Page 7 of Her Whole Heart
Miss Elizabeth did not respond to the haughtiness of his tone. If she thought lauding her own accomplishments was the best way to recommend herself to a wealthy, powerful man, she was much mistaken.
It was their turn to move through the figures again, but they did not speak now. Miss Elizabeth was clearly enjoying herself and Darcy could admit that she was a handsome woman, though in a different way than her sister. But he had the distinct impression that she not only found humour in their situation but was actively making sport of him, and that pricked at his pride. She was nobody at all, and he was Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley.
The dance ended; he returned her to Lady Carlisle’s side with a stiff bow and joined Fitz at the punchbowl.
Fitz sipped his drink. “You seemed to enjoy your dance, Darcy.”
“No.” He tipped a full ladle into his cup.
His cousin laughed. “Come now, Darcy, Isawyou enjoying yourself while I was dancing with Miss Hamilton. Even she remarked on how intelligent her friend is, and their friendship must be strong, for she gave the compliment without a touch of jealousy. It is all right, you know, to take pleasure in dancing with a pretty, clever woman.”
“She is tolerable,” Darcy said, “but not clever enough to tempt me. She tried to argue that men were less prepared for the season than women.”
“Debate on the dance floor? I think you need not remain in town muchlonger, Darcy, for you have found your match.”
“Do not be ridiculous.” Darcy drank the punch and set his cup down. “Despite her friendship with Lady Carlisle’s niece, her father is entirely unknown in town. Who knows what would happen if you shook her family tree too hard?”
Fitzwilliam shook his head. “I do not believe you mean half of what you say, Darcy, for if you did, I should have to absent myself from your company.”
Darcy did not know what about this slip of a woman had nettled him so. Their conversation had been innocuous enough, but the heat in her eyes, the tilt of her head, the feeling of her small hand in his own—he could not help feeling as though he were standing on the deck of a ship in the middle of a rolling sea. He could not seem to get his footing, and he did not like it.
“I say again that she is tolerable, Fitz, but not handsome enough to take away the stench of the fortune hunter.”
Fitz paled, and Darcy felt that he had been tossed completely overboard and into the storm.
“That is more than enough from you, cousin. I will inform my father that you are not fit to be in company with gently bred ladies and beg him to send you home, as that is obviously what you want.” Fitz turned his back and walked away.
Darcy closed his eyes. Did he mean it? No, he had not meant it.Hewas the one who was out of place, and Fitz was correct. He was not fit for company tonight, and he did not understand why.
Fitz had turned to the left. Darcy turned to the right, intending to retrieve his coat and call for his carriage. But he was brought up short, and his heart plunged into his dancing slippers.
There before him stood three young women, two of them clearly displeased with him and the other frustratingly entertained. The pixie levelledhim with a single look. He opened his mouth to say something, anything by way of an apology, but the words caught in his throat.
“You have proven me wrong on one point, sir,” Miss Elizabeth said pertly. “For I have found use for my Latin in a ballroom after all.” She swept forward, a general flanked by her lieutenants, and quietly uttered one word as she passed. “Baro.”
Blockhead, she had called him, and he could not deny it.
Chapter Three
The ride back to Carlisle House was a quiet one after Amelia spilled out all her indignation over the event in the presence of her aunt. Both Lord and Lady Carlisle seemed deep in thought, and Elizabeth did not think it politic to interrupt with protestations that the ball had been lovely once Mr. Darcy had removed himself from it.
“I would not have danced the supper dance with him in any case,” Amelia declared as the carriage entered through the gates and turned onto the shallow drive. “Viscount Milton was a far better partner, I am sure.”
Elizabeth was grateful that the viscount had come to offer himself as Amelia’s partner in Mr. Darcy’s stead, for she would not have liked depriving Amelia of a partner for that dance. Besides, it had pleased Lady Carlisle. Elizabeth had spent that dance with Colonel Fitzwilliam and found him a kind man, and humorous, but unwilling to move much beyond pleasantries.
“I did not see Lady Henrietta Fitzwilliam this evening,” Jane said tentatively.
“She was circulating with her father,” Lady Carlisle said. “I do not believe she danced.”
“There were so many gentlemen, though. We all danced every dance. Was she not asked?” Amelia inquired.
“She made it known at the beginning of the night that she did not intend to dance,” Lady Carlisle replied. “Poor girl, I do not believe she is very good at it.”
Poor girl? That was not true in any sense of the word. Elizabeth and Jane exchanged a glance.
Lady Henrietta’s dowry was enormous, twice what they each had. She could marry immediately if she but said the word. But perhaps she did not wish to—she had a vast fortune, not to mention the protection of a father who was an earl and a brother who would be earl after him. She might not wish to marry either, if the men were all as disdainful as Mr. Darcy. Elizabeth had expected London to be difficult to navigate, even with the help of Amelia’s family, but she had not thought she would be publicly humiliated after her very first dance. Having the option to throw up her hands and cease the attempt would be very tempting indeed.
Alas, that opportunity was not available to her.
