Truth about Mr. Darcy

Elizabeth, who was not feeling quite as comfortable as she would have wished under the circumstances, forced herself to swallow down any misgivings when she saw an elegant older woman rush forth to greet them. “Mr. Darcy,” she said in a warm voice, “what a pleasure to see you. Please allow me to offer you my sincerest congratulations on your marriage.” She turned kind eyes upon Elizabeth and smiled with sincerity.

“Thank you, Mrs. Duval. I believe you have not yet had the pleasure of making my wife’s acquaintance.” Then, bestowing an affectionate smile upon Elizabeth, which he made very certain would not go unnoticed by any of those in attendance, Darcy performed the proper introductions. “Mrs. Darcy will be purchasing a significant number of gowns for her Season in Town. I trust that the utmost attention and courtesy will be extended to her by your staff. Whatever my wife wants, Mrs. Duval, I am determined she shall have. No expense shall be spared.”

Mrs. Duval understood him perfectly. “I assure you, Mr. Darcy, I have every intention of seeing to Mrs. Darcy personally.” Then, to Elizabeth, she said, “Indeed, ma’am, you shall want for nothing while you are a guest in my shoppe. This way, if you please.”

Darcy nodded curtly as Mrs. Duval shot several disapproving looks in the direction of her eavesdropping assistants. He felt no small degree of satisfaction as he watched the meddling women avert their eyes and lower their heads, properly chagrined. With the barest hint of a smile, he escorted his wife toward a private salon, where she would soon be shown nothing but the most fashionable styles and the most elegant fabrics and adornments. Darcy took great pleasure in observing the startled faces of the modiste and her assistants as they realized the master of Pemberley, against all previously established expectations regarding husbandly duty, meant to attend his wife on her shopping excursion, and with no intention of going away.

After four tedious hours sitting in idle repose, reading the paper, drinking tea, and eating biscuits while Elizabeth selected patterns and silk, Darcy had grown weary. If left to her own devices, he had no doubt Elizabeth would have ordered only the barest number of gowns allowable, and not the thirty or so he had insisted upon. In his opinion, thirty was a minimal number of gowns for the new mistress of Pemberley. Darcy’s own mother had needed at least twice that number for her social obligations in Town each Season, but he did not wish to push his luck. They could always return another day when Elizabeth had a more thorough grasp of her new position in society and what would be required of her as his wife.

When they rose to leave not an hour later, Darcy was more than ready to return to the comfort and privacy of their Grosvenor Square home. Again, many eyes turned toward them, and he made a pointed show of raising Elizabeth’s hand to his lips as they made their way to the entrance to the shoppe, his gaze caressing her with a look of complete adoration, which Elizabeth returned with equal feeling. Though he had always taken great care to avoid drawing attention to himself in the past, Darcy had to admit he felt a significant amount of satisfaction in making it clear to the busybodies and gossips in attendance that afternoon that he not only valued and esteemed his bride, but that he loved her. Let them talk about that, he thought, with no small degree of vindication.

Out of the corner of his eye, Darcy happened to glimpse none other than Caroline Bingley as she stood with her friend Cecelia Hayward, both staring with wide eyes and raised brows at his display of devotion. In a sudden fit of irritation, he cast a cold, haughty glare in Miss Bingley’s direction as he escorted Elizabeth from the shoppe. Miss Bingley’s face, which had only moments before been envious, turned pale as she realized, with horror written on her face, that Darcy had just publicly cut her.

*   *   *

Darcy slid his arms around Elizabeth’s waist and placed a kiss upon the curve of her neck. “You are utterly intoxicating, Mrs. Darcy. I daresay I shall be the envy of every man in Haymarket Square this evening.”

His warm breath felt delightful against her skin. “Mmm… and I the envy of every lady, sir.”

Darcy raised his brow and, with the barest hint of a smile, said, “You flatter me, Elizabeth. No one shall even notice me with you at my side, ladies included. They will be far too busy speculating about the identity of the enchanting temptress on my arm and wondering why it is she would ever be with me in the first place.”

She gave him an impertinent look. “Well, I would imagine that would be quite clear. After all, I am only after your money, Mr. Darcy.”

