She had no choice but to accept it, and for once, she felt no desire to refuse. “I am not a princess yet.”
With a start, she recalled her elevation to baroness. She had almost forgotten in the madness of events. The nightmare of having people laugh at her behind their hands, thinking she was putting on airs or scampering to climb the social ladder was over. She had once been Elizabeth Bennet, a poor gentleman’s daughter. But now she was Lady Wilshire and due to her own merits rather than an accident of birth. She deserved this dress.
A princess is by deed as much as by blood. Anne’s inner voice was gentle. You are worthy to wear it, and it would displease us were you to refuse to go to the ball.
She had had her pride. It had almost stopped her from accepting Darcy.
Indeed. You are a match for Fitzwilliam in pride. How do you expect to keep your promises to your stepmother if you do not make the most of your opportunities to mingle with high society?
And now the princess was appealing to Elizabeth’s practical nature. She must uphold her vow. Adelaide had not prevented Jane’s marriage, and now Elizabeth must do everything in her power to help see her younger sisters advantageously wed as well.
Especially now that their mother would no longer be with them.
“It is beautiful. Thank you.” She blinked rapidly and tore her gaze away from the dream dress to look at Anne again, who was smiling.
My dear, it is always the ones who feel unworthy who are the most deserving.
Anne faded. “Wait! Where will I tell my family I obtained this dress from?”
You are intelligent, Elizabeth. Make something up. There will be a carriage to take you to the ball. It is only for you.
Jane was baffled, of course, while Lydia and Kitty cooed in jealousy. Mary, of course, did not care, except for a cursory glance. Elizabeth told them the gown, and the accessories buried deeper in the box including a pair of delicate ice blue slippers, were a gift from Georgiana.
Talking them into leaving without Elizabeth took even more work, but she would obey Anne’s instructions. Felt almost a compulsion to do so, from the moment she had first held the Darcy sapphire.
Not more than fifteen minutes after her sisters departed did a carriage come for Elizabeth. A knock sounded on the door, and when she opened it a footman stood at attention, then bowed.
“Lady Wilshire,” he said and moved aside.
She stepped out of the house, walking down the path to the gleaming white carriage emblazoned with the Darcy coat of arms. Elizabeth was no fool—a conveyance such as this should be reserved for the royal family or very close friends and honoured guests. Or the betrothed of a prince.
They drove though the forest, an unearthly stretch of land for all the moonlight streaming through the forest canopy. She wondered where her stepmother was, but forced herself to put it from her mind. As they drew closer to the Seat, it was as if tiny fairy lights bloomed above the path, creating a heavenly halo. Their carriage joined a line of others, though none elicited the same attention as her conveyance.
Nervousness struck as the door opened and the gloved hand of an impeccably mannered servant reached in to assist. Surreptitious stares alighted on Elizabeth’s figure as she stepped down. Her comfort was that she was as royally garbed as any present.
Before exiting she had donned the blue and white half mask that also accompanied the dress. Looking around, she observed embellished masks encrusted with jewels, trimmed in feathers and lace, towering high above the ladies’ coiffures. Elizabeth preferred simplicity.
Her back snapped straight as she reminded herself that she was now the equal of any person present in rank and possibly fortune. Entering the castle, Elizabeth was escorted alone with several others towards the ballroom. At the open double doors stood Darcy and his sister.
“Elizabeth,” Princess Georgiana greeted her, holding out her silver gloved hands, ethereal in palest pink, a shade that offset her creamy skin and golden hair without making her seem like a debutante. Diamonds draped wrists.
Elizabeth curtsied then rose, accepting her embrace. “Your Highnesses.”
“Elizabeth,” Darcy said quietly. “I am pleased to see you. I was afraid you would not come.”
“How could I miss such a grand occasion, Your Highness?”
