Page 8 of The Slipper Scandal
“My father does.” Arabella’s lips twitched. “And I do read the society pages, you know. There are women in London who would poison every peer at Almack’s for the chance to be in your position. Many have schemed, yet none have succeeded.”
Elizabeth huffed a laugh, though it held no real humour. “Well, it shall not be necessary for the women of the ton to resort to such stratagems. They are welcome to him.”
“How selfless of you.”
“I cannot marry without love or even respect, Belle,” Elizabeth said softly. “You know I cannot. And I hardly even know the man’s name. No, I cannot marry him.”
“Think on it, Lizzy. You do know something rather important about Mr. Darcy. He stood beside you rather than disappear when the whispers began. That is more than most men would do.”
Elizabeth hesitated. It was true, Mr. Darcy had not fled. He had seen what was happening, had tried to send Lord Ellington away. And when the worst had happened, he had not cast her one mortified glance and turned on his heel, eager to extricate himself from scandal’s grasp. Instead, he had calmly placed her on his arm, escorted her inside, and declared to half the ton that they were engaged before she could manage so much as a gasp of outrage. A ridiculous man. A high-handed, impossible, insufferable man.
If he had just handed her slipper back when she had first asked for it, there would have been noneedfor him to stand by her.
“He might be a man of honour,” Elizabeth admitted at last, “but I am a woman of reason, and reason dictates that one must actually know one’s intended before agreeing to be bound for life.”
Arabella sighed. “Lizzy, if you are careful to maintain appearances, you might have time to come to know him.”
“That is not what I want.”
A sharp rap at the door interrupted them, and Mrs. Abernathy’s kind voice filtered through the heavy wood.
“Elizabeth, my dear,” she said, her voice warm and coaxing, “Mr. Darcy has requested the next dance.”
Elizabeth stared at the door as though it had issued a direct affront. A request for a dance. How very civilised.
Had she not been declared engaged before half the ton without her consent, she might have appreciated the courtesy of being asked. As it was, she was not inclined to be gracious.
Arabella nudged her foot. “Are you planning to keep my mother standing in the hall all evening, or shall I inform her that you have already departed through the window?”
Elizabeth sighed and rose, smoothing her skirts before stepping forward. She opened the door to find Mrs. Abernathy’s round, kind face alight with quiet encouragement.
“My dear,” the older woman said, stepping inside and closing the door firmly behind her, “I must tell you how very pleased I am. While it may not have been achieved in the usual way, it is a most fortunate match, and Mr. Darcy has conducted himself exactly as a gentleman ought. He will be good for you.”
Elizabeth glanced skyward briefly, as though appealing for patience. “Mrs. Abernathy—”
“I shall not lecture you on duty,” Mrs. Abernathy continued before she could object, “for I know you are very well aware. But I do believe a dance with your betrothed would go far in proving to the world that all is precisely as it should be.”
Elizabeth bit her lip to prevent a sharp reply.
Arabella took her arm and squeezed lightly, her voice a low murmur meant only for her ears. “Think of it as reconnaissance. An opportunity to learn more about him.”
Elizabeth let out a slow breath.
Perhaps it was the unrelenting certainty in Mrs. Abernathy’s expression, or perhaps even Arabella’s exasperating but undeniable logic, but at length, Elizabeth inclined her head.
“One dance.”
Mrs. Abernathy’s smile warmed. “Good girl.”
Before Elizabeth could reconsider, the Abernathy women took her arms and led her through the hall, their chatter light and easy, as though they were guiding her past the shops on Bond Street and not delivering her to a man she barely knew but to whom she had somehow become betrothed.
As they approached the ballroom, Elizabeth caught sight of Mr. Darcy waiting at the edge of the floor. He had removed his mask, and for the first time, she could see his entire face.
She was not prepared.
She had seen handsome men before. In the garden, with his mask removed, she had seen that Lord Ellington’s features werepleasant enough, and the Lucas boys were quite charming in their own way. But Mr. Darcy was of an entirely different sort.
Tall. Dark. Imposing.
