Chapter 18
“When shall we depart for Pemberley, Elizabeth?” Darcy was nearly begging. “Please say it will be soon.”
Elizabeth drew her gloves off one finger at a time, in a maddeningly slow pretense of thoughtfulness. “Well, I do not know, William. Is being my escort in London so unbearable?”
“I know you jest,” he replied, handing his coat and hat off to a footman. “You cannot have missed that . . . spectacle this evening.”
Elizabeth did not smile, but she pressed her lips together which meant she wished to. Minx. “I do not believe I witnessed any spectacle, Mr. Darcy. Whatever can you mean?”
Darcy removed his own gloves in two quick tugs and handed those over as well. “You are well aware that every person known to us at the theater this evening—and many entirely unknown to us—approached us for conversation or to be introduced. It is that wretched article!”
“Articles,” she corrected him. He groaned.
Two of the London papers had made mention of his triumph over Howard at Angelo’s. Both writers extolled a Mr. D. of Derbyshire who, even when set upon by a most dishonorable opponent, remained noble in all his actions and had emerged victorious. Elizabeth had read it aloud at breakfast, relishing his discomfort at being so singled out. It was even more florid than the story she had admitted telling in the countess’s drawing room. Now Darcy had the approval and attention of both the women and the men of the ton.
It was excruciating.
The tale might have been sold by any man who had attended the bout between Howard and himself but given the timing of the publication—weeks after the fact and just at the beginning of the season—he suspected Henry. Darcy asked Fitz, but his cousin pled ignorance. The man was too caught up in his courtship of Miss Bennet even to tease Darcy about his sudden renown.
Elizabeth hadteased him, but she was proud of him, too. Her approbation was worth having. But the theater had been . . .
This time Elizabeth did smile. “You are the most popular man in London at the moment. Enjoy it.”
“Enjoy it, you say?” Darcy asked, bewildered. He had been unable to escape. Even the Duke of Devonshire had stopped briefly to exchange a few words. “Do you know me at all?”
Elizabeth laughed quietly and led the way upstairs to their chambers. When they were ready for bed and had dismissed the servants, she embraced him. Darcy sighed, but put his arms around her and held her close. The tension ebbed away, as it always did when they touched. “We missed half of the first act,” he grumbled.
She shook her head at him. “It was Shakespeare. You told me yourself you have seen the play twice before and you have read it at least a dozen times.” She gazed at him sympathetically. “This will pass, my dear. But let us try to make the best of it. It would appear ill-mannered to flee town just now.” She held him tightly and raised herself on her toes to bestow a kiss. “You met several men tonight whose conversation interested you, and I met several of their wives upon whom I should like to call. Let us explore these new connections and discover who among them might be friends in time.”
Darcy stiffened. “I have not had the best of luck with friends, Elizabeth.”
Elizabeth’s hands moved in circles over his lower back, and he bent to kiss her forehead.
“That is because you did not have me before,” she assured him. “Together we shall find our circle. And you know, a number of good friends come with me—consider them my dowry of sorts.”
He sighed deeply.
“What were the most common demands of these so-called friends upon you?” Elizabeth asked.
“You know what they were,” Darcy answered. “Marriage.”
“And money?”
He nodded. “Nearly always money, in one form or another.”
“Well, as you are newly and happily wed, any requests for your hand must be at an end.”
“I would hope so.” Although there might be other inquiries from amorous widows and the like, hopefully they would cease when it was clear how much he loved his wife.
Elizabeth continued. “And as for money, you may again use me as a ready excuse. For you now have a new wife for whom to provide—and she did not bring a fortune with her. You have far less disposable income as a result.”
He grunted, not wanting to confess that his mood was improving. “The good Lord knows that is true. Her gowns alone . . .”
Elizabeth laughed and pulled back, slapping lightly at his arm. “Here I am, attempting to cheer you, and you turn on me. Badly done, sir. You pay less for gowns than anyone in the ton.” She smiled coyly. “Just for that, Mr. Darcy, tomorrow we shall attend the opera.”
Darcy tipped his head back. “Elizabeth, no.”
She wrapped her arms around his waist and gazed up at him. When he lowered his head, he saw her eyes, sparkling with joy and hope. “I have never been to the Opera House,” she said.