From her partially hidden vantage point, Lizzy observed Darcy inclining his head respectfully. Then, in a warm tone edged with humor, he greeted, “Good Sunday to you, Lord Westingcote. I have the utmost confidence in Bathsheba Fire. She is an excellent filly. However, you know as well as I that one can never promise how a race will end. If it is some assurance, I intend to wager a substantial sum upon her myself, so we shall both face the outcome, whether grievous or celebratory, together.”
Lizzy instantly remembered Lord Westingcote from their dinner conversation the previous night about the Jockey Club and flying pigs, the name recognition causing her to speculate if the distinguished gentleman walking a step behind the generous-bodied lord was the banner-obsessed Mr. Shelley. What a coincidence that would be!
The unidentified second gentleman, whoever he was, wore an amused grin. In a timbre almost as resonant as Darcy’s and with matching warmth, the dignified man bobbed his head toward Lord Westingcote as he warned, “Don’t let him play upon your pity, Darcy. The old schemer will place more than one bet at the Newmarket races, increasing the odds for a winning day in the end.”
“Your Grace.” Darcy bowed deeply, his bearing and reverent inflection announced the speaker’s elevated rank even if Lizzy had not caught the term of address. “The information is appreciated, although I suspected as much, largely because I will do the same. Besides, Lord Westingcote is not unique in spreading bets, now is he, Your Grace? I’ve yet to attend a horse race where you have not done the same, even in the same race.”
The duke shrugged, his smile broad. “It is prudent to spread one’s wagers far and wide. A lesson I taught you long ago, my boy!”
Based on the casual teasing and social reference, the nameless duke and her fiancé were well acquainted. It was so unexpected Lizzy barely stifled an involuntary squawk of amazement and was thankful her position behind Mr. Darcy concealed her dumbfounded expression.
An actual duke! Despite William’s elevated position in society and kinship to an earl, the possibility of standing face to face with the highest-ranking peer of the realm, one of a handful of titled dukes currently in all of England, had never crossed her mind. It was staggering.
Thankfully, Lord Westingcote’s boisterous laugh jerked her back into awareness before she succumbed to the nervous flutters threatening to burst forth. She had no idea what had been said to create such hilarity, but Darcy and the duke joined in the rollicking chortles so it must have been a riot. Clapping a big hand onto Darcy’s shoulder, Lord Westingcote declared, “Excellent news, Darcy! I am delighted you can attend the races and insist you join us. You have room in the box for another, do you not, Your Grace?”
“Absolutely. There is always room for Darcy of Pemberley. We can celebrate Bathsheba Fire’s win together. I will not take no for an answer, Darcy. You know where it is after all,” he finished drily.
At his lordship’s zealous hand gesture, Lizzy gingerly hopped to the right, instinctively avoiding his hand connecting with her face. No longer shielded by Darcy’s broad shoulders and height, her view of the scene improved, while also revealing to the men that Mr. Darcy was not alone.
Two sets of eyes swiveled her direction, the appraising sweep head to toe—as men typically did when first encountering a woman—swift and thorough. Determined not to flinch or glance away, she endured the assessment, even managing to smile. The unnerving, sharp gaze of the duke rested upon her for several seconds before he shifted his focus to Georgiana, who stood in bashful silence a foot or so to Lizzy’s left.
Exhaling in the momentary respite, she peripherally took note of the two women near Lord Westingcote. Neither appeared to be paying any attention to the conversation on horse racing, so she paid them scant heed. Besides, the duke was talking, his firm baritone as captivating as his physical presence.
“Ah! I see you are not alone today, Mr. Darcy. Neither are we, as it happens. Our preoccupation with horses derailed properly attending to our venerate ladies. Ignoring such loveliness borders on being unpardonable.” Maintaining eye contact with Lizzy, the duke pressed his right hand over his heart and inclined his head. “Please accept my sincere apology. May I be so bold as to request introductions, Darcy?”
“Forgive my lapse in manners, Your Grace. The fault is entirely mine.” Beaming, Darcy turned toward Lizzy and Georgiana. “Ladies, it is my pleasure and honor to present His Grace the Duke of Grafton, the Viscount and Viscountess Westingcote, and their esteemed daughter, Miss Pratt. Sirs and madams, my sister, Miss Darcy, and my betrothed, Miss Bennet of Longbourn in Hertfordshire.”
