Duty and Desire

her.

Miss Farnsworth, by contrast, was a regal beauty cast in the classical mold. Tall like her mother, she held herself with an easy confidence that bore testimony to her reputation as an accomplished horsewoman and huntress. A veritable Diana, she seemed as if she had just stepped from the forests and fields shouldering Olympus. In that, she was a perfect complement to her cousin. Lady Felicia’s celebrated beauty was all of English cream mixed with Norse ancestry. Sunlight or candle, it did not matter, her hair was gloriously golden and her eyes the clearest blue. As he turned his attention to her performance at the pianoforte, Darcy recalled his enchantment upon their introduction almost one year ago and his subsequent recession of himself from her court several months later. She was beautiful, of that there was no question. Her taste, her air of recherche were exquisite. She was the perfect consort for a man of distinction in the world. But he had relinquished his place in the lists; she was now his cousin’s, and although he could still respond to her beauty, Darcy suddenly found that he was not sorry he had stepped aside. He wanted for a wife and a mistress for Pemberley, not a consort, and especially not one whom he could not trust out of his sight.

Lady Sylvanie was the only one of the young women who was not charmingly grouped for the gentlemen’s appreciation. Quickly surveying the room, Darcy found her half-hidden behind Trenholme’s turned back in a corner of the salon. A heated discussion was obviously in progress as Darcy immediately recognized the signs of a man whose back had been set up. Beverley Trenholme had never been one to handle his emotions stoically. He now wove back and forth, as he habitually did when in agitation, but Darcy could not fault him; for the movement gave him a view of the lady. His first impression of a fairy princess was recalled as he observed her cool disdain for her half brother’s words. Her black hair was plaited into a crown upon her head, although cloudy wisps had come loose and played delicately about an ethereal face. Her smoke gray eyes looked through Trenholme as if he were not even now leaning toward her, intent on making his point. Her gaze seemed focused elsewhere, beyond her brother or within herself, Darcy could not decide. No child’s flower fairy she, he concluded, but one of that more traditional, fearful caste whom men do well to treat with caution.

Knowing he should not attend to a family squabble, Darcy made to look away; but at that moment, Lady Sylvanie’s eyes met his. A slow smile touched her lips. Seeing the change in her expression, Trenholme turned immediately, his features smoothing from their snarl into an embarrassed smile when he beheld the raised brow of her object. Looking over his shoulder, he said something that only caused her to laugh at him before he abruptly left her where she stood. Shuttering her eyes once more, the lady drifted to a chair next to Lady Chelmsford and, without another glance in Darcy’s direction, appeared to give all her attention to the duet.

Finally, the last notes drifted across the salon and were answered with enthusiastic applause from the gentlemen and ladies alike. Darcy added his, but the irrepressible memory of another lady’s performance at the pianoforte tempered his response. As the pair acknowledged their audience’s appreciation, he could not help but contrast their grand curtsies with Elizabeth Bennet’s unaffected one, which had thanked her listeners with such sweet sincerity. Elizabeth’s performance had been no better in execution, he admitted, but her music’s expression had called forth from deep within him a response that Lady Felicia’s performance had been unable to touch. He closed his eyes while the remembered pleasure coursed through him.

A sudden cascade of feminine laughter brought Darcy’s eyes snapping back open, and a flush of heat crept up his neck. Had his lapse been noted? No, it was something Poole had said that had caused the amusement. He closed his eyes again, this time bringing his fingers to work at his temples. Is there nothing that does not bring her to mind, or have you merely lost all your sense? You are here, sir, for an antidote to her charms, not a restorative! He looked up again with purpose at the bevy of eligible femininity before him. Was The Woman who would cure him among them? He sighed lightly, feeling once more the effects of the day’s travel. Perhaps he just needed rest and time to become acquainted. Maybe then She would gently assume the guise of one of the ladies present. He could hope.

“A delightful offering,” Lord Sayre complimented his guests, “as delightful as any I, or these walls, have been privileged to hear, I am sure. Do you not agree, Bev?” He turned to his brother, who by now betrayed no sign of his unsatisfactory interview with Lady Sylvanie.

“A privilege, indeed!” Trenholme agreed and offered his arm to Miss Farnsworth as his brother did to Lady Felicia, escorting her to a divan.

