A Peculiar Connection (12 page)

I laughed at his exaggeration but agreed to be his partner later in the evening. With the musicians’ final note, I felt flushed from the exercise, but not without pleasure. Mr. Denison led me from the floor, bowed, and assured me he would return to claim his dance.

I looked around, hoping to find Miss Denison. With surprise—no, astonishment—I watched Mr. Darcy escort her to the head of the line of dancers. He must have found her exceedingly charming to ask her to dance, for I knew he had not honoured any other lady the entirety of the evening. I watched as he took her hand, stepped close, and inclined his head. Evidently, he did not find conversation with her as trying as he had with me last year at Netherfield. Growing uncomfortably warm, I wished I had brought a fan. The Whitbys’ fires were entirely too well tended that late in the year. I thought of having another cup of punch, but for some reason, I could not tear my eyes from the dancers and one couple in particular.

“Miss Bennet?”

I startled, as though someone had read my thoughts, and looked up to find Colonel Fitzwilliam at my side extending a refreshing cup toward me. I acknowledged his gift with gratitude, and when he suggested we step out on the balcony for a bit of air, I agreed.

“Your colour is high. I fear you have danced too close to the fireplace,” he said as he led me through the double doors.

“The night breeze is a welcome change.”

We stood next to the railing, whereupon he leaned forward and rested his forearms. “It is a beautiful night.”

I agreed and lifted my head to gaze at the multitude of stars littering the heavens.

“You are quite beautiful in that position, Miss Bennet. The fairness of your throat is luminous in the starlight. That and the turn of your countenance prove a striking combination.”

I immediately lowered my gaze and protested his remarks.

“No, I am serious. You are a lovely woman. Surely, you have been told that by numerous suitors.”

“I do not collect suitors, sir. With my lack of fortune, they hardly stand in line.”

“Mr. Denison appears smitten.”

“He simply asked me to dance.”

“Has he not requested your hand a second time?”

“That does not signify anything of consequence. If you asked me, I would dance with you a second time.”

“Indeed? And…what if I ask for your hand a third time? Now, tell me, does that signify something of consequence?”

My heart beat faster, and I was grateful for the cool air, for I could feel my cheeks burn. What was the colonel suggesting? Surely, he was not asking for my hand in marriage here at the ball. I turned toward the French doors, anxious to retreat to the safety of the throng within.

“I am sufficiently refreshed. I think we should return, sir.”

He caught my hand before I could reach the door. “Will you do me the honour of being my partner for the last dance, Elizabeth?”

“I…do not think—” I could not conjure up a reason to refuse him. “Yes…if it is your desire, sir. Thank you.”

“It is most assuredly my desire,” he murmured as he brought my hand to his lips. The look in his eyes filled me with dread, and I quickly excused myself and hurried into the ballroom.

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I sat between Marianne and Andrew Denison at dinner. Mr. Darcy sat on Marianne’s left, and Colonel Fitzwilliam sat directly across from me. I was relieved that the colonel did not act with any peculiarity or pay particular attention to me during the meal. There were no stares or long, meaningful looks into my eyes. One would never guess we had engaged in a significant moment earlier in the evening. He proved an engaging guest and entertained Mrs. Whitby with tales of his military exploits. From the vacant stare in her eyes, I doubt she knew much of the exotic places he mentioned, but he spoke with such animation that he amused everyone at the table within hearing.

Mr. Whitby asked Georgiana to play for us near the close of the meal, and although she was nervous, she agreed and performed in an excellent manner. After Marianne performed and two sisters played a duet, Mr. Whitby extended the invitation for me to play and sing, but I demurred. Obviously, I did not possess the talent already exhibited. I would not think of shaming myself or the Darcys as my sister Mary had done at the Netherfield Ball.

Mr. Darcy said little during the entirety of the feast, but I noted he kept the waiter busy refilling his wine glass. Without a doubt, I thought, he would not drink more than he could handle. I had never seen him lose control in a public assembly and could not fathom why he took such chances that evening.