Something flashed in his eyes, the faintest hint of impatience or dissatisfaction. His eyes held hers for a moment, but he inclined his head and she moved into the ballroom. She wondered if anyone thought it odd she was not standing with Darcy and his sister to receive guests but shrugged. It did not matter.
In Meryton she would have thrown herself laughingly into the dancing, rushed headlong into a night of merrymaking while keeping an eye on her younger sisters. Here, she moved out of the way and stared, taking in the tableau. Throngs of people so magnificent she might have imagined this the court of a Faerie king. Overhead the largest chandelier she had ever seen glittered, light winking from a million crystals. White walls gleamed, glowing under the lights.
“Elizabeth.”
Darcy was at her elbow, the crowd parting like the eddies of a sea, swirling right outside a visible barrier between him and others.
“Will you dance with me?” he asked. “I fear to ask for you are as like to reject me as accept. I hope you will do me the honour, however.” His scrutiny was a banked caress, his manner so careful she knew he must be holding back a flood of words, demands. His eyes held nothing back, gone was the aloof reserve of moments prior.
How had she ever thought him cold, unflappable?
No, the heart of a warm albeit somber man beat in his chest.
She smiled at him. “Of course, Your Highness.”
Darcy drew her onto the dance floor where they took the center place. He clasped her left hand and settled his other on the curve of her waist. The opening dance was a sweeping waltz of a style unique to the territory. One of the many lessons Georgiana had given her in the days before the presentation. Music began, and they moved, whirling in a stately formation that increased in pace.
Elizabeth had eyes only for him, ignoring the curious gazes of nobles behind their fancy masks. The not so curious gazes of ladies, all of them wondering how Miss Elizabeth Bennet had captured one of the most sought after bachelors on the continent.
“I almost miss, Mr Williams,” he murmured. “I was only a man to you, then.”
“You are still only a man. But you are now also a prince.”
“And more than that, I hope.”
“You do not hope in vain.”
“I wish I could be certain of your intentions towards me, Elizabeth.”
“They are honourable, Mr Williams, never fear. I would not toy with the affections of a respectable man.”
The dance revealed him. In Meryton he had refused, standing stiffly along a wall. Now she knew the truth, observed Darcy in his full splendour. He had not lied when he had insisted he could dance, just preferred not to do so among strangers. Here in his home, among his own people, it was as if the outer skin of his stiff self-imposed distance from the world melted, revealing the man underneath.
“You called me Mr Williams.” A teasing warmth lurked in his eyes. “I shall have to find you a nom de guerre. Princess Elizabeth, perhaps, wife of the prince?”
They came to the point of the dance where partners began to interchange, lines formed. The room whirled, masked faces in their silks and jewels blurring. A gentleman, tall with golden hair, inserted himself for a moment, looking down on her with sky-blue eyes, but then the dancers shuffled, and she was once again with Darcy, the music ending. Their hands touched briefly, then fell to sides as the rest of dancers made their obeisance.
“Once I would have said it was a foolish nom de guerre,” she replied. “That I am, and shall always be, well suited to a simple Miss.”
“And now?”
She looked up into his face. The tone of his voice shifted from the quiet, soothing tones to a smooth, hard command. The prince looked dow
n at her now, rather than the man, and the prince expected to be obeyed.
“I think I would like some air,” she said.
“As you wish.”
Darcy escorted her through the crowd and out of the ballroom. Lofty glass doors were already open, allowing in a fresh breeze to cool the dancers and offer relief from the heady perfume of so many people. He led her to a small garden expertly hidden by tall bushes. A resting place for the individual who desired a few moments of peace and quiet.
She pulled away from his grasp as soon as she was certain there were no eyes. “Women do dream of being princesses and not worrying over making their way in the world. Foolish women refuse to grasp a dream when it is offered to them. I am not foolish.”
His gaze was steady under the half mask. “Is that all I am to you? A dream?”
Opening her mouth to retort, she paused. They had bantered, exchanged words in a duel of wits, but she could not keep hiding her heart from him. Elizabeth stared into the blue eyes darkened and shadowed by night. They saw too clearly.
