A Matter of Honor

by Abigail Reynolds

  “I have made a special Christmas gift for Mr. Fitzpatrick,” she announced loudly enough to garner the attention of several nearby guests. “Some might say it is a rather selfish gift, since I will benefit from it as much as he does.”

  Mr. Sampson asked, “Well, what is it?”

  Elizabeth made a show of digging into her reticule and pulled out an embroidered strip of fabric. Instead of giving it to Jasper, she displayed it to the guests. “It is not just an extra-large bookmark. It has pins at the top and the bottom so Mr. Fitzpatrick can attach it to his script without it falling out.” She reversed the bookmark to show the back. “Of course, we all know Mr. Fitzpatrick will immediately lose the pins, so I made a special pocket on the back to hold extra pins. Now he will have no excuse to lose his place in the script.”

  The guests laughed heartily. Sampson said, “She has you there, Fitzpatrick! As the bard says, But men are men; the best sometime forget.”

  Smiling, Elizabeth held the bookmark out to Jasper.

  “I thank you! It is just what I need. Now I will not drive you to the verge of madness when we run lines.” Jasper examined the bookmark with apparent pleasure.

  Darcy choked back bile. It could not be. Elizabeth and Jasper living in the same house, and with enough of an understanding that she could give him a present publicly? He could not bear it. Somehow he would have to stop it, or he would lose his mind.

  “Look, Darcy, is this not clever?” Jasper asked. “She even put my initials on it in case I lose it. Beautiful work, Miss Merton.”

  “Very clever.” Somehow Darcy managed to force out the words.

  Elizabeth leaned towards Jasper. In a loud whisper, she said, “Mr. Fitzpatrick, may I ask a very great favor of you?”

  Jasper, damn him, clasped his hands over his heart. “Anything for you, my sweet Miss Merton!”

  “Could you inform your dyspeptic friend that among theatricals it is perfectly acceptable for a young woman to give a gift to a young man, and that it carries no greater meaning?”

  Jasper gave his distinctive shout of laughter. “Did you hear that, Darcy? It is true. Although it breaks my heart to say it, the lovely Miss Merton would not give me the time of day if she thought I had any intentions towards her.”

  “Indeed, I would not!” exclaimed Elizabeth. “I would instead send you directly to bed under the assumption you must be feverish.”

  “I stand corrected.” Slowly the tension seeped out of Darcy’s shoulders. If Elizabeth were interested in Jasper, she would own it freely. He knew enough of her frankness for that. But he still did not like to see her banter with Jasper when he himself got nothing but serious looks.

  “I am glad to see you are educable,” said Elizabeth with mock severity. “And now, may I have the honor of a private word with you, Mr. Darcy? Adding, of course, that such a thing is also perfectly acceptable among theatricals.”

  He did not care if it was acceptable or not. “I am happy to be at your disposal,” he said, and followed her into the entry hall.

  With serious expression, she drew a folded paper out of her reticule and held it out to him. “This is for Mr. Bingley. It says you acted the part of a gentleman and did nothing inappropriate, and that this is a matter of the appearance of compromise rather than actual compromising behavior. I hope it will make him acquit you of any misbehavior towards me.”

  The letter itself was meaningless, but the knowledge that she had been concerned for him enough to write it was a gift. “That is kind of you, but I must decline. Bingley refused to accept my word as a gentleman. That is not something which can be forgiven with a mere explanation. If he changes his mind, it must be because he decides to believe me rather than because I have offered him proof. It is a matter of honor.”

  Her brows drew together in a bewitching puzzled expression. “As you wish, but should you change your mind, you need only ask.” Her sudden smile brought light into the room. “Having only sisters has given me little understanding of how gentlemen resolve their disagreements.” She tucked the letter back in her reticule.

  “I appreciate your concern, and I thank you.” Darcy hesitated. “May I ask you a question?”

  “You may ask, but I do not promise to answer.” Her arch smile took any sting from her words.

  “Did you read the letter I wrote you? A simple yes or no will suffice.” He held his breath.

