Page 59 of The Wager
“Trenton, may I introduce to you the Viscount Ashton and Mr. Darcy?” Lady Jane asked politely.
“After the letters I have received from nearly every family member from Hertfordshire to Derbyshire, I must insist upon it,” the earl teased.
Jane presented her brother to the viscount, then she turned and did the same for Darcy.
“Even though we have never met, I feel like I know you both intimately,” Trenton said once the introductions were over. “Not only have Jane and Elizabeth written about the two of you, but my cousin Sophia has spoken of the extended Fitzwilliam family with great warmth for many years. I am very glad to finally put faces to the stories.”
“I hope the stories were pleasant.”
“Some were,” Trenton said before sliding a playful glance in the direction of his twin sister. “Some were not. At least, not at first.”
Darcy grimaced at the gentle reminder of his brutish behavior when he first met Elizabeth. How many years would their family feast onthatstory? Given their love of the satirical, he rightly assumed the tale of Fitzwilliam Darcy insulting Lady Elizabeth Hamilton would be told and re-told until he was old and gray and then a few more decades after. He paused and quietly realized he did not mind the teasing. Not when it was done in a loving manner, and not to make him ill at ease.
“My grand plan to make an indelible impression upon your sister worked to perfection.”
“Grand plan!” Elizabeth exclaimed and with a chuckle, she tapped his forearm with her fan. “No gentleman inserts his dancing shoes into his mouth in the hopes the lady remembers him fondly. You, sir, are a delicious cad and I shall remind you of this when we dance.”
Darcy pretended to look at her with great surprise.
“Dance? We are going to dance?”
Her eyes slightly narrowed and then her lips curled into a smile. His brain stopped functioning, other than calculating how long it would take to get a Special License and how quickly could he get her alone.
“Yes, Mr. Darcy,” her lilting tone pulled him from his frantic, internal planning. “I have high hopes for this evening.”
“As do I, Lady Elizabeth,” he said, in asottovoice. “As do I.”
He was rewarded by her delightful blush and quick catch of her breath. She understood him completely and if the clearing of Lord Courtland’s throat were an indication, he understood as well. Darcy straightened his posture to its fullest height and lifted his chin only marginally before directing his gaze toward Elizabeth’s uncle. Lord Courtland pursed his lips and raised his brows in silent query as to his intentions.
“Uncle John,” he began. “Now that your nieces and nephew are in town, I would like to extend an invitation to dine at Darcy House. I know my sister Georgiana would like to meet Elizabeth and her family. She has pestered me relentlessly ever since she learned of our courtship.”
“I will respectfully defer to my lovely wife to pick a time and date.” Lord Courtland’s attention was caught by the arrival of the Duke of Devonshire. He lightly touched Trenton’s arm to alert him of this fact. “Devonshire has arrived and I know you wished to extend your condolences.”
“Why would the duke attend if he is still in mourning?” Elizabeth asked, her gaze one of sympathy as she watched the former Marquis of Hartington greet his host.
“His father always opened the ball with Lady Kildair. She is a distant cousin and the duke wishes to honor his father’s tradition. He will depart immediately after.”
“May Ash and I come with you?" Darcy asked. "Even though I wrote him a letter upon his father’s passing, I would like to extend my condolences in person.”
“I have no problem with that,” the marquess said and the four gentlemen approached the duke and after extending their heartfelt thoughts of sympathy, chatted with young Devonshire while the room continued to fill with guests.
“Iforgothowyoungthe Duke of Devonshire is,” Jane said as she and Elizabeth watched their beaux cross the room to chat with the somber gentleman.
“He is one and twenty. A few months older than Trenton and I.”
“Does Trenton know him?”
“They have common acquaintances, and the duke has a keen interest in horticulture which, as you know, is something Trenton enjoys. I would not be surprised if the two of them became patrons of the Royal Horticultural Society. It is well known in our family that you and Trenton have green thumbs,” Elizabeth teased Jane. “I am more likely to dig up a viable plant and leave the weeds.”
“Speaking of the different shades of flora and fauna, I see someone, who if she knew who you are courting, would be positively green with envy.”
“Oh my,” was all Elizabeth could say when she spied Miss Bingley making her entrance into the ballroom.
Dressed head-to-toe in burnt orange, with a matching turban that sported no less than four dyed ostrich feathers, Miss Bingley proudly gazed about the room as though she were the Queen and waited for her courtiers to bow upon her arrival. From her peripheral vision, Elizabeth noted Jane slowly shook her head.
“Her modiste must hate her.”
“Why would you say that?”
