Page 60 of The Slipper Scandal
“Will you stay for dinner?”
“I thank you, but no,” Fitzwilliam said. “I promised my mother to dine at home tonight.”
Darcy was glad when his cousin did not invite him along. He was poor company just now, distracted as he was by the Gordian knot Miss Bennet had presented him. He paused and shook his head. No, in his thoughts she would always be Elizabeth, though he would not use the name aloud again until she gave him her consent to do so.
He watched Fitzwilliam depart with a mixture of gratitude and apprehension, grateful for his advice. It had merit, even if the execution seemed daunting. Every day. Fitzwilliam had suggested he see Elizabeth every day. The thought both thrilled and unnerved him. Such constant attention might either win her trust or drive her away entirely—and he was not certain which outcome was more likely.
He sat at his desk and pulled out a sheet of fine stationery. At the very least, he could begin by formalizing his invitation to the opera now rather than waiting until the morning. Perhaps if he chose the correct words, she might glimpse some of the sentiment he had thus far kept concealed.
As he dipped his pen in the inkwell, Darcy found himself considering Fitzwilliam's most provocative suggestion: to make Elizabeth fear losing him more than she feared accepting him. The concept was foreign to his nature. He had never deliberately set out to inspire attachment in anyone.
The quill scratched across the paper as he composed his note, careful to keep his language appropriate yet warmer than his usual formal style. When he had finished, he read it over twice before sanding it, folding it, and pressing the wax seal with his signet ring.
As he rang for a servant to deliver the message to the Abernathys' , Darcy acknowledged to himself what he had been reluctant to admit to Fitzwilliam but that his cousin seemed to know anyway: his feelings for Elizabeth had progressed beyond mere admiration or even strong attachment. He was in love with Elizabeth Bennet. He had known it for some time. This strategy of Fitzwilliam’s was a risk, but it was one he had to take. Losing her was not something he would be able to bear.
Darcy moved to stand before the fire, his hands held out to warm them. The path ahead would not be easy. Elizabeth's fears were deeply rooted, born of painful observation and experience. She would not be easily convinced.
Yet as he stared into the flames, Darcy felt his determination harden into resolve. Elizabeth Bennet was worth fighting for, worthchangingfor, if necessary. And while he would never be the sort of man who wrote poetry or made public displays of sentiment, he could perhaps learn to express his feelings more openly with her.
The servant entered to collect the letter, and Darcy handed it over with a sense of purpose he had not felt since first announcing their engagement.
With that thought, Darcy moved to his desk to review his other correspondence. Tomorrow would bring a visit to the Abernathys’ home and hopefully the opera, and with it, the first true test of this new strategy. Until then, he would prepare himself as best he could for the most important challenge of his life.
Chapter Eighteen
Elizabeth sat alone in the small drawing room, enjoying a rare moment of solitude as she perused a novel she had borrowed from Mr. Abernathy's extensive library. The afternoon light was beginning to fade, casting long shadows across the carpet, when Wilson entered bearing a silver salver.
"A letter for you, Miss Bennet," he announced, offering her the missive with a slight bow.
Elizabeth's heart quickened at the sight of Mr. Darcy's bold handwriting. She had not expected to hear from him again today; they had parted only a few hours ago.
"Thank you, Wilson," she said, striving to keep her voice even. "Was there a reply requested?"
"Yes, miss. The messenger awaits your answer."
Elizabeth broke the seal with careful fingers, conscious of a fluttering sensation in her stomach that had become increasingly familiar whenever Mr. Darcy's name was mentioned.
Miss Bennet,
I write to request the pleasure of your company, along with Mr. and Mrs. Abernathy and Miss Abernathy, at the Lyceum Theatre tomorrow evening for a performance ofThe Peasant Boy.I am told the music is particularly fine, and I believe you might find it engaging.
The performance begins at seven o'clock. Should this arrangement be agreeable to you all, my box is positioned to afford an excellent view of both stage and orchestra.
I intend to call upon you tomorrow morning as we have arranged, unless such a visit is inconvenient. You need only send word if that is the case.
Though I have attended many operatic performances over the years, I find I anticipate this one with unusual pleasure, due entirely to the prospect of sharing the experience with you.
With sincere regard,
Fitzwilliam Darcy
Elizabeth read the letter again, lingering over the final lines. There was a warmth to them, an admission of sentiment that was unusual from Mr. Darcy.Due entirely to the prospect of sharing the experience with you.The words stirred something within her, a cautious hope she had been trying to suppress.
"Wilson," she said, rising to her feet, "would you kindly inform Mr. and Mrs. Abernathy that I have received a communication from Mr. Darcy that requires their attention? I believe they are in the library."
"At once, miss."
Truly, she ought to have sought them out herself, but her legs were trembling beneath her, and she sat again as soon as Wilson was gone. While awaiting the Abernathys, Elizabeth found herself reading Mr. Darcy's letter once more. The invitation itself was unremarkable. A gentleman escorting his betrothed and her hosts to an opera was a common enough occurrence. But there was something in his phrasing that felt more significant. He had thought of her specifically when selecting the performance. And he had written immediately after their morning visit, as though unwilling to wait a day to secure her company again.
