B006O3T9DG EBOK (12 page)

The silence was excruciating to those poor ladies who awaited her ladyship to deign a remark. At last, one lady (wearing a serpentine bracelet and abused expression) asked another about a mutual acquaintance, saying, “I dislike spreading rumours, but....”

“What else is one to do with them?” interrupted Lady Howgrave.

Before the tittering died down, Juliette lifted her skirts just above her ankles and made her away. The ladies were left in fluttering admiration, thrilled beyond words to have been privy to one of her ladyship’s outrageous witticisms.

Happy to escape, Juliette took a glass of (rather good) champagne and allowed herself a more detailed observation of the house. She had never set her pretty foot in either of Darcy’s homes. (When they were... acquaintances, he had always come to her.)

It had not been difficult to convince herself that propitious fate had rekindled their affair. Despite being thrown in Darcy’s path, she had conceded that due to the throng of guests, a private chat was unlikely. Hence she saw herself on an investigatory excursion. She did not care to admit to curiosity. A woman of her sophistication should be above such banality. However, she
was
curious—
exceedingly
curious. Had she been a cat, her tail would have twitched with anticipation.

Other than their brief encounter across the channel, she had never known Darcy in any milieu save her house in Mayfair. They did not dine out nor attend the theatre. No one saw them together save a smattering of servants. He never stayed the night. At the time it had been a distinct vexation that she could not be seen on his arm. (Indeed, that vexed her yet.) Although he had never invited her there, she had observed his Park Lane house from the street. It was a handsome home, but not above others.

Pemberley, however, was of great repute. A number of sources had described it as quite
élégant
. With one expert glance about at the painted ceiling and alabaster doorcases, she saw that it had not been over-praised. The house was testimony to what good taste, centuries of attention, and a substantial fortune could achieve. It was certainly not Versailles, but it bettered the battered Kirkland Hall twenty-fold. She could see how Darcy influenced and, in turn, was shaped by such a home. Seeing Pemberley made her believe she knew him better.

Her good opinion did not pass as an expression on her countenance. It had long been her practise to claim compleat impassiveness as such aloofness piqued the interest of admirers and allowed her forehead to remain unvexed by loathsome creases. As time marched on, she was even more mindful of such seeming trivialities.

Observing Pemberley’s august halls pricked another vanity.

She was given renewed incentive to restore Kirkland Hall. Its parquet floors and rosewood wainscoting had been beaten to its knees by the Bingleys’ ungovernable offspring. Fortunately, the damage looked to be mostly to the paint and finishes. (Mr. Bingley or his minions paid good heed of the roof.) If she were to inhabit such a wreck, it would take a half-year and a hundred men to refurbish it. She would not settle for anything less than the magnificence surrounding her then.

Juliette had taken a visit with Mrs. Bingley at Kirkland Hall just days before, ostensibly about their removal. In truth, Juliette wanted the opportunity to sketch her character without the intrusion of others. Their conversation had been most enlightening. Jane was nothing like her sister, either in looks or manner. She was soft-spoken and graceful, emanating an inner beauty equal to her countenance.

It had been a test not to inquire after the Darcys. But then, that was not necessary. Jane warbled on over the felicity of the Darcy household with an easiness that meant she was both a most genuine lady and that she was entirely unaware of Juliette’s connection to them.

Jane’s opinion notwithstanding, the likelihood that the Darcys’ marriage still flowered with any portion of its original passion was remote. It had been a compleat astonishment to her that Darcy had formed such an unlikely alliance in the first place. Miss Elizabeth Bennet was decidedly below his class. At the time Juliette saw it as a sort of insanity—one of such violence that she had no power to divert him. Never in her life had she had such little influence over a man. It confounded her then and for some time thereafter.

For years after she travelled the Continent, often spending winters in an Italian Palazzo. When the Napoleonic wars intruded, she and an entourage quit the place to make their way back to England. Consequently, it had been beyond astonishing when she chanced upon Darcy one evening in a chateau near Lille. It had been at the trembling culmination of the war, therefore the last person she expected to see there was an impeccably-dressed and haughtily-composed son of the English aristocracy. In a bat of an eyelash, all her feelings and wants had been excited once again. Unfortunately, he had been in the middle of a single-minded pursuit. (It was a reprise of the behaviour that had so bewildered her the night he had ended their affair.) In Lille, he had been quite alone and altogether distracted. The desire to reach out to him—to becalm his brow, arouse his spirit, enjoy his touch was almost too much to bear. To her great chagrin, she found that she still had no rule over him. He spoke only of his wife and his need to contact her. In the end she agreed to carry a missive, full of dear words, no doubt, to his wife.

The letter was destroyed.

When she returned to London, an odd whim overtook her. She decided to meet with the woman who had stolen Darcy’s heart. Simply by professing to be in possession of a letter from Darcy, she commanded Elizabeth Darcy to hie to town to meet her.
Tres enciente
, Mrs. Darcy had not hesitated to come, leaving Juliette almost chastened to have enticed her on what could have been accused of being a pretence. After their talk, Juliette harboured a certain admiration for her. No other gentlewoman would have gone to such lengths merely to hear word from their husband. (Therefore, there were few gentlewomen who had Juliette’s good opinion.) Theirs had been an unusual encounter, leaving Juliette with an odd sense of need. For a while she became the self-ordained champion of the Darcys’ union. It was an odd caprice, nothing more. Her life’s work had been to avoid encumbrances such as friendship and affection—especially when one’s own interests were at stake.