  Her smile became rueful. “I read most of it.”

  Most of it? He had stayed up all night, laid bare the worst pain of his past, and she had not bothered to finish reading it? “I see.”

  “I doubt you do,” she said tartly. “You were observed giving me the letter. My cousin Mr. Collins hunted me down as I was reading it and demanded that I give it to him.”

  Darcy’s blood turned to ice. Georgiana’s secrets were in that letter. “He has the letter?”

  With an impish smile, Elizabeth said, “No. I tore it to shreds and threw them in the stream. I thought you would not want anyone else to see it. Unfortunately, it also meant I could not finish reading it.”

  He breathed a sigh of relief. “You did the right thing. I should never have committed those words to paper.” Even the idea of that fool Collins reading the letter infuriated him. But what had Elizabeth missed? He had discussed Bingley first, he was sure of that, so the end of the letter would have been about Wickham and Georgiana. “If you still believe Mr. Wickham’s stories, I would like the opportunity to finish what I said in the letter. Or you could ask Jasper what he thinks of Wickham. Their paths have crossed often enough for him to know the sort of man Wickham is.”

  She shook her head. “That will not be necessary. I no longer believe you treated him unfairly, and I apologize for my misjudgment.” Her voice was flat. “I am glad you permitted Mr. Bingley to return to Netherfield.”

  “He did not need my permission.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Am I to believe he decided to return on his own?”

  Darcy flushed. “I suggested the possibility, but the decision was his. Whether anything may come of it is another question. You will no doubt know sooner than I.”

  The color ebbed from her face and she looked away. “That is less likely than you think. My father is the only one who knows where to reach me, and he is a poor correspondent at the best of times.”

  His heart broke at her evident unhappiness. “I cannot tell you how sorry I am that my behavior had such consequences for you.”

  Elizabeth seemed preoccupied by tying the ribbon of her reticule. “I confess I was angry with you at first, but I realized you had been careless at worst, and I was at least as guilty of that. I hoped to prevent gossip by leaving, and I am sorry to learn it was unsuccessful. But today is Christmas, so let us dwell on the past only as it brings us pleasure. Shall we return to the others?”

  “As you wish.” His words were polite, but his thoughts rushed in a different direction. Why had she thought leaving would prevent gossip?

  A man’s slurred voice said gleefully, “Caught you!” The drunken actor who had sat on Elizabeth’s other side at dinner pointed at them.

  Darcy stiffened. “We have been talking, and the door has been open the entire time.”

  Elizabeth glanced upwards and blushed furiously. “That is not what he means.” She sounded half-strangled.

  “There.” The man’s wavering fingertip pointed to the chandelier over their heads.

  A sprig of green leaves and white berries hung from it. Mistletoe.

  A thousand thoughts raced through Darcy’s head. How could he make Elizabeth feel comfortable and safe with him if he kissed her? But if he had the opportunity to kiss her, how could he resist the temptation?

  An attractive young woman appeared behind the actor. “What is the matter?”

  “Missel...mistletoe,” the man said.

  Hesitating would only make matters worse.

  Elizabeth tipped her chin up.

  Darcy’s heart raced. She had not offered him her chee
k! As he lowered his face towards hers, the room began to blur around him, with only Elizabeth remaining in focus. The scent of lavender and sweet soap washed over him, penetrating the familiar Christmas aroma of roast goose, plum pudding, and evergreen boughs. He closed his eyes just as his lips brushed hers; warm, silky soft, tender. Elizabeth. A jolt of desire pulsed from his lips, tempting him into extending the kiss, caressing her seductive heat longer than he ought to, but nowhere near long enough. And she had not pulled back, as she easily could have, and his senses exulted.

  “Oh, my.” It was a woman’s voice, filled with sultry humor.

  The sound shocked Darcy back to reality, and he straightened, surrendering that vital link. But he did not feel bereft, not while the tension of the shared touch still burned in the air between them, and her sparkling eyes seduced him wordlessly.

  Good God, when had he taken her hands? And how was he to ever let them go?