The standard greetings ensued, accompanied by the befitting head bobs and curtsies. Lizzy noticed that Lady Westingcote and Miss Pratt’s air of indifference only disappeared at the mention of her name, a bewildering oddity she shrugged away. Of much greater interest to her were the effervescent viscount and the charming duke, both of whom were quite loquacious.
“Miss Darcy, I suppose you hear it frequently, but you uncannily resemble your honorable mother, the Lady Anne. She was a remarkable lady and is greatly missed by those fortunate to have known her.”
The Duke of Grafton’s sincere testimonial touched Lizzy, as it did the shy Georgiana, who murmured, “Your Grace is most kind.”
The Duke directed his attention to Lizzy, undoubtedly to Georgiana’s immense relief. The Duke of Grafton was handsome for an older gentleman, and his face kind and smile warm. There was an aura of power emanating from him unlike anything she had ever felt, and his eyes seemed to pierce into her soul. For one of the few times in her life, she experienced profound awe and bashfulness, suddenly empathizing with her soon-to-be sister.
“Miss Bennet, a pleasure to meet you and to hear of Mr. Darcy’s engagement. I now comprehend why he was distracted to the point of forgetting a Pemberley thoroughbred was racing at Newmarket this week. Causing a man as focused as Darcy into forgetfulness, particularly regarding horses, is a feat only a woman of unique qualities could manage. Well done, madam!”
“Thank you, Your Grace. I shall accept the compliment.” Lizzy jauntily bobbed a curtsy, her smile impish. The gestures, forced a bit, helped overcome her timidity. “I do pray, however, that no one at the Jockey Club was overly disturbed by Mr. Darcy’s unusual behavior. One can only imagine the speculations wildly running amok.”
The duke chuckled. “Here is a secret and a warning, Miss Bennet. When men are chattering about horses and racing, they pay little attention to anything or anyone else. Something to bear in mind after you are married.”
“I shall tuck that information safely away, sir. Thank you.”
The bantering was cut short by the appearance of two new horse enthusiasts. Properly introduced to Lizzy and Georgiana, Lord Ailes-Combe and Mr. Crannick offering nothing beyond the formalities before launching into an intense discussion about, naturally, the upcoming races.
Half-amused and half-peeved, Lizzy muttered, “I see what the duke meant. We have apparently become invisible.”
Georgiana squeezed her hand reassuringly. “I can’t lie and tell you William isn’t passionate about his thoroughbreds to the point of obsession. I have suddenly become invisible a number of times, but it never lasts too long. Besides, he now has you in his life, and trust me, Miss Elizabeth, he is far more passionate about you.”
Blushing, she squeezed Georgiana’s hand gratefully, the reassuring words flooding her with contentment. Unfortunately, seconds later the happy sensations were doused.
“So, this is the Miss Bennet we have heard so much about.”
Lizzy jerked her eyes toward Lady Westingcote and Miss Pratt, unsure which woman had spoken. After the initial introductions neither had added a single syllable to the conversation and aside from the eerie sensation of disapproving scrutiny, Lizzy had almost forgotten they were there. Being directly addressed was surprising. Stranger still was the comment itself, but most bewildering of all was how the women were looking at her.
The Viscountess Westing
cote wore an expression of thinly veiled distaste, her dark eyes hard and lips pinched. It brought to Lizzy’s mind how one reacted to a noxious smell, repulsed but striving to control the reflexive retch. Miss Pratt made no attempt to conceal her dislike, or she was a pathetically mediocre actress. Lizzy could not imagine peering at a filthy street beggar with such repulsion, yet there was an underlying glint of grotesque delight within the young woman’s brown eyes.
Lizzy could not stay the involuntary shudder or make her numbed lips lift into a neutral smile. Confused, a bit alarmed, and prickled with pangs of unaccountable mortification, she stared at the duo blankly.
This reaction seemed to increase Miss Pratt’s perverse pleasure. “You are famous, Miss Bennet,” she sneered. “Or is infamous the proper term for a woman from a scandalous family? Either way, I am somewhat disappointed. Based on the story Lady Starkley conveyed, I presumed your physical appearance to be remarkable at the very least.”