“Shall we have our tea, then?” Sayre looked to his wife. “My lady?”

“Yes, Sayre, I take your meaning” — Her Ladyship gave a delicate snort — “and will not suggest more music for this night.” She arched her brow as she nodded to the servants. “Drink your tea, ladies. The gentlemen have their own plans for tonight.” Murmurs of disappointment issued from the female quarter, answered with nobly phrased apologies from the gentlemen. Darcy accepted his tea and sweets in silence, hoping that Lady Sayre’s little rebellion against her husband’s plans for a night of gambling would gain sway. The thought of a night spent in high-stakes and devil-may-care play was numbing to his travel-weary senses.

“My lady.” Sayre’s voice rose above the others. “Might I suggest that the ladies use this evening’s separation to plan tomorrow’s activities? I promise we shall be at your service whatever you decide. Shall we not, gentlemen?” His offer was enthusiastically seconded by the men and eagerly accepted by the ladies.

“Let it not be a very late night then” — his wife smirked in satisfaction — “or else your promise will be worth precious little on the morrow, my dear.”

Sayre allowed the gentlemen long enough to do justice to his board before excusing them all from the ladies’ gentle company for the sharper air of his library. Mentally arming himself for the battles ahead, Darcy rose with the others and made his bow. The ladies wished them well with sweetly despairing smiles upon their faces.

“Bonne chance, Papa.” Lady Felicia swiftly crossed the salon to Chelmsford, who was standing next to Darcy, and bestowed a soft kiss upon her father’s cheek. It was a pretty picture, and only Darcy’s closeness to the exchange allowed him to observe Chelmsford’s startled response before he checked himself and patted his daughter’s shoulder. Lady Felicia drew back slightly from his gesture as the gathered gentlemen murmured their approval of her display of sentiment. Darcy watched in silence, his mind divided in perplexity.

“A most unfair advantage, Chelmsford,” Monmouth grumbled playfully behind him. “I have no fair lady to wish me well in such a manner.” Chelmsford laughed with the others, but his brow wrinkled slightly as his daughter rose from her curtsy.

Lady Felicia smiled archly at Monmouth. “My Lord, it is true you have no ‘fair’ lady, but if you will soon come to the point, you might then claim the favor of one of another shade.”

“Walked into that one with both eyes open.” Manning snorted above his fellows’ chorus of jibes at the Viscount’s misstep. “Take care, Monmouth!”

“Yes, do take care, my lord, as shall I.” Lady Felicia turned to Darcy, detaining him while the rest of the gentlemen took their leave.

“My lady?” he inquired politely, although the hairs on the back of his neck stood up in warning at the look she gave him. Cerulean pools appealed to him from under lowered lashes as her hand came to rest upon his arm.

“As we are nearly related, Mr. Darcy, allow me to wish you well also.” His incredulity at her forwardness must have shown, or perhaps she felt his arm tremble under her hand; for she arched a brow and smiled. “But perhaps you have no need of wishes,” she murmured, drawing close to his side, “and know your way.”

In a second she was gone, back to the other women, but the warmth of her hand and of the look she had cast him remained. Wheeling abruptly, he left the room, but the churning of his thoughts hampered his long stride. There was no hope of mistake or avoidance; Lady Felicia had made it very clear that a flirtation was not the sum of what she desired of him. My God, poor Alex! The thought brought him to a halt. No wonder he had come near to baring his fists when Richard had teased him. He knew! Had he known of his fiancee’s “propensity” before he made his offer? Surely not! Darcy’s lips pressed themselves into a hard line as he looked back down the hall. Could his aunt and uncle have been so deceived as well? His eyes narrowed. To all her other talents, then, must be added that of consummate actress.

“Darcy!” Monmouth suddenly rounded the corner before him. “Coming, my good lad? I have claimed a seat for you.” His old roommate stopped directly in his path and peered into his face. “Is there a problem? Good Lord, what a scowl!”

Darcy looked back at his roommate in chagrin. “N-no, Tris. Just a very long, blasted day.”

“Oh, good that! Well, what I meant was, good that nothing is wrong.” Monmouth clapped his shoulder. “Come on, then. It will be just like old times — you and I against all comers, eh? Although, I seem to recall, you