Page 46 of The Slipper Scandal
Elizabeth rolled her eyes but could not entirely suppress a smile. "I doubt Papa would recognise me playing the part of a society hostess."
"He would absolutely recognise his daughter putting pretentious fools in their place with a smile and a well-turned phrase," Arabella countered. "That is all Mamma is asking of you. Be yourself. Your best self. The rest will follow."
"I shall try," Elizabeth said with a sigh of resignation. "Though I maintain this entire exercise is futile."
"If you truly do your best, Lizzy, you shall be the toast of London in no time," Arabella predicted with a satisfied nod.
"I do not know how often I must say this. I do notwantto be the toast of London," Elizabeth replied. "I thought you said you wouldhelpme."
"I am helping you," Arabella said innocently. "Are you married yet?"
“No.” And then, despite herself, Elizabeth laughed. "You are impossible."
"And you, my dearest friend, are avoiding the truth that is right before your eyes," Arabella replied, suddenly serious. "Mr. Darcy is a good man, a far better man than either of us initially believed. Would it truly be so dreadful to consider that he might make you happy?"
Elizabeth had no answer for that, and as Arabella moved to the wardrobe to examine the rose silk gown, she found herself contemplating the question with unexpected gravity.
Belle was enamoured of the colonel. She was not going to do anything that would embarrass his cousin. Elizabeth would have to do this on her own.
How difficult could it be to not do what Mrs. Abernathy had asked? That Arabella had demanded? All she need do was toflounder in the face of the ton’s scrutiny. The earl and countess would talk Mr. Darcy out of marrying her, and that would be that.
Chapter Thirteen
Elizabeth felt the carriage slow as it approached the imposing façade of Matlock House. Her stomach tightened with anticipation and dread. She smoothed her gown, the deep rose silk that Mrs. Abernathy had chosen. She had worn minimal jewellery, just her mother's pearl earrings and the single pearl drop on a thin gold chain her father had gifted her for her birthday last year. She had a vague hope that this visible lack of wealth would make her appear unsuitable for a man of Mr. Darcy's standing and that his relatives would instantly protest the marriage. A vain hope, most likely, but she could not help it.
The carriage door opened, and there stood Mr. Darcy.
"Miss Bennet," he said, extending his hand.
Elizabeth placed her gloved fingers in his, feeling the strength in his grip as he assisted her down. "Mr. Darcy. How kind of you to meet us."
"I wished to ensure you were properly introduced to my aunt and uncle," he replied, maintaining hold of her hand a momentlonger than strictly necessary. "They have been most eager to make your acquaintance."
"I am certain they have," Elizabeth murmured, unable to keep a hint of irony from her tone. No doubt the countess was curious about the country nobody who had somehow entrapped her nephew.
Behind her, Colonel Fitzwilliam was assisting Arabella, and then Mr. Abernathy helped Mrs. Abernathy down the carriage steps.
"Darcy!" Mr. Abernathy called jovially. "Your aunt's exhibitions are always the talk of the season. Most kind of her to include us."
"She values discerning appreciation of the arts," Darcy replied, his gaze returning to Elizabeth. "Which is why I believe Miss Bennet will particularly enjoy today’s display."
She raised an eyebrow. "You presume to know my tastes, sir?"
"I observed your interest in the classical sculptures at the masquerade," he said quietly.
"My goodness, youwerepaying attention."
A self-deprecating smile touched his lips. "I did boast rather baldly of my observational skills when we walked in the park, Miss Bennet. Did you not believe me?"
She was startled into a little laugh.
The group proceeded up the marble steps, where a liveried footman opened the grand doors to reveal a foyer awash in classical beauty. Soaring ceilings arched overhead, painted with delicate clouds and mythological figures that seemed to float in an azure sky. The floors were inlaid with geometric patterns of contrasting stone, polished to such a sheen that their reflections rippled beneath them as they moved.
Niches in the walls housed small classical busts and statuettes while larger pedestals displayed more contemporary pieces. A particularly striking marble Icarus in mid-flight dominated onecorner, his wings outstretched, his stone face expressing both fear and exhilaration. All of this, and yet each piece had its own place, tasteful, restrained, inspiring. Elizabeth could not help but approve.
Footmen in livery stood at attention near a grand staircase that curved upward in a slow, graceful sweep.
A woman in perhaps her early fifties approached with graceful purpose. Her dark hair, streaked with silver, was arranged in an elegant coiffure in which was nestled a thin gold and diamond tiara. Her deep blue gown rustled softly as she moved.