Time, it is said, makes more converts than reason. And in time, another conviction comforted her. It was the unassailable truth that time was any marriage’s most insidious enemy. To maintain steady ardour for so long would have been unthinkable. To sustain passion, one must create unease, cause jealousy, cast spells. No doubt the Darcys’ wedded bliss would be on the wane. Nothing Mrs. Bingley said altered that conviction.

It was that thought that fed her eagerness to attend the Pemberley ball.

As guests moved to and fro, she could see Darcy more clearly. Time had not altered his bearing or his countenance. As if entranced, she stepped in his direction. Then, abruptly, she turned away, wholly thwarted.

For standing next to Mr. Darcy was Mrs. Darcy, her arm clasping his. Juliette did not fault her for that. Had he belonged to her, she would be just as chary. Although marauding ladies were circling him even then, his wife seemed oblivious to her competition.

Whilst taking delicate sips of her wine, Juliette took a moment to scrutinise Elizabeth Darcy. Albeit begrudgingly, she admitted that Elizabeth had gained in countenance. That afternoon in London, her face had been drawn and worry troubled her expression. Tonight, her cheeks were flushed. (Either that or she was not above applying a bit of rouge.) A bit smugly, Juliette opined that Elizabeth was not near the beauty as her sister, Jane. Fancy that. Mr. Darcy not only married beneath him, it was to a second, less desirable daughter.

Slyly, she looked at Elizabeth again.

Through further study, Juliette decided that she approved of Elizabeth’s gown. Although it was pale, it complimented her, almost as much as the exquisite necklace. It was a significant enough piece to arrest everyone’s attention. Juliette did not envy it, for she had been bestowed exceptional pieces of jewellery over the years. She wore them only to impress other women. When gentlemen were about, she disliked adorning herself with anything that might compete with her own countenance.

As the Darcys stood side by side, oblivious to any menace, Juliette carried on planning a seduction with an air of purposefulness. She told herself that her quarry was merely that—a means to an end. It did not cross her mind that, by harbouring an abiding and all-consuming yen for this man, she breached every tenet she had ever held dear. There was but one thing Juliette thought of nothing else from that moment thenceforth.

She must have Darcy again or she just might die of want.

Chapter 17

Old Friends, New Chapters

Within an hour of opening the doors, the ball would have been deemed a success by anyone’s standard.

Mrs. Darcy’s eyes were lively and her cheeks rosy with pleasure. Even her husband (so often out of humour) responded favourably when asked of his children’s progress. It did not go without notice that Mr. Darcy looked upon Mrs. Darcy with easy affection. Their happiness was a joy to their friends and a bane to the few who were not.

———

Although Jane suspected, Elizabeth had told no one of the coming child. That secret was behind her only true regret of the evening—her husband had not taken her on the dance floor as much as she would have liked. When Bingley bid her to take a turn, Darcy did the unthinkable—he shook his head (granted, almost imperceptibly). Bingley was not one to take offence, he was a bit surprised. A word from Jane and he smiled agreeably and withdrew. Everyone was pleased save Elizabeth.

Although her husband stood as if wholly consumed by watching the others dance, Elizabeth was not deceived. She knew he was standing guard lest another gentleman ask her to dance.

Upon her tiptoes (the only way she could whisper in his ear), she said, “If you come between me and another turn, I shall pout.”

He pretended to ignore her, but leaned over and said, “I am most happy for you dance. If you please, pray, not with Bingley.”

“Why, pray, do you deny me Mr. Bingley as a partner? Save for you, dear husband, there is not a more admirable man in the room.”

He said, “He is far too lively. He all but lifts Jane off her feet. It is my opinion that if you must dance, let it be a less frolicsome number....”

“Or a less frolicsome partner—say, one in his dotage?” she retorted.

“He can be of any age so long as he does not bound about. Mr. McNeely or Master Squires both appear to be in want of a partner,” he replied.

She replied, “Mr. McNeely lost a leg last year. Master Squires is all of fourteen and much in want of dancing with Miss Amelia McGreevy, who is but twelve. To make the poor boy stand up with a woman twice his age would be a torture for him. It might ruin his love life for all his days....”

“I surrender,” Darcy whispered, “Dance with whoever pleases you, but do not look to me to rub your... feet at the night’s end.”

At his capitulation, they shared a gaze. From the discrete caresses his hand gifted hers throughout the evening, Elizabeth suspected that he had other misgivings—most likely over their assignation in her dressing room just prior to the ball. Granted, he had left her breathless. She recovered with remarkable haste. He had yet to understand that she was not depleted by his attentions—quite the reverse. Time would come soon enough when caution would rule them, but not yet.

With a saucy glint in her eye, she took his arm reassuringly.

“Do not trouble yourself, sir,” she said. Then in a low voice, she teased, “I am a strapping wench, happy for you to make free with my person at any opportunity.”

Her protestations notwithstanding, to be looked after by her husband pleased her in a way she could not explain. Perhaps it was because he had been away during her last confinement. Regardless, he felt the need to cosset her and she enjoyed his guardianship—so long as he did not mean to keep her from dancing.