Page 71 of The Slipper Scandal
"Indeed," Darcy agreed, gathering his composure and moving to offer Elizabeth his arm. "Miss Bennet?"
The slight pressure of her gloved hand sent an unexpected warmth through him, the strength in her fingers a counterpoint to the refined elegance of her appearance. The sensation only grew stronger as he waited until the others were inside to hand her into the carriage. The Abernathys, all three of them, had taken the rear-facing bench. He rather gratefully seated himself beside Elizabeth, acutely aware of the scant inches separating them in the confined space.
Darcy could detect the faint scent of jasmine from Elizabeth. It was mingled with something uniquely her own, a fragrance both fresh and intoxicating that he had noticed during their walk in Hyde Park. He took a steadying breath. He could not allow it to jumble his thoughts again.
"Have you seen this opera before, Mr. Darcy?" Elizabeth inquired as the carriage set off, the gentle sway creating a curiously intimate atmosphere.
"No, but I have heard Kelly's compositions on previous occasions and found them quite remarkable," he replied. "And you, Miss Bennet? Are you familiar with the composer's work?"
"Only by reputation," she admitted, her hands smoothing the rich fabric of her gown in a gesture he had come to recognise as a sign of nervousness. "Though I admit to anticipating the music. There is nothing like listening to true virtuosos, unlike my little performance earlier today." She smiled winsomely at him, making his heart beat a little harder. But she need not be modest. Her playing was enchanting.
"I agree with your first point," Darcy affirmed as he smiled in response, the expression feeling increasingly natural in her presence. "Though I maintain that your performance possessed both genuine feeling and technical skill. It was most affecting."
The carriage jolted suddenly as it turned a corner, causing Elizabeth to sway against him. Instinctively, Darcy moved to steady her, and as she straightened, he placed his hand down, inadvertently covering her gloved fingers where they rested on the seat between them. The fine kid leather could not mask the warmth or the slender strength of her hand under his own. For a heartbeat, neither moved, the brief contact sending a current of awareness through Darcy that left him momentarily disoriented.
"Forgive me," Elizabeth murmured, withdrawing her hand with a self-conscious smile, though not before Darcy noticed how her pulse fluttered visibly at the base of her throat.
"There is nothing to forgive," Darcy assured her.
The conversation turned to more general topics among the larger party for the remainder of the journey, but Darcy remained acutely conscious of her proximity. The passing streetlamps cast fleeting patterns of light and shadow across her features, and each time the carriage turned, he found himself tensing slightly, both dreading and anticipating another moment of accidental contact.
When they arrived at the Lyceum, the theatre's façade aglow with lamps, Darcy waited for the Abernathys to descend before he helped Elizabeth down, his hand lingering at her elbow as they navigated the crowded entrance. The crush of perfumed ladies and gentlemen in evening attire created a mosaic of colour and sound, the excited murmur of anticipation underscoring the elegance of the occasion.
Darcy was keenly aware of the glances directed their way, some merely wondering, others openly speculative. The scandal from the masquerade ball had been somewhat contained by their prompt engagement, but society's memory was long and its appetite for gossip insatiable. He saw several matrons leaning together, their painted fans concealing whispered comments as their shrewd eyes assessed Elizabeth.
Elizabeth, to his relief and admiration, held her head high, meeting the stares with a composure that revealed none of the discomfort she must surely feel. Her spine was straight, her movements graceful and unhurried, as though she had been navigating such waters all her life. In that moment, Darcy was struck by a fierce pride in her resilience, in the quiet dignity with which she faced these challenges that had been thrust upon her through no fault of her own.
As they moved through the lobby, a familiar voice hailed them.
"Darcy! What a pleasant surprise."
Frederick Nash approached, his sharp eyes taking in the party with undisguised interest. Nash was impeccably dressed as always, his coat of dark green superfine cut to emphasise his athletic build, his cravat arranged in a complex knot that somehow managed to appear effortlessly elegant.
The Abernathys greeted Nash and then were pulled away by another acquaintance.
"Nash," Darcy acknowledged, genuinely pleased to see his friend. “Do you know Miss Bennet?"
"Indeed I do," Nash replied, surprising Darcy and making a formal bow to Elizabeth, his smile warm and sincere. "Miss Bennet, our encounter at Hatchards remains one of the most intellectually stimulating conversations I have enjoyed this season. I trust you have since reconsidered your position on Wordsworth's latest?"
Elizabeth laughed, the sound bright and unaffected amidst the affected titters around them. "Not much, Mr. Nash. Though I have read it twice more since our meeting, hoping to discover the merits you so eloquently defended."
"And found none, I gather," Nash said, his expression one of mock disappointment, though his eyes gleamed with amusement.
"On the contrary, I found several passages of genuine beauty," Elizabeth conceded, her gloved hands gesturing expressively as she spoke. "But in my opinion, they remain islands in a sea of excessive sentimentality."
Nash turned to him with a smile, his gaze knowing. "You are a fortunate man, Darcy. A lady who forms her own opinions and defends them with both grace and intelligence is a rare treasure indeed."
Darcy nodded, something in his chest expanding at Nash's easy acceptance of Elizabeth. "I am aware."
Nash exchanged pleasantries with the Abernathys before leaning closer to Darcy, his voice lowered for privacy. "I have been meaning to call on you. There are several matters regarding the hospital that I should like to discuss with you."
Darcy nodded. Nash was the one who had established the children’s hospital in Westminster, and Darcy was deeply involved in its support. "Of course. Monday at the club?"
When he glanced down, Elizabeth was watching him with interest.
"Perfect," Nash agreed, his expression softening as he glanced between the two of them. "And may I say, it does my heart good to see you looking so contented. Marriage seems to agree with you, even in its anticipatory stages. Gives a man hope for himself, you know."
Before Darcy could respond, they were joined by the Bridgewaters, another couple from their circle—well, his aunt's—whose judgement Darcy respected. Mrs. Bridgewater was a handsome woman in her middle years, sensible and forthright, while her husband served as a magistrate with a reputation for fairness. Their estate was in Staffordshire, relatively close to the Matlocks’.
