Page 3 of Leave Her Wild
The appearance of not only Lord Lindale, heir to the Matlock earldom and Colonel Fitzwilliam, the viscount’s younger brother, but also their cousin Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy at Lady Ellis’s ball had sent a ripple of excitement across the room. Young women and their manipulative mothers had been happy they had accepted the baronetess’s invitation.
“Do we have an invitation?” Bingley asked in sudden surprise at the hum of breathlessness marking their appearance.
“It does not matter,” Lindale assured. “No one would dare ask us to leave.”
Thrilled to have four very-eligible gentlemen grace her home, Lady Ellis came to greet them. “Welcome, my lord. Gentlemen. Sir Robert and I are greatly honored by your presence at our small gathering.”
Darcy stared out upon the crowd, and his stomach turned over in anticipation. He had viewed smaller country assemblies, where every farmer or villager from miles around attended, than was this gathering in Sir Robert Ellis’s home. People were squeezed into each drawing room and sitting room and small salon, as they were in Sir Robert’s columned ballroom. A card room had been set up near the rear of the ballroom, and, though Darcy would have preferred a few hands of whist to making conversation with strangers, he stayed close to his cousins and Bingley.
“Every untitled and fresh-faced young lady in London must assuredly be in this room,” Lindale grumbled.
As a group, except for perhaps Bingley, who spoke to everyone who approached him, Darcy and his cousinsrespectfully nodded to acquaintances and ignored the overzealous mamas and social climbers vying for their attention.
Lindale took note of a black-haired beauty until the chit, at her mother’s prompting, put on a fake laugh that sounded like something from the hounds of hell.
“My hunting dogs are more melodious,” the viscount grumbled.
They started past a matronly woman and a pretty blonde, who both curtsied and dropped their eyes. Darcy quietly asked Fitzwilliam, “Do we know the woman, not the girl?”
Fitzwilliam paused to look over his shoulder just as the woman rose from her curtsey. “Her name is Madelyn Gardiner. Her husband owns the warehouses in Cheapside off Milk Street.”
“But why is her countenance so familiar?” Darcy pressed.
“Her husband’s warehouses are a favorite of my mother. Her maiden name is ‘Ericks.’ Her father was the local surgeon in Derbyshire. Mr. Gardiner told mother the tale of how his wife’s father drowned in the great flood. You remember, back when we were both still at Cambridge,” Fitzwilliam whispered. “Mr. Gardiner was proud to say his wife grew up near the Matlock estate.”
Darcy looked again. “The woman favors her mother in countenance.” His decision made, he said, “As the lady’s brother is my new rector, I should speak my respects.”
Lindale said in bored tones, “You will find me in the card room.” The viscount left them all standing along the dance floor.
Decision made, Darcy led the way back to the woman. “I apologize, ma’am. I did not recognize you, at first,” he said with a bow. Though he had not encountered the woman for more than fifteen years, it did him well to speak of his beloved Derbyshire. “The colonel was more knowledgeable than I.”
“Why would you recall me?” the woman said graciously. “My mother and I left Derbyshire some three years after my father’s passing. Though I understand from my brother Samuel that you have generously offered him the living at Lambton.”
“Your brother well deserves the position,” Darcy declared. “He moved from the curacy to the vicarage, with nary a complaint,” he said with a smile. “Mr. Ericks has easily earned my patronage.” He turned to the other two gentlemen. “Naturally, you are acquainted with my cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam.”
“I am, sir. It is good to encounter you again.” To Darcy, she said, “Lady Matlock has asked my husband for specific items to update several rooms at Matlock House. The colonel escorted his mother to Mr. Gardiner’s warehouse, where I was delivering my husband’s midday meal.”
In Darcy’s opinion, the woman did not have the look of a “cit.” On appearance alone, Mrs. Gardiner could easily be a countess herself.
Darcy motioned to Bingley. “With your permission, ma’am, I would also give you the acquaintance of Mr. Charles Bingley, a dear friend since my days at Cambridge.”
The woman smiled sweetly. “I am aware of Mr. Bingley by reputation, but not in person.”
Darcy glanced to his friend. A quizzical brow asked the question not on his lips. Bingley responded, “Mr. Gardiner and I often bid against each other when houses are to be sold with all their contents included.”
Mrs. Gardiner’s smile never left her lips. “I always say, instead of competing against each other, it would be better if you and my husband found a means to combine forces.”
Darcy noted the look of wonder on his friend’s countenance, and he knew an idea had hatched in Bingley’s mind.
Before their conversation ended, Mrs. Gardiner snatched the opportunity to provide them with the acquaintance of the young lady at her side. “Please pardon my forwardness, gentlemen. If you hold no objections, might I give you the acquaintance of my niece, Miss Bennet of Longbourn in Hertfordshire. Miss Bennet’s mother is the younger sister of my dear Mr. Gardiner.”
When Darcy turned to look fully upon the young woman, he found an exceedingly handsome countenance. Blonde and breathtakingly beautiful. Extremely pleasant upon which to look. Oval face and heavenly blue eyes. Creamy white complexion. Taller than he expected, but not awkwardly so. Slim and willowy.
“Charmed, Miss Bennet,” the colonel said with an eye of appreciation. Bingley responded likewise, while Darcy said, “If you are not previously engaged for the first set, Miss Bennet, please do me the honor of escorting you through the opening dance.”
“I would be honored, Mr. Darcy,” she said softly, almost too softly for Darcy’s tastes. How could they hold the necessary conversations if he could not hear her over the music, but he made no comment.
The colonel requested the lady’s second set and Bingley the third.
