He promised himself to seek Fitzwilliam when he had the opportunity and do what he could to ensure his cousin was as happy with the change in their circumstances as he was himself. As his eyes drifted shut, he was not thinking of his cousin, but of Miss Elizabeth, sitting opposite him, playing chess in a yellow gown. He loved her in yellow.
Chapter Twenty-One
Elizabethsighedhappily.Shewould never be a beauty in the way Jane was, but the reflection in her glass revealed a very pretty woman. Sarah had twisted her hair up behind rather elegantly but allowed a few curls to escape in front to frame her face. The pearl hairpins Mama had left her glowed softly in the candlelight. She had purchased her ballgown in London last season, but with a few adjustments to the sleeves, she doubted anyone would notice. Not that she minded for herself, but Elizabeth did wish to avoid any catty remarks from Miss Bingley, her sister, and their London friends.
The gown was an evening primrose colour she adored and, if she had read the approbation in his eyes accurately, was also a favourite of Mr. Darcy’s.
She was ready before either of her sisters, and when she found her way to the top of the stairs, Mr. Darcy was at the bottom, his hands clasped behind his back, his head turned to one side. Was he waiting for her?
Elizabeth’s heart pounded painfully in her chest at the sight of handsome Mr. Darcy in his black and white evening clothes—his spotless shirt and cravat were nearly glowing against his dark evening coat and satin breeches. They were cut precisely, displaying his powerful figure to great advantage. Although they had been to evening engagements before, he had never dressed quite so formally.
Evening dress suited him.
Then he tugged ever so slightly at the cravat, and she smiled. He was not entirely comfortable. “Good evening, Mr. Darcy,” she called.
His head turned up to her. “Miss Elizabeth,” he said warmly. “You are everything lovely this evening.”
“Thank you, sir,” she said, blushing.
His gaze was on her as she carefully made her way down to him. He took her hand and bowed over it as she curtsied. Their eyes met as she rose.
“Your father has permitted me to speak privately with you tonight,” he said, his voice heavy with regret, “but a few minutes ago I received an express, and I must now speak to you on a different subject than the one I had hoped to canvass. Are you willing to hear me?”
It surprised Elizabeth how deeply the words cut. She had indeed been expecting a rather specific question. “Of course, Mr. Darcy,” she replied.
He winced, and Elizabeth feared her words might have been a little cool; she had not intended them so. They stepped into the family parlour rather than the drawing room where everyone would soon gather.
Mr. Darcy held out a note to her. “I must return to London in the morning.”
Elizabeth’s heart plummeted to her feet. “You are leaving?” He was not meant to depart Longbourn for more than a fortnight yet. She blinked, ordering the tears gathering on her lashes not to fall as she opened the note and carried it to the light. It was a message from his solicitor.
Mr. Darcy,
Your presence is required in town immediately. Mr. Horatio Darcy’s will is being contested by his brother.
Mr. Benjamin Connors
Her brows pinched together. “His brother. That is your great-uncle . . .”
“Theophilus. Yes.”
“He is appealing the will.” Her eyes met his. “Is that possible? Would not all of the particulars have been legally approved before everything was signed over to you?”
He lifted his shoulders. “I do not know. It may be that he is hoping I will pay him more than his bequest simply to be rid of him, and I admit, I am tempted. However, what would stop him from coming back again with his hand held out? I have had a taste of this with Mr. Wickham, and do not wish to be in the business of paying off men with scurrilous claims. However, Connors is urging me rather strongly to return to town. That being the case, he must have some concerns. I will remain in London until this is resolved, and obviously I cannot predict the outcome.”
Elizabeth frowned. “How long do you think it will take?”
He shook his head. “I cannot say.”
“You may not return to Longbourn at all,” she whispered.
“Miss Elizabeth,” he said, and then, quietly, “Elizabeth.”
The yearning in the way he spoke her name made her tremble. “Yes?” she asked breathlessly. She did not want to be rendered silly at the sound of her name on his lips. He was leaving.
He took her free hand, sending a shock of lightning through her even though they were both wearing gloves. “You know my original intentions for this meeting.”
“Do I?” she inquired dumbly, trying to regain her senses.