He laughed heartily. “Yes, undoubtedly, my dear. Come, or we will be late.”

It seemed Darcy had been correct, for no sooner had they entered the opera house in Haymarket Square than Elizabeth witnessed an endless sea of fashionably attired necks straining to better observe them. There appeared to be an infinite number of private conversations whispered behind lace fans and gloved hands, as well as an abundance of less discreet commentary, all with regard to the mystery of her identity, the attractiveness of her person, and the simple, yet elegant, style of her dress. Elizabeth steeled herself against the intense scrutiny of the London ton and held her head a little higher. She felt her husband’s free hand cover hers in a gesture of reassurance, his fingers linking with hers. She turned to look at him, flashing him a smile of gratitude, which he returned. To her very great relief, Darcy ignored all the curious glances and pointed looks they received and continued to lead her up the staircase to their private box, where they met the Gardiners, Lord and Lady Matlock, and Jane and Bingley.

“Well, well, my dear Mrs. Darcy,” said Lord Matlock with a wink, “I believe you have succeeded in drawing the interest of quite a crowd tonight.”

Elizabeth observed him archly as she replied, “How naive of me, your lordship, for I have been under the impression these people were here to see a performance of The Magic Flute.”

“No, no”—he laughed—“that is just an added attraction, my dear lady. Is it not, gentlemen?” Mr. Gardiner and Bingley concurred with warm smiles.

Darcy observed his wife openly and with admiration. “Indeed, Uncle. Though I cannot profess myself capable of speaking for the rest of the parties in attendance, I can heartily assure you I will find it very difficult to focus my attention elsewhere this evening.” He gave Elizabeth a slow, seductive smile that made her blush becomingly.

Bingley could not but laugh at his once-taciturn friend. “We are already well aware of that, Darcy! I declare, until I leased Netherfield and we made the fortuitous acquaintance of the Bennets, I had never known you to possess such an agreeable humor! Of course, one would be a simpleton, indeed, not to find the society of such beautiful ladies anything but completely engaging.” Here, he looked with love upon his dear Jane, who gave him a smile full of appreciation and affection.

“Here, here!” exclaimed Mr. Gardiner and Lord Matlock, both with indulgent smiles upon their faces.

True to his word, Darcy did almost nothing but stare at his wife for most of the evening. Indeed, Elizabeth was stunning in her elegant dove-gray silk, which seemed to shimmer with every movement of her body. He admired the way Sonia had arranged her hair, with what appeared to be one long, delicate, curling branch of sterling silver leaves entwined throughout her gorgeous mass of curls. The contrast between the color of her hair and the highlights of the silver was eye-catching. If his life had depended upon it, Darcy could not have imagined tearing himself away from the picture of enticing elegance before him.

At one point in the performance, Elizabeth turned her gaze upon him, and their eyes held for several long moments. She reached for his hand, and as the music soared, Darcy found himself leaning in, his gaze now upon her lips, and before either of them knew what they were about, Darcy surrendered every claim to rational thought and kissed her. He heard a loud gasp of shock, though whether it had come from Elizabeth or from some other source, he could not determine, for Elizabeth had immediately turned away, and as he glanced around him in the dim interior of the opera house, he noticed many curious pairs of eyes turned upon him in wonder, amusement, and censure.

“Whoever is that beautiful creature who has so enchanted your nephew, Catherine, that he would abandon all sense of propriety in full company?” asked the all-powerful Lady Malcolm, who happened to be sharing a box with several other notable dowagers across the way.

Lady Catherine de Bourgh sniffed. “She is of no consequence.”

Lady Malcolm raised her brow. “Really?” she inquired dryly. “Well, I never would have guessed, as she seems to be most comfortably installed with your brother and sister-in-law, not to mention that Darcy has not taken his eyes from her all night. Humph. Nobody of consequence, indeed.”

“Yes,” chimed the agreeable Lady Sowersby, “I have noticed that myself. Come, Catherine! Indulge us and tell us her name.”

Lady Catherine huffed and, in her most disagreeable tone of voice, said, “She was known as Miss Elizabeth Bennet of Hertfordshire.”

Lady Sowersby and Lady Malcolm exchanged knowing looks and smiled to themselves.