Mr. Andrew Denison requested the first dance after dinner, during which he said our discussion of the Bridesgate attics caused him to recall a certain painting. He asked whether he might call upon me the following day and bring the picture, for he thought I would find it of great interest. I agreed, of course, but when I asked why, he refused to reveal his reasons.

“You must wait and see for yourself, Miss Bennet,” he said with a sly smile. His blue eyes twinkled, and I decided that, although he might not be as handsome as his brother, Maurice, I did not find his appearance unappealing by any means.

After that, I danced with several other gentlemen; indeed, I seldom sat the entire evening. Once I did find myself without a partner, I witnessed Mr. Darcy ask Marianne to dance a second time. I decided I had made a mistake earlier, thinking she and I might be friends. Of a sudden, I decided that she smiled too much. It became clear we would not suit each other at all.

As the evening drew to a close, Colonel Fitzwilliam arrived to claim the last dance. Andrew Denison accompanied him and reminded me that he would call on the morrow. We had just concluded our conversation, and when he turned to leave, I saw Mr. Darcy approach.

“The last dance, is it not?” he said. “Will you do me the honour, Elizabeth?”

“Darcy!” Colonel Fitzwilliam hissed in a low voice. “Miss Bennet has already promised me.”

“You have presumed upon her time more than enough this night. Elizabeth?”

He brushed past the colonel and took my hand firmly in his, steering me toward the dance floor without a backward glance.

“Sir…it is not done!” I whispered. “I…I beg you, do not make a scene.”

He drew closer and spoke in my ear. “It is not I who would make the scene, Elizabeth. No one but you and I know our true connection. Will it not appear unnatural if I do not ask my
cousin
to dance at least once? Take your place in line.”

The first notes sounded, and I recognized the song as a newer romantic air that called for greater contact among partners than any previous dance of the evening. I held my breath as Mr. Darcy stepped forward and encircled my waist with his arm. The position thrust our faces close, and he met my gaze with a dark, piercing stare. Was it my imagination, or did his hand linger longer than necessary about my body? Did he step nearer than he should when we clasped hands and danced forward? And why did my hand tremble so when I placed it upon his shoulder?

I cleared my throat and attempted to lighten the mood with conversation. His only response to my remark was a steady reading of my face. I saw his eyes travel down to my mouth, and I found myself blushing. Frantically, I searched for something harmless of which to speak.

“Are not the musicians talented? I have rarely heard such able completion of—”

“Elizabeth.” He twirled me around and stepped away.

I took Mr. Whitby’s hand and bowed in time to the rhythm before turning back to face Mr. Darcy. “Sir?”

“In your lifetime, have you ever, just once, danced without speaking?”

I glared at him as we clasped hands and stepped down the line. “Naturally. I simply—”

“Then, I pray you, bestow that favour upon me. Let us do nothing more than dance.”

We circled the last couple in line and faced each other. Oh! The man was impossible! Very well. I would not tell him if the house caught fire. I gritted my teeth and determined to complete the set, but only because I refused to call attention to myself by leaving the floor abruptly. But I would not enjoy it. Oh no, I would not enjoy one moment.

And then Mr. Darcy took my hands and whirled me around and around. I inhaled sharply as the tempo increased, but I matched him step for step. He stared into my eyes with a ferocity I recalled from our first dance together at Netherfield. I refused to cower but met his gaze fully. But why…why must he incline his head so near? The scent of his skin intoxicated me. And he must not allow his hands to caress my shoulders when we clasped each other to descend the line. Was it my imagination? No, I knew his hands lingered longer, much longer, than needed.

This would never do. The melody enchanted me, and I felt myself caught up in the fascination of dancing with him. All those feelings I had earlier confessed to God now flooded my heart, and I knew I was lost. I had not forgotten the spell he could weave over me. In spite of all my declarations and determination, I had not overcome the delight I experienced at his slightest touch. I loved him, but not with a sister’s love. And I never wanted our dance to end.

][

That night, I did not close my eyes. Before dawn, I determined to leave Pemberley posthaste and return to Longbourn. I knew I could no longer stay in the same house with Mr. Darcy.

