Page 13 of The Slipper Scandal
“Precisely!” Mr. Abernathy said. “Which is why it is all the more important that we promote our story before any of those troublesome whispers from this evening take root.”
Elizabeth frowned as her wits began to return. The Abernathys were compassionate people. They thought there was no way out of this marriage and were attempting to make her feel better about it. If she refused, she would wound the Abernathys deeply—they had known her since she was in leading strings, had treated her as a daughter, and were only thinking of her welfare. And more than that—of her sisters, Jane, Mary, Kitty, and Lydia.
She swallowed. She could not be so selfish. And yet, she also could not walk meekly down the aisle like a lamb to slaughter, resigning herself to a marriage that was nothing more than a transaction, an agreement to preserve reputation rather than to demonstrate affection.
Elizabeth had seen the reality of an unhappy marriage in her own home. She had no wish to live her mother’s life. And she had no desire to compel Mr. Darcy to live her father’s.
Elizabeth forced herself to breathe. She would not allow a marriage filled with regret to be her fate. She had not succeeded at the ball, but she had not given up. Shewouldmake Mr. Darcy break the engagement. He was kind enough, she hoped, to do so quietly.
Her heart steadied, her resolve hardened.
“Lizzy?” Mrs. Abernathy prompted. “Will you have dinner with Mr. Darcy?”
Elizabeth straightened, smoothing her skirts. “Very well,” she said, lifting her chin.
Mr. Abernathy beamed. “There now, that is our girl.”
Mrs. Abernathy patted her hand. “I knew you would see sense. You have such an excellent head on your shoulders, my dear. And truly, you must count yourself lucky. Mr. Darcy is a most eligible gentleman.”
“Or he was,” Mr. Abernathy said with a laugh.
“Indeed,” Elizabeth said, voice dry.
“And so handsome,” Mrs. Abernathy added, eyes gleaming.
Elizabeth bit the inside of her cheek to keep from sighing. She would have to play her part for now. The Abernathysdidlove her. But as she curtsied, thanked them for their hospitality, andexcused herself for the evening, she knew she would find no help from them.
By tomorrow’s dinner, she must have a plan.
Darcy sat before the hearth, his elbow resting on the arm of the chair, fingers pressed against his temple as he stared into the flames.
To one side, his cousin Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam lounged with the ease of a man accustomed to both battlefield strategy and drawing room intrigue. Fitzwilliam held a brandy in his hand and studyied his cousin with a knowing, slightly amused expression.
“Well,” Fitzwilliam said at last, stretching out his legs, “I can honestly say I never thought to see the day when my fastidious cousin became the subject of a scandal.”
Darcy exhaled sharply, not quite a sigh, not quite a scoff. “Nor I.”
Fitzwilliam smirked. “I suppose congratulations are in order, then. You have finally become interesting.”
Darcy cast him a flat look, but Fitzwilliam only raised a brow, waiting. He did not take the bait. Instead, he said, “She does not wish to marry me.”
Fitzwilliam blinked. “No?”
“No.”
“Your problem is solved, then.”
Darcy shook his head. “Not solved.”
His cousin grunted and took a sip of his drink. “Ah. I take it you havenotreleased her from the engagement.”
His jaw tensed. “I cannot.”
Fitzwilliam studied him for a long moment, his amusement fading. “You feel obligated.”
“In part.” Darcy lifted his gaze, watching the firelight dance across the rim of his glass. “I am friends with Abernathy.”
His cousin sat up. “Abernathy, you say? Does he have a daughter, about nineteen, blonde hair, green eyes?”
