Page 40 of Colour My World
“My jaw?”
“Your pride.”
Darcy bared his teeth. Barty lifted him by the shoulders into a sitting position.
“He’ll keep. Needs polishing, but the shape’s there.” Jackson extended an open hand. A bloody needle and thread.
Barty sniffed. “We shall minister to ourselves, thank you.”
Darcy allowed Barty to dress him and assist him outside. Once inside the carriage, Barty laid winter rugs across the seats before settling him. “The first duty of a gentleman is not to bleed over the silk.”
Darcy blinked. “What did you say?”
Barty stared out the window, the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth, but Darcy had no strength to press him. Then, the carriage lurched forward.
Chapter 13
Mayfair, June 1807
Darcy stepped down from his carriage into the dim glow of a Mayfair evening. The city pulsed around him. Lanterns flickered against polished carriage doors. Footmen wove through the throng, and link boys hovered, torches in hand, eyes keen for alms. Laughter trailed from passing ladies beneath the weak glow of glass-encased oil lamps.
The Season was in full force, and with it, an endless parade of obligations.
Inside the grand townhouse, the air was thick with wax, perfume, and conversation—a hum beneath the distant strains of a quartet. Darcy handed his greatcoat to a waiting servant and stepped into the drawing room.
Another evening. Another ball. Another exercise in futility.
“Ah, Darcy, you have finally come to your senses!” Lord Everton clapped him on the back, a broad grin on his florid face.
Darcy sniffed. His exuberant host had already helped himself to a generous amount of port. Darcy forced a tight smile. “Everton.”
“You have been absent all Season. One might think you were hiding… Good heavens! What happened to your face?”
“I cannot imagine what you mean?”
“What are those bruises? Were you set upon?”
“Do not be absurd.” Darcy looked down his nose until Everton blinked. He arched a brow. “And what, precisely, would I be hiding from?”
“Ah, I do not know. Perhaps it is the light? Never you mind. Lady Jersey has asked for you. She shall corner you and insist you dance with her goddaughter.”
Darcy sighed and adjusted his cuffs. “Had I known such a fate awaited me, I would have engaged in fisticuffs.”
Everton laughed. “Then you will never marry, and Pemberley will crumble under the scandal.” He gestured towards the glittering room. “Come, let us find you a wife.”
Darcy barely suppressed a grimace. He had already danced with four young ladies this week. He had listened to endless chatter about the latest fashions, the Season’s most sought-after heiresses, and the merits of Almack’s assemblies.
None of them had beenher. He had searched. Lord, how he had searched. But with every passing evening, every tiresome introduction, the possibility slipped further away.
“Darcy?”
His thoughts scattered. Lady Jersey stood before him, an expectant smile upon her lips.
“You are a rare sight indeed,” she said, taking his arm. “I trust you will not refuse me this time?”
Darcy suppressed a sigh and bowed. “Of course not, my lady.”
She led him inside. Later, after toasts and endless talk of weather, cousins, and Almack’s...
