth, Darcy began a turn about the room. He was obliged to dance with several ladies so as not to offend anyone at his own ball; nonetheless, he resolved to add his name to Elizabeth’s dance card before it was full, an event that would no doubt take very little time as she was new to London and, without contest, the loveliest woman in the room. As he wandered, chatting here and there with his guests, he happened to glimpse Charles arm in arm with Miss Bennet, leading her into the next dance.
Despite his initial misgivings, he had to concede that there was a spark of light between the two, brighter even than the shimmering chandelier above, and there was a sudden vicelike grip on his heart as he realized he envied his old friend’s obvious happiness in the company of another.
He wondered, not for the first time—would he ever find such contentment, such unmitigated joy, in the devotion of a woman? Or were happy wives and children reserved for men of different composition? Men such as Charles, who possessed a lightness of heart, joie de vivre, a gentler way of looking at the world and the people in it.
Perhaps Darcy himself was too guarded, too uneasy in the company of others; perhaps he lacked the sort of carefree humor it would require to draw the attention of a loving partner. And that was exactly what he wanted, he knew full well—someone with whom to share the many peaks and valleys he had watched his own beloved parents weather over the years, always together, always united in their hopes and dreams, because of their enduring regard for one another.
Pushing these thoughts aside, Darcy visited with some of the people he had invited. Many were old friends of his parents, and their children, as the ball was a tradition of theirs he had continued after their deaths. As for his own friends, they were few but close, and the annual event was a chance to celebrate another year with those he cherished. After he was sure he’d spoken with all his guests, and all who wished to be were engaged in dancing, he decided he must find Elizabeth, though he had not an idea of what he might say once he succeeded.
All he knew for certain was that he felt drawn to her radiant energy in a way he could not control, for all his will to do so. It was as if invisible strings attached them, and an unseen hand had begun to tighten the strands, rendering it nigh impossible for him to pull away.
With Jane and Mr. Bingley occupied in dance for the next half hour, and her aunt and uncle engaged in conversation with another couple, Elizabeth glanced around to check that no one was watching her.
Confident that she was not the object of anyone’s interest, she ducked into the hallway and began her journey to the library. The string instruments, laughing voices, and clink of glasses that filled the ballroom drifted farther into the distance until they were drowned out by the sound of her own pulse pounding in her ears. Praying she would not cross paths with anyone in her acquaintance, Elizabeth hurried down the hallway and up a staircase adorned with winter greenery, the scent of it following her as she climbed toward the next floor, turning back ever so often to make sure she was not followed.
She tried to ignore the portraits of her host’s ancestors as they gazed down at her from the walls, seeming to question the motivation for this clandestine errand.
If Mr. Darcy’s townhouse, though far grander, was designed similarly to her uncle’s, Elizabeth imagined she would find the library on this level.
She was not disappointed.
Tossing one last glance behind her, she opened the tall wooden door and slipped inside. Immediately closing it, she pressed her back against the door and shut her eyes as relief flooded in that she had not been caught. She would worry about the challenge of making it back to the ballroom later, she thought, pulling in a steadying breath.
At the moment, she had a more pressing objective and would allow nothing to stand in her way. She needed to sort out, with as much haste as possible, how Mr. Darcy organized his literature.
Elizabeth sought a certain document and had only blind hope on which to rely, for there was no guarantee at all that he would have it in his possession. As a place to begin, she thought of her father’s book room at Longbourn. Growing up, she had read almost every volume in Papa’s collection, guided not by her father—who never once told her that she was not permitted to read any particular text, nor encouraged her to pick up any other—but by her own curiosity and interests. Though she could not say whether his method of letting her choose with such liberty was one she would wish repeated on her own children, Elizabeth was thankful for her own sake that she had been allowed that freedom. For she was certain she would not ha
ve become a writer—dare she call herself that?—if she had not been able to read so widely or so much.
Similarly, she had taught herself to compose stories by reading novels, pencil in hand and notepaper by her side as she deconstructed books she admired and studied the choices her favorite authors had made. Why this setting? This character trait? This plot? On top of which, she had a habit of watching and considering the behavior and speech of everyone in her company, for she did not think one could become a writer without first being a keen observer of human nature.
And oh, how she dreamed of being published!
It wasn’t just that the income would help her mother and sisters, should any ill fate befall her father…no, no, it was more than that.
If she could earn enough as a novelist, even if no one knew the work was her own, she would have the option of denouncing marriage and all its trappings, for she could think of nothing so great as the freedom to live as she pleased—to spend her days reading and working rather than simply existing as someone's wife. She could not imagine a scenario in which marriage would bring more satisfaction than that of remaining single and self-reliant.
Well…perhaps that was not entirely true.
Even without seeing it for herself, she may have imagined a time or two what it might be like to be mistress of Pemberley.
If her aunt’s stories about the Darcy family seat were not exaggerated, it must be very grand indeed. But such a thing would require becoming Mr. Darcy’s wife, and to be permanently attached to such a judgmental, ill-humored, dour man…well…it would be an unthinkable burden, best left to some other poor soul.
She searched the library, wandering quietly through shelves that reached nearly all the way up to the high ceiling. Contrary to its owner, the room had a warm, inviting feel, and Elizabeth imagined curling up in one of the many plush armchairs near the softly glowing fireplace, with a book and a cup of tea.