“You are more than a dream. You are inevitable. You are the man I have fallen in love with.”
The feelings she kept refusing to admit to herself were slowly making their way through the wall of her self-preserving dignity. It was time to let them free.
“Forgive me,” she said. “I have been wrong. To you, to so many people. I inflicted hurt on you, I fear.”
“I would allow you to inflict a great deal, if you gave me the right.”
One breath, two. Each word a drip, drip, drip against the rock wall of her will. She was crumbling, and she was beginning to let herself believe he would be there once the wall fell.
“I have struggled to find the words. The lure to reel you in. . .what do you want, Elizabeth? What is the thing you desire most in this world, that you would sacrifice blood, health, wealth for?”
Chapter Thirty-One
It was an easy question. “You already know. For Jane to enjoy the warmth of a good home and as many children as God grants her. And now I desire that same reality for my other sisters.”
“I, too, have a sister. I, too, would place her happiness above my own.”
Elizabeth’s gaze was unflinching. “Above your happiness. But above your duty?”
“You understand more than most. Still, I wish her to find the same happiness Jane has, and I can wish no less for your younger sisters. I will aid you as well as I can.”
“I feel as if I have little to offer in return. Our union seems so unbalanced.”
Darcy laughed softly. “In the time I have known you, I have never felt more myself. The burden on my shoulders seems lightened because I have my reward, a woman whose heart and mind compliment my own to such a degree it seems divine.”
“I would urge you to consider we might not always get along so well.”
“Oh, and I look forward to that, too,” he drawled. “Our fights and our reconciliations.”
Elizabeth cleared her throat.
“I searched in vain for any reason to deny myself when we first met. I told myself you were not the woman my father would have chosen. No wealth or elevated social connections to speak of. Far too brash and plain in your speech, your sisters barely able to restrain themselves to decent conduct in public.”
Her expression turned wry. “If you believe my speech too plain already, I will not fail to disappoint you in the future.”
He lifted a hand, smiling. “You are the woman my mother would have chosen, and she was perhaps the wiser of my parents.”
Elizabeth held her tongue. If only he truly knew. . . .
“On her deathbed she asked me to swear I would wed for love. A woman who would make me laugh and make me despair. A woman who would tell me the truth, who would see the man under the prince.”
“And you so swore.”
“I so swore.”
Her left hand gripped her right wrist. She yearned to reach out, to touch his face, run her fingers through his hair. Pull him close, and. . . .
Darcy did not move, still except for a faint breeze teasing the strands of his hair. “You are not a silly woman,” he said, words so soft she almost strained to hear. “You know I have declared myself already, a half dozen times, perhaps. I have waited for you to accept me in your heart.”
Her wry smile faded under the weight of self-reflection. “I could not. But even if my mind told me it could never be, I could not walk away. Not if there was a chance at a union with someone I realised was as suited to me as any could be.”
He was smiling again, albeit a rueful smile. “I will require far more from my wife than mere declarations of suitability.”
Elizabeth was certain she blushed. Especially when the smile darkened into something far more masculine, an amusement that spoke of intimate things.
“Do you know I never received a proposal from you,” she said, gathering her courage and taking a step closer to him. She looked up through her lashes, channeling a bit of her inner Lydia. Or rather, her inner Elizabeth, the part that had never truly come out to play before.
“I beg pardon. You did. Right there in Sir Lucas’ dining room.”
“That was not a proposal, Your Highness. That was damage control.”
He regarded her for several beats of silence, then lowered to one knee. “Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourn, Lady Wilshire, will you accept my heart, will you consent to be my wife, and Princess of Pemberley?”
Mere words were impossible, but it was all she had. “I accept. With all my heart. And all my love.”
Daughter, a voice whispered in her mind, and then multiplied until a hundred different voices rose in her head, the greetings of an ancient line of brides. Princess.