Chapter Seven

The post rumbled along the road outside Lambton with such jarring jolts that it set my teeth on edge. The driver seemed to possess innate knowledge of where each stone lay in our path, and I wondered whether he took mischievous delight in bouncing us up and down. How quickly I had accustomed myself to the comfort of Mr. Darcy’s carriage! The public conveyance possessed neither the luxurious padding nor spaciousness of his vehicle. Three fellow passengers—a woman and two older men—shared the coach, forcing an intimacy I found oppressive. One of them, evidently, had not bathed for some time, and I kept my nose as close to the open window as permitted. The bleak, overcast skies without matched the grimness of the interior as well as my frame of mind.

I had slipped out of the house without notice in the pre-dawn darkness. Knowing that the family would rise late because of the previous evening’s ball, I hoped the servants would be too busy to observe my departure. They had orders not to awaken any of us early, so I felt assured that I might make my escape without detection.

The five-mile walk to Lambton proved much more arduous than I expected, for the countryside possessed numerous inclines. I had packed my essentials in one small, light valise, but it grew heavy before I reached the town. In a brief note addressed to Mr. Darcy and Georgiana that I had left on my pillow, I told them I was leaving because I missed my family and Longbourn too much to remain at Pemberley.

While awaiting the arrival of the post in Lambton, I could not sit still. Fortunately, it ran on an early schedule that day, so we departed before ten in the morning. My head pounded by the time the horses worked themselves into a good speed. I took a deep breath and leaned back on the seat, realizing for the first time that I had clenched my teeth until my jaw ached. My nerves felt ready to crumble, and I struggled not to show my emotion. It would not do to expose myself in public, for I needed no offers of assistance that, naturally, would involve questions.

Misery possessed me. Why had I ever entertained the thought that I might visit Pemberley? It had all been a mistake, an impossible endeavour, a foolish, foolish dream. I would never be able to think of Mr. Darcy as my brother. Dancing one dance with him had dashed that illusion. I knew I must return to Longbourn and avoid ever seeing him again. I would never be Miss Darcy; I had no right. I would never have a place at my true father’s table. I would be forced to make a new life with someone else and in some other home.

Although my friend Charlotte had in the past accused me of being romantic, I did possess a practical side. I acknowledged that I must marry, and since I could never marry the man I loved, I would return to Longbourn and make myself agreeable to any man I could respect. As long as he proved honourable and kind, I would endure the union.

Why had I not remained at Pemberley then and allowed Colonel Fitzwilliam to propose? I closed my eyes at the thought. Yes, he possessed excellent qualifications, but there was his connection with Mr. Darcy. I could not bear to think I would enter into a marriage where I was certain to be cast into his company. The idea was intolerable! ’Twould be better even to marry a farmer, and after all, was that not a more suitable match for one born as the result of a dishonourable situation?

My girlish dreams of a loving union had tumbled to the ground as quickly as the mist now falling outside the coach. I leaned my head against the side of the carriage and closed my eyes, hoping I might sleep and never waken.

I know not how long I slept, but I did awaken with abruptness. Amid shouts from without, the coach halted quickly.

“What’s happenin’?” The woman beside me grabbed her basket and clutched it to her chest. “It’s not the highwaymen, is it? Oh, pray, don’t let it be highwaymen!”

Our two male companions rose and peered out each window of the coach. I drew back from the man nearest me, for my nose identified him as the person in need of a bath. Within moments, we heard the driver shout again and the distinct tone of a gentleman contradict him. I closed my eyes in dismay, for I could not fail to recognize the voice.

“I tell you she is my cousin,” Mr. Darcy said. “Whether she purchased her fare under the name Bennet is immaterial. The lady is a guest at Pemberley, and I would never allow her to travel unattended in a public coach. I demand you release her to my care without delay.”

“She never said she was from Pemberley, sir,” the coachman answered. He opened the door and pushed back the man who hung halfway out the window. I shrank back when he offered his hand to assist me. “Come on, miss. Your cousin’s here to take you home.”

“No, I shall not go with him. I bought a pass for Hertfordshire. It is paid for, and I have the right to travel on this coach.”