Page 18 of The Slipper Scandal
Darcy was silent for a moment, considering. "You suggest I should attempt to court Miss Bennet properly, despite our engagement already being a matter of public knowledge?"
"Precisely." Mr. Abernathy nodded. "The engagement gives you the opportunity to know one another without the usual constraints of formal courtship. And you being seen as enjoying the engagement period will do much to assuage any gossip." Hesmiled, a hint of mischief in his expression. "Though I should warn you, Elizabeth is not easily impressed."
"I am not accustomed to having to impress young ladies," Darcy admitted, though, truth be told, he rather looked forward to it with her.
Mr. Abernathy laughed. "Then this will be a new experience for you, Darcy. And, if I may say so, probably a beneficial one."
A knock at the door interrupted them, and the butler appeared to announce that the first of the dinner guests had arrived.
"We shall continue this discussion another time," Mr. Abernathy said, rising. "For tonight, perhaps simply observe Elizabeth. She is quite remarkable when she forgets to be guarded."
Darcy nodded, following his host from the study. If Miss Bennet truly possessed the character Mr. Abernathy described and that he had glimpsed at the ball, she would not be easily won with the advantages that usually secured him deference. His wealth, his estate, even his connections would mean little to her without the man behind them proving worthy of her regard.
His mind churned through the available facts and came up with a plan. He would not press her; Miss Bennet must feel free to set the tone between them. He would be courteous without being familiar, thoughtful but not obvious, and allow his conduct to speak on his behalf. If he could merely demonstrate integrity, restraint, and respect, surely that would suffice to begin softening her resistance.
His strategy determined, Darcy approached the threshold of the drawing room and took a measured breath. Fitz’s warning echoed in his mind. What gentleman in his right mind ever looked forward to such a battle with this sort of unreasonable anticipation?
He nearly laughed aloud.This one.
Chapter Six
Elizabeth Bennet was not a woman prone to nerves. She had, after all, survived her father’s sharp wit, her mother’s anxious enthusiasms, and more than one assembly in Hertfordshire where her sister Lydia’s dog had more manners than half the gentlemen in attendance. But as she stood in the Abernathys’ drawing room, surrounded by a sea of politely interested faces, she felt an unmistakable twinge of dread when confronted with the towering presence of Mr. Darcy, who was striding directly towards her.
He had no business looking as composed as he did. His coat was perfectly tailored, his hair neatly combed, and his eyes held something dangerously close to determination. That would not do.
“Miss Bennet,” he said, bowing with the precision of a man more used to giving orders than receiving them.
“Mr. Darcy,” she replied, executing her curtsy with the crispness of a soldier reporting for duty. “How good of you to come.”
“As we are engaged, I believe it is expected.”
“Yes,” she said sweetly. “As is enduring it with good humour. Shall we begin?”
He seemed momentarily discomposed by her answer. Still, he offered his arm, which she took with all the grace she could muster, though she did entertain the fleeting fancy of dragging her heels. She had promised the Abernathys she would give Mr. Darcy a chance, but that could also include a chance to withdraw, could it not? The sooner the better, really. It would be kinder for them both.
The dining room was elegant and pleasantly warm. The assembled company—four couples of Abernathy-adjacent respectability—glanced at them with keen interest. Mrs. Abernathy gave her a slight nod of approval.
Mr. Darcy took the seat beside her and had the gall to look pleased about it. She had not expected him to be such an accomplished actor.
The footmen moved silently, placing steaming bowls of soup before the guests as the scent of leeks and herbs drifted through the air. Silver gleamed under candlelight, and crystal glasses clinked as wine was poured and murmured thanks exchanged.
Across the table, Lady Maria leaned forward. “The toll road from Bath was nearly impassable,” she declared, her pearls trembling with the effort. “We nearly lost a wheel just beyond Devizes. I was certain we should end up in a ditch.”
“You would think,” Sir Howard said emphatically, “that with all the money it costs to traverse them they would keep the roads in better order.”
“How dreadful,” murmured Mrs. Langford, dabbing delicately at her mouth with a napkin.
“Even a terrible road is far better than that ghastly new bonnet Lady Wiltshire wore to Lady Honoria’s musical soiree,” Mrs.Framingham said with a titter. “Did you see it? Coquelicot with peacock feathers.”
“What shade is coquelicot again?” Mr. Framingham inquired.
“Peacock feathers in January,” Mr. Langford said with a sniff. “Bold. Or blind.”
Laughter rippled around the table, light and brittle.
Elizabeth sipped her wine and listened, unsure of why peacock feathers were considered seasonal apparel, but offering every sign of rapt interest. Mr. Darcy offered a polite smile, his posture immaculate, his gaze attentive but not animated. He inclined his head at the appropriate intervals, offered a dry “Indeed” when prompted, and agreed that the road from Bath had long required repair. His voice was low and even, and not a single line of amusement reached his eyes.
Elizabeth watched him from beneath lowered lashes. Mr. Darcy was performing perfectly, but there was not one flicker of true enjoyment in his replies. He was executing the dance of dinner conversation with precision, each step exact but lacking any music. If these were the tools he intended to use to win her regard, he would have better luck impressing a statue.
