Page 51 of The Slipper Scandal
How very inconvenient.
As she was distracted by the man who was at the root of her problems, Mrs. White and the other ladies swept by grandly, as though they considered themselves royalty. Behind them were a few younger ladies, not much older than she and Arabella.
“Those are Mrs. White’s daughters,” Arabella whispered in Elizabeth’s ear.
One of the young ladies stepped too closely to her sister, causing the other to knock her hip into a narrow pedestal bearing a small bronze sculpture as they walked past.
The pedestal wobbled precariously.
Elizabeth lunged forward, arm outstretched, but another figure reached it a heartbeat faster.
Mr. Darcy.
Their hands collided at the base of the sculpture, her hands over his, steadying the piece just in time. They remained like that for several seconds, faces too near to one another for either comfort or propriety.
“Miss Sophia, this is not a ballroom,” Lady Matlock said somewhat caustically from across the room. “Do take care.”
Elizabeth swallowed and attempted to ignore the fact that her hands were still touching his. “Are art rescues your usual method of courtship, Mr. Darcy?”
Mr. Darcy looked at her sidelong, his voice low and perfectly dry. “Only when the art is in imminent danger, Miss Bennet.”
She slowly withdrew.
Arabella picked up the little card with the description of the bronze from where it had fallen to the floor. “Shared Symmetry,” she read aloud, and placed it back in its place, smiling rather wickedly at them both. "The Greeks had a charming word for when art mirrors what unfolds before us. What was it again, Lizzy?”
“Mimesis,” Elizabeth muttered. “As you well know.”
"Yes, that is it," Arabella replied with a knowing smile. "Oh, I believe Colonel Fitzwilliam is desirous of my company. If you will pardon me?"
As Arabella departed, Mr. Darcy took a breath. "Would you care to view the larger sculptures in the Blue Room with me, Miss Bennet?"
Elizabeth nodded, resigned. “Indeed I would, Mr. Darcy.”
Chapter Fifteen
Darcy had been attracted to the woman on his arm from nearly the moment they had been introduced, but everything ought to have proceeded in the proper order. If he had only handed her slipper back immediately, he might have called on her, invited her to the theatre, to Bullock’s Museum, even to the British Museum, and they might now be enjoying a more traditional courtship.
When her hands had landed on his, he could not breathe for a moment. Even now, with her hand on his arm, he had to fight to keep from lifting it to his lips. He won that altercation with himself, of course. He was a gentleman.
And because he was a gentleman, he would release Miss Bennet should she truly not find herself willing to wed. But the consequences of such a rupture would be difficult for her, far more than for him. Socially, at least.
Abernathy had said to court her, and they were barely over a fortnight into their engagement. She just required time. He hoped.
They entered the Blue Room. The promised nymph stood in the centre—a young woman frozen in the act of stepping into water, her marble drapery appearing to flutter in an invisible breeze.
Miss Bennet’s expression was transformed by genuine admiration as she studied the marble form.Thiswas the woman he had glimpsed at the masquerade, and again at Bullock’s. Passionate, thoughtful, engaged with the world in a way so many of his acquaintances were not. Her observations were always precise, her enthusiasm authentic. He found himself unexpectedly moved by her capacity for wonder.
"The artist has captured such movement in stillness," Miss Bennet murmured, circling the pedestal slowly. "The stone truly seems to flow like fabric.”
Darcy nodded, though she was still examining the statue.
Miss Bennet’s voice was hushed as she continued. “I cannot understand how the artists ever imagine such possibilities in the stone. What must if feel like, to see a figure emerge from marble through the work of your own hands." She looked up at him now and her eyes were shining.
"It is remarkable," Darcy said, stepping closer beside her, maintaining his composure notwithstanding his intense attraction to her at this moment. If onlyhecould inspire such a look. "I wished to join you earlier, but my aunt insisted I keep my distance."
"Your aunt is an astute woman," Miss Bennet replied. "She explained that I must establish myself without your assistance."
"And how have you fared?" he asked quietly, though he already knew the answer.