  The woman said, “Now I know whom I should try to catch under the mistletoe.” Her words were met by muffled giggles.

  Elizabeth said softly, “Happy Christmas.”

  “Happy Christmas to you, Miss Elizabeth.” His voice was rough.

  She dropped his hands and swept a deep curtsey to their observers. “What, no applause?” she asked archly.

  The room came back into focus. Now two smiling ladies stood by the drunken actor, and each lightly clapped their hands.

  Elizabeth turned her fine eyes back on Darcy. “Theatricals are never completely off stage, you know.”

  He could somehow tell she was not making light of their kiss, but rather trying to lighten the atmosphere around them. His mouth curved into a slow smile. “I am starting to learn that.”

  She gestured to the drawing room door. “Shall we return to safety?”

  He wished he could say what he felt, but instead he simply bowed. “Your wish is my command, Miss Elizabeth.”

  The moment was ended, but it could never be over. Surely she must feel that, too.

  Chapter 7

  SOMETIMES ELIZABETH wondered whether Mr. Siddons, the theatre manager, remembered that she did not work for him. Tonight he had ordered her to stand in the wings holding a cup of hot tea with honey for the leading man, who was suffering from a putrid throat. It made for long intervals of pure boredom punctuated by moments of urgency when Mr. Jamieson would step off stage, gulp the tea, and have Elizabeth dab the excess drops from the large false mustache he wore.

  She would not have minded, were it not for those periods of boredom when her mind kept sliding back to Christmas and Darcy’s kiss. It had been two days now. How was it that she could still feel the warmth of his lips on hers and the burning, unexpected surge of heat inside her, the longing to press herself against him, right there in her aunt’s entry hall? The memory still made her skin tingle. The prickle of desire she had felt on occasion for other men had been a trickling summer brook compared to this whirling torrent.

  If it had been any other man, she would be dreaming of their next meeting. But she could have no future with Darcy. Perhaps they might encounter one another again before he left Edinburgh, or perhaps not. Even that would be dangerous. Then she would never see him again. Ever. He would never kiss her again. Never gaze intently into her eyes. Never make her pulses pound with his presence. And that was the way it had to be. Any further contact would only lead to immeasurable pain.

  It would be for the best if she did not see him again. Why could she not convince herself of that?

  At the end of the third act, one of the stagehands took the teacup and teapot from her. “Siddons wants you. His office,” he whispered.

  What could the theatre manager want from her now? Had she caused some sort of trouble? Her aunt would be displeased if she had angered Mr. Siddons. She tiptoed away from the stage.

  Mr. Siddons was not in his office. Instead he stalked through the backstage, glowering at everyone. When he spotted her, he grabbed her elbow and propelled her to his office. Yes, he had definitely forgotten she was not one of his employees.

  What could she have done? She could think of nothing worse than some ill-timed impertinence, but he was clearly unhappy.

  He closed the office door behind him and scowled at her. “Does Fitzpatrick know King Henry well enough to go on tomorrow night?”

  Of course. Everyone knew Jasper practiced his lines with her. “I would say so. He is not absolutely word perfect, but he does not miss any lines or cues.”

  He tapped his foot. “It will have to do. No one can hear Jamieson halfway back in the pit. I am too old to play Henry, so it must be Fitzpatrick. Drill him on it tomorrow.”

  “Of course.” Perhaps she ought to start asking for a salary!

  “Make certain he is ready. That is all.”

  She left him, already smiling. Jasper would be thrilled. It would be his first time stepping into a lead, and he loved the role of King Harry. She wished she could tell him herself, but limited herself to beaming at him as she passed him backstage.

  At least this new prospect might help to keep her mind off Darcy.

  DARCY TOOK THE BLOTTED note to the window. He needed better light to decipher Jasper’s scrawl. He raised his eyebrows as he read.

  “It is from Fitzpatrick,” he said, just managing to get the name correctly. “Their leading man is ill, so he will be playing King Henry tonight.”

  “We must go to it!” exclaimed Mrs. Ramsay.