Lady Westingcote sniffed. “Nothing of worth has ever come out of Hertfordshire. Indeed, a fine family is to be polluted by inferior stock, just as Lady Catherine de Bourgh claimed. It is a travesty!”
“True, Mama. Still, I thought sure there would be some glimmer of a reason as to how she ensnared a gentleman of Mr. Darcy’s prestige. Alas, her wits are as dull and unattractive as her figure, increasing the mystery.”
“I suspect she has talents of a particular, unmentionable nature. Even the best of men fall victim to a skilled temptress,” the viscountess spat as her gaze pointedly dropped to Lizzy’s pelvic region.
Lizzy stood, paralyzed, the thudding in her ears so loud and painful that she truly believed she might faint. The insults slammed into her one after another, registering brutally even though the internal chaos prevented effective assimilation.
Whether it was Georgiana’s gasp of shock, the mention of his name, or something else which alerted Mr. Darcy, she had no idea. She feared she might have fallen if not for his strong arm suddenly clenched tightly around her waist. Dimly she felt the rigid tension hardening his muscles and heard him harshly snap a vicious rebuke.
As William drew her closer into his protective embrace before steering her away, she caught a glimpse of Miss Pratt’s gaping mouth and blanched face. This was followed by a swift view of Lord Westingcote’s red cheeks and furious eyes as he grabbed his daughter and wife by the arm. Their squeaks of pain were audible.
A sensation of fervent satisfaction rippled through Lizzy’s gut, but she was too distraught to relish the moment. Focusing on not collapsing as she mechanically placed one foot in front of the other took all her energy. Not quite sure how he managed it without raising a fuss or drawing attention from the groups of churchgoers still socializing on the walkway, Darcy had them safely inside the carriage in what seemed like a matter of seconds.
No one said a word on the short ride back to Darcy House. Lizzy stared out the window, vaguely aware of Georgiana soothingly holding her hand and William’s steady gaze. She could not bear to look at him, however, fearing she would detect traces of the same disgust shown by the women in his eyes.
Once at the townhouse, he proved once again his remarkable ability to take command and act calmly under the most distressing circumstances. Speaking in a normal tone, he politely ordered the housekeeper, Mrs. Smyth, to fetch hot, strong tea from the kitchen and then turned to instruct Mr. Travers to escort Miss Bennet to the library.
Touching Lizzy gently on the arm, he leaned close to her ear. “I shall join you there momentarily, my dear. I need to speak with Georgiana for just a moment.” He planted a tender kiss on her cheek before pulling away.
Glancing up, she met his eyes for the first time since the debacle at the church. The rush of relief in only seeing intense love and concern was immense. Smiling, wanly but still a smile, she nodded.
Darcy’s combined office and library were organized, plushly appointed, clean, and spacious. It was the exact opposite of her father’s office and library at Longbourn. Nevertheless, she felt the same sensations of comfort now that she had felt in her father’s office since her earliest memory. It was being surrounded by books, which she adored passionately, but instinctively she knew the solace, then and now, came from being in the sanctuary of a man who loved her wholeheartedly.
Strolling along the aisles of varnished oak cases stuffed with dust-free books, the turmoil in her mind began to ease. She remained confused by what had happened after the service and cringed contemplating the meaning of the spewed slurs, but the fog was clearing and the feeling of shame was disappearing.
Then why do I want to scream and cry at the same time?
The door opened, William entering with Mrs. Smyth carrying a tea tray close behind. “Set it on my desk, Mrs. Smyth. That will be all.” He gave the command curtly, his eyes darting around the room until finally spying Lizzy where she stood at the far end, between two tall bookcases. She could hear his sigh of relief, and immediately he marched toward her.
“Stop!” She held her hand out, palm forward. “Wait. I need you to hold me, William, but not yet. If you do, I will cry, and I must talk through it first. Please.”
He slowed but did not stop until within touching distance. Troubled eyes searched her face, the war to disregard her request visibly fought as she pleaded silently for him not to. Finally, after a second sigh, he spread his hands open at his sides. “As you wish, Elizabeth. Can we sit at least? A cup of tea will do us both good.”
