Page 62 of To Love And To Cherish
He allowed a small smile, devoid of warmth. “Forgive me. One more question, for clarity’s sake: if your husband were to offer you a kiss, purely as an expression of fondness, would you welcome it?”
Her face twisted in distaste. “Kissing? I think it is rather archaic. Such vulgar displays are for peasants and the lower sort. Civilized people maintain dignity.”
Darcy inclined his head slowly. “I see.”
He took his leave with practiced civility, but inwardly, the matter was closed. Beautiful though she was, and the daughter of a duke notwithstanding, Lady Bedwin’s affections were embalmed in cold ambition. Whatever warmth she might offer in society would not survive into the marriage bed. She would no doubt produce the required heir, but affection, tenderness, and even simple intimacy would be met with disdain or possibly horror.
No,he thought as he crossed the room again,this one is not for me. I seek a wife, not a wax figure.
His last encounter of the evening was with Lady Emma Stanton. At first, she was charming, even beguiling. She danced easily through conversation, laughed at his driest remarks, and showed a remarkable interest in Pemberley.
But her answers, when pressed, became elusive.
"You mentioned a half-brother, Lady Emma?" he asked.
The young woman flushed from her neckline to her hairline, a sheen of fine perspiration gathering on her brow. “Oh, just a figure from my father’s earlier life. Nothing of importance.”
Her tone remained light, but her fingers twisted her fan with nervous energy, and from that moment, she avoided his gaze entirely. A furtive air settled over her.
By the end of their exchange, Darcy's instinct warned him sharply. There were depths to Lady Emma, but not ones he wished to plumb. He rejoined the group and, with deliberatecare, seated himself beside Richard just as Lady Emma Stanton approached the pianoforte to begin the evening’s musical performances.
As the final note of the pianoforte faded into silence, Darcy reflected on the women he had met that evening. The night was drawing to a close, and with it, any remaining hope that one among them might suit.
Each young woman, sculpted by governess and seminaries, seemed less a person and more a product. They conformed, yes. But they did not think. They did not feel. They obeyed society’s form without possessing true substance.
They are replicas,he thought.And not one of them would do for Pemberley. Not one would do for me.
The next morning, Lady Helen and Richard called upon him at Darcy House.
Lady Helen beamed. “Well? What say you? Which fortunate girl captured your notice?”
Darcy gave a pained smile. “Aunt, I am most grateful for your efforts. The meal was excellent, the company... varied.”
Richard leaned in. “Come now, Will. Which one’s a maybe?”
Darcy raised a brow. “Miss Fitzgerald regards marriage as a business merger. Lady Bedwin recoils at the thought of kisses. Miss Beaumont considers children a regrettable necessity and morality her sport. Lady Huxley’s past is wrapped in secrets. Lady Fletcher appeared ready to faint if I so much as inquired after her health. Lady Stanton may be charming, but she seems rather... entangled in a past she will not disclose. And Lady Pembroke nearly talked me into an early grave.”
Richard choked on his tea.
Darcy stood and clasped his hands behind his back. “In short, I am relieved to return to Pemberley unmarried and unscathed. And should you ever again suggest seven women in one evening, I shall have to conclude you wish me dead of a heart seizure.”
Lady Helen sighed. “You are impossible.”
He kissed her hand. “Impossibly grateful, Aunt Helen. Thank you for making the effort to host a dinner and to assemble the very flower of England on my behalf. My eyes have been opened.”
And with that, the matter was closed.
Chapter 33: Dava Moor
The journey to Scotland had taken nine days in all, and by the time they reached Dava Moor, Elizabeth was in equal measure weary and exhilarated. The countryside had grown more majestic with each mile, fresh green leaves unfurled upon the branches, wildflowers scattered like bright jewels across the meadows, and wide hills brushed with new grass and patches of lingering heather. Above them, skies shifted from soft grey to brilliant blue, the sunlight breaking through in warm, golden shafts. The discomforts of the road were many, yet the novelty of travel and the surprising closeness that had developed among the three women had more than compensated.
They had spent a single night in Edinburgh, where Elizabeth, Miss Trent, and Miss King ventured out walking under the watchful eye of a groom. The air was brisk, and the streets lively, but it was the companionship Elizabeth enjoyed most.
“Well, Mary,” Miss Trent said as they turned a cobbled corner, “we shall reach Dava Moor in two days. Soon, you will meet your fate. Are you excited to meet your future husband?”
Mary gave a little huff. “Ancilla, you told me yourself this is only a meeting, not a betrothal.”
Elizabeth glanced over to find Mary’s face turned toward the sky, full of hope. “Still… yes. I am curious. Perhaps he is tall, dark-haired, and handsome. Perhaps he is positively charming, and I shall love him at once and wish never to part from him.”
