Page 82 of The Slipper Scandal
Though the last performance before the second interval was given by a young lady singing an Italian aria with admirable skill, it felt interminable. Darcy sat rigid with impatience, aware that his family would undoubtedly attempt to thwart his plan to speak privately with Elizabeth afterward. He formulated a strategy: immediately after the applause, he would offer his arm to Elizabeth and escort her to the small antechamber adjoining the drawing room, where they might have a few minutes of uninterrupted conversation.
As the final triumphant notes faded away, Darcy rose and turned to Elizabeth, only to find Milton already at her side, one hand extended.
"Miss Bennet," the viscount said smoothly, "Lady Jersey has expressed a particular desire to make your acquaintance. Might I have the honour of presenting you?"
Elizabeth hesitated, her gaze flickering to Darcy with a question in her eyes.
"Miss Bennet and I had already arranged to speak privately," Darcy said firmly, stepping forward.
"Did you?" Milton looked puzzled, though Darcy was certain his cousin had overheard their exchange. "How extraordinary. Lady Jersey will be most disappointed."
They all glanced over to where Lady Jersey sat speaking animatedly with her husband.
"I am sure Lady Jersey will survive the deprivation," Darcy replied with a touch of asperity.
"I suppose I could inform her that you are occupied with matters of greater importance," Milton conceded, though his expression suggested he was enjoying himself immensely. "Though she is not accustomed to being refused."
Darcy was about to deliver a scathing retort when Elizabeth intervened.
"Perhaps Mr. Darcy might escort me to Lady Jersey first," she suggested, "and we might speak afterward."
It was a reasonable compromise, but Darcy sensed that once they entered the general society of the drawing room, opportunities for private conversation would vanish. Nevertheless, he could hardly reject her proposal without appearing churlish.
"Of course," he agreed, offering his arm to her. "I would be honoured to accompany you."
Milton looked put out, but recovered quickly. "Splendid. I shall inform Lady Jersey to expect you directly."
He moved away, and Darcy seized the opportunity to guide Elizabeth not towards Lady Jersey, but towards the antechamber he had identified earlier.
"Mr. Darcy," Elizabeth said, her tone mildly reproving though her eyes danced with amusement at his mischief, "I believe Lady Jersey awaits us in the opposite direction."
"I am certain she has no idea that the viscount has used her name," Darcy replied bluntly. "I have been attempting to speak with you privately all evening, only to be thwarted at every turn by my insufferable relations."
Elizabeth's laughter, soft and musical, caused his heart to skip a beat. "They are certainly devoted to their cause," she observed as he led her into the small, elegantly appointed room.
"They are devoted to driving me to distraction," Darcy corrected, closing the door partially to afford them a measure of privacy while maintaining propriety. "I must apologise for their behaviour. I do not draw particularly well, but Milton was right about one thing—I have never considered writing poetry.”
He had intended to say more, to offer some small comfort or defence, but Elizabeth’s expression forestalled him. No trace of anger or embarrassment lingered upon her countenance. She was composed, but her gaze had shifted, distant and thoughtful, as though weighing not only her mother’s approaching visit but also the full weight of what their situation had brought upon her.
He swallowed back the rest of his apology. There was a time to speak and a time to act. Tonight, he resolved, he would act. He would find some way to reassure her that what he felt for her was stronger than gossip or ambition.
Elizabeth met his eye with a wry tilt of her head and that infuriating, enchanting sparkle in her eyes. "A pity about the poetry.”
Darcy felt a flush of embarrassment, but her playful tone eased his discomfort. "If I were to write verse, Miss Bennet," he said quietly, "you would provide ample inspiration."
Her smile softened. "You surprise me, Mr. Darcy. I had not thought you given to such gallantry."
"It is not gallantry," he replied simply. "You know me too well to suspect that."
A moment of silence stretched between them as he watched Elizabeth decipher his meaning. Darcy gathered his courage, determined to address the matter that had concerned him earlier.
"Your mother's impending arrival," he said gently. "Would you tell me why it distresses you so?" He thought he knew, but it was better to hear it from her.
She met his gaze reluctantly. "My mother is not known for her discretion," she said quietly. "She will likely speak of our engagement in terms that are . . . embarrassing, to put it mildly."
"In what way?" Darcy asked, wishing to understand the full extent of her concern.
Elizabeth hesitated, then continued with evident discomfort. "She will undoubtedly attribute my acceptance of your proposal to mercenary motives. She will speak of your wealth and consequence in the crudest possible terms and imply that I deliberately set out to secure you as a husband."
