see them where they stood. Meeting Darcy’s gaze again, she saw that he — her utterly straitlaced, ever-proper husband — was also very aware of the unexpected privacy of the moment.
'Mr. Darcy,' she whispered, 'I hope you are not contemplat- ing something shocking, like kissing your wife in the middle of Mr. Dashwood’s birthday fete?'
'Never.' He took one of her gloved hands in his and slowly interlaced their fingers. 'But I confess,' he whispered back, 'that I was contemplating kissing her here. Only contemplating, mind you.' He leaned toward her.
Elizabeth and Darcy jumped apart, dropping each other’s hands as if burned.
'I had those place cards carefully arranged!' Fanny Dash-wood’s voice bounced harshly off the china and crystal settings in the dining room. Elizabeth, still startled, required a moment more to finally realize Harry’s mother was speaking not to her and Darcy, but to someone else entirely. They, thankfully, remained unseen in the alcove.
'You have titled guests,' Fanny hissed. 'You are defying the proper order of precedence.'
'They are my friends,' said Mr. Dash wood. 'They will not mind.'
'I mind. Will you let the news circulate throughout the
'Norland is my house now. I will accept the earth-shattering repercussions of sitting beside the woman I love at my own birthday celebration.'
Elizabeth met Darcy’s gaze. He, too, clearly wished they could escape the alcove, but they remained trapped until Mr. Dash-wood and his mother left. As much as they regretted overhearing the private conversation between mother and son, revealing themselves now would only make the situation worse — they would embarrass Mr. Dashwood and make themselves look ridiculous in the process. Feeling acutely the awkwardness of their position, they backed farther into the shadows.
'Do not talk so foolishly. This interest you have in Miss Ben-net is mere infatuation. I will find you a wife more worthy of you, one who can bring something to your marriage.'
'Miss Bennet has consented to bring herself. That is enough for me.'
A long silence followed. Elizabeth forced herself to take slow, shallow breaths so that the Dashwoods would not become aware of their accidental audience. She also prayed she would not be seized by the sudden need to sneeze.
'You have made her an offer of marriage?' Fanny finally said, her voice strangled.
'Yes. And she has accepted me.'
'Of course she has. What other gentleman of your consequence could she hope to snare?'
'I will not hear you speak about my future wife in this manner.'
'Harry, you are still young. You don’t know what you are about. Marriage is too important to your future to enter into unadvisedly. Let me guide you.'
'My heart has guided me.'
'Your heart should have nothing to do with it. You owe it to yourself and your family to make a materially advantageous alliance. If you must have Miss Bennet, indulge in a liaison with her after you have married someone else and produced a proper heir.'
Elizabeth stilled a gasp. Harry’s was more audible. A look of disdain crossed Darcy’s face.
'Don’t be so naive, son. It happens all the time.'
'I have heard enough of this.'
'In time, you will understand that I am right,' Fanny said. 'I only hope it happens before you commit the greatest folly of your life.'
Harry made no answer.
'Harry? Are you listening? Harry!'
To Elizabeth’s intense relief, sounds of movement suggested that Mrs. Dashwood followed her son out of the dining room. Darcy put a finger to his lips and moved to the alcove entrance.
'They have gone.'
Elizabeth at last released her breath. 'What do you make of that?' she asked as she reached his side.
'I think your sister has a difficult road ahead of her, but that Mr. Dashwood will do all in his power to smooth it.' He took her hand, but this time with a different purpose than when he’d last held it. 'I also think,' he said, pulling her behind him as he crossed the dining room with rapid strides, 'that we should make good our exit before Mrs. Dashwood returns to rearrange those cards.'
Somehow, Harry managed to shake off the exchange with his mother well enough to seem his usual good- natured self at supper, though Elizabeth perceived the effort his show required. It probably helped that Fanny was seated across the room, presiding over a second table. Mother and son had no occasion to exchange words or even glances until the meal neared conclusion. Just before dessert was served, Mrs. Dashwood stood up and called for the attention of all assembled.
'I wish to thank you for joining us to mark my son’s twenty-first birthday.' She nodded to a servant, who threw open the dining room doors. Two more footmen entered, carrying a large rectangular object covered with silk. They brought it to the front of the room and rested it on a stand that apparently had been placed there for this purpose.
'Harry, I can scarcely believe twenty-one years have passed since you let out your first cry. And I know that in another twenty-one years, I shall wonder how the time since tonight’s celebration passed so quickly.' Fanny’s chin was tilted higher than usual, her voice more steely.
Elizabeth sensed the anger suppressed beneath the maternal words, though Fanny, like Harry, was delivering a stageworthy performance for the benefit of their guests. Whatever lessons and values Fanny had or had not managed to impart to her son growing up, both shared the ability to present a convincing fagade when required.
'Your years of young adulthood will someday be only a memory for you, too,' Fanny continued. 'I wanted, therefore, to fix this moment in time. And so, my darling son, I present my birthday gift to you.'
The footman lifted the fabric to reveal a full-length portrait of Harry. It was an amazing likeness, the artist having perfectly captured not only Harry’s physical characteristics but his essence, as well. The image seemed ready to spring from the canvas to seize the pleasures of life with all the zeal oi the original.
'Thank you, Mother.' Harry rose and stiffly crossed the room to kiss the air above his mother’s cheek. 'You are generosity itself.'
The following morning, Elizabeth walked through a quiet house down to breakfast, where she found Elinor Ferrars alone.
'Is no one else about yet?' she asked.
Elinor smiled. ' Tis only ten o’clock. Do you truly imagine we’ll see many of the other guests before one?'
'Yet you are awake.'
'I have three children. I haven’t slept past dawn in years.'
Elizabeth welcomed the chance to converse more with Elinor. She found Harry’s aunt kind and forthright, with a directness that was refreshing after so many weeks among London’s
Elinor and Edward, she came to understand, had married for love and had never known a moment’s regret since. Elizabeth believed the same would prove true for her and Darcy, and fervently hoped Kitty and Harry would be so blessed.
'What of your nephew?' Elizabeth asked. 'Do you think Mr. Dashwood could ever be satisfied with an alliance of affection that did not also bring wealth?'
'To be honest, I’m not sure,' Elinor said. 'We have not had many opportunities to spend time with him and form an opinion of his character.'