  “He enclosed three tickets, so I assume he is inviting both of you as well.” Why did Jasper suddenly want him to come to the theatre after making it clear Darcy should stay away? Perhaps there were some occasions where even a runaway would wish for a family member to cheer him on.

  THEY WERE DIRECTED to a private box which was reserved for actors and their guests. The box was large and could easily have seated twelve, but they were the only ones there. They settled themselves at the front of the box, Mrs. Ramsay sitting between the two gentlemen.

  “Not much of a crowd tonight,” said Ramsay.

  His wife replied, “Too many people only want to see the famous actors. I am glad we came. Oh, I am as nervous for poor Mr. Fitzpatrick as I would be to go on the stage myself!”

  Ramsay chuckled. “If his performance tonight is anything like the monologue he did for us, you will have nothing to worry about.”

  Darcy surprised himself by saying, “I confess to a little anxiety of my own, simply because I know how disappointed he will be if it does not go well.”

  The curtain began to rise.

  King Henry was not in the prologue or the relatively dull first scene. The audience appeared more engaged in talking to one another than paying attention to the play until Jasper strode in at the beginning of the second scene surrounded by his attendants.

  He was greeted with half-hearted booing and a catcall of “We want Jamieson!” Someone lobbed a potato at Jasper.

  Jasper caught it in mid-air without breaking stride. He tossed it up and down as he said, “Where is my gracious lord of Canterbury?”

  He had the presence of a young, energetic monarch, accustomed to quick obedience, showing no hesitation. The audience gradually grew quieter, and by the time King Henry was mercilessly castigating the French ambassador with threats of his vengeance on France, he had everyone’s attention.

  As the next scene began, Darcy realized he had been leaning forward in his seat. He sat back, suddenly aware of rustling noises behind him. He turned his head to discover Mr. Siddons, the theatre manager, sitting in the next row. In the rear of the box, a shadowy shape stood by the curtained entrance, a shape Darcy knew intimately from his dreams. Elizabeth.

  Her unexpected presence made his heart beat faster. She leaned down to whisper something to Mr. Siddons. Had she noticed him? Was she simply preoccupied with the performance, or was she ignoring him?

  It would draw attention if he kept looking back at her, so he tried to fix his eyes on the stage. His cousin appeared again, this time to verbally toy with th
e three high-born traitors before telling them he knew of their treachery. He made the difficult transition from the youthful King Henry with grand dreams to royal ruthlessness with believable ease. It sent a chill down Darcy’s spine.

  When the action returned to the seedy tavern in Eastcheap, Darcy looked over his shoulder. Elizabeth was gone, and Mrs. MacLean sat beside Mr. Siddons. With a sickening wrench, he wondered if Elizabeth had run from him, or whether it was normal for the theatricals to come and go throughout the performance. He feared it was the former.

  The thought haunted him until King Henry, sword in hand, followed by his soldiers, ran onto the stage and cried, “Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more, or close the wall up with our English dead!” Jasper’s transformation into the brilliantly charismatic young soldier-king was complete.

  THE APPLAUSE FOR JASPER was loud and sustained despite the small audience, and there were a few shouts of “Bravo!” as if he had been an opera singer.

  “Your friend has a remarkable talent!” Mrs. Ramsay exclaimed to Darcy.

  Darcy was still in shock from Jasper’s performance. He had seen very few actors who could command the stage so well that it seemed impossible to look away from them, but Jasper had added himself to that number. “I had no idea he was capable of that.”

  Elizabeth, who had returned without drawing his notice, said to Mr. Siddons, “He did it!” Her eyes were sparkling.

  “He did.” Siddons tapped his foot rapidly. “He certainly did.”

  Darcy quickly introduced the Ramsays to the theatre manager.

  Mrs. Ramsay said warmly, “Mr. Siddons, that young man is going to be famous someday.”

  Mr. Siddons bowed. “Madam, I think you may be correct. I have seen glimpses in him before, but he has reached a new level tonight. Miss Merton, after Hogmanay, Fitzpatrick will take over the role of Henry. We will see how he does over a few months.”