Elizabeth’s knees buckled. Foolish, and she would cringe later. Darcy was there, rising in an instant to catch her up in his arms until the dizziness passed.
“Wha—what. . . .” Her lips were numb, throat dry.
He regarded her face intently. “Did you hear them? The brides?”
“I—yes. All of them.”
“One day, when the earth reclaims your body. . . .”
Her hands rose, gripped his shoulders. “Are they trapped there?”
“No, not trapped. We think the ring is a beacon of sorts. An anchor. Or perhaps it is only their memories that remain. My mother tried to explain it once, but—”
Do not speak of it, daughter. It is not a thing for men to know.
The command was so final, the words digging into her soul and overtaking will. Elizabeth obeyed and shook her head. “I cannot speak of it.”
His eyes narrowed, but he nodded slowly. “No, I did not think you could. My mother—” He paused. “You are ours, now. Though you were from the moment that ring slid onto your finger. We never give up what is ours.”
He no longer bothered to mask the possession in his voice. Elizabeth looked at him, the feeling having returned to her now dangling legs. “I can stand on my own.”
“But I prefer to hold you. I am entitled, after all.” His head lowered. “Do I not now have the right?”
She wet her bottom lip, fingers digging into his shoulders. “But, sir, it is so sudden. . . .”
Darcy laughed. “Minx.”
Her lips curved in a grin as his arms tightened around her. Desire grew moment by moment, the warm strength of his embrace, the steadiness of his body as he shouldered the burden of her weight. Grew as he kissed her and the night around them faded.
“Darcy!” A feminine voice exclaimed.
He sighed, head lifting. “Your timing is poor, George.”
“Well, are we of one accord with this wedding business or not?”
Elizabeth lifted her left hand from where it had rested on Darcy’s shoulder, and gave a thumbs up. The sapphire glittered under the moonlight with a smug internal fire.
“Brilliant! I am so relieved there will actually be a wedding because. . .well, we will discuss the arrangements later. I see it in your face, Elizabeth, all y
our doubts are gone.”
Darcy lowered Elizabeth to the ground, reluctance in the slowness of his movements. Elizabeth turned, stepping aside just in time to avoid being hurled to the ground as the princess threw herself into her brother’s arms.
Darcy laughed, the sound as unrestrained as Elizabeth had ever heard, and enveloped Georgiana in a hug.
“What arrangements, dear sister?” Elizabeth asked pointedly.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Georgiana evaded the question, of course. “Come, let us return to the ball. It would be the perfect time to announce an official date.”
The ladies left Darcy standing in the garden, Elizabeth casting one last look over her shoulder. She almost tripped, for what at first seemed to be the moonlight coalesced into the form of a woman standing at his shoulder, a faint smile on her face.
Darcy’s mother lifted her hand, the son unflinching. Which confirmed one question; Darcy could not see his mother.
And he never will, said the former princess, a tinge of sadness in her tone. Nor will my daughter. You are Princess now. The jewel was always meant to go to the wife of the Prince. One day I will tell you the story of the first princess, though she was not called that then.
Princess Anne faded, her shade and her voice, and Elizabeth was alone again in her head. They paused briefly to once again to don their half masks, and then Georgiana escorted her back into the gleaming lights of the ballroom and through the crowd.
Elizabeth looked around for Jane and saw Mary instead, catching her eye. “Is there some place I can have a few moments alone, Your Highness?” Elizabeth asked Georgiana. “And if you would send my sisters as well.”
She nodded. “You must call me George, or sister.”
Several people tried to gain Georgiana’s attention, but the princess pointedly ignored them and they were left alone. Elizabeth spied the same gentleman from earlier in the evening, who’d attempted to gain her hand for a dance. She’d assumed him a sycophant seeking an avenue to the Darcys.
The crowd swallowed him again, and they exited the ballroom, skirting through halls until they came to a small, private library. Georgiana paused outside the door.
Prince Darcy Page 20