She hesitated; then, remembering the last time they sat on the library sofa, she shook her head. “No. Standing is better. For now. I…I presume Georgiana told you what…they said?”
He clamped his lips into a thin line, grim expression growing angrier by the second, and bobbed his head once.
Glancing away from his evident fury, she blindly peered at the nearest shelf. Inhaling, she stammered, “I’m not sure where to start. Apparently, I’m famous…or infamous. Me, a woman of scandal! Who would have thought?” A harsh, humorless laugh burst from her dry throat.
Darcy impulsively leaned toward her, but she again halted him with a hand gesture.
“Lady Catherine was mentioned,” she murmured, still staring at the row of book spines, “and someone named Lady Starkley.”
“The Countess of Starkley is related to Lady Westingcote. She is a notorious gossip and one of my aunt’s oldest friends. I should have known she was the one sent to do Lady Catherine’s dirty work. I’m surprised Richard didn’t figure that out, not that it mattered after the deed was done. No doubt she enjoyed every minute of telling fabricated falsehoods to her captive audiences. The old crone! I could happily wring both their necks!”
It was neither the vehemence in his voice nor statement of violence that caused Lizzy to swing her eyes to his face. Frowning, she stepped back a pace. “Wait a minute. Did you… Are you saying that you knew these things were being said about me?”
“Richard heard the whispers before we arrived in Town. He has a certain talent for collecting information.”
“And you didn’t think to mention it to me?” Ejected shrilly, it wasn’t a question as much as a condemnation.
Darcy, to her amazement, cocked his head and furrowed his brows in honest confusion. “Whyever would I do that? My fervent hope was for you to never learn of it. My duty is to protect you, Elizabeth, above all else. I shall always avoid telling you something that I know would cause you pain unless it is necessary. This was inconsequential.”
“Inconsequential? You call this inconsequential?” This was definitely shrieked louder than warranted, but she was swiftly losing control. “Maybe if I was aware such tales of my infamy were being bandied about I could have prepared for a confrontation! Did you consider that, Mr. Darcy, when you were imperiously deciding what is best for me? I can make my own decisions, you know! I do not need some hulking, domineering…man—”
“If it helps to unleash your frustration upon me, Elizabeth, then shout away. This hulking, domineering man is strong
enough to withstand the tirade. When you finish, perhaps we can then discuss this nonsense calmly, rather than irrationally.” He hadn’t moved an inch, yet somehow loomed larger in the space between the bookshelves. His eyes were dark and nostrils flared with each rough inhale.
“Nonsense, is it?” Lizzy was still lashing out, although her words lacked the same vigor as before. “The same ‘nonsense’ that had you ready to strangle two old women with your bare hands? It does not sound inconsequential to me.”
“Anger directed at the source is warranted and justified. Even so, I would not literally strangle either of them—at least I don’t think I would. Perhaps a good horsewhipping is a better compromise.” He grunted a half laugh. Closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers, he breathed deeply for a minute or so.
Lizzy watched him in silence. Rational thought, usually one of her greatest virtues, had eluded her. William was right in that accusation. Was he right about the rest?
“Elizabeth, listen to me.”
The gentleness in his voice matched the tender way he encircled her cold hands with his. Tears prickled the insides of her eyelids, but she blinked them away. It was past time to regain her senses, and blubbering like an infant was counterproductive.
“Perhaps you are correct that a warning may have prepared you,” he continued in the same soothing tone. “However, in my judgment, it is more likely that you would have been on edge this whole week if you had known of my aunt’s lies. Despite what happened today, I stand by my decision not to tell you. Your time in London, our time together, would have been tainted, and for what? Gossip. Mean spirited and ugly, yes, but gossip just the same.”
“How can you be so angry one minute, and then in the next minute brush it off as just gossip? Inconsequential gossip, no less? I do not understand!”
“My dearest, I am furious at my aunt for her persistent refusal to accept the fact of our betrothal. Mainly, I am furious for her unconscionable actions which have now caused you pain. I do not believe anyone is without forgiveness, but God help me, Lady Catherine is skirting the edge in my mind and heart! This is where my anger lies, not on the specifics of the rumors. You must trust me, Elizabeth, when I assure you that in the grand scheme, it does not matter.”